#floki x plus size reader

[plus-size-reader]

Jealousy

Floki x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1654 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Floki having to watch you talk with all the men of the village who want to marry you. It eventually leads to him proposing to you himself because no one else will ever be good enough.

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Floki let out a heavy sigh, for the fifth time in the past few minutes. 

It was no secret that he had a flair for the dramatics, but this was starting to be too much for him. You had been sitting over there, chatting and laughing with a few of the returning warriors and he’d had enough. 

It was starting to almost be insulting to him. 

Floki was confident that whatever dull conversation you were having would be much more exciting if he was involved. However, you hadn’t even looked in his direction. 

You were far too enthralled in whatever Knut had to say. 

It was clear to the boatbuilder that each one of those men wanted you to be their wife but you seemed none-the-wiser. It was almost as if you didn’t realize.

...And perhaps you didn’t. 

In all the time that he’d known you, you had never been all that confident in your appearance-something that Floki never understood. 

You were, by far, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen but each time he told you that, all you’d do was smile. 

He had cursed himself to forever be your friend, but you had no desire to become anything more with him. It didn’t seem to matter that he could make you the happiest woman in Kattegat. 

There was nothing he wouldn’t do for you but whenever he sobered himself enough to tell you that, it didn’t seem to make an impression. 

You would always just kiss his cheek and leave him to refill your horn of ale.

The worst part however, was the fact that up until recently, Floki had made himself content with being that for you. Though, something about this situation made him feel differently. 

Each time one of those men took a step closer to you, he felt as if he’d be sick. The more he watched, the more his stomach bubbled up with anger and nothing seemed to quell it. 

In fact, the more he tried to divert his attention from the vulgar scene, the more he couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

It was as if you had captivated his eyes and there was nothing he could do to change that. Nothing he did would make anything more interesting than you. 

...He’d tried to find anything, and it simply didn’t work. 

Eventually though, you did find yourself feeling incomplete without the spindly man by your side and looked in his direction. 

At first, Floki wanted to look away. He wanted to show you just how upset he was being made by your ignorance of him but he couldn’t make himself do it. 

Instead he smiled back at you and waved offhandedly as best he could. 

As angry as Floki was over the senseless courting going down in front of him, he also understood that you were not really being party to it. 

You had no idea that those men were all drooling over you like starving dogs. 

That was it, that was the key to all of this.

Floki just had to make you realize just what all those men were doing doting on you. He had to bring their true intentions to light. 

Maybe then you would change your mind about giving your attention so freely. 

It may not have been the best thought out plan, but it was the best that he had at the time. Besides, when Floki made up his mind, that was typically as far as it went. 

So, without any more hesitation, the man stood from where he’d been perched and strolled over to you, taking longer steps than ever before. 

He was fueled by the anger and frustration of watching every man in Kattegat fight over your attention, leaving none for him. 

Not one of them could ever hope to be good enough for you, but that wasn’t any of his business. After all, this wasn’t about what Floki wanted, or the fact that he had been completely in love with you since childhood, this was about you.

This was about the tarnishing of your image if any of those men laid a hand on you. 

...That was all. 

“Y/N, I need to speak to you” Floki announced, shoving past the circle of men that he gathered around you. He didn’t care at all for how rude he was being, all he cared about was you. 

Though, you didn’t seem to care much for his rude intrusion either because you just smiled. 

“Hello Floki” you grinned, that sparkle in your eyes that he’d always loved. You were so light and innocent, unphased by the ugliness of the world and he’d always enjoyed that about you. 

It was as if the gods had sculpted you with that one purpose in mind, and he couldn’t have thanked them enough. 

“Is something wrong?” you worried, your face instantly falling at the sour look he was wearing. Floki had never been that good at hiding how he was feeling, and it was clear that something was bothering him. 

You just weren’t sure what it was. 

However, instead of telling you the truth Floki shook his head, turning his attention back to the other men around you. “If you’d excuse us” he prodded, ignoring their huffs of protest. 

He couldn’t have cared less for their unhappiness as he took your hand and practically dragged you away from them. In fact, he wasn’t satisfied until you two were completely alone, behind the cover of one of the houses. 

Now you were sure that something was wrong. 

“Please Floki, what is wrong with you?” you pleaded, snatching back your wrist from his grasp. You had no idea what was going on, but there was no hiding that something had bothered him. 

Floki never acted this way. 

“Those men! They look at you like a piece of meat and I cannot stand it anymore” he rambled, running his hands over his face in his anguish. 

He knew that their actions were not your fault and that he could not punish you for their foolish display but he couldn’t help but be upset by it. 

 ...But the worst part was that you didn’t even seem to understand. 

“Those men? They were only telling me stories of their last battle, Floki, that’s all” you explained, feeling quite bad for his upset, though you didn’t really understand it. 

There was no reason for him to be angry, and you were certain  that they were not paying attention to you in the way that he thought. 

Men didn’t thirst after women who looked like you, not in the way that they did women like Margrethe and Þorunn. You were nothing more than a friend to all of them, and Floki must have known that. 

He had eyes, the same as all of them. 

However, Floki didn’t seem to find any comfort in your words. Of course you would feel that way, because they didn’t want you to know how badly they wanted you. 

He was sure that they were doing it just to torment him, because they knew how badly he desired to make you his. Though, there was no good way for him to explain that to you. 

Not without outing his biggest secret. 

“Of course that isn’t all! They want you. How can you be so blind?” he groaned, getting more and more frustrated as the moments passed.

He had no idea how to tell you what he was feeling, but that didn’t mean he wanted to snap at you like that. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t realize. 

It just upset him. 

However, the way he was acting seemed to light a fire in your as well. You couldn’t believe that he would treat you this way, after everything you two had been through together. 

“What is it that’s bothering you so much? Why would you even care if they want me so badly?” you spit, finding it hard to believe that Floki would ever suggest what he was. 

Did he really think that you would stoop so low as to lay with every man in Kattegat? That sure felt like what he was suggesting. 

Not that he really was. 

The cruelty that Floki was spouting at you came from his pain, and how desperate he was to let you know how he was feeling. It pained him that he couldn’t be honest with you. 

...Or could he? 

What would be the worst thing that could happen if he told you the truth? It wasn’t like you were his in the first place so he had nothing to lose. If anything, he would make a fool of himself and that wasn’t something that he was afraid of. 

“Because I want you to marry me”

It was almost quiet, for a declaration of love, but neither of you cared. You had heard what he said and while it nearly stopped your heart, you tried not to let him know that. 

Your brain was too foggy with rage from a moment prior to even comprehend what he was talking about. 

Floki didn’t want to marry you. There was no way that he did, but when you finally let your eyes slip up to find his, you saw that he was certainly not kidding. 

“Are you serious?” you hummed, your voice no more than a small whisper as you searched his face. You couldn’t think of anything more to say than that. 

You and Floki had been friends all your lives but you never would have thought that he would want to be more than that. “Not one of those idiots is worthy of you, I only hope that I can try to be” he allowed, reaching out to take your hand in his own.

So, while it was true that you’d had never thought about that, that didn’t mean it was a bad idea. 

...At least, you hoped it did. 

[crowwritesaway]

Ivar the Boneless Loyal Friend, Raven

Raven was Ivar’s only friend. They grew up together. Ivar is dating Raven sister, Esperanza.

Raven is dating Hvitserk. She is the leader of her fathers army. Her father, Armando, is a King and her mother, Katalina.

Raven has kept a secret from Ivar. A secret that could cause chaos to erupt and a secret that could rip apart the peace agreement between her family and Ivar’s family.

A secret that involves her sister. Raven doesn’t keep secrets from Ivar. She knows him very well. So, she tries her best to make sure no one finds out until she can find the perfect solution.

Will Ivar find out before Raven can take care of the problem or will she make the problem disappear?

[e-m-christina]

Wonderland: Kili x Reader Chap. 3

MASTERLIST

Kili x Reader

Slight Legolas x Reader

----

Y/n was sitting between Gandalf and Bilbo, and opposite her was Thorin, with Lord Elrond at the head.

Even though she had seen Lord Elrond on the screen, it did not compare to what sitting in his presence was like - he was as noble and as fair in face as an elf-lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves, and as kind as summer. He was almost as warm and welcoming as Gandalf was.

On the next table over, sat the rest of the company, who were trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. Y/n managed to briefly greet each member of the Company (Bombur gave her a slice of cheese as a ‘hello’ and Kili knocked over a chair whilst bowing), but she was promptly ushered to sit by Lord Elrond and Thorin.

“Tell me, Lady Y/n, what is your weapon of choice? Axe or sword?” Thorin asked, making Y/n shuffle in her seat.

For a large part of the meal, Thorin had been grilling her with questions - much to the dismay of Gandalf. Gandalf had only explained a small amount of Y/n’s situation to the dwarves, though he hadn’t gone into depth. Though at this point, Y/n was still trying to figure out if this was all real. 

“I, um...in my world we don’t use weapons like that anymore,” Y/n said and awkwardly chased a piece of carrot on her plate with her fork. She didn’t dare meet Thorin’s judging eyes. 

“The wild is no place for gentlefolk who cannot fend or fight for themselves, Gandalf,” Thorin said, boring his eyes into Y/n.

A silence fell upon the table as everyone stared at Y/n. Thorin did have a point - she couldn’t fight or fend for herself. She would be a burden on the group. 

For the first time the whole evening, Bilbo piped up.

“I can’t fight or survive out in the wilderness, yet you gave me a chance. And as Lady Y/n is not from this world, she may possess other skills that we have not yet discovered.” Bilbo said, folding his arms in an attempt to look stern. "Plus, I would like a companion more like myself." 

“I must agree with Master Bilbo here, Thorin. Y/n has ended up in this land with no idea or explanation of how. There must be a reason for that, so I must ask that you reconsider. As Bilbo just said, she could possess helpful skills.” Gandalf said, placing a hand on Y/n’s shoulder.

 Y/n watched apprehensively as Thorin pondered over Gandalf’s and Bilbo’s words with a rather menacing expression. What was she going to do if she wasn’t accepted into the Company? Would Gandalf just leave her in Rivendell to live out her human years amongst the elves? 

Or would Elrond kick her out and make her fend for herself in the wild? Would she ever get to see her sister again? But then again, was this even real?

“Alright. She may join us.” Thorin said and Y/n ‘s shoulders instantly relaxed. “But I will not be responsible for your fate, do you understand, Y/n?”

“Yes, I understand. I’ll try to help as much as I can.” Y/n said though she could see that Thorin was still not entirely convinced. 

“Well, that’s sorted then,” Gandalf said brightly, turning to face the dwarves on the other table. “Lady Y/n has now become the newest member of the Company!”

---

When Y/n had gotten back to her room, she had found her bag sitting on her bed. Her clothes were mended and lay in a neat pile beside her bag, which she found to be filled with food and provisions - light to carry but strong to bring her over the mountain passes she was soon to endure.

 The elves must have packed for her. Just as she was going to take a look at the bookshelf beside her bed, she noticed a little wooden figure sitting on her nightstand. 

It was her Loki sculpture. 

“Loki likes to create chaos. Make sure he doesn't pull you into one of his plans of mischief.”

Floki’s words rang through her head as she picked the tiny pocket-sized God up and turned it over to inspect it.

Did this statue have something to do with her ending up in Middle-Earth? No, it couldn’t have, it was probably just a coincidence that she bought it on the same night she woke up there. Right?  And as another thought, where did that ring disappear to

Y/n placed the Loki sculpture down and rummaged through her belongings for the ring, but it was nowhere to be found. Frowning, Y/n placed her bag on the ground and lay down on her bed. For some reason, she couldn’t get the thought of the ring out of her head.

--

It was nearing nine o’clock when a knock sounded on Y/n’s door. Y/n wondered who it could be because the dwarves were feasting down at the terrace on the food that they had stolen from the kitchens. She opened the door, revealing the grey wizard.

“Good evening, Lady Y/n,” Gandalf said. “I hope I am not disturbing you?”

“You’re not disturbing me, don’t worry. Is there something I can help you with?” Y/n asked.

“As a matter of fact, there is something you can help me with. As we have gone over, you may possess skills that we do not know about yet.” Gandalf said, motioning his hand for Y/n to follow him before walking away.

Y/n stood there for a moment, wondering what on earth she could help him with before closing the door and hurrying down immaculately carved stone steps to catch up to him.

“And what do you think I can help with?” Y/n asked, finding it difficult to keep up with the wizards' long strides.

“Thorin gave the map to the Lonely Mountain to Lord Elrond to read. Only, Lord Elrond has long forgotten the Ancient Dwarvish language. I want you to have a look to see if you can understand it.” Gandalf said after a long while of striding through the never-ending hallways of Elrond's house.

“Ancient Dwarvish? Gandalf, I can only speak English!” Y/n said, panicking. How did he expect her to read a language not even Lord Elrond could understand? “And a little Icelandic, but not Ancient Dwarvish.” 

Despite her numerous protests, Gandalf did not reply. He only led her up a staircase and through a set of stone doors that opened up into the night.

Y/n was standing in an opening of a cave mouth that looked out into the starry night. A waterfall gushed from the opening and crashed into the valley that lay hundreds of miles below them. Y/n’s stomach dropped as she looked over the sheer edge that plummeted down into the dark lands below.

“Did I ever tell you that I am not good with heights?” Y/n said to Gandalf, who only laughed and ushered her towards Lord Elrond, Thorin and Balin, who were huddled over the map that lay on a stone slab under the bright moonlight.

“Ah, Gandalf and Lady Y/n,” Lord Elrond said, looking up from the map. Thorin’s frown only deepened when his eyes landed on Y/n, but Balin gave her a friendly smile.

“Have you gotten any further with the map?” Gandalf asked. Y/n only prayed that Elrond had managed to read the contents of the map. Otherwise, she would have to disappoint Thorin even further by not being able to read Ancient Dwarvish - that she was certain of.

“Only that it has been written in moon runes,” Elrond said, then he noticed Y/n’s confusion. “It means you can only read the runes under the same light and season of the same moon they were written under. Though I can no longer read ancient dwarvish.”

“That is exactly why I brought Lady Y/n,” Gandalf said, pushing Y/n forward against her will.

“You failed to mention that you understand Ancient Dwarvish runes,” Thorin said with a hint of disdain in his voice.

“I can’t, but Gandalf wants me to-”

“I want her to try to read the map. She has been brought to this world for a reason, so she may know more than she thinks.” Gandalf cut in,  practically hauling Y/n over to the map at that point.

“I don’t see any harm in the lassie giving it a go,” Balin said, giving Y/n a friendly pat.

“Okay, but don’t be disappointed when I can’t read it,” Y/n muttered and leaned over the map. There was black ink etched into the fabric, forming the swells of hills and the jagged points of mountains.

In the centre, there was a solitary point labelled ‘The Lonely Mountain’ and it had a red dragon sketched above it. Y/n’s eyes trailed down to the scribbles of glowing blue moon runes at the bottom of the page. At first, they seemed like a random assortment of lines and dashes, but the closer Y/n inspected, the more they made sense.

“Hold on a moment!” Y/n said and leaned closer. “This looks like Old Norse, which is very similar to Icelandic.”

“Can you read it?” Thorin stepped forward with a desperate look in his eye. Y/n bit her lip and tried to recall what her sister had taught her.

“I’ll try.” Y/n traced her finger over the map, formulating the ancient runes into words as she went. “Stand by the... grey stone when the Thrush knocks, in the setting sun... of the last light of...Durin's Day...the light shines upon the...keyhole.” 

Y/n came to a stop, not only amazing herself,  but the others around her. Why on earth was Ancient Dwarvish the same as Old Norse? 

"That is very curious that you can read the map, Y/n," Gandalf said with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

"Indeed, it is remarkable that you can read Ancient Dwarvish." Lord Elrond said, but Bilbo looked rather confused. 

"What's Durin's Day?" The Hobbit asked.

"It is a mark on the Dwarvish calendar. It is when the last moon of Autumn and the first sun of Winter appear in the sky at the exact same time." Balin said, but Thorin shook his head.

"This is old news." Thorin muttered, snatching the map from Y/n's hands. "Autumn is already passing." 

"We still have time. But we have to be in exactly the right place at exactly the right time." Balin said.

"So, you are trying to reclaim Erebor." Lord Elrond said with a stony face. 

"What of it?" Thorin growled, scowling at the elf.

"There are some who would advise against it." Elrond then turned to Gandalf. "The white council has arrived to discuss some...matters. We shouldn't keep them waiting."

"Well, alright," Gandalf said, looking slightly perturbed that the White Council were present in Rivendell, though Y/n supposed he thought he could get away with sneaking a horde of dwarves across the country without getting caught. But then again, they were probably going to discuss her situation as well.

"I think it's time that Lady Y/n met the rest of the Company properly. We will look after her, Gandalf." Balin said, taking Y/n by the arm, much to the disapproval of Thorin. Y/n couldn't help but like Balin - he reminded her of her grandpa back home.

---

Y/n could hear the faint cries of laughter from the dwarves as Balin led her to their sleeping area. Thorin had decided to have a look around Rivendell, though Y/n suspected that he just wanted to get away from her.

"Don't worry lassie, he will warm up to you eventually. He is just protective of his friends and family." Balin said gently, watching the expression on Y/n's face. 

"Yeah, I hope so," Y/n replied, just as Balin opened the door to a large room with a crackling fire and many hungry dwarves and one hobbit who were feasting on stolen food.

"Ah! We get to meet the girl properly at last!" Bofur clapped his hands and before long, the dwarves descended on Y/n with an avalanche of questions. 

"Where are you from?"

"How did you get here?

"Do you have any magic powers?"

"Do you have any more food?"

Despite the utter chaos and swarm of questions, Balin managed to bring some order to the excitable group. 

"Okay, okay, don't bombard the poor girl. At least give her a seat first," Balin said, and instantly all the dwarves began motioning for Y/n to sit beside them. 

To say she was overwhelmed would be an understatement - no one had ever found her that interesting before. She scanned the room and decided to take a seat next to Kili, a young and handsome dwarf who was sitting beside the fire. Kili looked rather triumphant because Y/n chose to sit beside him.

"Gandalf said that you were not from this world. Is that true?" Gloin, a fiery-haired dwarf asked.

"Yeah...I am from a place called Earth. It's very different from here." Y/n said, watching as they munched on their food and listened to her speak.

"How did you get here?" Bilbo asked, passing Y/n a bowl of chicken soup, which she greatly thanked him for - the elvish diet of lettuce leaves did nothing to fight off her horrendous hunger pangs.

"I'm not entirely sure. I went for a walk,  got lured into a cave and then boom, I woke up here with absolutely no explanation." Y/n said.

"That's very odd," Bofur said.

"Aye! Well, welcome to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield anyway!" Fili said with a cheer. Though she had only given very little detail, the dwarves seemed content with her answers and went back to whatever they were doing before she arrived.

Well, all except one. Kili was still fascinated by Y/n's tale and wanted to know more. 

"What is your world like, Y/n?" Kili asked, making Y/n turn to face him. Though she was relieved that the others had turned their attention away from her, a new nervousness took over because Kili had his complete attention on her. 

"Well, there is no magic, that is for sure. No wizards, hobbits, dwarves or elves, only humans." Y/n said, feeling her cheeks begin to burn as he stared at her intently with those dark eyes.

"How strange. Do you have a family?" He asked.

"Yeah, actually. I have my sister Molly, my mum and my dad." Y/n said with a fond smile. She had already begun to miss them terribly. She wondered if they were looking for her - calling a search party perhaps.

"I'm sure you will see them again." Kill said, as if he were reading Y/n's thoughts. "But in the meantime, I sure would like to learn more about your world."

"I'd be happy to tell you about it," Y/n said, and couldn't help but share Kili's goofy smile.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all...

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Knew Him Well

Pairing: Hvitserk x Plus-size reader

Word Count: 2664

Warnings: Sexual themes

Summary: As a goddess, you knew everything about him.

Thanks to @shannygoatgruff for beta reading. 

Beautiful moodboard by @flowers-in-your-hayr​ 

AN: So I kinda broke my writers block with this one. This was a request I wrote for the lovely @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie as promised. It’s my first time writing for Hvitserk, but it’s entirely in the point of the reader. I really hope you like it 🥺❤️

As always, I tagged those who might be interested.

...

You knew him well.

You knew of his heart's desires, his pains, his joys, his failures. You knew his likes and dislikes, what he loved and what he did not.

Hvitserk was a simple mortal. He loved apples.

When you allowed the frozen rivers and skeleton trees to burst forth again with life, apples were among the first you pushed to grow ripe.

You watched him often in his youth.

He had small chubby hands then, always reaching up towards the skies. His tiny fingers would spread in futile attempts to snatch a bright red apple that hung just a few feet above him.

Usually, there was always someone to reach one for him. Sometimes it was Siggy, pushing herself on her toes to please the little prince with the sweet fruit. Sometimes it was Floki, the gangly man easily plucking two from a branch with a smile. And sometimes it was his mother whenever she decided to pay her second son some attention, her fox-like face pinching in concentration while deciding which apple would be best to eat.

This time, no one was around to help.

He pouted, baby arms crossed over his chest in discontent.

You remembered his green eyes, bright against his dirt-covered face from a morning of mischief with his brother.

You pitied him.

A simple wave of your hand and the tree suddenly shook its branches, dancing in the gentle wind. A perfect apple landed by his small feet. It was a deep shade of red, rich like blood.

You smiled at his sudden squeals of delight.

He reached for it in glee, hands clumsily wiping the dirt away before taking a hefty bite with tiny teeth. He chewed once, then twice before his curious eyes spotted you. He took a few steps forward, searching behind the large base of the tree for your figure.

He caught sight of you. Your eyes were an impossible hue and your skin glowed brighter than the sun.

A goddess.

But you disappeared as quickly as you came, the scent of wildflowers lingering in the breeze.

He was only five, not fully capable of understanding the memory, but he'd never forgotten it. And neither did you.

...

You knew him well.

You watched him grow more curious as the seasons changed, watched how his tiny hands were finally able to firmly grip a sword without it slipping from his fingers.

He was a man now, long-limbed and broad-shouldered. His hair had grown, always neatly braided down his back by serving girls. A lopsided grin hung from his lips at any given moment, his talented fingers dancing over the smooth skin of his many conquests. But his eyes remained the same, bright green against his pale skin.

He was a man with an appetite that craved for more than apples.

He craved women.

The finest mortal women of Midgard easily caught his eye. Thick or thin, willing or not, it did not matter to him.

But it mattered to you. A goddess.

The sound of your voice commanded the earth to bloom green after a long winter, and your golden apples fed the gods their eternal youth. Power sizzled through your fingertips like blazing fire and yet you were not immune to jealousy, a fault that all the gods have endured.

Envy was unknown to you. There was no reason to be acquainted. You had everything you could want: eternal youth, immortality, power. These things had been enough.

But it was the women he bedded that had your stomach churning and your lips set in a frown. The countless women sprawled under him, legs wrapped around his hips with toes curling in the air. You'd sneer, the smallest hints of rage filling you enough to create a spark.

You wanted to strip the earth bare, strip away the beauty held by the women that he chased. But you would not punish the earth, nor the women for the faults of one man. One mortal man.

Still, you were not angry with him.

When the mortals of Kattegat congregated on festival days building altars and sacrificing their animals to appease the gods during the summer solstice, he worshipped you, pouring rich cider over your altar and muttering the words he practiced with his queen mother.

Bless our trees heavy with a sweetness that bears us through the winter cold.

You listened to his prayers, and the Autumn harvest swelled with ripened apples before Skadi laid the first frosts of winter.

You continued to watch him.

He took to journeying across foreign seas for fame, riches, and more women. He was in his prime, his features blooming with youth that would never glow the same way again.

It saddened you.

...

"You know him well." The Allfather appeared beside you, his hoarse voice erupting from deep within his chest. His black cloak billowed like thick smoke from under him.

His presence used to startle you back when you were a younger goddess, unaware of his nature. Now you've grown used to his silent footfall.

"I do." You said, your throat tightening as you watched how Hvitserk suffered. “I admire him.”

The older god regarded you for a moment before peering down towards Midgard. He watched as the young man vomited over himself, shifting quickly to huddle into a corner. His hair, damp from the harsh rains, made his eyes appear wild, like a wounded beast caught in a trap.

"Admire his weakness?" The Allfather questioned.

"His strengths." You corrected, daring to glance at the king of the gods. He raised an ancient hand to stroke down the length of his graying beard. He did not miss the harshness in your tone as hidden as it was. You were as sharp as knives.

"He is a troubled mortal," was all he said.

"Wronged by his own brothers." You reasoned. It was no wonder Hvitserk turned to wild herbs for comfort.

"Indeed." He agreed, shifting his godly gaze back to you, the blue of his eye deeper than the oceans belonging to Ràn. "I had favored his father once. Perhaps there is a reason you favor his son." He spoke as if he knew of things that you did not know of. Perhaps he did.

You remained silent, not knowing much else to say.

"You want to go to him," The king of the gods knew. "So go."

You held your basket tightly in your hands, your knuckles turning white against your golden skin from the pressure. You had wanted to go to him for so long, only allowing yourself the one encounter so many years ago. Gods did not mingle with mortals often.

But you knew Hvitserk was delirious. He would think of your presence as nothing but a hallucination. It would have to do.

The Allfather chuckled, his hand outstretched expectantly. You quickly reached into your woven basket to place a golden apple in his cold palm, watching how his large fingers curled over it. It was not for him. He was king of the gods, he did not fret over youthfulness as his wife did.

"Please send Frigg my love." The words barely left your berry-colored lips before he disappeared.

You turned back towards Midgard. Hvitserk was now asleep, limbs twitching and eyes rolling under his dark lids.

You went to him.

...

You had grown bold.

You visited him on many nights, watching him sleep. Your hand would gently caress his cheeks, smoothing down the arch of his sweaty brows as he dreamed of countless horrors. The foul murder of a woman. The burning of another.

You pitied him.

His eyes would barely open, lashes splitting apart to gaze at you. But he could not see you, not truly. Still, you would smile at him, pushing his stringy locks away from his face, and he’d fall back into a fitful slumber. You’d kiss his skin and leave by dawn, your touch remaining on his skin like a whisper once he woke.

Hvitserk had recuperated under your godly touch after a few weeks, waning himself away from the wild herbs that destroyed his body and mind.

But he no longer searched the trees for your apples, nor did he pour golden cider over your altar. He did not burn offerings in your name, nor whisper his prayers. He was lost as if caught at sea in a raging storm. He did not know his purpose, and without purpose, he would achieve nothing.

He had been a berserker once, a powerful warrior in battle. He had much to be proud of. Now he was but a mere soul wandering Midgard like a ghost.

He no longer believed.

And you pitied him once more.

…

You visited him again. It would be the last time.

"I know you well." Your voice, so simple in the realm of the gods, was like a bird song in his ears.

Hvitserk gawked at you, mouth open like a fish in a clear stream. He jumped up, feet now planted firmly over the soft grass of his favorite meadow.

He was a bit older, though not by much. His eyes were not as bright as you had known them to be, a dull green that held countless stories. He kept his hair pulled back recently, tightly bound towards his nape with a leather band. His fine tunic hid the worst of the battle scars, thin lines of healed skin barely peeking through the collar. Signs of a warrior.

You smiled, taking a step towards him. You were not wearing any shoes, your toes digging into the familiar earth. Fresh regrowth and new flowers bloomed after your every step. He noticed.

His eyes took in your bare feet, traveling up the length of your thick calves, your curvaceous hips, and your large chest until finally settling on your eyes. He swallowed. They were an impossible hue.

"Who are you?" He squinted, though he did not know whether it was from the glare of the sun or your powerfully glowing skin. "A ghost?"

A chuckle bubbled past your lips as you reached into your basket full of ripe apples. You plucked the brightest one, tossing it to him. He caught it easily.

"My name is Idun." You answered with the name mortals had given you centuries ago.

Hvitserk silently inspected the apple in his calloused hands. It was a deep shade of red, rich like blood. The fruit was fragrant and smooth to the touch, his fingers carefully grazing over the delicate red skin. His eyes went back to you.

"I remember." He finally said, eyes twinkling as they did when he was a child. Those were the eyes you knew. “I remember you.” His voice held a note of recognition, his mind searching through the memories from long ago.

The blood-red apple at his feet and the glow of your skin. The hue of your eyes and the smell of wildflowers. He remembered.

"I've watched you your whole life," You told him, your thin dress billowing with the gentle breeze, "I have shared your joys and your pains, dear Hvitserk. You are not alone." The smile that stretched the corners of your mouth was a sad one, but he did not notice. All he could see was your ethereal beauty.

His lips moved as if to speak but he found himself stunned by the goddess before him.

“I came to spend the night with you if you desire it.” You offered your hand to him and he did not hesitate in taking it.

…

His hands worshiped you.

His fingers dug into your full hips tightly, enough to leave bruises if not for your godly resilience.

You moved above him, up and down, gently then rapidly, giving him exactly what he desired. You whispered in his ear of his successes, blessing him with the fruitful future he deserved.

His lips traced heat over your skin, tongue teasing the jewels that hung from your ears. His fingers lingered in the strands of your hair, holding you flush against him.

You loved him, you realized. You had for years.

But it could never be. Dawn would come and you’d swiftly make your way back to the realm of the gods, watching him once again from afar.

It would have to be enough.

He filled you, a guttural groan escaping his throat as he held you close. Your bountiful chest molded perfectly against him as he lowered you both over the warm furs. The signs of sleep passed over his eyes and a lazy smile curled on his lips.

Dawn arrived faster than you had hoped.

You peeled away from him, setting his arm over his lean stomach. You cast him one last look, admiring how the dying fire made his skin glow like a god, before disappearing.

The sun placed itself high in the sky when his eyes opened next. He shifted, his nose picking up the scent of wildflowers. He looked over his shoulder, hoping to find you beside him but was greatly disappointed. You had left at dawn as you said you would.

The furs were cold where you once were. His fingers reached out, searching for the warmth he knew would not be there. But there was something that caught his attention.

His fingers grazed against a smooth surface, hidden under the furs. He ripped them off, his eyes settling over the golden apple you left behind.

…

The summer solstice began.

Altars were built for the gods. Animals were sacrificed and offerings burned. The air was filled with the sweet scent of worship.

You watched Hvitserk at your altar pouring rich cider over the offerings burned in your name. He whispered his prayers again with hopeful fervor.

You smiled. He believed again.

…

An older woman wept beside a funeral pyre, the body of her deceased husband igniting under the heat of violent flames. The smoke rose, swiftly taking his soul into the afterlife. His son and daughter comfort their mother, tears slipping down their cheeks.

You pitied them. Perhaps you pitied yourself, too.

“He is dead?” The Allfather asked, peering down toward Midgard. It was a useless question. He was king of the gods, he knew all. His two ravens sat obediently on each of his shoulders, beady black eyes searching down below.

“Yes.” You said, your voice monotone. “He fell in battle.”

“He was a good mortal,” The king of the gods commented, “But a mortal, nonetheless.” Mortal. You could not keep Hvitserk from aging. Your golden apples were not made for human consumption.

“Yes.” You repeated, watching how high the smoke traveled from his pyre. You could nearly touch it if you stretched your arm out toward the skies.

“Hvitserk.” You heard his wife wail. The name would be a memory now. You would remember him in his best days, when he was in the prime of his youth, green eyes bright and a grin that could conquer all of Midgard.

You had almost forgotten the Allfather was beside you, his looming presence not enough to deter your attention away from the funeral. He placed his spindly fingers on your shoulder. It was the only comfort he could give.

“He will serve me well when the time comes.” He promised. His words did not lift your spirits. He gazed back towards the grave filled with riches befitting Hvitserk’s station. “You knew him well.” He added before he disappeared, his two ravens flying off to collect more knowledge in unknown places.

You peered down below again, your eyes catching sight of a familiar glint. Buried among gold and silver trinkets was your golden apple, shining fiercely despite the overcast day.

You did not think you could cry. Nothing had ever moved you to tears before. You felt a foreign prickling behind your eyes. Tears filled to the brim until you no longer had the strength to hold them back.  

Gold ran down your cheeks in painted streaks.

You knew him well.

...

@didiintheblog @a-mess-of-fandoms @leilabeaux @shannygoatgruff @inforapound @fuchsiagrasshopper @pomegranates-and-blood  @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @grimeundglow 

@doctorwhoandfairytaillover

[honestsycrets]

Freyja’s Secret | [Floki x Reader]

❛ pairing | floki x reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | floki meets a goddess on the beach who gives him inspiration to build his first boat. 

❛  warnings | delusions, hating on rollo (this is my blog after all.

❛ request | it begins.OMG I got so excited about the plus-size event 😁😁 if i can request some fluffy with Floki??! Maybe he's in love with plus size!reader and worships her like he worships Freyja!! But if you n't want to do it,i will be very happy reading the other requests!!😘😘

❛ notes | gif is not mine.

Humans are mean creatures. 

It’s no wonder then that Floki has such little need of them. He’s recently taken over his late fostri’s pastime: boats. A traditional sport that someone had to do for Kattegat. Floki’s bare legs slosh in salty water, sending off his boats into the hungry and unforgiving sea. He regards them idly, fingers tickling each other. His father’s old prototype was good… could be better. He’d make them better.

Floki tinkers with the sail of his father’s boat. He looks off into the distance, considering how the boat would float when a wave of water thrusts him off balance. His boats suck into the water, and in his panic, he rushes after them. His clothes are sodden with water. It makes motion heavy and sluggish, as if hands below were dragging him down from his precious boats. Every one of them pull out to sea. Just when he thinks all is lost, that Ran has sucked in his fleet, they wash to shore under a tranquil wave. 

Floki’s hand thrusts up, trickling water up and over his sparse hair, picked in spots due to his problematic tic of picking at his head. He looks toward the shore, the warm stream of sunlight kisses his pale skin, and he, at last, notices a figure onshore. Golden rays peek over your skin, perfectly lit, and it’s all suddenly okay. The gods could strike down his prototypes-- every, single, one. It would be okay. 

In place of destruction, you stand there, in a wet gown that has melded to your skin, picking up his various boats and securing them on the cloth that he carried them here in. Then you stand there, shivering under the coolness of a sea gust. Floki’s knees bend, bringing waves of water to shore. As if you’re knee-deep in mud, you stand there waiting for him. Most women ran, bolted at his eccentricities, shunned him in his entirety. 

“What is your name?” 

You mutter your name, a distant voice, one he hasn’t heard before. He thought he knew everyone in the larger village of Kattegat of the necessity of occupation. He was wrong, somehow, because he’s never known a woman of such a distinct shape to work within Kattegat. Your hair tumbles, insulting the ground with its beauty. When you lock eyes with him, he swears its nothing but soft adoration, and his head tilts, unnatural in its angle. 

“Where have you…” his fingers click, shifting together, and a giggle leaves his throat. “You aren’t from Kattegat.” 

“No. It’s a secret,” you say, and it doesn’t altogether register that it could be a neighboring village, no. It has to be up higher, beyond the realms of man, for someone to consider him as more than a lonely boat builder, who had nothing to do but bat lengthy eyelashes at him, and gods-- he stops inches before you, wavering closer. His fingers throb, aching for a touch, just one. 

“You’re Freyja…” he whispers, as though this whirlwind of a moment can somehow be summed up to the golden-haired goddess, who teased him with generous intimacy. 

“I can be whatever you want me to be.” You lean into his palm, closer, cheek shifting, hellish eyes fixed upon him. He’s going down-- quicker, harder, and he’s dry for words and certainty. The only certainty he knows are the spiraling thoughts, his thumb flicking over a bouncy full lower lip and above all-- the need. 

“But you are... Floki,” you capture him, and he doesn’t know when he gave himself over, or when you learned his name, only that when his hand shifts back, there’s a need there. The way you whisper his name snowballs his need, harder, and faster, and more, and more, it grows. You lean forward, biding him deeper. He falls into it. “...the Boat Builder.” 

His head flicks, drawn back, confused. “T- The boat builder?” he giggles. 

He’s never known that name. His father was the boat builder. He was the apprentice. For so long, he was used to that, but you pull him in, reaching for his peasant hands, lacing them in between your plump fingers, dragging them around her full waist. You taste sweet on his lips, your grazing his, and its the first he had. The first time he has felt special and sweet. “I’ve waited for you,” Floki thinks, imagining his daydreams. They’re here, all formed up, buzzing in front of him.

“I know. You’re so lonely. So alone.” The waters have stilled, and he doesn’t know where that powerful wave came from before, only that now, his buzzing head feels as if it can still-- untempered. He wants answers. Where, how, why? But this overwhelming peace seeped under his skin, like salty sea air, filtering inside of him so deeply that he had no idea where it came from. “But you don’t need to be.”

“I don’t?” 

“No... no. My Precious Floki,” you ask him, gliding your hand down to his chest, forming a cup over his heart. “Build a boat. ” 

And just like that, with the flicker of the salty sea air, it’s gone. The allusion before him, seeping so deep, taunting him with its beauty. Gone, he’s lost in the daze of the moment, swaying before the cool winds. It’s begun to get dark. His mind has played mean tricks on him, casting the allusion of plump lips on his, love seeping through his bones, your voice has rooted deep inside of him. He’s scared that he could never get you out. Could never get rid of this deep pleasure. 

Then, at last, he takes up his hammer. He was going to build Ragnar a boat. 

The boat rides the waves, cutting through the fastest of currents, until Floki squeals confidently at the nose of the boat. He’s pumped with adrenaline, fists in the hair, thanking Freyja, and Thor, and Ran, and all the other gods that his boat sails. All he remembers is the girl, the plump little goddess on the shore, who encouraged this latest design. 

“My boat!” 

“Look at it sail,” Ragnar tells him, and surely he smiles, ear to ear. That’s it. That’s all the validation he needed: from the gods, and from Ragnar. He hops over to his friend, grasps him by the shore, shaking him in his validation. 

“She knew! Freyja knew, you see-- my sacrifices weren’t for nothing,” he cackles, booting Rollo with emphasis. “You see, I told you! How could you doubt me?” 

“Somehow they weren’t.” Rollo snatches the oar, rowing boredly, taking them back to shore with his brother’s help. “Whatever ‘goddess’ would help you.”

“Freyja, I told you. Don’t be jealous, you pitiful dog. She was beautiful. She would put any of your whores to shame. If only you saw her, Ragnar!” Floki flicks his fingers at him, indignantly. Sure, Rollo mutters. 

They bring the boat to shore. The thought of her fills him with fine memories, full of pleasure and confidence. They row the boat to shore, long sweeps of his lithe arms bringing him home. They drag it to its hiding place. “Come drink with us, Lagertha is waiting.” 

“I think I will go home,” he’s reverberating with ideas, and thoughts, and how he could better the boat for his friend. It’s all warm confidence in his belly, but the excitement of his ideas flutter around in his belly like ravens constrained by his rib cage. They finish concealing the boat, lurch off, bouncing like three happy balls of energy. Rollo is silent. Always is-- planning some cock shit plan, no doubt. 

The boatbuilder sighs, raising his hands behind his neck. A long nap, that’s what he needs. As he turns to walk with his best friend-- he sees something wrong. Standing there, with gladdened eyes, is his Freyja. 

“Little Freyja…” he wonders out loud.

“I saw you sailing through the sea,” you whisper softly, despite the fact that two other men are there. At first, he thinks it is in his head. Until Ragnar stops, and maybe Ragnar sees her this time too. Floki’s head jerks on its axis, hoping this was real, hoping that he wasn’t lost in his head once again. “You really are a boat builder.” 

She’s stepping forward and Floki takes one back. His back collides with Rollo, who shoves him forward because he never did like the eccentric boat builder. Her eyes center on his twiddling hands. “You see her?” he asks Ragnar as though it's all alien to him. Is she real? Could she be something more than a cruel figment of his imagination? 

“Tell her something.” Ragnar counters, raising his hand to set upon his honey brown hair, so light, so thin between his fingers. You’re here, and he’s unsure what to say, bringing his gloved hand toward your cheek, caressing the soft and supple flesh of your full cheek. His forehead knocks against yours, the spry hairs tickle your forehead. 

He laughs. Then you laugh. And you’re laughing together in the dusky darkness that sets over the horizon, past the fjord. Somewhere along the way, Ragnar and Rollo set off toward home, patting each other’s shoulders. “I thought you were an illusion-” 

“An illusion?” 

“From the gods.” He points toward the sky, tipping back, laughing. The thumping in his chest reverberates hard and fast, vibrating in excitement. You lift your soft cheeks up, humming in agreement. 

“Why would you think that?” 

“You are strange,” he says pointedly. “You disappeared.” 

“I did.” 

“But you are here, bone and flesh, real. And still sent by the gods. Maybe a goddess. Are you a goddess?” 

“Maybe we all are,” you agree, pulled in the direction of his thoughts. “You never know what secrets the gods’ hold.” 

“Even Rollo?” His hand sets on the small of your back, guiding you toward his home, high in the mountains, where there would be no distractions. 

“Even Rollo.” Somehow, he doubts that. You bow your head, and he plucks free foliage among the trees, fixing it behind your ear. Gentle and soft, you look at him as if you’ve never seen a man more charmingly… weird. Heads of statues to the gods mark your entrance to his home. He’s faithful. If anything, you could be sure of that.

He opens the door up for his new little goddess regardless. Who was he to argue with a goddess? Floki swoops down like a raven, snatching you up around your thick legs, swirling into the room. He plops you on the bed, marveling as he sits there, his tremoring fingers following over your skin, lost-- and found. 

“Don’t look at me that way,” you say, flushed pink. “You look at me the way a child looks at his first armring.” 

“No, no, no,” Floki says, scrambling to sit upright. He takes your hand, gentle kisses on each of your digits as if Floki has some great promise to commit to you. His loyalty and love. “An armring isn’t enough to show you how I feel. It is... it is...” 

“More than that?” you finish, settling your hand atop of his head. His soft kisses tremble, and he feels himself crumbling under your soft touch. If he could, he would build a statue here-- of Freyja, little Freyja, you. 

“Yes. More ... more than that. More than any mortal could feel. I’ve never felt so deeply.” 

“I understand Floki,” your lips purse outward. 

Amused you look at him, stricken with excitement and love, and he’s sure he’s met a goddess this time. Your hand comes over his temple. A wash of warm exhaustion takes him over, and though he could not later admit why it came over him, it filled him with a night of deep sleep. 

He hopes when he wakes, his dream won’t fall to pieces.

@flowers-in-your-hayr​​ @fireangel1978​​ @artxfuck​​ @tephi101​​​ @alicedopey​​​ @supernaturalvikingwhore​​ @tootie-fruity​​ @titty-teetee​​ @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla​​​ @ethereallysimple​ @deathbyarabbit​​ @deathbyarabbit​ @readsalot73​ @natalie-rdr​ @lol-haha-joke​​​ @lisinfleur​​​ @hissouthernprincess​ @marvelousse​ @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol​ @vikingsmania​​ @wish-i-was-a-mermaid​ @lif3snotouttogetyou​ @gruffle1​ @cris101071​ @gold-dragon-slayer​​ @babypink224221​ @wonderwoman292​ @naaladareia​ @beyond-the-ashes​ @generic-fangirl​ @chinduda​ @laketaj24​, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope​ @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117​ @unassumingviking​ @ladyofsoa, @inforapound​ @winchesterwife27​ @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys​  @bluearchersstuff​ @affectionrabbitt​ @whatamood13​ @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou​ @unacceptabletatertots​ @ivarandersen​ @stra-vage​ @tgrrose​ @cookies186​ @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim​ @msmorganforever​

[geeky-introvert]

Greeting’s my beautiful followers!

So, now that I’ve finished the stories that were voted for and lined up I’ve decided to do this again. I like it, and it’s a better way for me to know what my readers want to read. Now that the first half of Vikings is at an end I have ideas for stories so here are some to choose from. Don’t worry they’ll all be written I just want to know what people want first. Thank you to everyone who has continued to follow and read my stories it means the world to me. Love you all so much and stay safe. ❤️

What do you wonderful readers want to read next?

9 Votes . Blue Rose . Ubbe x OC Summary: An arranged marriage was made between the Saxon princess and Ubbe to gain land in England. She promised herself to be a good wife to the heathen and would do her best to please him, but when he ignores her and doesn’t even make effort to spend time with her she doesn’t know what to think or how to feel about the marriage....

8 Votes . Hidden . No Pairing Summary: The daughter of Floki and Helga has grown up with the sons of Ragnar all her life. Everything was fine until secrets were revealed that will change everything....

3 Votes . Dusk Of Time . Ivar X OC Summary: She hasn’t seen her husband since he was forced to flee from Kattegat from his brothers. As part of their plan she tried to escape in another direction with their daughter but were caught by Bjorn’s men. Now, she was forced to remain. They called it as their ‘guest’, she called it as their ‘prisoner’.....

3 Votes . Precious . Hvitserk X OC Summary: During the Mediterranean journey when they invade the Spanish city Hvitserk is eager to make a claim. He finds himself in a lush room but what grabs his attention is the woman caged like an animal....

7 Votes . Tasty . Hvitserk X Plus size OC Summary: She was nothing but the villages baker back in England until Heathens raided their town. Now she serves in Queen Aslaug’s hall as a cook and slave. Hvitserk likes the taste of her sweet pies and goes to pay her a visit, and let’s just say he’s really hungry for more….

I’ll keep this running for a few days. Vote away!

[the-coldest-goodbye]

Ivar (Vikings) x plus size reader headcanons

Ivar x plus size fem!reader

Requested by Anonymous.

A/N: Sorry if this feels a little OOC for Ivar. I’ve never written for him before and I wasn’t really sure which direction I should run in with this. I toyed around with a couple of darker versions, but ended up settling with a more fluffy/vulnerable Ivar because sometimes you just need some fluff in your life. Also, sorry it’s kind of long and seems more like a bulleted story and less like actual headcanons for the first half of it. I just felt like it needed the setup. (If you’re ever looking for brevity, you ain’t getting it from me.)

Some NSFW stuff towards the end.

► Ivar fell for you because you accepted him and didn’t fear him. You saw through the imposing and cruel persona that he had built for himself and instead saw him for what he really was deep down: a hurt, vulnerable boy who just wanted to be loved.

► Both of you would be insecure of your bodies in your own ways, but the two of you found refuge in each other.

► Ivar was observant and was familiar with most people in Kattegat, so he was surprised when one day he showed up at Floki’s cabin and found you chatting with his old mentor. He had never seen you before, which intrigued him.

► This caught Ivar off guard and made him a bit tense. He had come to Floki’s cabin that afternoon as a refuge, a place where he could drop the big, cruel persona he built up and instead could just be himself. Ivar crawled up to the hearth where you and Floki sat, a distrustful look plain on the boy’s face. Noticing Ivar’s wariness, Floki jumped to introduce you. “Ivar, this is my friend Y/N.”

► “Ahh, so you’re the famed Ivar the Boneless,” you smiled as he sat himself next to you and the older boatbuilder. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” And it’s true — you had. You had heard countless tales of his affliction and of his cruelty. However, Floki had been a close friend and mentor of Ivar since he was a little boy, and Floki’s stories were much more sympathetic. This discrepancy made you more curious than anything to actually meet the youngest Ragnarsson and learn for yourself what he was actually like instead of taking the rumors about him at face value.

► “Then I’m sure you must be eager to run from me in fear right about now, hm?” Ivar replied, both teasing you but also curious. Ivar knew of his reputation and of how people avoided him. Ivar’s viciousness towards others was largely a defense mechanism. By scaring people away with his attitude and cruelty, it made him feel a little less powerless. It hurt a little less telling himself that people avoided him for his callousness, something he did have control over, than because of his legs, something he had no control over.

► You laughed. “No, I don’t fear you.” A smirk crossed Ivar’s face. He was partly confused and partly impressed. “You don’t?” You replied, “No, I’ve only heard stories, but I don’t believe that rumors can ever capture all sides of a story, all of the intricacies.” You paused for a minute, a small smirk spreading across your lips. “Would you prefer it if I feared you?” Ivar thought for a moment, unsure of how to answer you, before saying, “No, I don’t believe that I do.” He began to smirk too. “At least not for now.”

► That broke the tension. The conversation between you, Floki, and Ivar flowed easily for the rest of the afternoon. (Insert Floki giggling in the background, delighted at his friends getting along). Ivar enjoyed your company, finding you funny and clever, with a biting wit and a slightly snide sense of humor. Most shockingly to Ivar, you were kind and warm towards him, and you showed no hesitation or fear around him.

► Throughout the afternoon, Ivar becomes more and more intrigued by your body. It’s quite different from most women in Kattegat. He was used to seeing a lot of women who were thin and small, much like Margrethe, the only woman he had ever been with and touched. Your body, on the other hand, was thick and lush. It looked soft and warm. Ivar couldn’t help his brain from wandering to how your body would feel against his.

► In the confines of Floki’s cabin, you radiated confidence. You unapologetically took up space. It felt like your body was demanding to be looked at. (And, boy, did Ivar look. He wanted to bury his face in your breasts and wondered how they would feel in his hands.)

► Before you left Floki’s cabin, Ivar (seemingly) confidently asked you, “So, Y/N, when will I see you again?” instead of asking if he could see you again, because there was no question in his mind. He must see you again. Despite how confident he tried to come across, he was terrified of you rejecting him. With a playful glint in your eye, you answered that you could often be found on the sandy shores of the coast when you couldn’t sleep, and then you bustled off.

► After you left, Ivar discussed you with Floki for a bit, and Floki had nothing but lovely things to say about you. This cemented in Ivar’s mind that you were a good person, someone he wanted to know better.

► Ivar crawled out to the beach that night and found you sitting in the sand, watching the waves, just as you had promised. You met that night, and many nights after that. You would sit in the sand and watch the waves, stargaze, talk about everything and nothing all at once. You were like no one Ivar had ever met, and he was amazed at how open and vulnerable he could be with you. You understood things and you didn’t judge him. Ordinarily, Ivar would be kicking himself for admitting to anyone the things he would tell you, but he trusted you more than he had ever trusted anyone else.

► However, as the weeks went by, Ivar became increasingly dissatisfied with your arrangement. Why could he only see you at night when no one else was around? Terrible thoughts swirled in Ivar’s head until one day he admitted to himself that you must be too ashamed to be seen with him because he was a cripple. As the hours drew on that day, getting closer and closer to your meeting time, he dwelled on this, his rage and bitterness increasing. He thought you had been different. He thought he had finally found someone who saw past his legs and through his cruel persona, but apparently he was wrong. This betrayal crushed him, which in turn infuriated him. He would have to confront you that night.

► “Good evening, Ivar,” you greeted him warmly before you realized his face was hard with anger. The next thing you knew, he was blurting out an enraged rant about how you had lied to him and were stringing him along, about how you were just like everyone else. You were paralyzed with confusion and alarm, not sure what you had done to cause this kind of reaction from him. By the end of his tirade, tears welled up in his eyes. Finally he bleated out in a very small, cracked voice, “I am a fool. I trusted you, and now my heart is broken.” His face crumpled and the tears began to flow.

► You reached out to hold him, but he yanked his body away from you. Your voice was quiet and shaking. “Ivar, what is this about?” Tears had begun to well up in your own eyes. You were shaken by seeing this boy you cared so much about be so hurt by you and yet not knowing what you did to cause it. Your voice cracked as you started crying. “What did I do?”

► “You never want to see me in the daylight. You never want other people to see us together because you’re embarrassed by me. I thought you were different,” he whimpered.

► You began to cry harder, realizing the misunderstanding and scolding yourself for letting him think that he was the reason for your behavior. “No, Ivar,” you gasped out. “It’s not you. It’s me. There’s a reason why you’ve never seen me around Kattegat before. It’s because I don’t want to be seen. Whenever I go out, I feel people staring at me, at my body, making rude comments, cruel jokes. I can’t bear it. It’s not you, Ivar.”

► Hearing your confession made Ivar weep harder, but this time he was weeping for you. The thought of someone as lovely as you experiencing that level of shame and insecurity, that feeling of never quite being at home in your own body, crushed him — because it was a pain he knew all too well, one that he wouldn’t even wish on his worst enemy. He had found you so confident when he first met you in Floki’s cabin that he would never have guessed that you felt the way you do. It finally occurred to him that Floki’s cabin was a refuge for you, much like it was for himself — a place where you could both be comfortable in your own skin without fear of judgment from others.

► Ivar wrapped you in his arms, pulling you close to him. “No, my sweet Y/N. You’re beautiful and you shouldn’t hide yourself away. You’re special and the world needs to know about you.” He tearfully kissed your forehead as your body shook with quiet sobs. As the tears began to subside,  the two of you would sit side-by-side in the sand, you resting your head against his shoulder, and him resting his head against yours. He wrapped his fur shawl around the both of you. You sat together in a comfortable, understanding silence as both of you let your tears stop and breathing return to normal.

► Gently, Ivar said, “I want you to come have supper with my family tomorrow. I can meet you at your home and escort you to mine so you won’t have to do it alone.” You conceded.

► The next day, during your trip through the village, you felt self-conscious and you were afraid that everyone was looking at you. You were worried that Ivar would become embarrassed by being seen with you and that he might resent the unwanted attention that you drew to him. When you sadly admitted that to him, he just laughed and reminded you about who he was. “They’re not staring at you. It’s the fully grown man dragging himself through the mud that they’re looking at.” He paused for a second. “I’m used to it. At least now when they stare at me, I can show off my pretty lady,” he added playfully.

► Ivar would take it upon himself to be your protector. If anyone dare to harass you or make you feel small, they could expect a rather unpleasant interaction with Ivar the Boneless.

► With the two of you seeing each other more often and more openly, your relationship quickly became a committed one. (His family adored you because your presence seemed to quell a lot of Ivar’s pent up rage and made him a bit more even-keeled.)

► He loves your soft body, holy shiiiit. Not only do his legs ache from his condition, but the rest of his body is in constant pain from having to drag himself around everywhere through the dirt and over rough terrain. The softness of your body is a welcome reprieve. At night, he would just let his body melt into yours, letting all of his tension slip away.

► Also, his legs ache more if they were cold, so the extra heat that your body would generate under the furs with him in bed would help him a bit with his pain.

► He loves making out with you in bed, with him sitting up against the headboard and you on your knees, straddling his lap. It would give him easy access to everywhere he loves to kiss and grope. (Oh, and he finally gets to live out his old daydreams of burying his head between your tits. It’s even more amazing than he had imagined.)

► For a while, both of you would be reluctant to have sex with each other because neither of you wanted to reveal your bodies. He was very insecure about his legs, and he had always refused to show them bare to anybody. You were already insecure about how you looked, which was made worse when you mistook his reluctance to take your physical relationship to the next level to be because he wasn’t aroused by your body.

► One day, you decided to take the plunge and tried to slip your hand into his trousers to stroke his cock. He stopped you, and you began to tear up, humiliated by his rejection, thinking that he wasn’t attracted to you. Shame took over his face, and he quietly said, “No, Y/N, I… I can’t. It was foolish of me to think this could actually work.” He paused for a beat. “Maybe you should be with a man who could actually pleasure you.” His face began to contort into a look of bitterness. You were so confused. “What are you talking about?” He admitted to you that he was unsuccessful in his one attempt to have sex in the past, so he wasn’t sure he was able to do it. Plus he was afraid of you seeing his legs and being repulsed by his body.

► You were relieved and horrified at the same time — relieved that he wasn’t disgusted by your body, but horrified that he thought that you would ever be disgusted by him or his legs. You assured him that you could never be turned off by his body, and then you revealed your own insecurities about your own appearance. “You could have any woman you want,” you sighed. “You’re a prince and the son of Ragnar Lothbrok. I don’t know why you would want me.” Hurt crossed Ivar’s face. “No, I can’t have just any woman, not after having you. No one has ever understood me like you, and no one has ever loved me like you, and I’m certain that no one else ever will, not the way you do.” He comforted you and assured you that he thought you looked so beautiful and soft, and how your body was like his own little slice of Valhalla on earth.

► You begin to chuckle. His eyes reveal hurt, thinking you’re making fun of him, and then his face contorts into anger. “What? What’s so funny?” You reach your hand up to stroke his face. “It’s just that we have both been so worried about our own bodies that neither of us could enjoy each other’s company.” A weak smile slides across his face. You kiss his forehead. “How about we try to stop worrying so much about our own bodies and instead just focus on trying to make each other feel good?”

► “I want nothing more than to pleasure you, Y/N,” Ivar groaned, “but my damn cock just won’t work. What kind of man am I if my cock won’t work?” You lean into him and purr into his ear, “There are other ways for us to please each other.” This definitely piqued Ivar’s interest.

► When he finally takes off his pants revealing his legs, he flinches, afraid that he’ll see a look of disgust or pity on your face when you see them. Instead, he’s blown away when you look down at them lovingly, gently run your hands up and down them, and lean down to press a kiss to one of his thighs. After you move yourself back up to kiss him on the lips, he would quietly mumble, “I thought surely that would have sent you running.” You smile reassuringly. “Never.”

► Similarly, you were afraid to look at him when you finally took off your clothes, revealing every bump and roll on your body, nowhere to hide. You looked off to the side, embarrassed. “Y/N, look at me,” Ivar gently urges. You slowly turn your head to face him. A giant smile is on his face, awe in his eyes. “You look like a fertility goddess. Now come here and let me worship you.” He cannot keep his hands off of you. Your soft form is intoxicating. He wants to kiss and nip at every surface of your body.

► His legs are sickly thin from lack of use, and so he finds something so glorious and erotic about your thick legs, particularly your thighs. His hands are always kneading them and squishing them, sometimes even leaving little bruises from how hard he gropes your soft flesh. He would also love to be between your legs, his face buried between your lush thighs as he pleasures you with his tongue and fingers. When his fingers aren’t working themselves in and out of your folds, you better believe that they’re running up and down your legs, caressing your thighs.

► One of his favorite things to do is to lay on top of you and suckle on your heavy breasts as you run your hands through his hair and whisper to him. It makes him feel so calm and so connected to you. (I’m not saying that he has a weird breastfeeding kink because his mother continued to breastfeed him well into childhood… but yeah, that’s precisely what I’m saying.)

► He didn’t realize how much it would mean to him for you to worship his body until you were actually doing it, gently and lovingly stroking every surface and covering him with kisses, whispering your praises. At first he’d want you to stay away from his legs, still scared that you would be turned off by them, until you reminded him that they were a very special part of him. “Your legs have made you the person you are. For that, I think they’re beautiful.” Though the thought of you touching his legs would initially be a horrifying idea to him, he would eventually grant you permission to stroke and massage them, alleviating some of the pain that ran through them. Eventually this became a very erotic experience to him, one that he looked forward to.

► Loving and accepting each other’s bodies would be so cathartic for Ivar and would help him work through some of the self-loathing and rage that has been pent up inside of him for so long. He was so in love with your body, and it confused and hurt him whenever you would talk negatively about your own appearance or how uncomfortable you were in your own skin. He wanted nothing more than for you to be able to see yourself how he saw you. It soon began to occur to him that maybe this could be applied to him as well. You always told him and showed him how much you adored his body, so maybe you saw something he couldn’t see. Maybe he wasn’t the disfigured monster he always imagined himself to be.

► The path to self-love is a hard one, but the two of you on that journey together makes it a little easier to ride out.

[honestsycrets]

Sy’s Summer Patreon Event

❛ sy’s notes | Due to some unforeseen life circumstances, I changed the format of this event. I’ll post one or two of these prompts a day for one week to fulfill all these requests according to my muse. You should see the first one drop today. Happy 4th of July Americans (if you’re celebrating, that is)! 

Lemon | Gone Sour

❛ pairing | floki x ragnar

❛ warnings | angst, a rare rollo appearance, m x m, slight fluff. 

❛ summary | ragnar is tired of life. he gives floki one last raid.

Mango | Haole

❛ pairing | harald & reader

❛ warnings | abo dynamics, no smut, clumsy!harald, tall!reader, poc!reader, shitty use of hawaiian slang

❛ summary | all he wanted was a damn mango.

Pineapple | A Lovely Bunch of Coconuts

❛ pairing | fred x reader

❛ warnings | non-canon conforming, improper use of coconuts, co-dependency.

❛ summary | pineapples and coconuts have very different uses. 

Creamsicle | A Cat Called Creamsicle

❛ pairing | ivar x reader

❛ warnings | bad employees (this is a thing for me okay), mention of death, mention of ashes, wheelchair use, referenced homeaid, pets.

❛ summary | a cat and a box of ice cream.

Peach | The Gilded Cage VIII: Sestra, Sestra

❛ pairing | ivar x reader, one sided oleg x reader

❛ story tags | impotency, anxiety, PTSD, nsfw, trickery (Oleg), angst, sibling incest (one way), obsessed Oleg, angry Oleg, jealous Oleg, deceit, Rus Princess!reader, general jealousy, time period ableism, manipulation, psychotic Oleg, hallucinations, exhibitionism, mention of death, mention of spousal abuse, voyeurism, arranged marriage within family, platonic!igor x reader, ivar4b-age!igor, spanking, discipline, fingering, assault, aftercare, obsession.

❛ summary | ivar just wants to be free of her to start over again. too bad she’s not done with him.

Sangria | Ron Weasley 

Mojito | Draco 

Strawberry | Strawberry Day-light

❛ pairing | ivar x reader, modern.

❛ tags | implied plus size reader.

❛ summary | after you decide to leave bed early, ivar comes to find you.

Apple | Thank the Vanir

❛ pairing | ivar x reader, [ Viking King x Queen ]

❛ warnings | impotency implied, functional family dynamic (no brothers bitching at each other as in the show), pregnancy mention, soft!ivar, squabbling OCs, pure f l u f f

❛ summary | None of your friends know the truth; you rather they stay that way. Ivar celebrates a new beginning.

Coconut | Somethings are Serious

❛ pairing | George x Reader

❛ warnings | tricks by the brothers, georgie in the dog house

❛ summary | he really shouldn’t go along with everything fred does.