#change of heart ivar imagine

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Vikings (TV) Masterlist

my requests for vikings are currently partially OPEN! please only request imagines, and not oneshots. for those waiting for a continuation of ‘searching home’ or ‘unexpected’ i am so sorry... finishing those two is going to take me a while :/

hmu/msg me to be added to a taglist!

main masterlist | request guidelines

heorte til heorte

(msg me to be added to the taglist!)

relationship: athelstan x alethia stahl (oc) | summary: alethia wanted to go home, to return to her family. instead, she finds herself in ninth-century england. not speaking the language, and still processing the grief of her other life, she searches for an anchor - athelstan. | tags: angst, fluff, timetravel

masterlist | preview | read on ao3

No romantic relationships // character x character

Queendom - relationship: Lagertha x Aslaug | summary: They’ve both loved and they’ve both lost. Perhaps it was time that their hearts warmed again. | tags: angst, fluff

The Lothbroks, aka, the European version of the Kardashians - relationships: none | summary: When Barbie Murray time travels, she finds out that pink isn’t available in Viking times. Luckily, her new besties all understand that boobs are the best and slay (literally?!) with her. | tags: crack, fluff, timetravel

I may be a bimbo, but I’m not stupid - relationships: slight oc/ oc | summary: Ivar kills Sigurd in a fit of rage, but Barbie isn't so quick to forgive cruelness. | tags: angst, crack, timetravel

1st gen Vikings

Strange Woman  relationship: Rollo x timetraveler!reader | summary: The woman that appeared out of nowhere could be oh so dangerous, but even a stupid man would know that she was fascinating. | tags: fluff, timetravel

Friend of Thor - relationship: rollo x timetraveler!asgardian!reader | summary: The reader, a fellow Asgardian and friend of Thor and the new King of Asgard, Brunnhilde, falls through worlds as the new guardian of the Bifrost tampers with the magic. | tags: crack, fluff, timetravel

And the Gods wished they were me - relationship: Judith x viking!gn!reader | summary: Judith knows she should not mourn Athelstan. Nor should she even look at Norse heathens. She does both anyway, because Judith was named after a woman that had only rage and death, and she cannot escape her fate. | tags: angst, fluff

Ubbe Ragnarsson

Another day / part 2 - relationship: Ubbe x reader | prompt: we live to fight another day. | tags: angst

Oldest - relationship: Ubbe x timetraveler!reader; platonic!Ivar x reader | summary:  It seems that few things change about being the oldest sibling, no matter which place – or time | tags: fluff, timetravel, slight angst

Yggdrasil relationship: Ubbe x reader; platonic!Ivar x reader; dad!Harald x reader | summary:  How can you tell your father what happened to you when he’d done it to so many others. | tags: angst, dark/gory

Hvitserk 'Whiteshirt' Ragnarsson

Hvitserksdottir - relationship: Hvitserk x reader | prompt: “I think we need to talk about the fact that I’m in love with you and also that I’m pregnant.” | tags: angst, fluff

Floki’s Cabin - relationship: Hvitserk x reader | prompt: “Just trust me. Please. | tags: angst

Searching Home / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 - relationships: Hvitserk x reader; Ivar x reader | summary: When you stumble upon the ancient Spanish city of Algeciras, it takes you some time to realize that you’ve traveled through time. While that is terrible luck, a merchant couple takes you in. But your peace only lasts so long. | tags: angst, fluff, dark/gory, timetravel

Neither - relationship: genderfluid!reader x Hvitserk | Summary: Hvitserk finds out about genderfluidity and accepts he might not be completely straight | tags: fluff, timetravel

Law of conservation - relationship: Hvitserk x reader | summary: You’ve been working as a tutor at your high school for about a year now. When your parents throw a barbecue party for your new neighbors, their mother Aslaug asks you to tutor her son Hvitserk, who is already a notorious flirt at his school. | tags: fluff

Sandcastles - relationship: platonic!hvitserk x timetraveler!reader | summary: reader builds sandcastles, Ivar doesn’t get it and Hvitserk loves the idea of it | tags: fluff, timetravel

When in Bali... -  relationships: hvitserk x reader, ivar x freydís, sigurd x oc | summary: You were supposed to go to Bali with your partner for your one-year anniversary. Instead, you’re there alone, heartbroken. Will reuniting with a friend you know from a summer vacation in elementary school be able to fix it? | tags: fluff

Ivar 'the Boneless' Ragnarsson

Unholy Matrimony - A Sham in Four Acts / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 - relationship: Ivar x reader | prompt: I’ve learnt to love you. | tags: angst, fluff smut

Insatiable Little Heathens  - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: drabble, for all of y’all who wanted more of Unholy Matrimony | tags: fluff

Resolve - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: Ivar’s legs hurt but he’s so fucking thickheaded | tags: fluff

My kind of witch - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: You wake up in an unfamiliar bed. The man with blazing blue eyes fascinates you as soon as you see him and as you realize the struggles he faces every day, your admiration for him grows into something more. | tags: fluff, timetravel

Red - relationship: ivar x reader | summary: Ivar finally meets his match. | tags: smut, dark/gory

Serve - relationship: sub!ivar x buff!reader | summary: Ivar keeps teasing you. You finally have enough and give him a taste of his own medicine | tags: smut

Searching home / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 -  relationships: Hvitserk x reader; Ivar x reader |  summary: When you stumble upon the ancient Spanish city of Algeciras, it takes you some time to realize that you’ve traveled through time. While that is terrible luck, a merchant couple takes you in. But your peace only lasts so long. | tags: angst, fluff, smut, dark/gory, timetravel

Totally artistic -  relationship: ivar x reader | summary: When inspiration hits, you can’t stop it | tags: fluff

Sandcastles - relationship: platonic!hvitserk, ivar x timetraveler!reader | summary: reader builds sandcastles, Ivar doesn’t get it and Hvitserk loves the idea of it | tags: fluff, timetravel

Brother - relationships: ivar x reader, hvitserk & reader, reader & oc | summary: You left your home and your brother behind for a reason. Now, a man is causing trouble at the borders of Kattegat, and as Ivar's queen, you take justice into your own hands. | tags: fluff

Unexpected / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 - relationship: ivar x thrall!reader | summary: Ivar finally decides to fuck the slave he’s been eyeing for so long, but when his angry side slips out, things take a turn for the wholly unexpected. | tags: smut

Tarot -  relationships: ivar x reader, hvitserk & reader | summary: Your day at the fair has been pretty slow – until a client like no other shows up. | tags: fluff

Imagines

How the Vikings would react to an accidental time traveler and a quiz to see if you’d survive: https://uquiz.com/dVXpgW

Ragnarssons (+Gyda): First Kiss

Social Media 

How the Vikings would react to guns and snapchat filters 

How the Vikings would react to modern dancing 

How the Vikings would react to modern music, and what they’d like

How the Vikings would react to modern concepts of astronomy and space 

How the Vikings react to modern haircare 

Vikings and Astrology

How Vikings would react to THEM timetraveling

Vikings + getting sick 

Vikings + Halloween 

Vikings + realizing you’re pregnant

Vikings characters + how they'd react to finding Accidental Time Traveler crying somewhere and not knowing why 

Vikings + you on your period  (+ more hcs about Ivar)

Vikings + Legos

Vikings + reader being much less stressed in their time

Vikings + single mother

Vikings + Gender Neutral Thor

Vikings + modern food

Vikings + touch avoidant cuddler

Vikings + Kids

Vikings + their history

Ragnarssons + being possesive

Vikings + Maleficent/Fae!reader

Vikings + curls and afros

Vikings + sleeping habits

Vikings + contortionist/super flexible reader

Vikings as modern!uni students

Vikings + affectionate drunk!reader

timetraveling!Vikings + modern tv/movies

Vikings + gen z slang

Vikings + curly haired kids

timetraveling!Vikings + Christmas

Vikings + eras other than their own

Vikings + ivar being remembered/famous

[miss-madness67]

The Mistress Ch.20: Den beinløse

The Boneless

At the Viking's attack, Leofflaed sees a familiar face. Time to play for survival.

“I would like to speak with Prince Ivar.” I do not know if Ivar is part of the Vikings’ attack because Alfred never told me anything about it. I am not sure whether he has any power over the army. Still, it is the only way of survival I can think of.

The name catches the attention of another one of the Vikings nearby. He is the one standing in front of the Marquis along with the shieldmaiden. The man is quite tall, muscular, and has braided blonde hair and blue eyes. He looks almost like a bear with all those furs and blood. I cannot help but recoil a little bit at the threatening pose he carries himself with.

Still, I do not back down when he speaks. “What do you want with Ivar?” He directs his question in English. Now it is my turn to be surprised because even though Vikings like to come to England quite often, not many bother to learn the language.

“Who are you?” I think he is about to respond to me until the sound of a crutch sinking heavily in the grass interrupts our staring. When I look back at the source, my heart feels as if it stops beating.

Prince Ivar stands in front of us in all of his glory. I never would have imagined he could walk, but as he approaches I can see that the braces surrounding his leg muscles, and the crutches under his arms are enough help for him to be able to do so. His sharp blue eyes are staring intensely at my own, and I feel the thread of connection form between us. I would be lying if I say I have never fantasized about meeting him again. It is not only the fact that he is the first Viking I ever talked to, he is the association to my wild side. Furthermore, there is the instant reaction my body seems to have to his presence. I felt it all those years ago, but it is nothing compared to the present. As I envisioned, he is taller than he would seem to be. He was already a man when I met him, but now he has matured even more so. His chest has broadened, and his arms look incredibly powerful under his armor. He is also bearing a different hairstyle. I am positively surprised by the changes in him.

Continue reading on:

AO3 / PA / WAT

Tags: @youbloodymadgenius @cdauni @justsomecreaturewandering

[dragonsoftheeast]

will i ever reach the floor

Siggy tries to occupy herself while her family goes on a hunt.

Written for @vikingsevents Autumn Equinox Challenge Day 6: Mushroom

read on Ao3

Siggy tries to occupy herself while her family is on a hunt.

Written for Vikings Autumn Equinox Challenge Day 6: Mushroom

One autumn morning, Siggy's father announces that he will be taking his brothers on a hunt.

It will be the first for Ivar. Now that Aslaug has allowed him to train, she seems to be letting more and more slide. He of course has seized on the opening, training daily and still finding time to attend court in the afternoon. But a hunt? Several days away from home, out in the wilderness? She is sure to say no.

When Aslaug continues to eat dinner calmly, the brothers look at each other with barely hidden excitement. But they cannot show it to their mother, for fear of her changing her mind.

"You will remember to take him on the stretcher," She only says, and holds out her cup for more wine.

"I will bring back a stag for you, Mother," Ivar promises.

"No!" The other boys chorus. 

True, he is the best shot out of them, but none of them are willing to say so to him. Then, as competitive as ever, they begin to promise Aslaug greater and greater prizes.

Only when Sigurd promises a bear's heart does Siggy pipe up.

"Can I go along?"

Five heads swivel towards her.

"I can shoot." She points out to their silence. "And I can skin."

"I think you're a little too small for this," Ubbe says, very kindly.

"Besides, shooting isn't everything," Sigurd says, elbowing Ivar. "Hunting is about instincts. Being in the wild."

"This is for sons of Ragnar," Ivar cuts in, a little too enthusiastically. He is already excited to be included. He cannot abide another joining in.

Despite the boys being technically her uncles, they are close enough in age that they are functionally her brothers. Ubbe is seven years her elder, and Ivar only two. They have grown up together. She even trains alongside them. Well, except for Ivar and his secret lessons. But she is the littlest, and a girl to boot, and is therefore forced to be  the tagalong kid.

Unlike most tagalong kids, Siggy can tell when she's not wanted. But she plays her last card.

"Father, surely you would not mind me?"

All five heads turn back to him, five pairs of blue eyes boring into him, waiting for an answer.

He hesitates, his eyes flitting around them before looking to her.

"We would worry about you," he says finally. She slumps in defeat and finishes her meal in silence.

When they leave, her father pats her heavily on the head.

"Prepare for a lot of rabbit," he whispers in her ear, and winks. She stifles a giggle, and each of her uncles sets a heavy hand on her head as they pass, even Ivar.

"Take your glove off first," She mumbles, and he makes sure to muss up her hair for saying that.

She's quiet that night while she weaves. She wants to sulk. This is supposed to become a cloak for Sigurd, but she thinks she'll keep it for herself. 

"Why don't you prepare a meal for when they return?" Aslaug suggests instead.

She brightens at that.

Ha! They will probably come back starving, and when they see her big meal, they will have to beg for it! She grins at the thought and her strokes with the comb go just a little bit faster.

The next morning she straps her little sword to her side- one cannot be too careful- and takes a basket into the woods to find mushrooms.

She should gather them herself, she reasons. After all, what better way to show her independence? She can provide!

She spends all day finding some. It is a long walk to the forest- the city seems to be getting bigger every day. The trees have turned golden, and she squints against the sunlight in the forest, searching among the rich dark soil for her quarry. There is a bit of triumph in finding every bit of them, and she imagines her grateful uncles every time she cuts them free.

Terrified of accidentally poisoning her family, she sticks only to the ones she knows- they have large leathery gray caps, or tiny thin stalks and white nubs at their tips. 

And even then, she takes them to the cooks in the kitchen to check them for her, just in case.

She can see some of them trying to hide their amusement at her caution, but she disregards them. She has to remain focused on her task.

On the day they are supposed to return from their hunt, Siggy gets up, determined to 

She slices through the mushrooms clumsily- for all her finesse with a sword, the rubbery texture of the fungus makes things too slippery for her to make even cuts.

The slaves are amused to see her in the kitchen again, but they leave her to her corner to try to make a stew by herself.

Her stew is finished when the hunters return. As her father had predicted, his back is laden with nearly a dozen rabbits, but slung across Ubbe's back is a fairly sizable deer.

"I made soup for you all," She calls out to them, waving wildly.

As her father goes to unbidden himself of the various animals, her uncles gather around the table.

Ubbe smiles and eats and tells her that it is very tasty,  but he is always too courteous, too afraid to offend.

Hvitserk eats without discretion, so his shrug and reaching for a second helping does not provide anything helpful either.

Sigurd finishes and tells her "Not bad." She decides maybe she'll finish up that cloak for him then. Maybe use that rabbit fur for some lining.

Ivar takes one bite and spits it back out. 

"This is disgusting."

[freddie-foxs]

Of Irland, Chapter 12

Chapter 1 \\ Chapter 11 \\ Series Masterlist

Instead of being taken captive in Winchester, Stiorra leaves for Irland with a friend of her father’s. There she meets Sigtryggr, a Dane, the grandson of Ivar the Boneless.

Chapter 12: Stabbed 100,000 Times

Chapter warnings: Language, needles Words: 4006 AO3

The ale helped a little, but Stiorra could still feel every prick of the needle, every scratch. She could not help but wince again and the sting reached her lower back, the front already dulling to an ache.

“Not too much more now,” Drifa reassured, not that Stiorra could tell how much more there was to do, not being able to turn her head all the way around to view her back.

What possessed her into this, she did not know. Her father had done this, so had Sihtric. And others as well, not that she’d met many other Danes.

But the sting.

Nope, she was not going to dwell. It was too late to change her mind now. Perhaps she could call this the first decision she had made as a Dane.

But it still hurt.

Stiorra tried to distract herself with the letter that she held. A letter from Sigtryggr. . She had been surprised and confused on receiving it, not expecting him to be able to read and write. She had read it so many times now that she practically knew it by heart

My Lady, Stiorra,

I know what you will say, receiving this. To answer your question, yes, I can read and write. Drifa ensured it. Although, I will admit, it has been a long time since I have done either. There is no-one here I can write too or practise with. Other than the priests, but, all their books are Christian texts.

Stiorra, I believe you are trustworthy, and so I hope that I have not made a mistake here in trusting you. I do not write with good news. I write to warn you to stay away from Ivar. You already know that he is nor a good man. But, after this recent battle, I have reason to suspect that your life, or at least your dignity may be in danger. He has killed yet another wife, and raped someone else’s. I do not want their fate to be yours. Ask Drifa for a weapon, not something big. Perhaps a seax or a knife. I want you to carry it with you at all times.

I believe we will return soon, and so I do not expect a reply. Just know that you have a friend here in Irland.

I will see you soon,

Your friend,

Sigtryggr

Stiorra sighed, then grimaced as she felt the needle lowered again. ‘Stay away from Ivar’ he said. Seemed easy enough.

My Lady he called her. His lady. And to say that he believed them to be friends. A jolt of fear went through Stiorra, or was it just the needle. If he knew who she was… who her father was.

Drifa lifted the needle for the last time, and Stiorra felt nothing more than relief. The seer carefully wiped her back free of blood and gently helped her to sit up. Stiorra was stiff from lying on that table for so long. She ached all over. Her stomach growled.

“Come,” Drifa said, holding out her hand. “Let us go to the Great Hall and eat. I imagine the warriors will be back by now.”

Stiorra’s heart gave a leap. They were back? Already?

She allowed Drifa to lead her to the hall. The first thing she saw when she stepped inside was… him. He was sat there, at the high table. His lips curved into a gentle smile. His eyes found hers and his smile only widened. Stiorra thought her heart would fly across the room with how fast it beat. Her feet moved of their own accord, led by the racing of her heart. She did not know what was happening to her. She could only feel glad that he seemed unhurt, and happy to see her, perhaps.

As she approached the table, she saw a clean linen bandage wound around his left forearm. Her smile faded slightly. Oh, so not entirely unhurt. The bandage was not stained, though. At least that was something.

He stood as she came up the steps, drawing her chair back and inviting her to sit beside him. Ivar sat in his usual place, a whore on his lap. Rognvaldr had two. Stiorra did her best to ignore them as she sat down, slowly, on account of the pain.

“Are you alright?” he asked her. She looked at him. His brow was wrinkled in concern. Stiorra did not want him fussing over her, so she smiled and told him that she was fine.

Before she could talk to him further, Drifa had stood up to make a toast.

“A toast! To my greatest enemies, who practically shoved me in the poop!” Stiorra laughed. So did everyone else. She felt her breath catch when she heard Sigtryggr chuckling along.

“How did she get shoved in poop?” Stiorra asked, leaning over so Sigtryggr could hear over the raucous laughter that echoed around the room.

He waved her question aside. “She’ll kill me if I tell you.” Stiorra figured she must hear it soon enough.

The noise died down a little. Most of the men were still tired after the battles and the ride, and only wished to spend the night with their families. But Sigtryggr was more than happy to talk to Stiorra and keep her company. Sometimes it felt like he was the only friend she had in this dangerous place.

Stiorra had been pushed around, almost raped, and had felt unsafe since she arrived here in Dyflin. But she would not exchange it for the warmth and peace of Coccham. Dyflin was a busy place. Threats assaulted from all angles. Coccham was calm. The only excitement being the occasional trader or Finan being caught with the wrong woman. It was a quiet life, and one Stiorra did not desire. She wanted a life like her father’s, filled with adventure. Perhaps even romance. Talking and being around Sigtryggr filled her with a spark, like he unlocked some secret safe inside her and filled her with happiness.

“Are you feeling better?” he inquired, snapping her out of her reverie.

“Oh, yes, much better.” He nodded and smiled, seemingly pleased to know that she was healed. Was he worried about her? Had he spent the entirety of the battles he’d just returned from wondering if she was alright?

“Did you get my letter?”

Letter? Oh, yes, the letter. It was like he made her forget important things, just by looking at the way he was right now.

“Yes, I got it,” she assured him. “I did not expect you to have been educated like that. Who taught you?”

“A priest. Drifa made sure Ivar did not kill him.” He sighed, heavily. “Once Drifa recalled her men, Ivar had the priest killed.”

Stiorra almost snorted. Typical of Ivar. She’d only been here few months and already she could clearly see how Ivar’s stupidity would one day get him killed.

The remainder of the feast was spent in small talk. Sigtryggr was tired and went to bed early. Drifa was probably passed out drunk. So were the rest of her men. Although it seemed Asvard still had one more drink in him as he could be seen struggling to down one last gulp of ale.

With no-one to talk to, Stiorra decided to make her way up to bed.

***

Sleep did not come easy. Partly because Ivar and Rognvaldr seemed invested in their women tonight. The thumping and moaning proved an inelegant symphony to Stiorra’s ears. It was mostly Rognvaldr, since his room was right next to hers. She tossed and turned for some time, even putting her pillow over her ears. But it did not help.

The noises stopped for a moment, and Stiorra heard two men conversing. She ignored it, thinking it did not concern her.

There was a quiet knock on her door. Stiorra shot up in bed and quietly padded to the door. She picked up her knife from the table and held it tightly in her hand. Upon opening the door, she saw there was no danger. It was only Sigtryggr.

She opened the door wider when she saw who it was. His brow furrowed and he titled his head when he saw the knife, but he shook it off and entered.

That is when her eyes widened. He must have been fighting for sleep as she had been. His hair was tousled and tangled. Stiorra bit down the urge to pick up her brush and undo all the knots that had to be tugging at his scalp. But that wasn’t what caused her mouth to drop.

She guessed he slept without a shirt, but…

It did not feel like weeks had passed since that event involving Drifa’s sword and two pieces of ruined fabric drifting to the floor.

“I have given Rognvaldr my room, so he does not disturb you as much,” he told her. She hardly heard him, too busy being distracted by the glorious,

“Thank you,” she said. Too quickly. Heat was rising up her face. Stiorra was grateful for the low light the candles provided, hiding her.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, “I cannot sleep in his room.” What? “You don’t want to know- I don’t want to know what he has been doing in there,” he added by way of explanation. Come to think of it, Stiorra had smelled something strange coming out of the youngest Ivarrsson’s room for weeks now, but she’d decided it wasn’t worth her time investigating, provided Rognvaldr was the only one being affected.

“I thought I’d ask if I could sleep in your room for a time.” Stiorra froze. He wanted to sleep in her room. Him. Without anything to cover his sculpted form from her wandering eyes.

It did make sense. Drifa had a room to herself for reasons no-one wanted to comprehend. Ivar was Ivar, no-one would share a room with him whatever the circumstances. Stiorra knew that other rooms in the Hall had occupants, either guests, or warriors recovering from injuries. The Great Hall, she’d been told, had doubled as a hospital more than once when the fighting was so great and there were so many casualties, there was no-where else to put them. Since then, the Great Hall had always had room for the sick. That and Drifa was the best healer. To have her so close to the sick and injured had probably saved many lives.

“I will sleep on your couch, if that would be acceptable,” he offered, beginning to move towards the couch.

“I’m afraid it would not be convenient,” Stiorra said. Why did her mouth have to move faster than her brain? “You are a guest; you will sleep on the bed.”

As she finished, Stiorra began grabbing a few pillows to move them to the couch, but before she could put them down, a hand reached out and held onto her arm. She gazed at that hand, absorbing every detail on it.

“You are the one who is a guest here,” he said. She had looked up at him when he gripped her, now he held her gaze. Stiorra could feel herself melting under it. Until he blinked and let go.

“Why don’t we both sleep on the bed?” he suggested. “I will sleep here,” he said as he crossed over to one side of the bed, “You will sleep here. If we lie on our backs, we will not disturb one another.”

To share a bed with Sigtryggr. Stiorra had no idea if she would be able to handle that. She felt sure that he could see the small puddle that she could swear was growing by the second at her feet.

She opened her mouth to say no. Truely, she did not believe she could control herself.

“I suppose that does not sound too bad.”

Sigtryggr grinned wide. He sat on the bed, then swung his legs around and lay down. If Stiorra thought he was devastating standing or sitting, then he was beyond it when he lay down. Every single ridge of muscles popped in the gentle candlelight. As he brushed his hair out of his face, the bulges that were his biceps flexed in a… thoroughly indecent way.

He saw her staring, and he smirked. It was only brief, as though he did not want her to notice that he had caught her staring at him. She moved towards the bed, determined not to let herself completely melt into a puddle. She was Uhtred’s daughter, she did not melt in the presence of undeniably handsome, muscled Danes. Especially not ones with warm ice blue eyes, pillow-soft auburn hair, dimpled smiles…

No, this was not happening. She was not going to fall in love with this man.

Stiorra climbed into the bed, carefully lying on her back and stubbornly fixing her eyes on the ceiling. She heard him chuckling next to her.

Before long, the only sound in that room was his light steady snores. Stiorra, however, could not sleep. How could she with him sleeping right next to her? She had been lying like a log for hours, and her back was starting to ache and sting. She itched to turn on her side, but that would mean she was facing him, the immoveable block of muscle and warmth that lay right fucking next to her.

Stiorra had tried everything. Counting sheep, counting breaths, counting his snores. Just closing her eyes and willing herself to sleep.

Nothing worked. All she would think about was his arms closing around her, breathing in his scent. With that thought, she realised she had no idea what he smelled like at all.

No, she was not rolling over and sniffing him. That was both creepy and perverse. She closed her eyes again, praying to gods to let her sleep.

While she would not roll over to sniff him, she began to think that it couldn’t be the worst thing. The pain in her back was becoming quite agonising.

Sighing in defeat, she turned in the bed. And suddenly she was facing him.

He seemed… peaceful? His face had relaxed, his curving slightly into a smile. His wild hair was fanned out on the pillow, his hands resting across his stomach. Stiorra thought she had never seen anyone look more handsome and beautiful than Sigtryggr did in that moment.

She lay her head on her hands and slowly, finally drifted off to sleep to the rhythm of his breathing.

***

Sigtryggr:

The first moments of waking were usually filled with confusion. Where am I? Who am I? were the thoughts that plagued Sigtryggr in that moment. As his breath left him in a huff, hair fluttered, tickling his bare chest.

And now he remembered.

His arms were encasing her small, slight body. One hand rested on her waist, keeping her close. The other held her head so that it did not fall from his shoulder. He leaned in, inhaling the sweet smell of her hair.

Stiorra.

Her breathing was still deep and even, indicating to him that she was still asleep. Good, he thought, a few more moments to hold her close.

But no. He could not… indulge like this. She could wake any moment and she would be horrified at this. No matter how much he wished she would wake and hold him there. To…

No, he had to move. But how to do it without waking her from her slumber.

One of her hands had rested itself on his stomach, the other curled underneath her head. He gingerly moved the hand on his stomach and slipped his arm out from under her. Carefully, he lowered her head back on the pillow.

She was so peaceful. Her soft lips curved into a small smile. He reached out to brush a small lock of her hair from her face, and she shifted.

Sigtryggr did not wish to leave. But he had to. He could hear his brothers tramping around in the hallway.

And so he left, quietly padding across the floor.

***

Stiorra:

Stiorra woke alone. Sigtryggr had left.

She reached out to feel his side. It was still warm, so he hadn’t left that long ago.

Her eyes lit up and she leapt out of bed like it was the last day of her life. She hurriedly dressed and…

Almost crashed straight into a man who was about to enter Rognvaldr’s room armed with nothing but a bucket and a mop. Ah. The man Sigtryggr must have called to clean it. She apologised and he shook his head. She caught a glimpse inside the room and almost threw up. Although, that would’ve only improved the look of that place.

The stairs were a challenge. Her dress stretched the half healed scabs on her back, and she winced as she made her way down the stairs.

Sigtryggr appeared to just be sitting down. He smiled and beckoned her over.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked. Stiorra blushed, not about to admit that he had kept her up half the night.

***

Dyflin was a bustling centre of trade. It was right by the river, and, partly thanks to Drifa’s travels, was a host to people from all sorts of places in the world. The mixture of different peoples, cultures, languages made the market a noisy environment. The merchants shouting their wares, the bark of dogs, the baa-ing og sheep. People had to push to get past each other. Fights would break out over the smallest of things. Gold, silver and jewels sparkled in the weak autumn sun. The cloths that protected the stalls fluttered in the wind. Herbs and spices could be smelled, some were so strong they could be tasted. Performers sang and danced, and an old man told stories to the young children.

Stiorra was jostled as she pushed her way through the crowd, determined not to let Sigtryggr’s sister, Aldis, out of her sight. Sigtryggr’s instructions had been very clear. Buy what you are looking for and come straight back. No getting distracted by the pretty things in the market.

Aldis and Sigtryggr could not have been more similar to each other. Both shared the same auburn hair and blue eyes. Aldis had that same cleverness and sense that her brother did. Stiorra had heard her begging him to let her become a shield-maiden. His excuse had so far been that she was still too young to be trained.

The two were in the market searching for a gift for the youngest, Gudrid, who was sick with a light fever. Drifa had already said she was otherwise fine, but Gudrid insisted on being treated like a queen. Demanding people bring things to her bed.

Aldis had a kind heart, and she had told Stiorra that she had not yet spent any of her allowance for some months. This allowance came from Sigtryggr and Rognvaldr. Ivar did not give a shit.

People kept on brushing past Stiorra’s back, which was sore. She was all too relieved when the stall selling children’s toys finally came into sight.

Aldis stopped up front, taking her time looking for something special, while Stiorra struck up conversation with the trader.

She learnt that he had just come from Drifa’s lands in Norway, “and I have something that may work for your friend here.” Aldis’ head shot up at that. The trader proceeded to pull out a small figure depicting a woman. But Aldis shook her head, saying that her sister did not like dolls.

“She wants to be a shield-maiden,” she dutifully informed him. Hearing this the man showed her a toy sword. Stiorra was surprised. He did not seem at all fazed at the idea of shield-maidens. Stiorra had often heard talk in the Great Hall on how shield-maidens were useless. They were women, and therefore had no place on the battlefield. But then… this man had come from Drifa’s lands. It was known that shield-maidens were far more common there.

Aldis clapped her hands in excitement. She made the purchase and the two walked back, as they had been ordered.

Some people stared strangely at the sight of a young girl holding a sword. But Aldis marched on, head held high and staring right back at those people.

Someone shoved Stiorra. A boy running away from his angry-looking father.

But Stiorra did not register who it had been. Pain lanced up her back. Blood had started to drip down her spine. Aldis had already raced ahead.

There were a few men standing around when she entered the Great Hall. Aldis had run to her brother to show what she had found. He smiled and patted her head, telling her to go and give it to her sister. Then he saw Stiorra.

Seeing the pain on her face, he immediately rushed towards her. “Are you hurt, Stiorra?” he asked, panic evident in his voice.

“I am fine,” she assured him, although he was not convinced.

“Please,” he begged. “show me what hurts.”

“Not here.”

He nodded and guided her upstairs. Once they reached the landing, she turned and showed him the new design on her back.

“Come.”

She followed him to his room. She hesitated outside. Should she be going into a man’s bedroom. Alone.

But he wasn’t any man. He was Sigtryggr.

The door shut behind her.

He went to the chest of draws, scrabbling around inside them for something. Then he triumphantly pulled out a small tin. When he opened it, she saw it was a salve.

“Drifa told me she had run out.”

“Some of us learn to make it.”

Well, that explained it.

This salve was made to help sooth smaller cuts and bruises. People were always getting hurt in Dyflin. Usually Drifa made it. But demand was so high that she frequently ran out. It made sense that some people would learn to make it themselves.

“Turn around,” he said. Seeing her hesitation, he added, “You will need help to apply it.”

Slowly, she turned, removing her cloak.

She heard him step forwards. Then felt his fingers loosen the ties of her dress. It sagged on her shoulders, and he brushed the back apart.

Stiorra gasped as the cold air hit her back. It stung, then it soothed.

There was a squeaking noise as he unscrewed the pot.

She inhaled sharply through her teeth as his fingers made contact with her back. But moments later, she felt only relief.

His fingers were gentle and light as they danced across her bleeding back.

Her cheeks flamed. She was alone, with a man, in his bedroom, with her dress undone and her back exposed. Her father would kill her. Or possibly him? Finan would grind him into a paste and eat it. Sihtric…

It was a shame he was done so quickly. It seemed like mere seconds by the time he was doing up the laces.

She turned to thank him, but found herself stopped short. His eyes were black, pupils so dilated it was like looking into a hole. Stiorra felt herself falling, and falling.

“You should go,” he said, his voice soft. Gods, that voice, it sent heat rushing from her face to between her legs.

She stumbled back, desperately trying to wrench her gaze from his face.

His door opened. Rognvaldr.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Sigtryggr answered, “Stiorra was just leaving.”

“Thank you,” was all she was able to say.

***

Out in the hallway, Stiorra almost tripped over her feat. What was that? He had been so kind and gentle. She had been in his room, her back bare. He could have shoved her face-first on the bed and had his way. But he didn’t. Another thing to add to the great winding mystery of Sigtryggr Ivarrsson. Ivar certainly did not share that. Stiorra bet he would have her bent over before she could ask him for help. But Sigtryggr had been gentle. The only question was why?

[in-valhalla]

Change of heart - Ivar imagine

Summary: Ivar falls for a princess and marries her but she hates him but once she sees his soft side, maybe the ice in her heart melts away after all...

Request:  “Could i please request an imagine where Ivar falls for a beautiful and kind princess and he marries her just because he wanted her she hates him but eventually falls in love with him because he shows his vulnerable side to her💜💜”

Requested by: an anon

Word count: 2,020

A/N: I made this announcement in my last post but I’ll post it again. I will not be taking ship requests at this time since I’m swamped in them. I’m closing ships temporarily. I’ll use this time to catch up on the ship requests I already have. But you are all welcome to submit in imagine requests at this time. ALSO this is long as all heck and I felt like I was writing a novel. I was debating if I should make it two parts but I ended up just putting it all in one...

It has almost been a year since the union of your marriage to Ivar and you have the same amount of hatred in your heart for him as you did the day you first met him.

That may not be entirely true considering you have grown to tolerate him but your pride stands in the way of a peaceful and loving relationship developing. You did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he broke through one layer of wall (of many) that was designed to keep him out.

Ever since your father has agreed to give your hand in marriage to this heathen, your world drastically changed. Gone were the days of being in the comforts of your room, lounging in the gardens where the sun happily kissed your cheeks, or spending your nightly feasts with your family and loved ones. Instead, they were replaced with mandatory appearances in the throne room, doing your queenly duties while Ivar was gone, and staying up all night during drunken feasts with people you don’t even know.

Most days you slip away to a private area on the beach where you can finally get your peace of mind and relax and during those times is where you let yourself cry at your unfortunate turn of events that have brought you so much discomfort.

You would then tell yourself that only death would set you free and felt comforted by the fact that one day, this will all be over and you wouldn’t have to spend another second in the company of your husband.

Today was one of those days where you quietly slipped out of the throne room, careful to make sure you were undetected, and headed for the beach. The back of your dress dragged on the ground as your bare feet left the grass and made contact with the sand. The cold and gritty particles felt soothing as your feet sink in under your weight. You sighed as you sat down and propped up your elbows on your knees to hold your head up. Your hands framed your face and your chin rested on your palms. Deep, shaky breaths accompanied the unshed tears welling behind your eyes as you thought of how royally fucked you are (no pun intentionally intended). Recently, your betraying heart was starting to melt the brick of ice around it when it came to Ivar. You hated yourself for it and you wanted to stay stubborn and prideful. You kept trying to build up the ice back so you wouldn’t feel attached to this godforsaken place and Ivar moreso.

Seeing him being undoubtedly loyal to his people, coming back home from one successful raid to another, and most of all, building up his reputation as king from the ground up, and seeing where he started and how much he has grown in character made you admire him in some way. And you absolutely hated it. The first thing you ever told him on the day of your wedding was that he will never, and you mean never, have any place in your heart. The strong resolve weakened when he started respecting your wishes such as, giving you space when you need it, he would wait for your to come to him first so he does not frighten you off when he tries to approach you, limiting communication, and maintaining physical affection to just the eyes of the public to keep face for the reason that you withheld any kind of affection in private. So many women warned you about him, the monster that demands you warm his bed, the monster that forces you to behave, or the monster that forces you to play the role of a good wife.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the sand near you sift and toss. You don’t dare look because you already know who it is. You can tell by how heavy the movements sound. And the very person plaguing your thoughts has found your private hideout that you thought was your own little secret.

“How did you find me?” You say, sniffing and wiping your nose.

“You come here almost every night,” Ivar says, his voice soft as it drifts with the wind. “And you cry. It pains me to see my wife alone as she chooses to carry her burdens by herself.”

The sound coming out of your throat is a mix between a surprised scoff and a dry laugh.

“You don’t feel anything, Ivar,” You say knowingly. “You are empty and hollow.”

You are still making no effort to look at him but you know he has kept his distance from you as to not invade your personal space. He didn’t want to seem threatening in any way and he wasn’t sure how to make you feel more comfortable around him.

“You don’t know that,” He paused, unsure of how to word his thoughts because he doesn’t want you to feel like he has cornered you and expects something out of you. “You have built up such a strong hatred for me that it blinds you and controls you.”

“I have heard many things about yo-”

“So, you believe the words of liars? The ones that have tried to tear me down? The ones who were successful in poisoning your rational thoughts?” He asked, digging a hand into the sand and scooping up a handful. You wanted to be mad at him for reading you so easily when you tried so hard to keep it hidden but you felt ashamed for two reasons. One, he was completely right. And two, you had let the influence of others determine your own judgement of him and that wasn’t fair to him. You kept quiet because you didn’t know what to say. To fill in the growing uncomfortable silence, you shifted to cross your legs and let your arms lay in your lap as your hands made shapes in the sand.

“You know,” He continued, his voice was different this time, it was as if he were remembering fondly and lovingly. “The first time that I ever saw you, I knew that I wanted you and only you. No other could ever compare. The world around me was no longer and all I could see was you.”

Your face flushed but you were thankful that your hair was long enough to create a curtain to shield your face from his eyes. At this point, he didn’t care if you responded, he just wanted to get this all off his chest so you know where he stands.

“You were so kind and so attentive. But then, you met me,” He laughed as he remembers the look on your face when you first met him. “So much fire and spite in those big beautiful eyes.”

A small smile was present on your face as you recalled that day too.

“And I will never forget our wedding night. I knew that I had made the right choice when we were left alone to conceive the marriage and as the doors closed, you threw me down on the bed, climbed on top of me, and pressed your knife to my throat.”

“Do you remember what I said?” You ask shyly.

“Of course I remember the words from your pretty little mouth. You told me that if I ever laid my filthy hands anywhere that you didn’t allow, not only would my legs be crippled, but my arms as well.” He ginned, the corner of his eyes crinkling as the sound of his laughter followed soon after.

There was a strange feeling in your heart. It was like it was being tugged. And not by pain. You looked at him for the first time this night and seeing him smile and laugh at all these memories made the thumping in your chest more prominent.

He looked like he was in love.

Granted that these memories where shed in a negative light to you since you had hatred for him all this time. He seems to be looking at them in a carefree way, like he was amused.

“Even though I knew you hated me, I couldn’t help teasing you or annoying you.” Ivar confessed, turning his head to look at you. “Your face colored red with anger and your tongue sharpened by poisonous words always excited me.”

You immediately turn away when his eyes landed on you. Your face burst into flames upon hearing his confession and you wanted to playfully shove him but you weren’t sure about physically touching him. The only time there was any touching was when you put on a show to the people outside your home to give the illusion of a happy married couple.  You didn’t want him thinking that he has made you have a change of heart.

“W-Why are you telling me all of this?” You question, pulling your knees to your chest and hugging your legs. You heard him sigh next to you as he shuffled closer, testing the closeness and giving you a chance to create more distance or move away.

“I do not want you to fear me or to hate me,” He started, pausing to look up at the night sky that was littered with winking white dots. “I have been trying to show you that I mean no threat. I wanted to show you that I love you. I wanted to show you that I could be a good husband.”

Your breathing stopped as you froze. What did he say?

“What did you just say?” You demanded, your entire body turning to face him.

“I am not a threat?” He guessed.

“No, something else.”

“I am a good husband?” He guessed again, but the playfulness in his voice gave away that he was teasing you.

“Ivar!” You huffed in annoyance, this time not thinking about your automatic reflex to shove him. The little electric current from the touch made you immediately retract your hand.

You felt warm… and alive.

“It is true,” Ivar dramatically swept his hand out in gesture. “I have fallen in love with a princess who wants nothing to do with me.”

You wanted to laugh at his silly antics but you settled for a grin instead. Maybe he isn’t so bad as you thought he was.

“I will not change for you,” You warned.

“I would not dream of it.” Ivar agreed.

“I will still be me,”

“Of course.”

“I cannot promise love so soon, but I can promise tolerance and slight consideration to be kind to you.” You said, crossing your arms on top of your knees.

“Thank you for your generosity.” Ivar snipped sarcastically, smiling big when you shoved him again. There were a few moments of silence. It wasn’t awkward and it wasn’t uncomfortable, it felt right and the drumming of your heart beat steadily in your ears.

“It’s time for me to go back inside,” He whispered so he wouldn’t startle you.

“W-wait,” You say, catching his wrist as he begins to move. “Stay with me for a little bit longer.”

You didn’t know what came over you but his company and presence has started to grow on you and you didn’t want him leave just yet. He gave you a little nod, dipping his chin in submission. You actually felt the weight on your chest lifting as you felt the tense, spiteful feelings leaving your body. You could finally relax and not feel like you have to protect yourself from him.

It was you who moved first to be closer to him and as you hesitantly hovered your head above his shoulder. Unsure if you should rest it there, his hand gently pressed your head down and found a comfortable spot around your shoulders. You closed your eyes and listened to the lapping of the water as the ripples came up on shore.

It might have taken this long for you to be in understanding with him but at least it’s a start.

I will embrace my home, you thought, my life, and my husband in a new light.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Blindly 2/4 (500 Celebration)

500 Celebration Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, and minor unrequited (?) Hvitserk/Reader

Prompt: From the Love Prompts category: Amnesia.

Word Count: 1501

Warnings: Well, amnesia, for one. The Reader character is the one with amnesia btw. Mentions and/or descriptions of war, death, fighting, injuries, and drowning. Some fluff hidden there with all the angst. My writing.  

A/N: Hope you like it!

Find part 1 here!

For the next couple of days you don’t ask Ivar to stay, and he doesn’t hesitate to do so. And all the time you can, you spend together now, much as you did before, with not much having changed even if your ‘before’ was a week ago and his was five years ago.

On the first day the healer gives you leave to do as you please, warning you that you have no injuries but your body must rest to heal properly, you let Ivar take you to that hill overlooking Kattegat that even after all this time is still the same from your yesterday.

And now you sit side by side on that hill, still with this careful distance that you do not know is born from your ignorance of all that has happened between the two of you or his remembrance of all that has happened and was lost. You feel filled with this strange restlessness, but you do not mind this distance, this tentativeness. To you it is what you imagine those first steps into learning one another were like, and you are thankful the Gods gave you a chance to fall in love with him again, even if in such a contrived way.

“When you told me about this,” You start, lifting your left hand between you. Ivar seems to take it as a request for his touch, and you do not complain, letting him intertwine his fingers with yours. “You told me you’d do anything for me.”

“Should I be worried?” He asks, eyes -familiar eyes, they always were- shining with mirth, and smile widening at the sight of yours.

You cannot help this light feeling in your chest, this warmth filling it, both at finally being so carelessly close to the man you’ve loved since you can remember -and beyond what you can remember-, and at the realization that he isn’t so weighted by the pain of the loss of a part of you.

Still, you answer with a playful roll of your eyes, and a petulant huff.

After a few breaths, however, curiosity wins over again, and you ask,

“Have I asked much of you? These last few years?”

“Nothing I wasn’t willing to give you.”

“How devoted of you.” You tease, lifting one brow as you turn to look at him.

And where the Ivar you know would have closed off at your light prodding, would have lashed out at any mention of his vulnerability, Ivar now simply smiles, eyes narrowed in silent reprimand even if they give away such warmth.

Leaning closer, he whispers, “You show me the same devotion, wife.”

He lifts the hand he holds in his to his lips, pressing a soft kiss over the knuckle of your fourth finger, where no ring has yet taken its rightful place, where the ink only remains.

“Hm,” You cannot help the smile that curves at your lips, and tentatively, almost daringly, you ask, “And what have you asked of me?”

His eyes dart down to your lips for a moment, but a moment long enough to make your heart skip a beat, gaze shining with enough longing to make a shiver run down your spine.

“Your heart.”

“You drive a terrible bargain, then.” At the affronted expression your words draw from him, you merely chuckle, moving to lay back down on the soft grass, looking up into the sky.

It isn’t the sky you look up into for long, for Ivar is leaning over you, brow furrowed and eyes big as they search yours, merely a breath after.

“Why?”

“You’ve always had it,” You dismiss with a small shrug, even if your heart does this foolish little leap inside your chest. Ivar only looks back at you, eyebrows slightly drawn up as if surprised, eyes searching yours as if waiting to find a lie. You breathe a laugh, “Surely you know by now. I married you, after all.”

You doubt he even heard your last words, even If his gaze was drawn to your mouth and followed your lips shaping around the words.

He answers with a little shake of his head, almost as if in a trance.

“You never told me.”

“What was there to tell?” You argue, bravado coming easily to you when this strange power you only feel when he looks at you like that sings in your veins. As if it is simple, because it is, you admit, “I have always loved you, Ivar.”

Perhaps it isn’t only for you that this feels like falling in love anew, learning each other anew.

Ivar’s smile is dimmer, betraying pain and what for a moment you think is fear, but regardless it doesn’t fail to make a shiver run down your spine when that slight smile is pressed softly against your own.

____

It is only after almost two weeks since you wake that Hvitserk returns to Kattegat. Ivar explained to you that he was somewhere in England, making sure those responsible for what had happened to you were dealt with.

The smile the brothers share as Hvitserk crosses the doorway into the main hall is the same one you saw before Hvitserk last left, and something in your chest grows warm and calm at knowing that if everything else changed, their love for one another has not.

Hvitserk greet you with a murmur of your name, and warm eyes trailing over you as if searching for injury, or evidence that you are safe and sound now.

You don’t hesitate to cross the distance between you and jump into his arms, draping your arms over his shoulders and hiding your face in the curve of his neck.

“I’ve missed you.” You tell him, squeezing just a tad tighter when you remember the last time you held him like this, as he said goodbye before embarking to the Mediterranean with his eldest brother.

“And I you.”

It is at the strained tone in his voice that you notice he is in pain, face contorted into a slight wince, right arm holding you tighter to compensate for the weak hold of the other.

“Are you hurt?” You lean back, in the back of your mind noticing he keeps his hands on your waist to keep you from moving too far away, but saying nothing of it. Instead, you rake your eyes over him, as if you’ll find evidence now of some great injury you were too blind to see before.

Hvitserk rolls his shoulder with a wince yet shakes his head at the same time.

“It is nothing, already almost healed. I was injured the night of the attack, when I went after you.”

“You went to find me?” You ask, a furrow between your brows. For a moment Hvitserk seems stunned, almost offended that you would ask such a thing, but before you can feel guilt settle within you, he offers a smile.

A smile, warm in the way all his smiles are, comforting in the way only his smiles can be.

You feel your own lips turning into a small smile in return, and even when he looks away, almost hanging his head as he scoffs a weak chuckle, you keep your eyes on him.

“Of course I did, I-…” His words die, and you notice the weight settling on him like a shadow, like thick smoke clouding the warmth of his gaze and trapping the words on his throat. A breath, then another, and finally he looks at you again, “I am…I am so sorry.”

“You didn’t fail me, Hvitserk,” You offer quietly, hating the way his expression crumbles at your words, hating how you recognize in him the same instinct Ivar has of refusing softness when he craves it most, hating how your heart breaks again at that little scoff they both offer just before looking down when they realize they have given a lot away. Leaning closer, you insist, “There is nothing to forgive.”

“How do you know that? You don’t remember anything.” He asks, a tremble in his voice and in his smile that you pretend to ignore.

All you offer in response is a crooked smile, and a shrug of one shoulder.

“I remember enough,” And when he looks away you lift a hand to tap his cheek and call his attention back to you, which he does without hesitation. “It was just a month ago for me that you started teaching me to fight with sword and shield. I know you’d do all you could to keep me safe.”

He looks over your shoulder, gaze setting undoubtedly on his brother, but you do not have time to nor try to decipher the silent conversation they have with one another, and let yourself be distracted when he meets your gaze again and promises,

“I’m…I’m very happy you are back with us. You belong here.”

You almost want to ask about his strange wording, but instead you let him pull you into his embrace again.

Thank you for reading!

Ivar Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​​ @encounterthepast​​ @thegeminithrone​​ @1950schick​​ 

[waiting4inspiration]

Love Again (Bjorn x Reader)

Summary: Every nine years, Vikings travel to Uppsala to worship the Gods. After everything that Bjorn’s been through, his wife leaving him and breaking his heart, things start to change when he meets the princess who has many stories behind her name; you. 

Warnings: it’s long and there’s still another part coming, angst, fluff, strong language, dueling, mentions of drinking, Uppsala stuff, I hope you guys enjoy it :))

Word Count: 4,306

A/n: So, this is actually a long, long overdue request from @honestlyya​ and there are quiet a few things that are different from the show. 1) Bjorn and Porunn never had baby Siggy, 2) Aslaug never happened so Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar are all children of Lagertha and they are older than they are at the point in the series when Porunn leaves. This is all part of the request. 

Vikings Masterlist

The last time Bjorn was at Uppsala, he was a child and his sister was still alive. Now, he is a man, with four brothers, and a wife that left him because of her insecurities of the scar on her face. He doesn’t expect his heart to be healed by the Gods over the next nine days. But, perhaps coming here was a good idea. It might give him a chance to forget Porunn, for his heart to heal. 

Many people from different parts of the country come to Uppsala. Sometimes, people from other lands come to celebrate and give sacrifices to the Gods. When Bjorn sees an army-like group arrive, one man carrying a purple banner with a sword and ax crossing each other, only one person catches his eye. The woman leading the army. 

You look behind you as the men and women following you split up to either visit the temple or set up tents for the nights. Now that you have time for yourself, you have to decide what to do with yourself. But when your gaze lands on the temple, a bright smile grows on your face. 

Bjorn hears Ivar walking towards him with those heavy, uneven steps because of the crutch he uses to walk. He stands beside his oldest brother, follows his gaze to find out what or who he’s staring at, only to chuckle when he sees his gaze fixed on you. “You stare at (Y/n) of Forsa.” Ivar’s words make Bjorn’s head snap to him and his eyes grow slightly wide. 

For someone so talked about, Bjorn never thought this is what you’d look like. He never expected someone called The Protector of Forsa, someone whose skills with a blade are told like sagas about the Gods, to capture his attention with just one look. 

He remembers how Porunn caught his attention and how he fell for her the first time he laid eyes on her. The feeling now is almost similar. Except this time, the feeling that draws his eyes to you is stronger than what he felt with his past wife. 

Even though you don’t come from Norway or worship the Gods Bjorn and his people do, you and your people make it important to educate yourselves in the culture of others. Bjorn knows your people speak many languages because of that. And seeing you here in Uppsala only makes Bjorn’s broken heart jump in excitement. Especially when you turn your head and your gaze meets his. 

Two people walk up to you, the King and Queen of Forsa, and you turn to greet them with a bright smile and a hug. Your parents, making you… “The princess of Forsa,” Bjorn finishes his thoughts out loud, making Ivar who still stands beside him chuckle and nod his head. 

On top of the story of being a fierce warrior, you’ve raised your own army to fight in your father’s name. It must have been your army that he saw arriving with you. 

To break his stare, Ivar shoves Bjorn’s shoulder with his and nods to Ragnar and Lagertha nearing you and the King and Queen of Forsa. “Are you going to spend the nine days staring at her and pouting, or are you going to talk to her?” Ivar questions, looking up to him when Bjorn turns his head to look at his young brothers. 

Bjorn sighs, turns his head back to look at you as you greet Ragnar and Lagertha, and bites the inside of his cheek before he starts to walk forward. Unaware that his other three brothers have now joined Ivar to see these events unfold because he keeps his eyes on you, he takes in a deep breath as your head turns to face him. 

“King Hurr, Queen Vealda, this is our oldest son, Bjorn Ironside,” Ragnar states with a proud smile on his face as he holds his hand out to gesture to Bjorn. 

He simply nods his head to your mother and father before looking back at you. “Princess (Y/n). I have heard many stories about you,” Bjorn says, taking your hand in his and bringing up to kiss the back of your knuckles, all while keeping his eyes locked with yours. 

Lagertha notices this, notices the look in his eyes and the lingering hold he has on your hand, only letting go when you smile at him and smile. “About me, or my army?” you ask, slightly tilting your head to the side as he smirks down at you. 

“Why not both?” he responds, making you smile and turn your gaze to your mother who nods her head in approval. “I’d like to hear things from your side,” he mentions, taking a small step forward and making your head turn back to him. 

“It would be my pleasure, Bjorn Ironside,” you reply, turning to start walking away and nodding for him to join you. 

Your parents and his watch you both walk away, the conversation starting lightly between both of you and a smile never leaving your face. Your father turns to Ragnar, pleased to see the two of you getting along right from the beginning. “I have a feeling we shall talk again before leaving Uppsala,” Hurr mentions as he takes his wife’s hand and starts to walk away. 

That night, you told Bjorn all about your travels with your army and the places you’ve been where you’ve learned new languages and cultures. 

Bjorn only met you yesterday and he wants to spend the next day with you. He has his family’s permission, his brothers are more than happy that he’ll be out of their hair, and his parents happy that he’s not moping around still about Porunn. They’re all happy that he’s finding something to keep his mind preoccupied from his past wife. 

Walking around the grove, between those still drunk from the previous night or passed out from the effects of alcohol or other substances, he’s certain he won’t find you among these people. He’s certain he’ll find you either at or still in your tent where he led you last night after your long talk with him. 

He finds you, seated in front of your tent with a sword in front of you and a grinding stone in your hand that you run up and down the blade. There’s a calm look on your face as you focus on the blade in front of you, and it makes him smile to himself. 

“Couldn’t help yourself?” he asks, breaking your focus on your sword and making your gaze lift to him as he steps closer to you. 

Seeing him makes you smile, especially when you remember the previous night. “No, I’m making sure I’m ready for tomorrow,” you mention, placing your sword to the side and standing to your feet. “One of my men has initiated a duel tomorrow and I couldn’t refuse,” you explain, placing your hands on your hips as he comes to stand in front of you. 

He chuckles, nods his head, and glances down to your sword for a moment before looking at you again. “I thought I might ask if you’d like to join me for a walk. To the fjord?” he asks, nodding in the direction away from the temple and in the direction of a cliff that looks over the fjord some use when they arrive in ships. 

Biting your lip, you glance over his shoulder to where he gestures before nodding to your head. He breathes a silent sigh of relief and turns to walk by your side when you walk forward. “I must say, I didn’t expect you to want to spend more time with me after I bored you last night,” you chuckle, folding your hands in front of you and dropping your gaze to the ground. 

“If anything, I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night,” he mentions, his words making your heart skip a beat and your head snap up to him. “It’s been a long time since something like that has happened for me.”

You hum, nod your head as you turn your head back to look in front of you. “You don’t have a wife?” you question, thinking that it might be wrong for him to think about another woman when he has a wife. He looks about the age where he could have one, and you’re sure that women throw themselves at the sons of Ragnar’s feet. 

Hearing him take in a sharp breath, you slowly turn your head up to him and find him staring at his feet with a sorrowful look on his face. Was it the wrong question for you to ask? Are you prying in places you shouldn’t?

He looks down at you, that sad look still on his face, as if he’s just had his heart broken and it makes you stop walking for just a minute. “No. I don’t have a wife,” he states, tearing his gaze away from you again before he starts to walk again. 

You bite your lip, think for a moment if this means that he no longer wishes to be in your presence anymore and if you should turn back. But, after a few steps, he stops and turns his head over his shoulder to look at you. “Tell me about your siblings,” he says, encouraging you to join him again. It makes you smile as you walk forward. 

“Well, I have one very much older brother who married when I was young,” you state as you and he start walking again. “And that’s where it ends. I’m afraid my family isn’t as interesting as yours,” you add with a small laugh. A laugh that makes Bjorn smile and treasures the sound. 

“I used to have a sister. Who I imagine would have become a shieldmaiden,” Bjorn mentions, and you stare up at him, waiting for him to carry on. “She died when a plague came to Kattegat,” he simply states, keeping his eyes in front of him as his jaw goes tense. 

You reach up to touch his arm and his head turns to look at where your hand touches him, the sight making his heart flutter and the corner of his lips to pull slightly into a smile. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, giving him a gentle smile which he returns. “I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose my brother,” you say, dropping your hand away from his arm as you fold your hands together. “At least you have four brothers now.”

He hums, smiles to himself as the memory of the teases his brothers sang before he left to find you, either at each other or at him. It never stops with them, and Bjorn suspects that’s what happens when there are so many boys in a house. 

“They definitely keep everyone on their feet. Each other, me, my mother and father,” he mentions, making you chuckle and bite your lip as you nod your head at his words. 

“That reminds me of my brother,” you say, turning your head up to him as you smile. Bjorn can see that you’re thinking of a memory. “Always keeping me on my toes.”

How could he forget about the duel you told him about? It was the first thing on his mind when he woke that morning and the only thing he wished to do was to go and see if it had already started. From the sounds he hears the moment he steps out of the small cabin for him and his family - the royal family of Kattegat - he gathers that this duel might have already started. 

Bjorn follows the cheers, shouting, and the sound of swords clashing with shields, ringing as they hit one another. Hvitserk and Ubbe join Bjorn on his way to your family’s side of the grove, eager to get involved themself, should it come to that. 

Just in time to see you with your sword against a young-looking opponent’s neck and his against yours, Bjorn can’t help a smile growing on his face, especially when he sees the determination on your face. Determination to win. 

The crowd that consists mostly of the men from your army urges you and your opponent to carry on, not wanting this fight to end so easily. The uproar when you both come to a standstill, panting heavy breathes only entices you more. 

Discarding your shield to the side, you pull out a battle knife and push away from your opponent. Snarling at him as you slightly crouch down to prepare for an attack, he throws his shield to the side and rolls his shoulders as he starts to walk around you. 

You do the same, both of you waiting for the other to attack. But you know, never attack first. It shows impulsiveness, not cunning. And as your opponent rushes towards you with a battle cry, you’re quick to step to the side, trap his sword between yours and your battle knife to disarm him. 

Then, you press the knife against his chest and the sword to his throat, a victorious smile on your face. “Will there ever be a time when you won’t come out on top, princess?” your opponent chuckles as you pull away, sheathing your knife and shrugging your shoulders. 

“There is still much you must learn if you wish to defeat me one day,” you mention, patting him on the shoulder before he walks away in his defeat. “Anyone else want to have a try?” you ask, glancing around the crowd gathering around you. 

Ubbe looks up at Bjorn, sees the deep stare he has on you, and smiles to himself as he pushes him forward. “My brother will have a go.” His words make Bjorn’s head snap over his shoulder to coldly glare at him. 

You turn toward the noise to see your new opponent, your smile slowly falling when you see Bjorn looking back at you. But you're not upset. If anything, you’re slightly concerned about yourself having to duel someone so...build like a God. It would be a bit of a challenge for you, you think. 

But you never say no to a challenge. 

Someone hands Bjorn a sword and a shield, making him take his eyes off of you for a moment. When he does look back at you, he sees that you’ve opted to not have a shield which makes him refuse one too. Instead, you go for another sword. 

He meets you in the center of the circle created by those that have gathered to watch this duel and you both touch swords, a sign of a friendly battle that’s about to come. You smile at him as you take a step back, twirling the swords in your hands as you roll your shoulders back. Bjorn smirks back at you, ready to see what it will be like to fight against you, someone he’s heard much about when it comes to fighting. An amazing shieldmaiden. 

Expecting you to make the first move, he stops your blade midair and then realizes how close you have come. He gets the chance to stare into your eyes once more, as he had yesterday.

You push him back, your sword ringing against his and making the crowd cheer. Bjorn had a feeling you wouldn’t go easy on him, but he can’t help notice the playful smirk you have on your face as he readies himself for another attack. It’s a smirk that makes him chuckle to himself. 

His mind wanders, thinking about what it would be like to train with you. Alone. What he wouldn’t give to be alone with you right now. He cherishes the moment he spent with you since he met you and he hopes, he prays to the Gods that they will give him more time with you. 

As he loses himself in his thoughts for a second, you attack again. This time, with both swords. Bjorn quickly snaps back to reality and just manages to swing his sword to counter your attack. He had no idea you have so much force behind an attack. You must be deadly on a battlefield, he thinks. 

Many men are rooting for Bjorn, probably hoping to see you lose at least one fight so that they can get back the money they had lost on bets against you. “You might have a chance,” you speak, pressing your swords harder against his. He knows you’re talking about the men urging him to defeat you. “If you concentrated a bit more.”

He laughs, swings his sword to push yours away, and then moves to attack you in three strong blows which send you walking backward. “You don’t have to tell me how to fight,” he teases.

Then he brings his sword down with all the force he has, making you fall on one knee with your swords crossed above your head to stop him. The crowd abrupts in a loud cheer for no one has ever brought you so close to the ground. 

But the fight is not over yet. 

Even though you’re panting, you fight to pull his sword out of his hands to disarm him. But just as you push yourself onto your feet again, Bjorn grabs your wrist and takes a sword from you before you can win this duel. He doesn’t let go and instead pulls you closer to him so your chest presses against him. The crowd goes quiet. 

“When can I be alone with you again?” The question falls from his lips, making you smile and shift slightly on your feet as you think about an answer. “Tomorrow night?” 

You can’t stop yourself from nodding. “Yes,” you whisper, stepping back and dropping your sword to your side as a bright smile spreads across your face. 

Bjorn watches you turn and walk away, his heart swelling in happiness that he’ll get to spend time alone with you again. It’s guaranteed that he’ll see you again and that you want to see him again. 

As you walk out of the ring, the crowd mutters among themselves to debate who won this duel. 

“And who are you seeing that you’re making a fuss of how you look?” your mother speaks as she walks in on you picking at the braids in your hair to make them look a bit more decent. Her voice makes you turn around with a loud gasp before you smile and look down at the ground in slight embarrassment. 

You bite your lower lip as she steps forward to you when you give a small shrug. “I decided to spend tonight’s feast with Bjorn Ironside,” you say, looking up at her with a small smile on your face. “He asked yesterday and I said yes.”

She smiles brightly, reaches up to run her finger over one of the braids in your hair, and chuckles to herself. You rarely bother to do so much with your hair. The last time you made so much fuss...well, it was when you had your eyes on a man. “You wouldn’t want to wear a dress tonight?”

Her words make you groan and roll your eyes as you duck under her arm to get away from her touch. “It’s not like that, mother. I just enjoy his company,” you mention, turning around to face her as you walk backward. “That’s it.” Your stubbornness makes her chuckle, but she holds her hands up in defeat, saying that she won’t say more.

“Who should I thank for making my daughter want to look like a princess tonight?” your father asks in a joking tone as he walks in. 

You give him a stern look that makes him laugh and hold his arm out to allow you to leave, which you do quickly to avoid any more questions. Your father then looks up at your mother, both of them smiling because they both know very well what’s going on even if you don’t. “She likes him,” your mother speaks, making your father hum as he wraps his arms around her waist. 

“Let’s just hope he’s not like the last one.”

The smile that grows on your face when you see Bjorn waiting in the spot he said he would be. There are people around that are celebrating in their own ways, drinking, laughing, or other activities. But it looks like Bjorn’s idea of spending the feast tonight with you is something a bit more relaxed. It will give you a chance to get to know him more and for him to ask you questions himself. 

That was probably his plan from the beginning, you think to yourself. 

Bjorn pushes himself off the tree when he spots you, his arms that were folded over his chest fall to his side and he gives a big smile as he walks forward to meet you before you reach his selected spot. 

“I’m glad you came,” he says, reaching down for your hand and raising it so he can place a kiss on the back of your knuckles. 

You bite your lip at the action and suppress a giggle from escaping. Bjorn thinks of you as a fierce warrior. A flustered giggle will ruin that and you don’t wish for that to happen. “I said I would join you and I’m not one to go back on my promise,” you chuckle, looking down at your hand when he doesn’t let go of it. 

He smirks and gently pulls you toward the spot. “I didn’t take you for someone who does in any case,” he mentions. 

Glancing around you, your mouth drops at what Bjorn has laid out. A blanket under a tree with bowls of food and a jug with two cups close by. There are no candles, but it’s bright enough with the moonlight shining down through the gaping hole in the canopy above that also shows a few stars. It’s amazing. “I would have thought you would have women lining up to be with you if you’re so romantic,” you joke, gently pulling your hand out of his as you sit down on the blanket. 

“If they are, I haven’t noticed,” he says, dropping down to sit beside you and reaching for the jug of ale and the two cups. “You’re the first woman to have caught my eye since…” He pauses, thinks to himself if he wants to say what’s on the tip of his tongue or not. “Since I lost my wife.”

What’s the point in keeping it a secret? You were bound to find out one way or another whether it be one of his brothers mentioning it out or you hear it from someone else. 

You blink at him in shock, not knowing which to focus on more; his compliment or the fact that he had a wife before but lost her. “I thought-” you stop. It would be distasteful to mention that you thought he didn’t have a wife. You can see the sadness on his face after he mentioned her. You don’t want to step over any boundaries. 

“That I didn’t have a wife?” he asks, turning his head to look at you as he hands you the filled cup. “No. She left a long time ago.” 

A lump grows in your throat and you roughly swallow past it as you watch Bjorn take a long sip from his cup. “What happened?” you softly ask, not knowing if it’s okay to ask that question.

“She…” His head drops between his shoulders as he breathes out a long sigh. “She was scarred across her face during a battle and was never the same since that. I didn’t know what to do to help her. She wouldn’t let me help her. I went with my father to Paris on a raid and when I came back, she was gone,” he explains, refusing to look at you and keeps his eyes on the cup of ale in his hands. “No one has seen or heard of her since.”

You can see he loved her. Truly loved her. And you can tell how broken his heart must have been when he came home to find her gone. It makes you reach out to place a hand over his, making his head turn up to look at you at last. “She meant a lot to you,” you whisper.

Bjorn turns his hand so he can lace his fingers with yours, locks his eyes with yours, and leans slightly closer. “She did. But not anymore.”

Catching his eyes flickering down to your lips, you breathe in a sharp breath that makes your lips part slightly. Your heart hammers in your chest and your skin goes hot. And when he presses his lips to yours, your mind explodes in an array of contradicting thoughts. 

You want to kiss him back, you want to allow yourself to let go of your past. But it still scares you. Thinking about the past few days, you realize how close you’ve gotten to Bjorn, how your feelings have grown so for him and it scares you even more. What if you’re wrong about him just like you were wrong about…

Stopping yourself from thinking about that, you pull away from Bjorn, break the kiss and shake your head to yourself. “I can’t. I’m sorry,” you whisper, pulling your hands out from his and placing the cup to the side as you stand. “I should go.”

Bjorn doesn’t have a chance to say anything to stop you from leaving and he’s left alone in confusion. He has no idea what happened and doesn’t know if he did something wrong. All he knows is that he’s certain he heard a tone of fright in your voice. 

Permanent Tags- @cassindeansass​ @simsadventures​ @fandomfic-galore​ @belovedcherry​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @what-just-happened-bro​ @geekandbooknerd​ @lonewolf471​ @rainbowkisses31​ @moonie-flower101​ @p8tn0lish​ @rinkashirikitateku​ @readsalot73​ @louisolos​ @petlaufeyson​ @bangtan-serendipity​ @aworldwideapart​ @mythicalbullshit​ @ateliefloresdaprimavera​ @xbuckxnastyx​ @madithemagicalfangirl​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @shannygoatgruff​ @a--1--1--3​ @nerdypinupcrystal​ @mblaqgi​ @tephi101​ @coconutqueen21​ @wonderlandfandomkingdom​ @babypink224221​ @writers-whirlwind​ 

Bjorn Tags- @thorins-queen-of-erebor​

[disasterofastory]

How would they react to your coming out as a lesbian/bisex?

How would they react to your coming out as a lesbian/bisex? with Vikings characters 🏳️‍🌈

Ivar

- You need time to process your new feelings, and you need much more time to gather your courage to tell about it to Ivar

- When you tell him, he just stares at you silently for minutes

- “Ivar, are you still here with me?”

- He seems emotionless, and it breaks your heart

- Ivar is your best friend for who knows how long

- The dark-haired boy needs a few days to come around

- When he finds you, he starts questioning you

- He asks you about a lot of things, but it’s mostly about your friendship

- “Ivar, I’m still me. It doesn’t change.”

- “But I always imagined I would kill your husband for fun."

- “Oh, please, you would kill a woman too.”

- “True.”

- "Please don't kill my wife... or husband."

- "We will see."

- During your long talk, you ensure him that he is still your best friend and nothing changed really

- And after your talk, everything continues normally

- He kills everyone without hesitation if they dare to make you feel bad about yourself

- He asks you about something from time to time, but otherwise, your friendship and love for each other doesn’t change

Ubbe

- When you tell him about yourself, he starts to laugh

- “What?”

- He knew it

- He always had a feeling that you prefer women, and he just waited for you to come around

- He asks you a few things, but it’s mostly about who do you find attractive and what is your type

- He loves to see his brothers trying to woo you without success

- You give each other advice, and your friendship grows stronger than ever

- For him, you will be always the girl who would kill and die for him without a second thought, and no matter what happens, he will be there for you too

Hvitserk

- He is a cheeky boy

- Of course, he finds it attractive, and he has a bunch of ideas for his own entertainment

- You hit him at the back of his head

- After the smack, he just smiles at you gently, hugging you

- He makes sure you know he still loves you

- But of course, he is Hvitserk

- He asks everything about your sex life

- He becomes your wingman

- He goes through almost the whole village, trying to find out your type

- He is a man, so he totally understands why you do like women too

- The only thing he doesn’t understand is why you don’t find him attractive

- “Are you sure? Not even a little bit?”

- “Hvitserk, please. I love you. It's not enough?”

- “It is.”

- You feel lucky that you have a friend like Hvitserk

Bjorn

- Bjorn takes it as a challenge at first

- He tries to woo you to change your mind

- “Would you stop?”

- “So you feel nothing?”

- “I feel annoyed.”

- “Like my ex-wives. Good enough.”

- After he gives up, he is just… fine with it

- Every time he sees you with a woman, he smirks knowingly until you flip him off

- He doesn’t understand that just because you are lesbian/bisex doesn’t mean you find every woman attractive because… well… he wants all of them

- “Could you do me a favor? Don’t date with my exes. Ubbe already married to one of them.”

- “I can’t make promises.”

Harald

- He is surprised at first

- He is an easy-going guy

- You weren’t afraid of his reaction because you know him

- As long as you are loyal to him, he doesn’t care about your love life

- He finds it amusing

- He always makes bets with his brother when he sees you wooing women during feasts

- He makes sure as a King that nobody dares to hurt you

- When you find the right one, he is happy for you

- But let’s be honest

- He would be happier if he would find his Queen already

Halfdan

- “I’m lesbian/bisex.”

- “I know. I saw you with the fisherman’s daughter.”

- “Damn it.”

- He is cool with it

- He had his adventures with men before, so it doesn’t his right to judge

- “You still will come with me to see the world, no?”

- “Of course.”

- Your relationship doesn’t change, and if you don’t bring up the topic, he doesn’t either

- The only thing is matter to him is your loyalty and fighting skills, and you are still one of the best

[golden-pickaxe]

Coffee (Part 5)

Fandom: Vikings

Paring: Ivar x Reader

Type: Modern AU, Office AU

Wordcount: 3619

Warnings: reader drinks wine casually

[Coffee - All Parts Here]

A/N: Here is part 5!

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius​ @punkrocknpearls @mootiemoose​ @istorkyou @dini73​ @heavenly1927​ @hashimily​ @peakywitch​

Summary: You are a graduate student at the University of Oslo, and have applied for a job as a personal assistant at the Lothbrok Corporation, without really knowing much of the position advertised. When it turns out you are going to work for the (in)famous Ivar Lothbrok, your whole life is turned up-side-down.

With Ivar just wearing a t-shirt, instead of his usual well-cut suits, you could very clearly see the strong muscles in his arms, as you watched him pushing his wheelchair out of the pedestrian zone, towards the street. You had to swallow at the sight, hating yourself for the effect this man had on you.

 You walked along side him, finally realising what you had done. Just like a year ago, when the coin had dropped that you had really applied at the Lothbrok Corporation, it now dropped that you had just accepted his invitation to come to his home and let him cook for you. Him, one of the most influential businessmen of Norway. With his own fucking Wikipedia site.

Your heart was pounding rapidly in your chest at the thought, and you bit your lower lip, not quite knowing what this whole thing would mean now. And if it would change anything between you. You hoped not, but in the same way, you did hope.

 Getting your private life mixed up with your job probably was not a good idea. On the other hand, this whole situation kind of freaked you out, but in a good way. It was exciting.

 You and Ivar had reached the street, next to the national gallery, where a few minutes later the taxi arrived. Personally, you would never get a taxi in Oslo, as it was just insanely expensive, but with a lot of public transport, such as the tram you had taken to get here, not entirely being accessible to someone in a wheelchair, you could understand why Ivar had called it.

 Ivar maneuverered himself into one of the back seats, while the driver put his chair into the trunk of the car. You felt Ivar’s blue eyes watching you, as you rounded the vehicle to get into at the other side.

Even though he always successfully overplayed it, you saw that he was a bit self-conscious about his legs, often cursing them underneath his breath when they once again got into his way. He could move them a little bit, and also seemed to have some feeling in them, was even able to stand up for a few moments, if he could support himself with his arms. But in general, they did not really seem to be working.

In the office, Ivar hated to use his wheelchair, often just dragging himself from his desk to his sofa, his immense upper body strength enabling him to pull himself up with not much of an issue.

 Now, sitting next to you in the taxi on the way to his apartment, he readjusted his legs a bit with tight lips, appearing a bit nervous once more. You still could not quite wrap your head around what was happening right now, it all felt a bit like a dream to you. Just so, you managed to resist the urge to pinch yourself.

 Your boss, your grumpy boss, the infamous Ivar Lothbrok had just casually invited you to go out for coffee with him, had questioned you about almost every aspect of your life, paid for your drink, and now took you to his home to cook for you. It almost sounded like a very bad rom-com, like a romance story some bored, lonely woman would think up. Not that you expected it to end that way, of course. Even if you honestly wished it would.

 Until now, even if you sometimes chatted on business trips, your relationship had been purely professional, and you had only been over to his flat once, when you had brought him a set of suits to his home, when there had been issues with his dry cleaner. It had not really surprised you, finding out that he also lived in Majorstuen, actually not very far from you, although it had been a stress factor for you. Of course, he did not live in one of the old buildings, like you did, with paper thin walls, no elevator and wonky doors, no. He lived on the top floor of one of those new, fancy apartment buildings, costing a few ten-million krona, overlooking Frognerparken.

 When you had brought the suits up to his apartment, you had also met a famous Norwegian actor in the lift, so it was clear what kind of people occupied the other flats of the building. You had never been inside his home, had only delivered his suits to his door, but even the entrance and the lift had been very fancy and expensive looking. Admittedly, you had taken a stupid selfie in the mirror of the lift and posted it to Instagram.

 As Aker Brygge was, as stated, not far from Majorstuen, the drive was quite short, and the few minutes of silence were only broken by far too relaxing music coming out of the car radio. The taxi stopped in front of the apartment building Ivar lived in, and he paid the driver, while you got out, retrieving Ivar’s wheelchair from the trunk. You set it up and positioned it next to the car, for him to climb into.

 Ivar clenched his jaw a bit, obviously annoyed at something, even though you were not quite sure what exactly it was that he was annoyed by now, only hoping that it was not you. Well, at least you would have not far home now.

Ivar climbed out of the car, moving himself over to sit in his chair, before unlocking the breaks and rolling towards the door of the building, while the taxi behind you departed.

 Just as you remembered, the entry hall of the apartment complex was very posh, and you were reminded that this was a completely different world from yours. A different world from your shitty apartment, where you could hear almost every conversation your neighbours were having, and where you had push your full body against the bathroom door to get it to close properly.

 Following Ivar to the lift, the two of you got in, and Ivar pressed the button of the top floor. As soon as the doors had closed, Ivar’s eyes were on you, mustering you intently. His gaze was a tad intimidating, you had to admit, once again looking like a predator looking at his prey. Still, you managed to look back with a smile.

 “Are there any things you don’t eat, before I work my magic?” he asked, a smirk on his handsome face. You had to laugh at his choice of words, but told him about any dietary restrictions or things you didn’t like, and Ivar nodded.

 “Alright. I think I know what to make, then.” He leaned back in his chair a bit, biting how lower lip, a move that made your knees feel very weak.

 “Thank you.” It came out of your mouth, earning a very surprised expression from Ivar.

 “What for?” he asked honestly a bit confused, tilting his head at you.

 “For the coffee. And for inviting me over, and for cooking.” You studied his face, hoping to find something there, something that would give up his intentions, something revealing why he was doing this. You just needed to know, needed to know if you could get your hopes up or not. Was this really just a social call because you had been working for him for a year now, or was it something else?

 “Thank me after you’ve tasted my glorious food! Then I will gladly accept your thanks.” Ivar winked, and the elevator doors opened. Ivar left the lift, pulling his keys out of his pocket as he stopped at his front door.

 His flat was the only flat up here, and you guessed it had to be gigantic, covering the whole top floor. You were sure, his flat probably also had a roof terrace.

 You had to admit, this was another thing you found kind of intimidating about this man. The sheer amount of wealth he had, the wealth his family had. While you lived in a flat share with an old kitchen and horrible, tiny bathroom, with just a wet room and not even a proper shower, he lived in this extremely modern, borderline futuristic building, overlooking Oslo.

 Ivar opened the door, and pushed himself into the flat, with you following close behind, walking past him before he closed the door again behind you.

 Obviously you had imagined this place to be huge and expensive, but what you were seeing in front of your eyes was just.. something else.

It was less of a normal flat, and more of a large loft, most of the rooms merged into one big space. There was, similar to his office, a gigantic glass front overlooking the famous park, and West Oslo. The sun was still in the sky, the sunset not being for another one and a half hours or so.

 In the centre of the room was a big, beautiful white sofa, the kind where one could just stretch out like a starfish and not fall down. In front of it was a coffee table made out of driftwood and glass, the dark wood in stark contrast with the sofa. On the right of it were large, metal, urban looking bookshelves, filled with many thick books, some leather bound and old looking, dividing the living area from the ‘bedroom’, and there were a few doors opposite of the windows, that seemed to lead into extra rooms, probably the bathroom and other rooms.

 Behind the bookshelf you could see a large bed at the wall, so large in fact that you were sure that it could comfortably fit three to four fully grown people. It was covered and surrounded in white and grey furs, sheep and reindeer as far as you could tell from the distance. Furs also covered parts of the marble floor of the flat.

 There were many more furs on and in front of the sofa, and in general it seemed that grey, white and black, together with different shades of brown were the only colours in the whole apartment, making it look very sophisticated.

 On the left-hand side was a giant, very modern kitchen, seemingly equipped with everything a cook could wish for, with a large kitchen isle and a big table in front of it, a rustic looking piece of furniture, made of wood and carved with beautiful knot patterns, probably hand made by a very skilled Scandinavian carpenter knowing a lot about medieval woodcarving.

 The kitchen itself, you noticed, was lower than what you were used to, and while it confused you for a moment, you quickly realised that it was built so that Ivar could easily reach everything from his wheelchair, without having to get any help.

 “Welcome to my humble home.” You heard Ivar’s voice behind you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You swallowed and turned to him, looking at him as he watched you with a knowing smile on his lips.

 You could not hold back a laugh.

“Humble?” you simply asked, slipping out of your shoes and walking further into the big room, looking around.

 The whole flat was modern and elegant, yet had such a rustic and clearly Scandinavian aesthetic, it was truly impressive. Whoever was the interior designer, was truly a genius, and showed an amazing appreciation for medieval Scandinavian design. Similar works you had only seen in the Folksmuseet in Bygdøy.

 The walls that were not made out of glass were covered in picture frames, displaying either old Viking artwork or photographs of Norway and Iceland, of runestones and old temples. Somehow, it fitted in perfectly with the rest of the decoration.

 There was a door in the glass front of the flat, leading out, just as you had assumed, onto a large roof top terrace, furnished with even more rustic, wooden, and probably handmade tables and chairs, and, as cliché as it sounded, a beautiful hot tub. It was built into a frame, reminding you of a Viking ship, with a set of carved stairs leading up to it, probably so that Ivar had an easier time to get in and out of it, without requiring any help.

 “Alright, I admit, not so humble.” Ivar chuckled. “It was a present from my father when I started to officially work in the company. He had his friend Floki and his wife Helga design and build this whole thing.”

 That made you turn around to him once more. You knew these names.

“The Floki and Helga?” you swallowed.

 Floki and Helga were very, very famous, highly awarded architects and designers, often hired to design important landmarks and museums. Houses planned by them costing up to a hundred million kronas. They were famous for being able to combine the traditional aesthetics of their ancestors with the modern designs of this century, creating masterpieces that were rewarded all over the world. Now, looking around Ivar’s loft once more, it seemed obvious that this was their handy work.

 “Yes, The Floki and Helga.” Ivar chuckled. “The two of them almost raised me when I was a kid. With my parents busy all the time and me being bound to.. this.” He gestured at is chair. “Floki made all the wooden furniture himself. I am very lucky.”

 “Indeed you are.” You shook your head, unable to believe what you had just heard.

 Obviously, he had been raised by the two of them. Obviously, they had made his home for him, being like family to him, and being friends of his father, the most powerful businessman in Norway, and probably even all of Europe.

By now, you wouldn’t even question, if Ivar casually told you that he was descended from Odin.

 Ivar just shrugged at your words, although the expression on his face was a mixture of amused and pride. He bent down to slip out of his shoes, before moving his wheelchair over to a spot next to the door, where another wheelchair was waiting for him, this one looking a bit different, similar to the ones used by disabled athletes. Easier to navigate and probably a bit more comfortable. Ivar heaved himself up from his chair, navigating himself into the other one, a sigh leaving his lips.

 “I don’t fancy the dirt from the streets in my home.” He explained at your confused face, before he pushed himself towards you.

Oh yes, that made sense. Just as both of you had taken off your shoes, it would only be logical for him to also ‘change wheels’.

 A faint smile was on his lips, as he looked up and into your face, his expression soft and open, something you were not quite used to from him. His body language was relaxed too, his arms simply resting in his lap, as his head was once again tilted slightly.

He was truly a beautiful man, you had to admit. It was difficult to ignore, and sometimes you caught yourself staring in meetings, hoping that no one had noticed how your eyes had been practically glued to your boss. Solveig had made fun of you even more, when you had told her about it.

 “I think I’m going to start to cook now, before we starve to death. So, sit down, get comfortable.” He winked at you, before moving his chair towards the kitchen, in the process letting the wheelchair roll a bit, while he pulled his long hair into a tight bun at the back of his head. “Or would you like to help?” he looked back at you with a raised eyebrow, looking at you from underneath his long eyelashes. You had to swallow.

 “Well, I am still your personal assistant. So, I will assist you.” You smiled, following him into the kitchen. You hoped that reminding yourself that you were still his employee would calm your nerves.

 “I had hoped you’d say that, dove.” There it was again, that nickname. Your nerves were certainly not calm now.

 Ivar started to pull out pans and a cutting board, gesturing at the fridge for you to take out certain ingredients and washing them in the sink.

 You were not entirely sure what he was going to make, but you were positively surprised that his fridge and his whole pantry was stocked very well. You had to admit, you had taken him for one of those bachelors who had never touched their kitchen in their lives, and with all the money they had always ate out.

 But, as Ivar casually explained while you were preparing food, he enjoyed cooking for himself, and did so almost every evening.

While you were washing some vegetables, and he was skilfully cutting up an onion, he casually told you about the cooking schools he had visited when he was younger, and about the occasional dinner parties he threw for his close friends and family, where he cooked up five course meals for them all by himself. He moved around his kitchen as if he knew every millimetre of it, knowing the layout like the back of his hand.

 You enjoyed this far too much. You rarely saw Ivar this casual, only on business trips when he was not in the mood to talk about work anymore. And though you did not like to admit it, you were keen to know more about his personal life, to know more about the man behind the name Lothbrok.

 It was nice to see him here, in his home. He seemed so at ease, so open, the usual anger and annoyance he often seemed to carry around with himself in day-to-day life completely absent in this moment. This was his space, where he did not have to worry, to think about what upset him.

 This flat truly seemed to be his place, and his place alone. His kingdom far from the influence of other people. Here he was himself, independent of everyone else, everything built in a way that he did not need help from other people.

 Whatever else would come of tonight, you were just happy that you could witness this. You would see Ivar differently now, you knew. And would probably fall even more for him.

 You noticed it getting a bit darker out, and a quick look at your phone told you that it was already half past nine PM. It had not seemed that long, getting to Ivar’s home and starting to cook, as you had not even finished the preparation for cooking yet, but frankly, you didn’t even mind. The setting sun tinted the whole apartment in a magical, golden light, making it look even more beautiful and magical. Ivar’s face turned away from his work for a moment, his blue eyes wandering over the horizon, where the sky was slowly tinted in orange, pink and purple. A faint smile appeared on his face, before he returned his attention to the food.

 Absently minded you put your phone on the kitchen isle, before you grabbed a jar of mixed spices, which Ivar had instructed you to get for him while he was still cutting up vegetables. You read the label, not surprised that he had not purchased them in Norway, but in Spain, turning around, eyes still on the jar. Thus, you only noticed too late that Ivar was right behind you, his chair almost inaudible on the marble floor.

 With a slightly embarrassing yelp escaping your throat, you lost balance, tripping over Ivar’s wheelchair, falling over and landing straight in his lap. His strong arms were suddenly around you to keep you from completely falling to the floor, and your face probably had taken on a crimson shade.

 “Careful there, dove. I’m usually not that hard to miss.” He smirked, to your surprise not even remotely angry with you.

 You had once, in your third month at the Lothbrok Corporation, seen a small clerk run into him in the office, who had been a bit late and had not really paid attention. After Ivar had yelled at him for good twenty minutes, he had never been heard of again.

 “Gods, I’m so sorry, I..” but you stopped, swallowing, not knowing what to say. You tried to get up, the jar of spices still in your hand, but Ivar’s strong grip around you firmly held you in place.

 The man tilted his head, eye flickering to the glass container you were holding. He let go of you with one of his arms, while the other one was still around you, taking the jar from your hands and placing it on the counter next to him. His blue eyes mustered you once more. Your heart was pounding. In the light of the setting sun he looked even more handsome than he had already.

 “I have told you, that you look good today, right?” he asked, his voice low. His hand had returned to hold you again, and you noticed his fingers carefully caressing your back, which sent a shiver up your spine.

 Your mind was racing, as was your heart.

You could not but stare into his piercing blue eyes, not sure what to say, how to respond to him right now, or if you should say anything at all. You were unable to think even one coherent thought, as you felt his strong arms around you, his firm body below you, and his hot breath against you skin.. wait. When had he gotten this close to you?

 Before you could really comprehend what was happening, you suddenly felt Ivar’s lips against yours, not firm, but soft, almost shily moving against yours. In that moment, it was as if your mind just gave up, and turned itself off.

[quantumlocked310]

Bjørnekram

I’m a super newbie to the Vikings fandom (better late than never?), but I saw @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​ post about writing fluffy Bjorn. And, like my Hvitserk fic, the idea wouldn’t leave my brain. This is my second published fic ever, so I hope it is enjoyable.

Warnings: Heavy petting, bear hugs, fluff, ignoring the entire Vikings plot

Crossposted on AO3

++++++++

When the envoy came, you didn’t think it would change your life. Your father and Ragnar had been close friends when you were young. At that time your family had lived in Kettegat, but when your grandfather died your father was called to return to the village so he could be Jarl. Now, Ragnar requests your father’s presence at the Solstice feast to talk about raiding together in the spring.

It has been a few years since you’d played with Ragnar’s sons, but hearing the envoy talk about Kattegat thrusts you back to your memories of running around the town square, playing hide and seek between buildings. Always trying to hide Ivar with you, or getting Ubbe to carry you on his back.

Of course your father accepts the summons of his oldest friend, and decides to bring you and your mother along, leaving your elder brother in charge of the village.

During the journey to Kattegat you thought about how you’d changed. You’re no longer a tiny child to be carried around. You’re a woman with wide hips, large breasts, and the larger squishy middle of a person who is well cared for, and has the luxury of being a Jarl’s daughter. Your mother always says your body is made for children, but you’re not so sure about that just yet. “I need a man for that first, Mother” you usually respond, but no one in your village has caught your eye or even tried to pursue you.

Your family’s arrival is a celebration. After the long journey all you wish to do is lay down on a bed of furs and sleep until the next full moon, but your mother’s look says your presence is necessary. There is food and mead, and you fill your belly sitting with the sons of Ragnar and hearing of their raiding adventures.

The boys have all changed too. Now they are handsome young men, with beards and longer hair than you remember. You’re next to Ubbe, and tug on his impressive beard saying “When did this come about, hmm?”

“Probably around when those did for you, love.” He cranes his head as if to look down your dress. Then winks and laughs nudging you with his shoulder.

You turn bright red and cross your arms, returning his nudge with a hearty shoulder shove of your own.

“We have all grown up in the years we’ve been gone, no?” A voice rumbles from your left.

You look over to see Bjorn has sat next to you. And he seems to have changed the most of them all. Even sitting he seems to tower over you, and his shoulders take up almost two spaces themselves. You nod over your cup of ale and giggle saying “Hello, Bjorn.”

His returning grin is playful as he responds “Hello, Y/N.” Your early time in Kattegat was spent while Bjorn was with his mother, but clearly he knows who you are. If you’d heard tales of Bjorn Ironside from his brothers, perhaps they were telling tales of you too.

Another guest captures his attention from across the table, and you’re all swept up in the feasting and conversation. Over the course of the night you get closer and closer to Bjorn and he takes the chance to wrap an arm around you, resting his hand on the bench. You’re wrapped in warmth and all you can smell is him. He smells soothing, like home fires, cooked meat and the mead you’ve been consuming. Soon your head is resting on his shoulder and you’re nearly falling asleep at the table. After a massive yawn you feel his chest shake with laughter as he says “Maybe I should take you to sleep, Y/N.”

You hum and close your eyes, burrowing further into his soft tunic. He laughs again and starts to move. Dislodging you a bit he climbs off the bench, but starts to anchor a hand around your hip. You realise he is meaning to carry you to bed. Your eyes shoot open and you start to protest.

“Bjorn, no. I am too heavy.” You say though he continues to scoop his other hand under your knees. “Nonsense.” Is all he says as he lifts and suddenly you are in the air. He stays still for a moment, and you wriggle a little then nestle your head under his chin and close your eyes again. No one has attempted to carry you for many years, and you don’t want to stare at him in awe the entire time he is holding you.

The walk to your room feels like seconds as you start to drift back to sleep feeling supported, wrapped in his scent and his arms. Between the long journey, delicious food, and copious amounts of mead and ale there was no way you could stay awake for any longer.

Bjorn sets you gently on your bed, but you whine as he pulls away. He huffs touching his forehead to yours, and covering you in furs. Before he leaves, you feel him press a gentle kiss to your head and his massive hand pushes a few strands of hair away from your face. “Sleep well, Y/N,” he whispers, and it is the last thing you hear before a deep sleep takes you.

++++++++

In the morning you are embarrassed at your behavior. Falling asleep at the table, and on Bjorn no less. You thought that would receive endless amounts of teasing from the brothers. At least he was sweet about it, and as you get ready for your day you touch your forehead remembering his gentle goodnight kiss.

When you arrive in the great hall there is only your mother and Aslaug who tells you, “The men have gone hunting.” You nod and sit at the table to eat your morning meal. The rest of your day is spent with your sewing tasks and learning about the village from Aslaug.

Close to dinner the great hall doors thrust open and your father and Ragnar burst in with their arms around each other laughing uproariously. Those who are in the Great Hall stand to greet them.

“We will have to hold another feast to eat the meat we’ve caught this day!” Ragnar shouts. “No, Brother! Food enough to salt and keep for raiding England!” Your father returns, rejoicing. They continue to the head of the table where your father presses a kiss to your mother’s brow. You smile gently at their affection, before letting out a horrific squeal!

“Y/N!” Bjorn bellows as he lifts you up and spins you around. “Come see what we have caught!” You can smell the ale on his breath. They must have been drinking while hunting.

He places you next to their palette of slaughtered animals. They’ve got rabbits and fish, but the most impressive is the large buck whose antlers reach out from under the smaller prey. You try to step closer, but don’t move an inch. Bjorn holds his hands fast around your middle and pulls you back just a little so your bodies are aligned. You stiffen slightly before turning to look up at the big man and see his incredible blue eyes inches from yours. Blushing, you nod just a little and turn to look back at their haul.

“A magnificent array indeed! We will have to celebrate.” You turn your head to look around the room and loudly suggest “Some mead for everyone, perhaps?”

“Mead!” All the men shout and the thralls pour in with jugs and cups, and soon another feast has begun.

You smile widely and tip your head up to look at Bjorn, your hands coming to rest over his and you squeeze just a little. “Mead?” you ask him, and he starts to lower his head. Your heart starts pounding, thinking perhaps we will kiss you in the middle of the newly crowded great hall.

But alas he only rests his forehead on yours, inhales,  and says “You smell like home,” so quietly you almost think he didn’t say it. He presses a quick kiss to your brow before tightening his arms and lifting you gently to the table where he sits and places you on his lap. Your heart is in your throat and you know your eyes are wide as saucers as you realise Bjorn has no intentions of letting you off him as you feast.

Hvitserk pushes a mug of mead toward you, and you’re grateful to try and hide your blushing cheeks behind it. You grab the nearest plate of meat and begin to eat. Meanwhile, oblivious to your pounding heart and warm core, the tale of the great hunt begins.

++++++++

As the evening winds down you start to move off of Bjorn, getting as far as moving your butt to the bench before he catches your knees and holds you to him. “And where are you going?” he asks.

“I wish to sleep, Bjorn” you sigh.

“Then I will take you.”

“May I walk on my own this time?”

He seems to think over your question, before staring you straight in the eye saying “No.”

You furrow your brow and stick out your lower lip, pouting.

“That trick won’t work on me, maiden.” He releases your knees to tap you on the nose, and you cross your eyes, sticking your tongue out at him. His laugh is deep and hearty, and your heart soars to hear it.

You can’t help but smile back, and he pulls you with him to stand from the bench. The table whoops and hollers at the two of you, his brothers the loudest of all. You wrap your arms around Bjorn’s significant shoulders as he adjusts his hold on you, fingers brushing your thighs and sides causing heat to rush through your body.

You’re both quiet on the way to your rooms, and his hands are so warm where they press as if branding your skin through your dress. It is hard to think of anything but how his body feels against yours and how you wish he had kissed you in the great hall.

When you get to your room, he doesn’t lay you on the bed as you expect. Instead, Bjorn wraps both arms around you and holds you so you are eye level. Both his hands are pressed tightly against your hips and butt, and he is just holding all of you. It feels special, like nothing you’d ever experienced before.

Slowly he lets you slide down his body, your eyes never breaking contact. As your toes touch the floor he leans down and presses his lips to yours. His lips are softer than you imagined and they feel so gentle. Slowly you press back against him, keeping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you.

His mouth opens against yours, and you nip at his bottom lip. He groans into your mouth and those massive hands travel across your body, one hand grabbing at your full bottom and the other taking a handful of your breast. Your fingers scratch against the soft shaven parts of his hair, and you moan into the kiss.

He bends his knees and lifts you up again. “Bjorn!” You exclaim as the kiss is broken. “Why in Odin’s name do you lift me so much?” He stares at you, eyebrows raised, while he just keeps you in the air, your legs wrapped around his hips. “Not... not that I am complaining. You’re so strong, but no one has lifted me since I was a child. And I didn’t think... well I didn’t think anyone could.”

He lays you gently on the bed and climbs in after you, all the while keeping you in his embrace. “You’re a beautiful woman, and I want you in my arms. Is that reason enough?”

You stare at him for some minutes, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the strong arch of his brow, his patrician nose, the stubble forming on his cheeks. He lets you look your fill, as you feel his hands travel up your back and around your stomach, skimming your mound over your dress. You’re exploring him with your eyes, but he is worshiping you with his touch. You nod and kiss him again, taking the opportunity to press your body to his. He is scorching, pressed against every inch of you as the kissing continues.

His hands travel further across your body, lifting your dress and squeezing your bare ass. In return you reach to shove his tunic off. The next thing you know all your clothes are on the floor. His naked body feels soft against your chilled skin and the hair on his chest is pressed tight to your bare breasts. Your kisses are lazy, tongues dancing as you explore each other’s newly exposed skin.

After what feels like hours with his hands cradling your thighs and playing with your breasts you interrupt the kissing with a large yawn. Bjorn chuckles as he rubs his nose against yours.

“Sleep, maiden. I will make you scream my name tomorrow” he says quietly.

“I suppose that will have to do,” you reply, and push yourself up to blow out the candles next to the bed. He takes the opportunity to fondle your exposed breast, and you giggle dropping your body down to squash his hand between you. He hums, pressing a kiss to your temple and you kiss his chest, moving to tuck your head under his chin. You both settle together as he pulls out his trapped hand to pull you ever closer.

And that is how you fall asleep. With Bjorn’s heartbeat in your ear, wrapped in the warmth of this unexpected gift from the gods.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Vikings  (TV) Masterlist

my requests for vikings are currently partially OPEN! please only request imagines, and not oneshots. for those waiting for a continuation of ‘searching home’ or ‘unexpected’ i am so sorry... finishing those two is going to take me a while :/

hmu/msg me to be added to a taglist!

main masterlist | request guidelines

# - angst

+ - fluff

* - smut

~ - dark/gory

? - crack 

§ - time travel involved

No romantic relationships, character x character

Queendom (Lagertha x Aslaug | songfic |  They’ve both loved and they’ve both lost. Perhaps it was time that their hearts warmed again. | #+)

The Lothbroks, aka, the European version of the Kardashians (When Barbie Murray time travels, she finds out that pink isn’t available in Viking times. Luckily, her new besties all understand that boobs are the best and slay (literally?!) with her. | +?§)

I may be a bimbo, but I’m not stupid (Ivar kills Sigurd in a fit of rage, but Barbie isn't so quick to forgive cruelness. | ?§#)

1st gen Vikings

Strange Woman  (Rollo x timetraveler!reader | request |  The woman that appeared out of nowhere could be oh so dangerous, but even a stupid man would know that she was fascinating. | +?§)

Friend of Thor (Rollo x timetraveler!asgardian!reader | request |  The reader, a fellow Asgardian and friend of Thor and the new King of Asgard, Brunnhilde, falls through worlds as the new guardian of the Bifrost tampers with the magic. | +?§)

And the Gods wished they were me (Judith x viking!gn!reader | request | Judith knows she should not mourn Athelstan. Nor should she even look at Norse heathens. She does both anyway, because Judith was named after a woman that had only rage and death, and she cannot escape her fate. | +)

Ubbe

Another day / part 2 (Ubbe x reader | prompt: we live to fight another day. | #)

Oldest (Ubbe x timetraveler!reader; platonic!Ivar x reader | summary:  It seems that few things change about being the oldest sibling, no matter which place – or time | +§)

Yggdrasil (Ubbe x reader; platonic!Ivar x reader; dad!Harald x reader | summary:  How can you tell your father what happened to you when he’d done it to so many others. | #~)

Hvitserk

Hvitserksdottir - Hvitserk x reader | prompt: “I think we need to talk about the fact that I’m in love with you and also that I’m pregnant.” | #+

Floki’s Cabin - Hvitserk x reader | prompt: “Just trust me. Please. | #

Searching Home / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 - Hvitserk x reader; Ivar x reader |  When you stumble upon the ancient Spanish city of Algeciras, it takes you some time to realize that you’ve traveled through time. While that is terrible luck, a merchant couple takes you in. But your peace only lasts so long. | #+~§

Neither - genderfluid!reader x Hvitserk | Hvitserk finds out about genderfluidity and accepts he might not be completely straight | requested | +§

Law of conservation -  modern!AU | You’ve been working as a tutor at your high school for about a year now. When your parents throw a barbecue party for your new neighbors, their mother Aslaug asks you to tutor her son Hvitserk, who is already a notorious flirt at his school. | Ivar being a nerd | +

Sandcastles -  timetraveler!reader builds sandcastles, Ivar doesn’t get it and Hvitserk loves the idea of it | +§

When in Bali... -  You were supposed to go to Bali with your partner for your one-year anniversary. Instead, you’re there alone, heartbroken. Will reuniting with a friend you know from a summer vacation in elementary school be able to fix it? | +

Ivar

Unholy Matrimony - A Sham in Four Acts / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (Ivar x reader) Prompt: I’ve learnt to love you. - complete | #+*

Insatiable Little Heathens  - drabble, for all of y’all who wanted more of Unholy Matrimony | +

Resolve - Ivar’s legs hurt but he’s so fucking thickheaded | +

My kind of witch - You wake up in an unfamiliar bed. The man with blazing blue eyes fascinates you as soon as you see him and as you realize the struggles he faces every day, your admiration for him grows into something more. (request | ivar x timetraveler!reader | +§)

Red - Ivar finally meets his match. | ~*

Serve - Ivar keeps teasing you. You finally have enough and give him a taste of his own medicine ;) | request | buff!reader x sub!ivar | *

Searching home / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 -  Hvitserk x reader; Ivar x reader |  When you stumble upon the ancient Spanish city of Algeciras, it takes you some time to realize that you’ve traveled through time. While that is terrible luck, a merchant couple takes you in. But your peace only lasts so long. | #+~§

Totally artistic -  When inspiration hits, you can’t stop it | request | +

Sandcastles - timetraveler!reader builds sandcastles, Ivar doesn’t get it and Hvitserk loves the idea of it | +§

Brother -  You left your home and your brother behind for a reason. Now, a man is causing trouble at the borders of Kattegat, and as Ivar's queen, you take justice into your own hands. | +

Unexpected / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 -  Ivar finally decides to fuck the slave he’s been eyeing for so long, but when his angry side slips out, things take a turn for the wholly unexpected. | *

Tarot -  Your day at the fair has been pretty slow – until a client like no other shows up. | +

Imagines:

How the Vikings would react to an accidental time traveler and a quiz to see if you’d survive: https://uquiz.com/dVXpgW

Ragnarssons (+Gyda): First Kiss

Social Media - which Social Media I think the vikings would use most in modern times

How the Vikings would react to guns and snapchat filters - ask reply, crack

How the Vikings would react to modern dancing - ask reply with some very short drabbles

How the Vikings would react to modern music, and what they’d like - ask reply

How the Vikings would react to modern concepts of astronomy and space - ask reply, i roast half of ‘em and call Bjorn Mr. Worldwide

How the Vikings react to modern haircare - ask reply

Vikings and Astrology - ask reply

How Vikings would react to THEM timetraveling - ask reply

Vikings + getting sick - ask reply

Vikings + Halloween - ask reply

Vikings + realizing you’re pregnant - ask reply

Vikings characters + how they'd react to finding Accidental Time Traveler crying somewhere and not knowing why - ask reply

Vikings + you on your period - ask reply (+ more hcs about Ivar)

Vikings + Legos - ask reply

Vikings + reader being much less stressed in their time - ask reply, short drabbles

Vikings + single mother - ask reply

Vikings + Gender Neutral Thor - ask reply

Vikings + modern food - ask reply

Vikings + touch avoidant cuddler - ask reply

Vikings + Kids - ask reply

Vikings + their history - ask reply

Ragnarssons + being possesive - ask reply

Vikings + Maleficent/Fae!reader - ask reply

Vikings + curls and afros - ask reply

Vikings + sleeping habits - ask reply

Vikings + contortionist/super flexible reader - ask reply

Vikings as modern!uni students - ask reply

Vikings + affectionate drunk!reader - ask reply

timetraveling!Vikings + modern tv/movies - ask reply

Vikings + gen z slang - ask reply

Vikings + curly haired kids - ask reply

timetraveling!Vikings + Christmas - ask reply

Quizzes by yours truly:

Would you survive in Viking times?

Which human emotion are you except it’s Vikings.

[lazypeachsoul]

IVAR RAGRARSSON'S CHARACTER ALPHABET.

first time posting vikings content and i'm so happy! this is just me warming up for the ivar request i'm posting next week. I hope you like it! You can find the alphabet masterpost HERE if you want to request more for other characters. thank you @imnotusedtobeingloved for creating it!🌼

P.S. there's no kind of warning. I put it under a read more because it's quite long and I don't want to clog the tags.

Masterlist

You can be added to my taglist through THIS LINK

C- commitment (how quick are they to commit?)

Ivar would expect commitment from his partner from the beginning, even when he does not reciprocate that commitment. I don't think Ivar wouldn't emotionally commit, he would just keep trying to flirt with other women.

We all know about Ivar's constant need of proving himself. So even if he loved his partner to death, he would still try to equate himself to Hvitserk or Ubbe and their conquests.

He would probably fully commit after his partner gives him a wake up call. And after a screaming match and a few threats of leaving he would realize how wrong he was (although he would never admit it outloud).

And he would realize that even if he looked up to Ragnar for everything, looking up at him for a relationship was not a good idea. And instead he should look up to Floki and Helga.

I- i love you (who says the three magic words first and why?)

He would. Probably in that screaming match I mentioned earlier. Although a highly emotional person Ivar does not like to express them. So in the middle of the screaming match he would probably just shout it angrily.

"You can't leave!" Ivar shouted so loud probably all of Kattegat heard their fight. "Where are you going? You've got nothing!"

With a huff he could see them pacing the floor and one more he wished he could do the same, it seemed to be a good way of letting off frustrationgs.

"Anywhere, Ivar! Anywhere" Was the answer and now he was the one huffing. It was a stupid answer. "As long as I don't have to see you I'll be fine."

"Don't be stupid, you would die without my protection. The world is not sunshine and flowers once you leave Kattegat."

Ivar's sarcastic tone, although not uncommon, was the thing that seemed to break them. He could see the look on their face change and the pacing stopped.

"Why do you even want me here if you think me so stupid?" Their voice was soft and eerily calm, making Ivar worry.

"Because I love you." The worlds left his mouth before he could control them and the silence settled in the once noisy room. "And i don't you are stupid."

M- memory (what's their favourite memory of the relationship?)

His favourite moments come either from celebrations or moments alone. Or what was even better, a celebration alone together.

He remembers with special fondness the moments spent together after he returned from an especially long raid. While goodbyes were bitter and sad, welcome backs are full of relief and love. He remembers the moment his eyes allowed him to see the figures standing in the shore from his boat. Remembers his heart skipping a beat when he recognized a figure fighting their way to the front of the group.

Getting out of the boat was never easy but as soon as he stood on the dock and came face to face with his person nothing else really mattered. The rest of the people, the noises around the shore, even the treasure were forgotten.

Staggering forward, land sickness not helping his cause, he landed himself in his lovers arms. "I missed you"

N- newborn (how would they react to expecting a child? how would they deal with the pregnancy?)

He would be surprised, proud and terrified. Wich is a mix that is never good when it comes to Ivar. He would doubt it was true, then he would doubt if it's really their child and finally he would doubt his capacity to be a father. All within a few days.

After talking with Hvitserk (which wasn't really helpful) and a long time to overthink the situation, he would go back as if nothing really happened. And as much as his partner would want to be angry, they wouldn't be able to resist his puppy dog eyes.

After the rocky start he would actually really enjoy the pregnancy. Seeing his love glow and grow as time passes would make him fall in love even more. He would remind everybody how he would have an heir to carry out his legacy.

He would be curious to the changes, sometimes too curious not knowing when to shut his mouth. Like when he would talk about the weight gain or the mood swings. And for a moment he imagined if that's how the people he lashed out at felt.

[bjornswoman]

Jealous

Requested by none.

Author's note: Hey guys! I hope you like this. Thank you so much for your support. Also, sorry about the titles. I'm bad at this.

Pairing: Ubbe x Reader.

Genre: Angst, smut, drama.

Summary: You are jealous of Ubbe being with Torvi.

Warnings: Smut, jealousy.

You drank the ale from your cup, glancing around the place, trying not to look at Ubbe. Hvitserk was sitting next to you and was already drunk. He had been in this table for hours, eating and drinking. When you made it to the Great Hall, you saw Hvitserk, Sigurd and Ivar drinking all together and Bjorn talking with some people. You tried to spot Ubbe. When you did, you cursed. He was standing there talking to that woman, again. Torvi, Bjorn's ex wife. Ubbe had spent a lot of time with her sinve she and Bjorn divorced. People started talking about him and her dating. They were talking about a kiss that he gave her.

You had loved Ubbe for a while now and you weren't pleased listening such things. It was obvious that something was happening between them, but Ubbe told nothing you about it. In fact, he hadn't spoken to you for weeks. The last time you two spoke was before one of your trainings. You were about to go training when you saw him, you spoke a little and that was all.

He was sitting next to her and laughing with that woman, Bjorn's ex. You were curious about how this unexpected thing between them started. She had just divorced and they were together. That was ridiculous. You hated seeing Ubbe with her, so you sat with his brothers, next to Hvitserk and started drinking without speak any word. His brothers were chatting, yelling at each other, fighting, eating, drinking and all over again. He wasn't paying attention to his brothers or you, Torvi had all of his attention. They were sitting together across the Hall.

"Oh woman, don't look at them like that. You will dig a hole on their bodies." Ivar mocked you and you turned to him. Your angry eyes narrowed and fell to his face. Everyone could see that you were annoyed and everyone knew the reason, Ubbe. That wasn't difficult for them to understand. You had always sat next him. You giggled and laughed at any thing he said. You smiled every time he was around. Your eyes were stuck on his figure. You had always been there for him, even if he didn't know it. He didn't but his brothers did.

"If that look on her face killed, you would be dead by now, Ivar." Hvitserk spoke playfully, laughing and drank some of his ale. You rolled your eyes and took a sip from your ale. Hvitserk and Ivar enraged you more. They had always been doing this. All the sons of Ragnar had a unique way to upset people. You didn't want to answer back so you keep gazing at Ubbe and Torvi, but these men wouldn't let you. They were too stubborn and pain in the ass to stop bothering you, they enjoyed it.

"Torvi would be dead along with Ivar and Ubbe." Sigurd stated and you clicked your tongue. You shook your head, trying to stop stare at Ubbe and Torvi and focus to the boys on this table.

"Shut up." You said angrily and continued to drink you ale. You focused on it and stopped gazing at Ubbe. He wanted Torvi and that wouldn't change. He had his chance now that she and Bjorn divorced. His younger brothers laughed at you and continued to mock you, until Bjorn came there.

"What are you laughing about?" He asked confused his younger brothers.

"(Y/N)'s eyes are killing Ubbe and Torvi." Hvitserk spoke and you hit him to stop, but he laughed. When he was drunk, he was more annoying that when he was sober. Bjorn chuckled and took a seat next to you.

"I see." He said and drank some ale from a cup. He didn't stop looking at you, so you did the same and left Ubbe talking with his Torvi. "I have a better idea than being here and staring at Ubbe and Torvi." He stated and drank again. You looked at him curious. He was smirking, so you did the same but you were confused about what he was going to say. He leaned closer to your ear. "Let's leave this place. We can do more exciting things than sitting here and staring or listening to my brothers. What are you saying (Y/N)?" He whispered to you seductively. You shivered at his tone. Bjorn was an attractive and strong man and now he was single too. You loved Ubbe but he had done his move to Torvi. A night with Bjorn wouldn't be bad. After all, every woman in Kattegat would want to lay with him.

You smilled widely to him before you answer him.

"I am saying yes, Bjorn. It is too boring inside this Hall and I need something more exciting." You whispered back to him and stood up from your seat before he did. He smiled and did the same. His brothers looked at you confused.

"Where are you two going?" Hvitserk asked.

"We want to have some fun, is that okey with you?" You asked annoyed and he smiled, his brothers did the same and it was more annoying.

"Yes, it is with me, but not with him." He answered and pointed out Ubbe. For the first time this night Ubbe looked at you, but now you didn't care, or you tried not to. All you wanted to do was to spent the night with someone else and who was a better option from Bjorn Ironside, who seemed to be too good to be true at sex, or that was what almost every woman in Kattegat believed.

"Who cares." You spoke and moved out to catch up with Bjorn. You stepped out of the Hall and found him leaned on a wall. You stepped closer to him. He leaned to you, but he didn't kiss you. You expected him to kiss you.

"Well, I think that pissed my brother off and it was exactly what you had to do to annoy him." He spoke and laughed, you were confused by Bjorn.

"You mean that all of this happened just to annoy Ubbe?" You asked and he nodded. He was still smiling. "For what reason?" You asked again and he came closer to you, your bodies touching each other.

"Because it's pretty obvious that you are head over heels for him and he feels exactly the same thing with you. All you needed was a liitle push to be with each other. Trust me I know too good my brother. Tomorrow he will come to you asking you what happened between us." He spoke and you felt you heart pounding in your chest. It couldn't be true. Ubbe had never seemed to be interested in you. He was with Margrethe or other women. He saw interest in them, but never on you. You were just a friend or something like that.

"Ubbe doesn't even talk to me anymore." You muttered.

"He will talk to you tomorrow. Trust me." He told you and disappeared. You stood there trying to process what Bjorn had told you, before you start talking the way that leads to your house.

The next day, you were walking through the market trying to find some herbs. You were a healer and had to find some to make some new medicine. You were trying to find them but you stopped when you spotted Ubbe walking through people to catch up with you. Bjorn was right or not. You were going to find out when he would be closer. Maybe he wasn't coming to you but to someome else. You continued walking until a hand wrapped around your wrist tightly and stopped you. You turned around and faced Ubbe. He let your hand free and his blue eyes examined you.

"How are you doing (Y/N)? It had been a while since the last time we spoke." He spoke, it was uncomfortable for both of you.

"Yes, it is. I'm fine, Ubbe. How about you?" You asked uneasy and started walking again through the market, Ubbe was walking next to you.

"I am fine." He answered back and you both continued to walk without exchange a single word. This silence was an awkward one. Until Ubbe decided to break it. "Um, (Y/N), I-I wanted to ask you something." He spoke and stopped, you stopped too. Bjorn's words repeated in your mind and your heart started pounding in your chest. He was going to ask about last night. "You and Bjorn... last night.... what happened between you two? I mean did you have sex?" He asked and you smiled to him. This smile confused him more than he had already been. You stepped closer to him, that smile never leaving from your lips.

"What if I did? Don't you lay with Torvi too?" You asked him and now he was the one who was smiling. In fact, he was smirking. He come closer, now your bodies were collided and your lips almost touched.

"Do you want to know if I lay with Torvi?" He whispered to you and his hot breath dropped to your neck. That little move from him drove you crazy. You opened your mouth ready to moan but you didn't. You wouldn't let him know that he had such an affection on you. Actually, he really knew what kind of affection he had on you from the shivers of your body. You couldn't find the right words to answer. "Won't you answer?" He continued with the same smirk stuck on his face. It was kind of annoying but you secretly loved it. You loved everything that had to do with Ubbe. You took a breath before you answer him.

"I want to know." You muttered and he giggled. His hands gripped your hips.

"I didn't lay with Torvi because the only one I'm thinking about all the time is you." He whispered to you and your was beating even faster than before. You couldn't prevent the wide smile that formed to your face. "Now tell me, did you sleep with my brother?" He asked.

"No, I didn't. All his was Bjorn's plan to annoy you and finally say that you feel about me what I feel about you." You confessed and he put on his face a smile wider than yours.

"Good because from now on you are only mine, woman." He spoke and pressed his lips on yours. You weren't going to stop him, you wanted him, you wanted this, but you had to push him, someone would see Ubbe and you doing this. You had left the market here and a long time. You were at woods, but curious eyes were everywhere.

"What's wrong?" He asked you frowned and confused. "I thought you wanted this to happen as much as I wanted." He spoke and pulled away from you. You weren't close. You pulled him closer, by grabbing him from his clothes. He was angry by your actions. He was angry because you pushed off of you.

"You can't imagine how much I want this, how much I want you, but not here. Anyone can see us." You spoke and looked around you. There was anyone but still you didn't want it to happen here. Ubbe smirked again and stepped closer to you. His hands wrapped around your waist and he lifted you, you placed youregs aroung his torso and he pushed you to a tree.

He started kissing you again, rougher than before. It was like his mouth was claiming yours. One of his hands stayed on your waist and the other was lifting impatiently your skirts up. He wanted to have you there, in that woods. You tried to stop him again. He stopped kissing you and looked straight in your eyes. Hia hungry blue eyes couldn't wait to see you naked, but he knew that you didn't want to get naked in that woods, so he was about just to have you here and then to have again and again in his room.

"None will see us and if they do, they won't dare to tell you anything, my love." He spome and you smiled. You pulled him by his tunic and and kissed him. He didn't wait you to do so, but you did. The way he called you his love made your heart melt in your chest.

He untied his pants and stoked himself. He was about to place a finger or more inside you but you stopped him.

"I'm too wet. I can take you now, Ubbe." You spoke. You were as impatient as he was, you needed each other. He didn't need to hear anything else. He thrusted himself deep inside you and you screamed. He continued to pounding you roughly and fast. He was pounding so hard that you were about to cry from the pleasure he was giving to you.

After some deep thrusts you were about to release yourself. You tightened around him and you closed you eyes. You shouted his name so loud, that probably all Kattegat heard you. You released yourself around him and grabbed his shoulders to balance your body. He pounded some more times and then pulled out of you and released himself on the ground.

You had stayed in that position for some minutes before he let down and you straightened you skirts, he tied his pants. You were about to leave, when his hand wrapped around yours and pulled you back to him. Your back collided with his chest. His mouth were close to your ear.

"Where do you think you're going? I haven't fimished with you yet and I don't think that I'll ever finish." He whispered to your ear sending shivers all over you body." You are coming to my room with me." He spoke again and lead the way to his house.

That man would be the death of you for sure.

[youbloodymadgenius]

Angel’s Touch (Modern!Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is my long overdue contribution to @rosepetals-flyingbirds‘ challenge. I’m sorry it took me so long, babe 💖 I’ve been going through a lot lately (including the loss of a loved one) and I wasn’t in the mood to write 😔

The prompt, as usual, is in bold.

Thanks to the lovely @geekandbooknerd for beta reading this for me 🌺

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

The gif belongs to @therealcalicali 💐

Summary: Ivar's always been very secretive when it comes to his legs. How is he going to react when you tell him you want to know all of him?

Warnings: angst; fluff at the end; Ivar’s insecurities; soft and vulnerable Ivar.

Words: 4600

"I'm coming!" you shout enthusiastically, wrapping a soft towel around your body before closing the bathroom door behind you. 

 Wincing at your words, Ivar hastily hides his legs under the comforter. "That was a close one…", he mumbles while breathing a sigh of relief. Deep down, he knows he's not doing the right thing. Avoiding the problem will not make it go away.

 He can't help himself, though. He still has nightmares about that awful night with Margrethe. It was years ago, yet memories of her disgusted look as well as her eyes full of pity still haunt his nights, vivid and humiliating. 

He doesn't want to go through that again. It would be unbearable and painful, much worse than the dull ache he's used to enduring every day. No, he definitely can't relive it. Shuddering at this thought, Ivar squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fists tight. 

 He won't allow it. He can't. Because he's not sure he can get over it again. After Margrethe, he had been broken – more broken than his broken bones – for so long. It had taken him years of therapy to stop being disgusted by himself, to stop hating himself for what he was. A freak. It had taken him years to endure looking at himself in a mirror. And it had taken him years to imagine sharing a bed with a woman again. 

 Oh, of course, he had fucked every so often. He needed it after the complete fiasco with Margrethe. He had to prove himself that he could… But it had always been in a hurry, and with random, uninteresting women. Till you…

 You. You're not random, and definitely not uninteresting. You're beautiful and smart, patient and funny, warmhearted and caring but never overbearing. You're… perfect, he thinks, and it scares him as much as it makes him shiver with excitement. On top of that, so far you don't seem bothered by his legs and he wants to keep it that way. 

 His legs. His fucking legs. The averted elephant in the room. Well, averted… more or less. Because if you've never seen them, you know the braces, the crutches, the uneven gait and he's pretty sure you've figured out his pain. But you two never talk about them. He knows that you understood from the beginning that they were, they are a major issue for him. You're smart enough for that. 

 Yet, you never bring them up and he couldn't be more grateful. He's very aware that he can't keep going like this for long. But he doesn't know how to address what is, to him, a huge matter of concern. He's afraid you'll go away as soon as you realize how damaged his legs are, how crippled he really is. He doesn't want to lose you. He can't. That would be insufferable. And he knows exactly why. It's not just that he likes you, that sex is great, and that you're fun to be around, no… He's helplessly falling in love with you. It may be terrifying, but it's no less true.

 That's why he does what he does. That's why he's always hurrying up, hiding, avoiding. It doesn't matter if it leads sometimes to awkward situations. It doesn't matter if you're not fooled. All that matters is that you don't see his legs; not for a long time anyway; and most preferably never.

 Inhaling deeply, Ivar slips his hands under the comforter, rubs his scrawny, bony, twisted thighs, feeling their scarred skin and grunting in disgust. He knows he's wrong, he knows he's not going anywhere, but he can't help. He can't risk losing you. 

 ***

 More sad than irritated, you hardly stifle a sigh as you enter the room. Once again, Ivar is unsurprisingly already in bed, his fluffy comforter keeping his legs out of sight. 

 His legs… A fucking huge elephant in the room… It's amazing – not in a good way – how something that's never addressed can take up so much space.  

 The truth is, you know a lot about them. Being a son of Ragnar, the man who rules Scandinavia – at least economically but surely politically too, with friends in the right places and enough money to corrupt them – didn't allow Ivar to grow up in the shadow. Ivar's life therefore has always been on display, making headlines more often than not. So you know about his disease and its inherent struggles, about the surgeries and about the pain – well, now you even witness it sometimes, and the way he always tries to hide it is heartwrenching. 

 You know more than you'd like to since you even know about his supposed failing sex life, that bitch whose name you've long forgotten having told her story to everyone around. It doesn't matter though, as you can testify that Ivar's cock is far from dysfunctional. 

 Anyway, if you know a lot – truths or lies – about his condition and about his legs, you don't know them. And you're aware it has to change. You just don't know how. You can't be too straightforward or Ivar will close up on you. Yet you can't let things go on like this for too long, because it's unhealthy. And an unhealthy relationship with Ivar is the last thing you want, both for his and your sake. 

 Somehow always in your mind, his legs make things awkward. Sex is great, but could even be better, for they prevent you from being spontaneous. The last thing you want is to make Ivar, the man you're falling in love with, uncomfortable. So, you don't speak about them because you can feel he doesn't want to speak about them. You don't look at them because his tight jaw is unmistakable each time your eyes wander to his lower body. You do your best never to touch them, which isn't easy when you share his bed. In short, most of the time you act as if they don't exist. And this has got to stop. 

 You can't let this unspoken thing continue to grow between the two of you or it will end up becoming a problem that will eat you up, you do know it with utmost certainty. You won't allow it. You can't. Ivar is important to you, to say the least, and you're pretty sure he reciprocates your feelings. You see it in his huge blue eyes that sparkle each time he looks at you; you hear it in the softness of his tone each time he talks to you. 

 So yeah, the whole situation annoys you. It doesn't mean that his legs annoy you. They don't. You won't lie, you're a little nervous about them. How could you not, given how sensitive a subject they are? Will you say the right thing? Do the right thing? Will you hurt Ivar unwillingly? Just thinking about it, about them, makes you feel like you're walking on eggshells. Ivar is being very touchy when it comes to them, to those-legs-we-mustn't-talk-about, it seems to you that the slightest word could ruin everything. And you don't want that. Gods, you don't. Yet, you're not sure how to handle well something that important.

  That's the point. His legs are that important. They shouldn't be. They shouldn't matter. They don't matter. Of course, you're not stupid. Ivar has a disability, there's no denying it. But it doesn't define him, right? What defines him is his outstanding intelligence, his sharp mind, and his deadpan, ironic humour. And well, if you're being honest, his ridiculous handsomeness too… It might sound shallow, but… who cares?  

 Anyway, enough is enough. Things must change and you're sure Ivar won't be the one initiating the change. It leaves you no choice, you know it. Your heart hammering in your chest, you rub your sweaty palms together before inhaling deeply. That's it. Let it be done. The sooner the better.  

 ***

 "Are you not coming?" Ivar's blue eyes are scrutinizing you from under furrowed brows as you scrabble around in your small overnight bag, as an idea has just popped into your head.

 Glancing at him over your shoulder, you barely nod while swallowing the lump in your throat. "Of course I am, give me a minute." You reply after a while, sounding more confident than you feel. But you know it's a good idea. It could be the first step. It could work. It has to work. 

 Your hands are shaking but your heart is filled with hope when you eventually find what you were looking for. "Here it is.", you mutter, a tentative smile playing on your lips as you turn towards your lover, who looks at the silk scarf in your hand with a mischievous grin. 

 "What is it on your naughty mind?" He asks playfully, tilting his head in his very own way, the one that melts your heart each and every time. "You want to blindfold me, Y/N?" His low, deep voice sends shivers down your spine. "Or maybe you'd rather be blindfolded? It's up to you, I'm totally on board with either one." He swallows heavily, and when he licks his upper lip and then the lower in a slow-moving and sensual motion, a familiar warmth spreads in your lower belly. 

  Of course, he had to misread the situation. And you, you're so easily, pathetically flustered! Closing your eyes to push away any distracting thoughts, you inhale deeply while just shaking your head no as you don't trust yourself to speak right now. 

 Raising a brow, Ivar gives you a questioning look. "So, what is it about, then?" His tone is more serious now, you can almost feel a hint of uneasiness in his voice as if a part of his brain already suspects what's in your mind. 

 "Actually, I want to be blindfolded, but not to do what you're thinking about." You explain, shyly lowering your gaze. "I'd like to try something." You speak in a whisper but with honesty, fidgeting with the little silver Mjölnir – a gift from Ivar – you wear around your neck. "If it's okay with you." You add, your shaky voice giving away your nervousness. 

 Confused, Ivar looks at you with knitted brows. Since you don't want to explain further – because you're sure that if you told him of your plan, he would deny you – you just climb on the bed, kneel next to him and bring the scarf to your face, wrapping it around your head and over your eyes before tying it in the back with a tight knot. 

 Being blinded like that, even if it's of your own volition, is quite unsettling, you must say. You feel weirdly exposed, vulnerable, in your tiny shorts and a tank top and you have to inhale and exhale slowly several times in order to calm your nerves. 

 Uncertain, Ivar keeps quiet, his breathing just a little bit shorter than usual. "Y/N?" His hesitant voice startles you and you swallow, biting your inner cheek. 

 You know you have to take action, the sooner the better. So you fumble blindly on the bed and as you find Ivar's hand, you bring it to your mouth, kissing each knuckle one after the other while your free hand slips under the comforter. 

 His breath hitches, yet Ivar doesn't react, doesn't stop you, as you slowly lift the comforter, pulling it away. But when your fingers graze what you think is his thigh, he grabs your wrist, wrapping his fingers around it. 

 "What…" Ivar stutters, his grip tight enough to bruise your delicate skin, "… What are you doing, Y/N?" His voice, barely audible, is nothing more than a shaky whisper that wrings your heart. 

 Yet, you won't back down. "Let me, Ivar, please…" You beg softly, but to no avail. Ivar rushes his words, panic coursing through his veins. "Stop Y/N! Don't, please don't, I… They are… They are ugly. I… I can't." That's it. He can't. Just thinking of you exposing his disgusting legs, he feels like throwing up. He can't. 

 Hearing your lover so upset, and maybe even close to tears, is heartbreaking. Raising your free hand, you find his arm, then his shoulder, his neck, and finally his face, which you cup tenderly. 

 "You do know I won't see them, don't you?" You ask carefully, peppering light kisses along his jaw while trying to slow down the frantic pace of your own heart. 

 Ivar doesn't miss a beat, pushing you away gently but very firmly. "You don't need your sight to feel how hideous they are." Almost convinced to give up by his broken voice, you struggle to keep in mind that postponing the problem can't be a solution. 

 "That's what you think about them, how you see them, Ivar, that's not what they are." Your tone soft and soothing, you're trying to convey how much you care. "And it's certainly not how I'm going to see or to feel them."

 "How would you know?" You can tell that he shifts in the bed to sit upright, his back against the headboard. His fingers still around your wrist, you have to stifle a hiss of pain when he changes position. 

 "Because they are a part of you. Nothing from you, or about you, can be ugly." You wince, realizing that you've just opened up to him more than you would have liked. But well, speaking your mind isn't a bad thing, right? 

 As Ivar, dumbstruck, keeps quiet, you decide to strike the iron while it's hot. Once again finding his cheek, your thumb lightly strokes it while you speak. "Let me touch them, Ivar…"

 You know him well enough to be sure that right now, a storm is clouding his features. But as his breathing starts to quicken and as his grip on your wrist loosens, you understand that he's more frightened than angry. "Please…" You plead, aiming blindly a reassuring smile in his direction. 

 "But… Wh… Why?" He's never felt so scared, not even with Margrethe. Even if the rational part of him knows you're right, he won't give up yet, not without fighting. "Why… Why does it have to be? You don't need to touch those fucking…", swallowing, he closes his eyes briefly, "… you don't need to touch my legs, Y/N. You don't. We could just go on like this, as we have done up to now. Believe me, it will be better like that."

 "No, it won't." You sigh, shaking your head. Ivar's distress may break your heart, yet you're more and more convinced that this is the right thing to do. "Let me touch them, Ivar, please…" You simply repeat, your free hand still on his cheek.

 "Why… Why is it so important to you?" As soon as the words escape his lips, he regrets them, wishes he could take them back. He should have said no. Why didn't he say no? Slapping himself internally, he rolls his eyes, annoyed as much by his own stupidity as by your stubbornness. 

 You answer in a sweet whisper, placing your hand on his chest. He's sure you can feel the crazy thumping of his heart under your palm. "Because your legs are a part of you, and I want to know everything about you. Will you let me, Ivar?"

 Ivar, deeply moved by your words, is eager to believe them. But on the other hand, it's so… frightening; unsettling. Not used to being so vulnerable in front of someone, he feels like he's being ripped apart, and gods, he hates it! "I… I don't know… I'm… not sure…" He eventually stammers almost unwillingly, more or less denying you once more, yet his resolution starts to falter, and he knows you can hear it. 

 Even more surprising, it's as if his body betrayed him, his fingers finally releasing your wrist. As you gasp, astonished and pleased, he ponders for a few moments before deciding – if deciding something against what seems to be your own will is even a thing – he won't stop you. He knows he could, but he also knows you're right. So, conflicted and petrified with fear, he just waves his hand, wiggling his fingers, and mumbles under his breath a faint "go ahead" that you almost miss.

 "Is that a 'yes', Ivar?" Full of hope and with what you're sure is a beaming smile on your lips, you intertwine your fidgeting fingers and put your hands on your lap, anxiously awaiting his reply. 

 His jaw clenched, Ivar just nods. At first, he doesn't realize that you can't see him. As the silence drags on, he furrows his brows, confused, before breathing a hesitant answer. "Yeahhh…" Digging his fingernails into his palms, he waits for your next move, almost like someone awaiting a death sentence.

 Sensing his anxiousness, you raise your hands and then move them very slowly, willing to give Ivar time to stop you if he needs to. Since he doesn't utter a word nor grab your wrists, you keep going, your fingers grazing what surely is his lower belly before finding the hem of his cotton boxer shorts. 

 Intensely aware of the importance of the moment, you can't help but swallow loudly, your stomach tied in knots. You started all this, and even if you're still not sure if it's the right time – will there ever be a right time for this? – you have to keep going. But you're scared. What if it'll push Ivar over the edge? What if it is too much for him? What if you won't handle this as well as you think you will? You don't want to lose him. Your mind suddenly filled with doubts, you do the only thing you can think of, and send a silent prayer to the gods, hoping they can help the two of you. 

 Holding his breath, Ivar looks at your hands as if he was hypnotized. His eyes wide open, he can't move, can't speak, utterly terrified of what is to come. He knows he should trust you. Maybe he does. But he doesn't trust himself. No, that's not true. Most of the time, Ivar doesn't lack self-confidence. He knows his worth. He's aware of the strength of his intelligence, his cunning. He knows about his good looks – even if they're quite useless; or about his highly appreciated caustic humour. And as he's no fool, he knows that being a Ragnarsson – name, wealth, all the stuff – is a major asset. Yet, when it comes to his legs, he's nothing more than a frightened little boy, so anxious that he's ready to fall apart. Feeling ashamed, self-conscious, and helpless, he's wondering how much tenser he can become until he physically shatters. Conflicted, he wants you to stop as well as he wants you to keep going. This has to be done. This should never be done. He's in love with you. You will never love him. You won't hurt him. He'll be hurt once again. Hectic, opposing thoughts are constantly fighting in his mind, leaving him frozen in fear and panicked. So, since he can't think straight, he does the only thing he can think of and sends a silent prayer to the gods. May they help him; help you. 

 Uselessly closing your eyes behind the blindfold, you gather your strength. Ivar didn't stop you. That's good. That means he wants you to do it, right? Inhaling deeply, you try to stop the shaking in your hands, and then, slightly leaning forward, you let your fingertips run over his thighs, barely touching them. You forget how to breathe and Ivar is so still, so quiet, you think he's not breathing either. 

 As you become bolder, you place the flat of your hands on his legs, careful not to apply any pressure. Under your palms, you can feel every bump, every scar, every broken bone. Your movements intentionally agonizingly slow, your hands move down to his protruding knee caps before finding his atrophied calves, their wasted muscles evident to the touch. You can't think how painful walking, or even just standing up, must be. The thought spreads a dull ache in your chest, but you keep your face emotionless, aware that if you can't see him, Ivar can see you. Rather than dwelling on it, you continue exploring, and when your fingers brush against the sole of one of his misshaped, scrawny feet, Ivar flinches. "Sorry," you mumble, "I didn't know you were ticklish." Since Ivar doesn't react, you're not sure he heard you and decide to slowly move your hands up his legs, placing them back on his bony thighs. 

 Keeping his eyes on you the whole time, Ivar struggles to breathe, his heart pounding wildly in his rib cage. He's surprised, he must say. He expected to see disgust or pity on your face, but there's none of that. Of course, he can't see your eyes, but a small smile never leaves your lips. Could it be that you're not disgusted? In any case, you don't seem troubled by what you're feeling. Maybe you're hiding it, but if so, you're hiding it well. He's also surprised because he expected to hate every moment of the process. Himself, he's all the time trying to avoid touching his legs. He hates PT sessions and doctor's appointments with a passion for a reason. But your touch is… enjoyable if he can push away all his doubts and his awful thoughts. It strikes him all of a sudden: it's probably the first time someone touches his legs for no reason at all. They were regularly massaged, checked for injuries, examined, palpated; of course, they were. But there was always a medical reason. Even when his mother touched them, it was to ease the pain. But you… you decided to touch his ugly limbs just because you wanted to. And just now, he realizes how much he missed that. Can he really miss something he's never known? He's not sure, but here he is, enjoying your featherlike touch, craving it, not wanting it to stop. Yes, he likes it; needs it. But what if, after tonight, you don't want to touch them again? He wouldn't blame you, who would want to touch such repulsive things? The thought brings bile to his throat and he knows it won't stop plaguing his mind. So he has to know, whatever it takes. Moving for the first time, he runs a trembling hand through his hair and summons all his courage.

 "You… you didn't say a word." His quivering voice startles you, making your heart swell with sadness. You don't need your eyes to know that Ivar is filled with dread. The need to reassure him compels you to blindly fumble on the bed until you find his hand, which you grasp between yours. "What do you want me to say?" You ask cautiously, your thumb lightly stroking his knuckles. 

 You can feel Ivar stiffening, his fingernails probably bruising your palms as he lets out a shuddering breath. "I…" He stops to swallow. "The… truth, Y/N. Go ahead, speak your mind. You… you touched…" He stutters, and you're willing to bet his eyes are tightly shut, his tone giving away his level of anxiety. "… you touched them. My legs, I mean. I know… I know how they feel, ugly and disgusting… no need to sugarcoat your thoughts… I… I can handle the truth…" His voice cracks at the end, contradicting his words.

 Releasing his hand, you graze his right thigh with gentle fingers. "No, Ivar", you speak softly yet firmly, "that's not how they feel, at least not to me." You know you have to be honest, you can't just say nonsensical, lovey-dovey things, he won't buy it. "I won't tell you they feel beautiful. They don't." Choosing your words carefully, you let your pointer finger follow a massive scar from his mid-thigh to his knee. "They feel different, and yes, you can feel the scars. It must have been painful, it's probably still is. But I promise you, they're not disgusting. They're your legs. They say a lot, Ivar. They're telling a story, your story. That's why I wanted to know them because as I said earlier, I want to know all about you. And they are part of you. I do think they finally deserve to be cared about, to be loved. Let me love them…" You whisper the last words, feeling vulnerable. 'Let me love you…' is what you want to add, but you know you can't, not yet, so instead you lean forward, your lips brushing and then kissing his thigh.

 Something between a whine and a choked sob escapes his lips and you can hear his breath hitch as his hand gets up close to your neck. "Did I hurt you?" You ask with concern, frowning behind the blindfold. 

 Ivar can't help but smile, even if you can't see it. "No!" he replies quickly, his hand now on the back of your head. "I wasn't expecting that, the kiss I mean, but I… liked it." He explains shyly, surprised by his own words. "Actually, I loved it." He's not lying. He loved the kiss, he loved your words; it's as if a tremendous weight had just been lifted off of him. Part of him tells him not to believe everything you said, but he decides not to. He didn't hear any malice or mischief in your voice. He knows you were being genuine. That's why, choosing to chase the disbelief away, he decides to trust you completely. And that's why, suddenly, without warning, he pulls off the blindfold.

 "What are you doing, Ivar?" You squeak, immediately closing your eyes and picking up the comforter. But as you intend to cover his legs, Ivar grabs your wrists with both hands. "Just leave it where it is." He retorts before letting out a heavy sigh. "And open your eyes."

 You do as you're told, but keep your eyes on his face. There are tears in his eyes and a whirlwind of emotions. "Just look at them, Y/N." He almost commands you, but you know that's a way to hide his true feelings behind bravado. 

 Blinking a few times and scrunching your face, you tilt your head to the side, scrutinizing him. "Are you sure?"

 Your lover just shrugs, biting his lower lip. "Will I ever be?" Taking a deep breath, he adds in a murmur. "But I trust you."

 ***

 Later that night, as you're sound asleep, your head on his chest and his arm around your waist, Ivar can't get sleep, amazed that you didn't run away. He keeps replaying what you did when you saw his legs. You had just smiled. And kissed them one more time. And then thanked him for trusting you, for allowing you to love them. Moved and overwhelmed, he could see the matching tears in your eyes, but no sadness on your face. What he saw instead was relief, and care, and… love? 

 Kissing your head, he mumbles. "It is I who should be thanking you. I don't know what I did to deserve someone like you, but whatever it was, I'm glad. If angels are real, you're mine. I won't let you go, Y/N, never ever." 

 "I love you…" He finally whispers, taking advantage of your slumber. Well, little does he know you're awake but staying perfectly still. You know you weren't meant to hear those three words, not yet. And it doesn't matter. You can wait. You and Ivar have a lifetime to love each other. 

 All of him. All of you. 

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @gearhead66​ @inforapound​ @readsalot73​ @milkkygirls​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @zuxiezendler​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @hecohansen31​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​ @peachyboneless​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​ @ethereallysimple​ @destynelseclipsa​

[jadelynlace]

NSFW Prompts / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!Reader]

request by: @quantumlocked310 & @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom (I combined two!)

author’s note: you can find the complete NSFW prompt list here, and you can find the request by the love of my life, I mean @quantumlocked310 here. the notes on this post contain the request from @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

content warnings: angry sex (spanking, doggy & creampies); prompts will be bolded.

synopsis: Ivar wants to help you, and you just want to forget.

✎

You couldn’t say you had better coping mechanisms, dark humor and caffeine fueled mock-heart attacks were usually how you dealt with what horrors came from work. Bottling things up, shoving them under the rug that simply could not hold much more. But you never called Ivar a name out of anger. Or out of any emotion other than petty annoyance because there were times you couldn’t believe “Jack Ass” wasn’t his legal name. 

Bitch. 

You’d been called that before, by patients, by your ex, by Hvitserk if there was a loving application to the wording and there always was. But with how the name dropped off of Ivar’s tongue over the phone, there wasn’t an ounce of love in sight. And when the line went dead after his small outburst Ivar knew something had nipped at you. He just wanted you to consider the problem from his perspective—Ivar wasn’t one to talk about his own mentality and although he wasn’t the best example, he still saw someone professionally. You lacked that luxury and he thought you should do it. And you thought you should not.

“Why do you have to be a bitch about this?”

Sigurd even sucked in a quick hiss when the words left Ivar’s mouth, and then when his brother pulled the phone away from his ears quickly, damage was done. Ivar mumbled something about a smoke, anger on his face as he stomped through the shop, but Sigurd couldn’t tell if it was anger for you or anger for himself.

You were no happier when you went home after an unplanned extension to your shift. Taking a patient to the medical center almost an hour away on their own wish was your least favorite thing to hear when your shift ended five minutes prior. Anger might as well spill from your pores as you walked in to see Ivar at the dining table, a bottle of whiskey, two glasses, and eyes on you. And he looked pissed.

“Sit down.” He demands.

“Fuck you, Ivar,” You spit back.

“No, you don’t get to do that if you’re going to be a bitch about this,” Ivar says and he stands. You can only laugh, spoiled and rotten as the joke rings through you and annoys you even farther.

“Like you’re someone who talks about their emotions,” You say, stepping in through the threshold.

“I never said I was,” Ivar starts. “But there’s someone who gets to hear them once a week and all I want is for you to fucking think about that. That’s all I asked. Because I only know half of what you see on a daily basis, and what I know ain't great, and I can’t imagine what else there is.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not a medic,” Your words come to be blunt as you walk past him.

“Oh my fucking god,” Ivar groans and pushes the chair back to thunk his weight across. “Why aren’t you letting me help you?” His words come next and you hear the bottle being opened, and you hear the sloshing of the liquid across the lowball glass and then your hear him toss it back. “I just want to fucking help you,” And Ivar is speaking to the table top now, eyes pinching shut as he scrubs his hands to cover his face. There’s another pour into the vessel and he tosses it back again. “Call me when you want to talk.” He says as he stands, feeling far too unwelcome, pulling his leather jacket back on and fishing through his pockets for his lighter and final cigarette. You hear the stomp from his boots and the deadbolt unlatch and you turn stalk out from your room. Now with bare feet that waltz you back over to where he is, slamming the door into its home and Ivar turns. There’s a look of confusion on his face, unlit cigarette ready to fall from his lips as your eyes bore back up to him.

“I’ve had a shit day—one where nothing goes right no matter what because some people can’t be pleased. Even when I drive them to the medical center, an hour away, and they have to wait in line to get checked in. Do not come over here to be a dick because I don’t want to talk to a shirk about the stupid shit like that. Have you ever seen a burnt body, Ivar? I’ll talk to a shirk about that—but not petty shit that comes with my certificate because it’s called petty shit for a reason.” You say lowly.

“Then what do you want me to do?” Ivar replies.

“Take the fucking cigarette out of your mouth.” And as soon as he complies you’re tugging his face down to yours. His hands move clumsily for a brief second, shocked in a sense with your change of emotions, and they finally latch on to your face. Your feet take you backwards, Ivar with you and you’re all but dragging him. There’s a wait for him to take control, and when you stand back alongside your bed simply looking at him, he catches his cue. 

You’re spun quickly, pushed to bend across the sheets and his hand is over your pajama pants. Slapping a palm across your ass and the sting sends your mind back to the present and it makes you moan. It makes the sharp thoughts dull and you ask him for another one. And another one. A balancing act starts between both of his hands, swatting your back side again because with each time you moan louder, you get wetter and Ivar is still trying to quickly get his own jeans off with his free fingers. He watches you climb up the bed, leaving the shorts in your wake and your wiggling from your shirt, on all fours before him. His jacket lands somewhere behind him, climbing up after you and you’re covered by that man, his hand back along your ass as he slaps it to darken a brilliant shade of red.

“Hang on,” He says lowly by your ear and he can’t help but dip his fingers between your folds, parting you to see how wet you’ve grown for him. A moan slips through your mouth as he does, pulling his fingers back and sliding your juices across his shaft, lubricating his journey and there’s a final slap before Ivar pulls your hips back. As you arch your back in response he grabs a hold of himself, nudging your thighs to part with his knee cap and there’s no slow pace as he pushes himself into you. Spreading your walls roughly and the tip of his cock pushes against your sweet spot instantly, melting into the sheets and your hair is yanked forcefully from his grasp. “I just want to fucking help,” He grumbles from behind you, gritting his teeth and he wants to stay mad at you but the ways your body conforms for him makes it a battle he’s willing to lose.

“Harder,” You beg and he hasn’t even moved yet. “Ivar, harder,” And he watches your fingers dig into the sheets as his free hand grips your hip bone. “Please—I need you so badly,” You whimper and that catches him. “Just make me forget,” The first thrust he offers you snaps you up the bed, rutting the headboard to bounce back off of the wall and you moan. “Harder,” Comes your plea and he drops your hair, free hand taking home to your other hip for leverage and he pulls back to slam into you even harder. The wetness radiating from your cunt echoes to meet the noise of the headboard as Ivar fucks you, your mouth dropping open and the angered thoughts from the prior hours are all gone. Taken up by the pleasure as his body meets yours, torso coming to cover you and Ivar reaches forwards, bending your body so your back meets his chest, and his lips can rest on your ear.

“I want you to forget everything and everyone else, but me—and this,” Ivar whispers in your ear, craning your chin as his hand slithers to grab your throat, sending his point home as his cock pierces you, causing you to whimper as your only way to respond. “And I want you to come all over me,” He grumbles, his voice faltering as his hips stutter, trying to starve off his own end to make you meet yours first. You can only nod in response, not even sure that he sees it as your climax creeps across your skin. Taunting you just out past your grip and the frustration makes you whine.

“Harder—‘m so close,” You whimper and one of Ivar’s hands drop suddenly, pushing against your clit and that sends you to cry out, dropping forwards as his hips moves as fast as his tired body will let them. Snapping up as his wrist moves to try to match it and he feels your walls grab him like a vice, a scream of his name rolling off of your mouth as you lurch in his grasp, soaking him and the whole complex surely hears you come. Crushing aftershocks of your orgasm ripple against Ivar’s shaft and there’s a few final slower thrusts, stuttering as he halts when he comes, the sound of his long groan heavenly on your ears while his arms all but crush you. Panting soon echos between the two of you and Ivar’s quite certain his back popped out of place with the force of his orgasm. As he trails his lips to your temple, gone slick with sweat that lingers from his own hair line, you finally apologize.

“Don’t need to be sorry—I get it,” He says quietly and the grimace from his earlier words are lightyears away. “Just tell me what you need so I can do it,”

“This,” is all you can reply.

“This might have to wait like an hour,” Ivar mumbles, his lips moving to your shoulder blade. “I can’t feel my back,” His confession sends laughter to ring from your lips, his echoing not too far behind and its the first sliver of decency you’ve actually felt since you left for work that morning.

“Bring the whiskey back,” You say, turning your head to seek out his lips and when they plant along yours you can’t help but hum. 

“Don’t like it when you’re upset,” Ivar adds, slowly creeping away from you, slipping back out and you climb through the sheets. In the plush oasis you curl around with the duvet, watching Ivar pull back as his eyes scan to find the path where his clothes were haphazardly flung. Red boxers are back on and he’s looming back over you, grabbing your cheeks to push them together with his fingers as he places his mouth on yours. “You’re not a bitch,” He tells you as his lips move only millimeters from yours.

“I’ll be the first to admit that I am,” You say, cheeks still squished together and Ivar can’t help but smile. He’s back a few seconds later with the bottle, tossing it to roll along the sheets and you’re quick to take a hearty swig. “Is he taking new clients?” You ask as he climbs in beside you.

“She is,” Ivar says back, palm out reached and you hand him the bottle.

“You have a lady therapist?” You say and he nods, setting the bottle back on the night stand. 

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” Ivar tells you and you turn, moving to rest back along the sheets and his head comes down on your chest, slinging an arm loosely over your waist as he gets comfortable. And then he’s squeezing you closer as your hand take to his hair. “Wait—hold on,” Ivar says after a minute, laying back next to you and you’re suddenly pulled, laid across his chest as your naked body moves limply and he snickers at how easily your limbs are oozing. His arms are around you then, pushing hair from your face as he curls the ends around his fingertips, sliding those same digits down your spine, the swell of your bare ass, and then back up again. The warmth of his hand presses against you as you rest over him and he pulls the covers back over the two of you. “That’s better.” Ivar whispers and he presses his lips against your hair.

“Thank you Ivar,” You say from your spot.

“You’re welcome baby, get some rest,”

“I love you,” and Ivar squeezes his arms around you once more as you say that, the words always sounding better each time you speak them.

“I love you too Y/N,”

Ink Drinker Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk  @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang   @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @walkxthexmoon  @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @istorkyou @victoria-styles @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @ivarhoegh @a5hl3y5ibley  @hashimily @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing  @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @tgrrose @synnersaint 

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

full masterlist can be found here.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 41)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: This was difficult to write, burnout hit me hard. But I like the result, and I hope you like it too. Ik I said I was going to stray from Saturday updates, but here we are, I am apparently once again/still on Saturday updates

Also, remember Persephone is depicted as a woman almost-always wearing a red veil to cover her face, since it is symbolic of the veil brides wore in Ancient Greece.

You open your eyes, but all you can see is red. No, that isn’t right. Everything you see is tainted red, like you’re looking through a piece of stained glass.

Somewhere at your back there’s a laugh, melodic but cold, but you don’t bother turning, you know she isn’t there. Instead, you step forward, and the ground under your feet trembles, as if the earth is split in two.

There’s the faintest of touches on your face, the uncertain caress of hands not used to gentleness; and there’s the most familiar call of your name, even if it will forever sound foreign.

You see him past the red, you make out the shape of his lips, and the curve of his nose. But you miss the blue of his eyes.

And you lift the veil.

When you open your eyes you almost expect to have the world be tainted red, but you shake off those thoughts before you are fully awake.

You settle better in your place, feeling your hair uncharacteristically restrained. It is then that you remember the loose and half-done braid Ivar wove into your hair last night, that has surprisingly held through the night. These people and their damn braids.

When you turn around in your place you find your husband still asleep, turned on his side towards you, one arm stretched towards you.

Eyelids heavy, you find how easy it would be to just drift off again. But you don’t want to fall asleep yet, you want to linger in this world between worlds, between awake and asleep, for a while longer. For the first time, though, you realize that there is no reason to wish to live in that world between worlds.

For the first time, your dreams do not haunt you with the uncertain future that hangs by a choice that as time went on seemed less and less like a choice you could stand to make, and the world you wake up to isn’t stained with the ever-persistent reminder of the borrowed time you lived in.

For the first time, the dreams speak of a choice made, and the world around you -unchanged, even if it is so different from before- is the result of that choice.

Blinking past the daze that threatens to pull you back under, you focus on the man sleeping by your side, and you feel your lips pulling into a lazy smile.

You remember those first mornings you spent in the same bed as him, how you’d linger hopelessly on Ivar’s features, relaxed in sleep, eyes guiltily taking in what your pride didn’t let you while he was awake, categorizing each faint scar and angle.

From the slope of his brow, to the straight line of his nose, down to his lips -lips that on that first night spent as husband and wife you kissed, lips that you longed to kiss again each night since-.

You truly don’t want to wake him, but you cannot remain idle, and restless fingers trail over his own, tracing the back of his hand, up to his forearm and the arm-ring he wears.

Your eyes follow the wanderings of your hand, and your attention is drawn to the glint of your wedding ring in the low light. It has been quite a while you have worn it, and yet, strangely, it almost feels like the first time.

Maybe that is what it should have been, maybe this is what your first morning as husband and wife should have been. Quiet, and love, and peace. Even if Ivar always disturbs the first one and claims to detest the last one.

Your fingers continue trailing up, and you are done pretending you don’t intend to wake him when you reach his head, and let your fingers trail aimlessly through Ivar’s hair, down to his face, the ghost of a caress over his cheek.

With a low hum from somewhere in his chest, Ivar turns his face towards your caress, the hand previously stretched between you reach up to softly grasp at your wrist.

It’s the blind acceptance of your affection, the subtle seeking of it, that makes your chest pull tight. It’s the blue of his eyes when he blinks past the draw of sleep to focus on you that robs you of breath.

And, as usual, it is your name leaving his lips in a sigh that makes you want to thank the Gods for this, for him.

“Stop waking me up when you’re bored.” He grumbles, making a foolish smile pull at your lips.

“I am not,” You argue, “I missed you.”

His eyebrows raise, and the face he makes tells you he doesn’t believe you, but there’s still lingering softness in him when he moves the hand he trapped with his won against the side of his face and places it before his mouth, breathing a kiss over your knuckles.

“Missed me, hm?”

“I was bored of missing you, perhaps.” You concede finally.

You have missed him, if you are honest. Missed what it was like before you told him about the Greeks, when he didn’t stop himself from reaching for you, when those barriers you were once so interested in studying and crossing had become dust, when the fear of the choice you’d make was a distant one.

Even if it has been a couple of weeks since you told him, you have already found a certain routine, even in the wavering certainties, and you know that you never have to miss him for long.

Still, that is over. Once the words are able to leave your lips, once you are able to find a way to prove that your choice is him; then you won’t have to miss him for long, at least not like that.

“I didn’t tell you, last night. I tried to.”

Pulled away from your musings, you hum in question, “Tell me what?”

“You make me happy,” He tells you, a flickering smile that is so unusual, so young, that your heart skips a beat. Ivar’s eyes are unusually soft when he gazes at you, “Happier than I ever thought I could be.”

His father one told him happiness is nothing, and when Ivar told you of those words, he also told you he hasn’t really known what happiness feels like. It broke your heart then, and it still does, even if now it soars to hear these words.

“Is it nothing, then?”

His eyebrows raise, the smile is a tad more playful now, and tone light even if the words aren’t, “It is still terrifying.”

“Doesn’t that mean it is a good thing? Something worth keeping?”

“Weaknesses aren’t good things.”

“Not everything is about war.”

“Who said anything about war?” He retorts just as easily as you, the beginning of a smug smile on his lips, that you only roll your eyes at.

Ivar clears his throat, and when he speaks again his voice is quiet once again.

“It…keeps me awake, sometimes. Losing this. Kattegat, my brothers, the army,” A pause, and then, “You.

Your heart squeezes in your chest, because in all the things he did, he never made you doubt you had him. I am yours he told you last night, but you have known for a long time, since before he put a ring on your finger, that there were few things that could make you lose him.

“You already know that,” He states, voice soft, strangely muted. “I have told you so much already, sometimes I wonder if you really did bewitch me.

Your lips pull into a lazy smile, and you offer a non-committal shrug. Ivar’s mouth curves on one side, and he reaches for you, his hand rough but warm on the side of his face.

His thumb brushes gently -with a gentleness that is particular to him, you dare think, one that belongs to someone that isn’t used to much gentleness at all- under your eye when you lean into his touch, and you sigh.

“I…I never thought I’d have this, not really. Even if I had, I couldn’t have known it would feel like this,” For such a vague use of the word ‘this’, you find yourself understanding what he means, and yet you offer nothing but silence, expectant. “All my life, I would…I would watch them. My brothers, the other men. I had no choice but to watch. I knew I could never be like them, so I watched,” Ivar’s eyes fall from yours, and his gaze and his mind are lost in a place you weren’t fast enough to meet him at, in a life you were too late to be a part of. “And I would watch them with…with their wives, and how they would wait for them at the docks when they returned from a raid, and how they wouldn’t hesitate to touch or…” His brow furrows slightly, as if he is searching for the words, “-love them, and…it would feel like seeing a fire from afar. I knew it had to feel warm, I knew it had to feel…safe, and-…but I couldn’t know, not really. I couldn’t feel the warmth, I didn’t feel-…”

When his eyes focus on you again, you cannot help but hope the words he doesn’t say speak of how somehow you have been able to give the same he has you, and the warmth isn’t so distant just like the cold of Kattegat isn’t so biting for you.

You remember that first night as husband and wife, the faintest of trembles in his voice when he voiced a plea and tried making it sound like a command. Kiss me, he had asked you. You did, and now with distance your pride lets you admit you never quite forgot how he stilled under your gentle touch and how even then he leant towards the affection.

It would have been easier to hate him if the hunger would have been something he had no qualms about demanding be satiated. It would have been easier to forget he is human if out of all the things he could have asked for he hadn’t asked for softness.

Ivar continues,

“I would imagine it, sometimes. What it would be like, what it would feel like, to have a woman that would l-love me,” You don’t fail to notice the way his voice changes at those words, as if even saying it means something you could never truly understand. Your left hand reaches between you, fingers carefully tracing the side of his face. Ivar answers to your caress with a soft smile, but it turns rueful after a breath, “Pathetic, isn’t it? Poor Ivar, begging the Gods for someone to love him.”

Your chest pulls tight at his words, and you frown, affronted.

“There’s nothing pathetic about being human, you know,” You chastise, and Ivar meets your eyes, an anger that you know well, that you are familiar with by now, shining in his gaze. The anger of having shown more than what your pride wants you to, the anger of being more human than you would like to be. One of the first things you noticed about him was how he shared pieces of him as if he couldn’t do anything but, as if secrets and pain escaped his grip like sand, and left his lips as if you truly were what they say you are, and had bewitched him. That never changed, and you hope it never does. But the anger, the anger that looks a lot like apprehension, like pain; you hope that leaves. For now, you can do nothing but offer the beginning of a smile, “And I won’t let you speak of my husband like that.”

This time when his smile widens and softens, it remains that way. Ivar’s eyebrows raise slightly as he looks at you, defiance shining in his eyes in a way that makes a small chuckle leave your lips.

Gods, you love him.

His hand, rough and always warmer, grasps the one that cups the side of his face, and brings your fingers to his lips, kissing your knuckle right over your wedding ring. You have worn it for so long, and so many things have changed since he first put it on your finger, but you honestly can’t remember what it was like not wearing the gold band of engraved flowers you can trace with your fingers and engraved promises that aren’t so apparent.

“When I first saw you, in that field near Dublin, you…” His eyes lift to meet yours, before his gaze returns to your hand, and the gold ring that adorns it. “I saw you with that Greek, you were being so gentle towards him, so loving, so…warm. And then…” A short chuckle leaves his lips, still lost in the memory, “Then you took down a Viking with a shield that weighed more than you do, and one arrow.”

You chuckle, “I was lucky.”

“You were…” His eyes return to yours and the words die on his lips. When your smile widens as you wait for him to continue, his attention is diverted to your lips. You wonder if he is seeing in you the memory of that day. A little lost, a little dazed, he finishes, “A vision.”

Your heart does a strange thing on your chest, as if it were shocked off a regular rhythm by his words, and now stutters and stumbles to return to normalcy.

You offer a smile, and the faint squeeze of your hand on his as you tease softly,

“I am very much real, Ivar.”

A slow blink, and you wonder if he even heard you.

“You-…that day, you seemed like everything I ever wanted. Not just seemed like it, you were,” He confesses, a movement on his jaw to indicate he doubts whether he should continue. A few breaths go by until finally, his voice quiet, Ivar says, “You still are.”

“And you are everything I want.” You confess quietly, your heart suddenly beating a tad quicker, because the words you have known you have to say for a day now are at the tip of your tongue.

If we name things, we make them real, you told him once, the same words he reminded you of last night, when he jested you should remind him of your love more often.

But it is true, what you told him. The stories of your Gods, they were made real because someone spoke them, shared them. The vows you made, to take revenge against Stithulf, to accept Ivar as your husband; they made a promise real because they asked it to be spoken aloud.

And there is one more promise you must make real now.

You reach for the clasp at the back of your neck, taking off the pendant that has hung from your neck since you were old enough to remember. The twelve Olympians and the chthonic Gods in a small circle metal, with an inscription at the back, bend to the Fates, but don’t let them break you.

You lean up on one elbow, and hold the pendant between you, offering it to Ivar who only watches with curious eyes.

“When my father gave this to my mother, it was…a promise. They taught me that whatever promises are made before the Gods mean nothing if we aren’t willing to make promises of our own, on our own. This always meant a promise,” Your eyes linger on the engraving depicting the twelve Olympians and the chthonic Gods. When you speak next, your words are a promise of your own, even if under the fickle and transparent veil of speaking of the promises your parents made. “A promise to spend a lifetime side by side, and, if the Gods are merciful, an eternity after. I can’t…I can’t promise to find you in the life after this one, but I can promise to be with you for the rest of this life.

And now that you voice it, it is something so close to being true, to being real, that you think you may understand what he meant about that distant warmth.

Only this is different, this is a fire you can -and will, not Fate itself can stop you- get close enough to so you can truly feel its warmth.

“I-I want you to have this. My promise to you, my promise that…my choice will always be you.”

Ivar remains frozen, eyes on you as piercing as they were across a battlefield, yet as vulnerable as they were when you first told him you loved him.

Swallowing tightly, caught between assuming he doesn’t believe you or something worse, you take his hand.

Once, you stood next to him overlooking Kattegat, breathed past your hesitation and reached to put your hand over his, hoping and dreading the return of the hold. And now, just like then, he turns his hand to meet your own, pliant at your touch.

You place the pendant on the palm of his hand.

“Yo-You-…I don’t…” A breath that sounds somewhere between a gasp and choked inhale, “Y-You don’t have to choose yet.”

I am living on borrowed time as much as you are, you told him once. This is the first time you realize how true that was.

For as much as you usually babble on about things, now words seem to fail you, and with your heart beating wildly in your chest all you can offer is the smallest quirk of your mouth. One of the few times you are able to render him speechless, and you’re not allowed to enjoy it.

“I have made my choice. If Stithulf died today, nothing would change,” You tell him, as simply as you can put the choice that changes both your lives. “I want to spend the rest of my days with you.”

His eyes are wide, wider than you have ever seen them, and yet he remains deadly still. You dare think he isn’t even breathing.

Eventually, when Ivar speaks, it sounds rough and ragged, like he hasn’t spoken in a hundred years.

“They want you with them, they will come find you.”

“Again. They will come find me again,” You remind him slowly, “And just like I did before, I will say no.”

His eyes harden, “Why?”

“I love you, more than…more than anything,” At his silence, your heart stops and your brow furrows, “Do you not believe me?”

His eyes search yours, none of the franticness that coated his words gone from his eyes, where it only seems to simmer and heighten, where more than the search for truth you dare think he desperately looks for a lie.

Maybe believing you are lying would be easier, maybe believing what you say isn’t going to hold would be easier. Real things can be taken from you.

Past the clear tell of gritted teeth, Ivar insists, not answering your question,

“They will return to Greece when winter passes.”

“And I will still be here.” You reply, easily.

A breath, and the faintest of questions,

“You’re staying with me?”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

“No matter what?”

“I would think I’ve proved I’m stubborn already.” You whisper, the jest a little lost in the way your voice swells with emotion.

Ivar holds your gaze, determined even if searching your eyes desperate for certainty, unwavering even if his brow trembles and so do his hands.

“Promise me.” He says. A dare, a command, a plea.

With your own left hand lifted to your lips, you press a kiss against your wedding ring, the closest you would ever have to a piece of jewelry where you are to vow something before the Gods themselves.

“I promise.”

His breath leaves him in something between a sigh and a gasp, a small, incredulous little smile curving his lips before it too falls.

You don’t have time to take in the way his expression falls, falls with something like relief, something like joy, something like love; because he leans forward, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that makes everything but him disappear.

Your mouth moves against his with ease, not missing a beat in surrendering to the feel of him, your hands holding on to his shoulders with feather-light softness, while his grip tightly at whatever part of you he can find, a muffled sound that sounds a lot like a whimper when he presses closer, not accepting even an inch of space between you.

Before long you are on your back, and his arms cage you against the bed. His weight is a comfortable one over you, especially when your tongue teases at his and you make his strength falter, make Ivar pull away with something shaped like your name but that sounds like a prayer leaving his lips.

The shine in his eyes when he pulls back just a bit speaks of love, of gratitude, of relief; and it makes tears clog at your throat. How could there exist a world where you leave this, leave him, behind?

Ivar takes a breath, his chest expanding under your hands, reaching up with one hand to put your hair behind your ear, making your eyes flutter shut and the soft caress.

You barely have to tilt your head towards him when he is obeying the silent command, leaning down to kiss you again, this time letting you control the kiss, surrendering to the feel of you with a sigh that makes your stomach tighten.

His lips part from yours when the smile that curves at his mouth refuses to give way, and you breathe a little laugh at the still shocked joy written in his expression, from the faint red tint in his cheeks and ears to the way his eyes glisten and shine a tad more vibrant.

Ivar leans closer and kisses you again, a short press of his lips on yours before he whispers quietly, a secret even if it never was one,

“I love you,” You return the same, the words never more freeing as they leave your lips, and something in between a shaky sigh and a delighted chuckle leaves his lips. Holding your face gently in between shaking hands, he presses his brow against yours, “I-I’ll make you happy, I’ll-…anything you want, you’ll have it.”

The promises that leave his lips in between frantic kisses feel like vows that you won’t regret this, like reassurances that he will make sure the choice is worthwhile.

But it always was, just for this alone. For the feel of his arms around you, for the intoxicating taste of his lips, for the way your name sounds in his voice.

“All I want is you.”

“You have me.” There’s not a moment of hesitation, but the words -the certainty, the truth, the slight tremble in his voice and in his hands- make your heart pull tight in your chest.

Your eyes meet his and you promise, “And you have me.”

____ ____ ____

I hope you like this, and that I’m not too rusty after my little hiatus lol. Would love to know what you think!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss   @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @chibisgotovalhalla @the-a-word-2214 @fae-sedai @crazybunnyladysworld @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside @aprilivar @msrawog