#implied!ragnar x reader

[honestsycrets]

Locked In II: Your New Beginning

↳ prison au

Author’s Notes | heed warnings

❛ pairing | hvitserk/reader

❛ word count | 3993 

❛ genre | angst & smut

❛ summary | hvitserk is excited to bring his newest toy to their hideaway. hope it lasts.

❛ warnings | violence, dub/non-con, angst, convict!hvitty, exhibitionism, mention of breeding rings, drug use, criminal behaviour, kidnapping, abo dynamics, humiliation, masochism, guilt tripping etc.

The bite must have hurt.

On the after thought of the escape, Rollo tends to wiping his wet fingers over his chest and jerks off his button-up shirt from his chest, flinging it on the floorboard of Ragnar’s car. As his father pulls off, you realize that around the main entrance there an influx of police filter in. None of them realize that such a threat has escaped, nor that medical staff lay in the medical wing deceased.

“Your plaything is a cobra.” Harald says, victim to an onslaught of your sneakers shoving against him his torso while he changes into a t-shirt. Hvitserk too changes quickly, unable to help the disgust that runs through his skin from wearing a uniform of a what might as well have been a dirty fucking cop.

“You’re telling me.” Rollo responds from the front seat.

Hvitserk laughs, “Yeah but she smells amazing and I need a fucking hole that don’t feel like STD Russian Roulette. You got my lollipops, uncle?”

Rollo tosses a bag of brilliant red lollipops over his shoulder, landing in your lap. “Let’s hurry up and change out the license plates.” He reaches around you to grab his lollipop, unraveling it from its wrapping and popping it into his mouth with a long, pleased groan.

You shift uncomfortably on top of him-- unsure which to wiggle close to. Did you wiggle closer to the insane Ragnarsson you briefly knew or this strange, older man with tattoos reflecting a lifelong world of crime on his face? Either he was an idiot-- or he just didn’t care who knew who he was.

So instead you make the mistake of scooting back over Hvitserk’s lap where he kept you. He can’t help his long, jagged moan behind his lollipop, loosening the tie in your hair and turning his nose in your silky hair.

“You already trying to scent me?” He laughs. “Fuck you smell good as fuck.” Hvitserk’s hand slides from the lollipops in your lap to the stringy bow ties of your pants, tugging them loose. Rollo hands Harald something in a warm cup. At first you think, booze. Not the case. The car is filled with a nutty smell of coffee beans.

“I’m no, I’m not!” You all but shout as his large, slender fingers slide over your dry folds. He’d have to try a hell of a lot more than that to make you bend!

“We got shit to do, Hvit.” Harald rumbles beside him.

“Not for a good ten minutes.” Hvitserk shrugs, making nothing out of the fact that he’s petting you right in front of the other men. Harald seems more concerned with nursing his headache and coffee-- but you know those blue eyes linger upon you as much as Rollo’s were. Even this strange ‘Dad’ snuck a look in the mirror above at least once.

“Let’s see that pretty pussy.” Hvitserk ignores your complaints, looking to Harald for assistance. He provides Hvitserk with a knife-- and the older man looks to you to stop wiggling with a hard raise of his forehead. Bunches of wrinkles strain his forehead. The hard side of this new knife prods the crotch of your scrubs causes you to jump, outright sobbing this time.

“Please don’t…” You sob inhale a breath, full of the thick odor of three potent Alphas. Fear soars up your veins, sending shockwaves of hard palpitations when Hvitserk affectionately sliced through the fabric. He chuckles, soft and conceited.

“Keep still.” His voice deepens, ordering you to do as he willed. The knife slits a long line from ass all the way up to the waistband, stopping a inch or two short. Perfect, he thinks. He flicks the blade to the side, smoothing over your pussy that slowly-- but oh, oh so surely, becomes wet for him. In a test, he dug his digits in between your slick.

“Please don’t…! “ You sob, losing yourself when his digits come back out connected by a long string of thick lubricant. He slips the fingers into your mouth to shut you up, flicking you in the cheek when you bite down on his fingertips. In place of his wiggle fingers, you feel the hard stickiness of something all too man made.

“Knock it off.” His father says from the front seat, glancing over his shoulder to his son. His knuckles twist the candy he was once eating with a spin, glancing up with trifling green eyes to him.

“Leave it to you to not let me play.” He pouts, spinning the lollipop once, then twice before pulling it out again. You flinch when he brings the soiled candy back up to his lips, knocking the candy around his full cheeks contently. “We almost at the stop?”

“We’re here.” He throws the car into park. Hvitserk shoves you off of his lap towards Harald-- who looks down upon you with a small, smug smile. The doors to the car open and thrash closed once again. Two of the men have left. Did you make the wrong choice? You fear asking anyone anything, flailing to sit back up on your ass. There was a good reason for your fears too…

“Do I… get to go home?” You ask. At the wheel, the man has his short and thick fingers at his lip. He glances to the rearview mirror where Hvitserk is, flicking his stick in another direction as he replaces the plates on the car with the help of Rollo.

“You’re an omega.” Harald says beside you. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

It couldn’t have been worse. You bury your hands into your face with an outright sob when Hvitserk comes back into the car, it’s with his lit cigarette and a cheesy smile, flicking the plates onto the ground.

“Hey.” He takes another long drag of the cigarette, nudging you. When you don’t respond, he pokes you with the hot end of his cigarette. The sear is immediate, raising the hairs of your arm that haven’t been singed by your new, raw wound. Ragnar starts the car for their new hide away.

“Sup, princess?”

Oh god, help you.

You should have been looking out the window.

In the stress of your seizure, you had lost it. No longer were you awake looking at the many trees whizzing by. Not until the blackness you were shaken out of your empty, black dreams.

“We’re here.” The voice, deep ease you awake. It took a few moments to snap awake-- and when you did, it was by the crack and squeak of old wood under feet. The Ragnarsson Hvitserk had you yet still in his tattooed arms. Moments later, he creeps into another room. You know that the entire house was peculiar. It’s aged walls peel with a dull yellowing wallpaper, sure. There is also thin, dusty curtains that would scarcely hide any sun.

“You smell better by the minute.” Hvitserk turns the corner, kicking open a cramped bathroom. It elongates just so to fit a bath, a toilet and sink all in the room. It could have been nauseatingly small all on its own. Hvitserk sets you down on the edge of the bath, grabbing a plastic pack from underneath the sink.

They must have owned this house.

“But, there’s some modifications I could live with.” Hvitserk shrugs, turning one green eye to you. He flicks his fingers at you to get into the bath. It’s… stained. You fear with more than just day to day grime. He stops what he’s doing to throw you an almost irritated look.

“Think I’m gonna shoot you? You have a pussy, don’t worry.” Hvitserk laughs. “You’re safe.”

That was consoling. Still you do as he pleases and strip off the grimey-- ruined scrubs, setting them just outside of the bath with your bra and panties. It was almost neat. Hvitserk swipes them up, tossing the into a large trash bag.

“Trust me, where you’re going, you won’t need them.” He says.

“Where I’m going?” You respond with thick concern. Hvitserk sits upon the toilet, flicking the handle of the bath. Scalding hot water fills the bath causing you to flinch back, folding your feet against your breasts to hide your body fro him. He tilts his head, gazing to your folds that are unprotected from his gluttonous eyes.

“Yeeaaah, shouldn’t’ve worn tight clothes to work. Why would you do that working with a bunch of alphas?”

Now this was your fault? You huff heatedly.

“C’mon, tell me. You like the attention, don’t you?”

You admit to nothing-- even if you did! It wasn’t for the attention of a bunch of pussy starved inmates. It was for the hope of what all the other women wanted. Male or female or somewhere in between, most to everyone wanted a special somebody.

“But don’t worry.” He laughs, flicking out a razor to hand to you. “We’ll take care of you. Now shave it pretty for me.”

It’s all cryptid. Hvitserk then turns to an carribean blue ice chest sitting upon the floor. He plucks it up by the grey strap, pulling out a glass vial. Your stomach clenches hard upon an empty stomach, feeling the anxiety bubbling with every sweep of your blade over your smooth skin. Hvitserk pops the cap off, plunging it into the white permeable membrane of the vile.

“What is that?” You shudder, shaking now.

“A suppressant, if you can call it that. Has a poison to destroy those stupid receptors you omegas got. Arm.” Hvitserk sweeps his eyes over you, drawing on the orange plunger to pull the strangely clear liquid out. You’ve heard of those very suppressants-- a pricey drug not cleared by the Omega Drug Association.

“No.” You wiggle through the hot, burning water to keep your distance. If he came close, you could always use the razor! A deep sigh bounces off his lips, flipping up his t-shirt to pull out the handgun that was tucked in the rim of his joggers. He turns the gun on you next, crouching down beside you.

“Don’t fuck with me.” You drop what you were doing enough to give him your arm. He smiles, winding the black tie he uses for his hair around your upper arm. He eases the needle in without falter and so you know he’s definitely experienced in such things.

“See babe.” Hvitserk laughs, pulling out the plug to the water before drawing another bath. “It’s not so bad if you just listen, right?”

Your heart was telling you that you knew far better than that.

The light streaming in from dust littered, sheer buttercup curtains should have woken you up that morning. After an arrival like that you should have been knocked out upon the thin, craggy stained mattress pad. Instead you sprawl over the stained covering with a bursting heat within your tingling inner walls of your pulsing cunt. Yet you couldn’t touch it, tied like a dog and told to sleep it off. The drugs coursing through your system were filtering out. You curse yourself at that very moment for not taking suppressants. Despite the pulse of your cunt, you know what will happen.

He should scare you.

They all should scare you.

Yet the demon that brewed in these alphas were unlike the ones in normal alpha males. They were disposed to be what they were: greedy, lusty, gluttonous. Oh, a great many things. The difference between these convicts and normal men was the ability to keep the demon inside of them at bay. In days of your heat, you were just the same; spilling needy little cries of an omega through the house until the alphas were at war among one another.

“She can’t go on like this.”

The alphas had been awake for a great few hours. His chest stung as he flexed, bloody with pink at the edge of the black wings of Hvitserk’s tattoo. Hvitserk had been in a fight with Rollo as the hours raged on. They sat arranging their flight out of Denmark into sweet, innocent little Sweden. Or at least, that was the original intention before your scent trickled down to where the other alphas were bickering that Hvitserk wasn’t tending to you carefully enough.

“She’ll be fine, uncle.” Hvitserk chides, thrusting his towel over his shoulder and lazily walking over to drop a plate in front of his father. Ragnar’s trademark braid was done away with in favour of a short crop on the top of his head.

“You have… intention to breed her?” Ragnar twiddles a bit of floppy, chewy bacon. Hvitserk listens to your soft sobs above-- slipping into the ragged, natural desires of the flesh.

“Of course I do. She’s an omega! When her heat soars, she will be screaming for release.” Hvitserk says. “Then you can take her for your ring.”

That was no sort of life and all four of them damn well knew it. The highest bidder would lay down their coin for a night with the most delicious of dolls. Each slamming their fat palms down on their red buttons, thrusting up cards to dib coin upon their fixations. The winner walked away with the toy. Then the same would happen… night after night until Ragnar thought them fit to be given to Rollo. From Rollo-- there was no coming back.

“But she’s educated.” Harald says gruffly. “Can’t we use her for better means?”

Ah Harald, always making half-baked plans. Hvitserk turns to set his plate of crunchy bacon and medium done eggs before him.

“No.” Hvitserk snears. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You’ve been around Ivar for too long.”

“I was stationed with him.”

Ragnar’s hand hovers lazily by his lips. His blue eyes flicker down to his plate, then back up again to look at the stairs just behind the meager two floor home. They had to airlift out of this hellhole as soon as your heat settled. Ragnar slips out of his chair as son and uncle bicker tirelessly together. Before either notice, up Ragnar goes up the stairs.

Each step brings him closer to the princess’s den so to speak. He can already tell that your soft mewls of desperation are stringing out longer and longer. Ragnar knocks the door open with a rippling creek that swells down the steps. It creaks apart. The yellow wallpaper on the walls matches the drab brown wood coming half way up the wall, dull. Your eyes lock onto him through the wildness of your hair. A thin rim of colour surrounds the deep black of your eyes.

Ragnar does not find this something new or unique. He’s seen that very eye in a willowy, alpha female-- his wife, before she attacked and bred him for his seed once upon a time. Ragnars’ lips twitch and so he moves closer.

“(Y/N), that is your name?”

“Fuh… fuck you.” Comes the hiss. Ragnar closes his eyes, motioning his head downwards tiredly. He’s surely heard this one before and yet he carries on, moving closer. Like an animal she sits there, rubbing her legs together and massaging herself through heated frustration.

“You’ll have the chance.” Ragnar hums, reaching forward to moved your hair from the messy manner it was displayed. He could feel your heat burning through his skin, attempting to get under his own, to implore him to breed.

“What do you… mean?” You make out between deep, harsh breaths. Your thighs press tightly together. Despite the heat between your legs, you can rub them together for some friction. But it’s not enough… it’s never enough. Ragnar’s eyes course over your freshly shaved mound up to your breasts before relenting his gaze.

Then he makes a face of indecipherable emotion. It’s short lived-- because shortly after, Hvitserk resurfaces through the door. Ragnar slides back up and within a brief few steps, disappeared back from the way he came. The scents mingling overpower any humanistic qualities you may have had previously.

“Guess omegas are kinda indiscriminate, right?” Hvitserk muses, rolling you onto your back. His touch sends a shock wave of tingles through your walls. Damn your body. Damn whatever he gave you too. Hvitserk senses the hitch in your breath and it brings a stupid smile to his lips, palming your breasts while you squirm. “As long as it can pop a knot, right?”

No, you want to say, it wasn’t write. Yet as your walls moisten and your cunt burns with a hot, eager need you know that he is right. In this state you would give it up for anything-- convict, or no convict.

“You ask stupid questions.” You huff out, moaning outright when he pinches both nipples between his fingers. Instead of the fear he was so damn sure you would exhibit, you writhe under his fingertips.

“You like it?” His tone shames. He twists again-- and pleasantly your legs kick out, betraying your mind screaming everything that Dagny committed to your knowledge. Hvitserk Ragnarsson was a murderer. A breeder. The last alpha male that crossed him had shown up to your clinic with great tears to his jaw up to his cheekbones. Fibrous strands of connective tissue attempted to string his cheek and jaw back together, a testament to the quick wound healing of an alpha.

“Of course you like it. I bet you're into all types of kinky things, aren’t you? Don’t you got someone special at home?” Hvitserk rustles within his own pants, drawing his cock out into the cold air. Your curious eyes can’t help but sneak a glance. He’s of what you think might a comfortable size. Or at least it would have been if not for those barbells along his shaft.

“Just shut up.” You answer between painful huffs; even if you did, it wasn’t like you would tell an insane alpha male that. Men like him were regularly euthanized. Who would tell him anything? Your eyes keep attended to his cock in his small strokes along the shaft. It only serves to build his huge ego-- and it’s nothing that you would admit to freely. Hvitserk slips onto the soiled mattress before you, taking your hand in his gloved one to force you to look at him.

“No? Then let me guess.” Hvitserk chuckles, fisting the root of his cock to lead the tip to your unprotected pussy. He shoves himself forward unceremoniously, forcing you to roll from your side onto your back.

“You’re one of those li’l sluts that binges xvideo porn all day and daydreams all about a certain little someone, right?” He chides, pinning your shoulders down. A long groan escapes his lips, hissing. “Fuck, no one been in this pussy for a while.”

Oh you hate him. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him!

“Those are the kinda pussy princesses I love, ya know?” He slurs, moving his hands down your back to your waist. He pins you there, enjoying the bounce of your ass against his hips with every bouncing thrust. The balls of his piercings pop into your hole, gliding in cool. They’re quickly warmed by your juices coating down his cock.

“The ones that just can’t get enough. Just like me.”

“I’m not like you!” You hiss and despite his dick just smoothing over the right bundle of nerves, you fight him tooth and nail through the long, bruising thrusts that relieve your swollen need. He’s so thick-- and when he fills you, it’s as if you could never be more full.

“Aw that’s cute pretty baby.” He leans in above you, placing his palms down flatly against your head. You glare at the black lines on his right forearm, wanting nothing to do with him. But in the end of it all, you knew he was right. “But it ain’t true. Omegas are meant to be bred like this. This is what you were always meant to do.”

His balls slap against your ass-- hard, then harder when your hips defy you. You lean into his thrusts, taking them like only an omega could. Hvitserk’s lips churn into a wide, bright smile. The more he warmed you in your heat, the more attention you craved. And Hvitserk-- was far too gladdened to give you everything you craved. As a true alpha, It wouldn’t be complete if you weren’t gasping for it first. And so you were, oozing your excitement over his dick before he even came! Hvitserk gives you a long, deep stroke of his cock to fill you properly. Your vaginal walls respond by squeezing him perfectly, milking him while he strains to hold himself out above your with a few forced pants.

“Nnn- nooo.” You sob, this wasn’t it-- this wasn’t… wasn’t you. And yet all the same, yesss.

At the end of your week long heat, your legs were wiggly like the jello and thin, light foods that Hvitserk had been feeding you so often. Never again did you want to see breads, brothy soups and crackers that made it so easy for Hvitserk to breed you and breed you all week. You felt the heat subsiding little by little through your cunt until finally, it was little more than daily annoyance of breeding and sex.

Hvitserk woke up before you that day, preparing everything that had previously been used in the house for the fireplace. Your wrists were bound when he finally came back to gather you onto two feet with a short, white flowing dress.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask-- stupidly so.

Hvitserk keeps his head level, hair smoothed out into a neat bun on the top of his head. He takes a drag of his cigarette, losing the smoke in your face yet again. You were getting used to his asinine actions over the week that you knew this Ragnarsson.

“You’re flying back with Dad.” He answers.

“Back… home?”

Hvitserk stops around the area where a jeweled pair of flip flops are. Whoever picked these pretty things-- it definitely wasn’t any of the four idiots you came to know over the week. Though Rollo did have a soft spot for prettty things, so maybe it could be him.

“You’re not going home.” Hvitserk explains. Ragnar comes to stop beside him, and so suddenly, the dread pits in your stomach. “You’re going to his breeding rings.”

Breeding rings?

“You’re not serious.” You state the question as a blank statement. Ragnar grasps your upper arms, tugging you away from the only man that you knew up to this point to stand closely against his toned chest. The young man stuffs his hands into his pocket.

He’s deadly serious.

“You can’t do this to me!” Your voice cracks at the end of the statement, beginning to panic as to what exactly a breeding ring might be. It was a running joke that Omegas were only good for breeding rings but like any things, you never gave it any credence until now. Almost like a lead weight you drop in Ragnar’s grip, refusing to go anywhere. Much less tot the sight where you would be airlifted in a separate direction with the Sigurdssons Ragnar and Rollo.

“No, no I’m not going!”

Instead of giving your fit any weight, uncle Rollo coes to the other side of you. He lifts you up onto two feet. Hvitserk lifts his hand and like magic, Rollo pauses.

“C’mon princess. Don’t make this painful. I like you, but I don’t like you like you. Besides, you’ll be nice and cared for by my brother Ubbe. Don’t that sound nice?”

It didn’t sound nice, it didn’t sound nice at all!

“It sounds awful!” You shrill out, jerking in the two brothers’ arms. At long last, Hvitserk digs his hands into his pocket. You shrill all the way to your next mode of transport until Hvitserk is nothing but a small speck. He shakes his head, rejoining Harald, still in his thoughts.

“You’ll thank me later.” He chuckles. “When you can’t get enough.”

@igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @concretewaywardangel, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @Kirah34, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @titty-teetee, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @piebytheocean, @strangunddurm, @atequila, @rekdreams247, @justacrush, @ivarswonderlust, @peachesnpisces, @elenawrit, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @dylanowhyyien, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @huntingbears, @My-Little-Wolfe, @seize-the-droid, @Certifiedpoison, @hotshotstar, @deans–chevy–baby, @moondustmemories, @colourmeinblue, @ilvebeenabad, @squirtleandeeveearethebest, @rubyquartzshades, @queenmissfit, @calaena-banrion, @hallowed-heathen, @Kirah34, @lulura, @looneytunes20033, @Imamom-makingadifference, @sunlightdaniel, @neeadinghugs, @Funmadnessbadassvikings, @mblaqgi, @Natmors, @triumphantreturnofpies, @dmv49, @imavulcanatheart, @attorneyl, @nina2697, @iconicvaleria, @lovelynerdytraveler, @tierneygonzalez, @zabee113, @meganjudee, @nininstinct, @sdcyumyum, @ms-allenbrown, @pancake-blonde, @ivarswickedqueen, @starkiddreamer, @Orange Darko @austenkingmylady, @thisisparadisemylove, @pinkrockstar19, @jeowjungkook, @threewintersoldiers, @end-of-night, @yaminax-kuss-a , @gruffle1, @arses21434@natalie-rdr, @tempt-ress, @Sirena-wesker, @thevikingsheaux, @poisonedjoinery, @smokealone, @chewythecatus, @glopsifum, @laughinglikenialler, @lefrenchfrye, @she-walks-in-the-moonlight, @mybarnesmyhero, @vengefulflange, @imcreepininyourheartbabe, @therealmrshale, @that-goodgirl, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @athroatfullofglass justrepostandlove

[serasvictoria]

Aquarius

Pairing: Hvitserk x Saxon Reader (implied Ubbe x Saxon Reader)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.140

Summary: Your plans for the morning consisted of nothing but washing clothes by the river, but an interrupting Viking has other ideas…

Notes: Little bit of canon divergence in this one, because Hvitserk would have stayed with Ubbe right before the battle for Kattegat and now he’s ended up in England with his brother and the rest of the group.

The language that Hvitserk sometimes speaks is Danish. He does translate it at times, but not always that well since he’s kind of preoccupied with other things to be honest 😏 (whatever he does not translate are nicknames)

Near the end certain sections of conversation are italicised to indicate that it is spoken in their native tongue.

And I am blaming @vikingstrash for this. One day we were talking about how clean Vikings were and started joking about Hvitserk interrupting some poor woman who was just trying to do her work and that’s how this particular fic was born. So I hope you’re proud of yourself 🤣

Screencap provided by @underragingwaves, other images came from Pinterest

Tagging @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @ritual-unions-gotme @vikingstrash @pomegranates-and-blood @quantumlocked310 @punkrocknpearls @captainkilly @adrille88

Carrying a basket that was almost filled to the brim with dirty clothes against your hip, you hummed a tune to yourself as you made your way down to the river. You took care to avoid the places where the other women gathered, for you had no mind to listen to their exhausting gossip. So you walked through the woods for about ten minutes until you found a fairly secluded spot where you could wash the clothes in relative peace.

Most of the women tended to talk of nothing but the Vikings which now found themselves in Wintanceaster and the surrounding area.

When they had first arrived with Bishop Heahmund, a lot of the people talked about what happened a few years previous and all the blood that had been spilled in revenge for the death of King Ragnar. It wasn’t until King Alfred had made it clear that he meant to offer the former invaders refuge in exchange for services on the battlefield that all talk surrounding these people changed considerably. Some people still eyed them suspiciously even now, whispering that the heathens couldn’t be trusted, but after a while the whispers turned more favourable and in particular from the women.

Conversation would turn to nothing but giggles whenever one of the women would shyly admit to having caught one of these tall Northmen winking at her in the market or elsewhere. Some of the women had already lain with some of them, but most of the women that had would not dare say that out loud out of fear of angering the local men who appeared to have waged some kind of personal vendetta against them.

Oswine, a local boy who had been trying to unsuccessfully woo you for many years now, called them filthy heathens, but you could always hear the jealousy in his voice quite clearly. He only ever seemed to say it when one of them was near you which seemed to offend him greatly, though you were always too caught up in your work to even notice why something like that might upset him so. Whenever you made eye contact with one of these Viking men all you saw were their radiant smiles which always made you avert your eyes shyly and then focus all your attention on mending the clothes that you had been given to repair.

Besides, the term filthy did not really apply to them for they were cleaner than any man that you knew. Whenever you found yourself close to one of the men, they even smelled faintly of flowers which was a lot better than the decidedly more musty smell of Oswine. He smelled like he slept in a barn, which was exactly where he slept actually, on a small wooden platform right above his family’s cow.

It was this talk that you were trying to avoid. You did not need to hear about how clean these men were, what they were like in bed or which Viking male had been trying to get two women into bed at the same time. This was one of the few moments you got to clear your head and where you wouldn’t be bothered with inane rumours.

Dropping the basket down near the water’s edge, you sat down next to it and removed your shoes and stockings before tying your skirt together so that it wouldn’t get wet. You dipped a toe into the water and pulled it back instantly when you felt that it was freezing.

No other thing to do other than just getting in quickly. Not that doing that made it any less cold, but it was a lot better than easing yourself into it. Doing that only seemed to make you more aware of how cold the water was. Soon enough, you were up to your knees in the water, willing yourself to get used to the temperature. Some parts of your dress that you hadn’t tied up well enough were already soaking up water and you could feel patches of wet fabric stick to your thighs which you ignored.

If you had been paying closer attention however, you might have noticed that there was a pile of clothes on the riverbank a few feet away from you. It wasn’t as if it had been particularly well hidden either, it looked as if someone had just dropped their clothes where they stood, not caring much if anyone found them. The owner of the clothes however, was currently hidden behind a low branch that was hanging in the water, and he was currently keeping a very close eye on you.

You turned the basket over and reached for the first item of clothing, a blue tunic with a neatly embroidered pattern on the collar, the hemline and on the sleeves. The stains that had been on it had already been almost entirely removed after being treated with lye previously. Dunking it under the clear surface of the water, you rubbed the fabric together to get rid of it altogether, then squeezed the moisture out of it and repeated the process until you were satisfied.

The sound of the water flowing down the rocks a bit further up the bend, the wind rustling the trees overhead and the birds chirping away excitedly on the branches (and a particularly loud crow that was adding nothing to the lovely birdsong at all) ensured that you didn’t hear anything else. Least of all a Viking male who was swimming in your direction as quietly as possible.

But since he had no intention of scaring the living daylights out of you, he called out to you when he was close enough.

“Hello!” The voice sounded jovial enough, but you didn’t recognize it at all. You looked up at the riverbank, thinking that someone was standing there, and then frowning when you saw no one. “Other side.”

Turning your head in the other direction, you saw him behind you in the middle of the river, visible from the shoulders up, long dirty blonde hair sticking to his long neck and drifting in the water around him. The mischief in his hazel eyes was the last thing you saw before you stumbled and fell backwards in shock.

Suddenly you were sitting on your ass in the riverbed, the water lapping around your waist and soaking your dress. When you heard his laughter on your left, you levelled him with a glare that only seemed to make him laugh harder.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” you bit back as you got back to your feet and got out of the water. “Caught me off guard. That’s all.”

The way the fabric of the dress clung to you really left nothing to the imagination and your male companion, if he could even be called that, did not seem to mind that one bit. His eyes kept trailing up and down your body, lingering on your chest a bit longer than he should have. You were still fully clothed, but he made you feel as naked as the day that you were born.

“What do you want anyway?”

“Nothing,” he replied with a shrug. “Just wanted to know what you were doing.”

“I was washing clothes until you interrupted me.”

“I’ve seen you around town.” He did not appear to be listening, instead curious to see what you were going to do next, but since you hadn’t left in a huff yet he decided that it was a good sign. “You always ignore me.”

“What?” The minor discomfort of your wet clothes forgotten, you took a closer look at his face. Oh. He was one of the princes, wasn’t he? What was his name again? You honestly couldn’t recall. “You are Prince Ubbe’s brother.”

“Hvitserk,” he said with a laugh. “I have made no impact on you at all, seeing how you can not even remember my name.”

“I didn’t…” You had feared causing him offence, but the way that his eyes crinkled with mirth told you that he could care less. “Your names are difficult,” you said finally.

“Funny, because I say the same thing about your names.” He winked and you could feel your cheeks burn. “Mind telling me yours? Promise I won’t forget it.” For a few seconds there, you actually found yourself believing him and told him your name. He repeated it with a wide grin and added, “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You shook your head over his rather obvious attempt at charming you and then went back to thinking about the most pressing issue that currently plagued you; what you were going to do about your wet clothes. There was a dry dress in the grass and you supposed that you could wear that, but then there was the question of how you were going to change into it now that Hvitserk’s eyes were on you. There was no way that he wasn’t going to follow you if there was even the smallest chance that he could see you out of your clothes.

Though if you were perfectly honest with yourself, the thought of undressing right in front of him was one that you found a little bit too thrilling.

“Why not join me, eh?” Naturally he had noticed your momentary discomfort, but again, you had not left him to his own devices yet either. “The water’s nice.”

“No, thank you. I have work to do.”

“Fine. I’ll help you then.”

When he moved towards the bank, more and more of his body became visible and it was like you were hypnotised. You simply could not tear your eyes away from him. The water trailed down his body in little rivulets and sunlight that was filtering through the leaves was giving his wet body a sheen that made him look even more attractive. But when he made no signs of stopping, you were suddenly unsure about whether you were ready to see all of him. You screeched loudly when his belly button came into view and he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Please stop walking,” you cried out. “You’re not wearing anything.”

“Well no,” he replied with a dazzling smile. “Do you wear clothes when bathing?”

“Of course not,” you blurted out. “But you’re a man.”

“And?”

“A naked man.”

“Well yes. Is that a problem?”

“Yes!” You held the until now forgotten wet tunic in front of your body, folded it and then dropped it in the basket. “I don’t know how you do things where you are from, but women don’t tend to see naked men until they are married.”

That final statement was a lie, but he did not need to know that.

“You’re missing out.” He took another step towards the shore and you could see his hip bones come into view now. Your eyes could not help but be drawn downwards, to the light trail of hair that was visible and disappearing below the waterline. “You can watch me if you like. I don’t mind.”

“Watch you do what exactly?”

Hvitserk looked at you with his eyebrows raised, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He placed his hand in the middle of his chest, fingers moving through the small patch of chest hair that covered it, and started moving it down slowly. Your eyes grew bigger the lower his hand went. When it finally disappeared into the water, you gasped and looked away suddenly.

“Don’t you want to watch anymore?”

You did want to watch. That was the problem.

It also wasn’t as if you were entirely innocent either. You knew what men and women did when they lay together. One of your friends had very candidly told you about it since she was more experienced in that department, having slept with her current husband before they were married. Sadly your only option in that particular area seemed to be Oswine, who had seemingly decided on his own that he was the only man who was allowed to court you, and whenever he had kissed or tried to touch you, you felt nothing.

But this young man… Now that would be a different thing altogether.

“I-I do…”

You admitted it hesitantly, but you still did not look in his direction. You were so curious though and when he said your name, you looked back at him again. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, not taunting you like before, thank god.

“Join me,” he repeated his earlier words. “You know you want to.”

Temptation was starting to get the best of you. Not that you had been resisting him very hard before. If you had not been interested, you could have left immediately.

Yet you were still here, your dress sticking to you like a second skin, your eyes still glued to him and currently studying the blue markings on his skin. When he noticed what you were looking at, he turned his left arm in your direction so you could look at them more closely. You had no idea what it was supposed to be, but the design was beautiful. Then he raised his right arm to brush his fingers over his chest to make you focus on that design, but all he did was draw your eye straight to his nipple.

And from the way that he flashed you a wide grin suddenly, he had definitely noticed.

Your hands moved to your waist and to the cloth belt that was tied around it. You half expected your hands to fumble and have difficulty undoing the knot, but your movements were sure and steady. Soon it lay in the grass at your bare feet. Moving on to your dress, you simply pulled that up over your head and dropped it on the ground as well. The only things that you were wearing now was a thin shift dress that was sticking to your body and your undergarments. The idea of being entirely naked like he was, was a thought that was simply too overwhelming for now so you stepped into the cold water while still wearing those last remaining items of clothing.

The last pieces of cloth that would protect your virtue.

“Thought you said that your people didn’t wear any clothes when bathing.”

“We don’t,” you replied as you moved to the deepest part of the river while also putting a little bit of distance between the two of you. “If you object so much I could just get out of the water.”

“I’d rather you got out of that dress.”

“Not yet.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you silently cursed yourself. You had basically admitted that there was every chance that you would end up removing it later on and whilst all the signs were pointing in that direction, you hadn’t wanted to admit it this soon. “I meant…”

“Oh no. I know exactly what you meant.”

Hvitserk swam over to where you were unhurriedly, because he knew that you would not attempt to swim away. You had essentially given him permission. The water was clear enough to see all of him if you chose to look down, but instead you held his gaze almost defiantly even if you knew that you would not resist him. Your feet were only barely touching the ground and when he was close enough, his feet hit solid ground as well which made the difference in height apparent immediately.

His hand brushed over your shoulder, hooking his finger under the strap of your shift and lifting it up slowly. Even if you hadn’t pushed his hand away nor had you voiced any objections to what he was doing, he still let go. It wasn’t until you let out a soft whine to indicate that you bemoaned the lack of contact, that he moved his hand up to the side of your neck so he could trail his fingers over your artery. They came to a stop when he touched your ear, moved back down until he touched the strap and then back up again. You had no idea how many times he repeated the gesture, the silence between you stretching on, but you were seconds away from just giving him permission to do whatever he wanted.

As if he was able to sense that the anticipation was damn near killing you, he finally opened his mouth. “Can I take this off now?”

You nodded a bit too quickly for your own liking and he chuckled in reply. Reaching his hands down, he grabbed the shift and started lifting it up. Long before he had even reached your arms, for he was moving slowly once more, you had already lifted your arms for him and stood there awkwardly as you waited for him to finally lift it up over your head. He balled the shift up and threw it at the riverbank where it landed with a wet thud.

“That’s better.” He looked down at the scarf that you used to support your breasts and then further down still to your underpants. “You going to let me take those off as well?”

“Maybe.”

“Really now.” You could tell that he was suppressing a laugh. “Are we going to negotiate about this?”

“Perhaps,” you replied teasingly. “Maybe I want something from you first.”

“Oh?” His hand cupped your chin, tilting your head further upward and you briefly wondered if he had been able to read your mind just now. “And what do you want?”

You could have told him exactly what you wanted, in some very clear terms too, but you were growing tired of waiting. Surging forward, you closed the distance and your lips finally connected with his. He didn’t move at first, letting you take the lead, but when you wrapped your arms around his neck, he pulled you flush against his chest and started kissing you back in earnest.

Thankfully, he didn’t waste any more time after that.

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, leaving you gasping into the kiss. His hands were on your back, one hand stopped at your breast covering, fingers dipping underneath so he could touch bare skin, while the other dipped down until it was resting on your ass. He pulled you closer to him until you could feel something hard pressing against your still covered mound.

When you suddenly released him, he pulled away, thinking that he might have pushed you too far too soon, but you saw his pupils dilate when you reached for the scarf that was still keeping your breasts covered and pulled the knot at your side loose. Leaning back so your chests weren’t pressed together, you unwrapped it and then unveiled yourself to him. His hands immediately cupped your breasts from below, brushing his long fingers over your chest and giving them a light squeeze.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered right before dipping his head down and closing his mouth over one of your hardened nubs.

Hanging onto his shoulders, your head fell back as his tongue circled your nipple. He kept eagerly kneading your other breast, giving an equal amount of attention to both of them. You sucked in a harsh breath when he switched sides suddenly. He murmured words in his own language against your skin that you did not understand, but they sounded reverential so you assumed that whatever he was saying, that it was good.

“I can wait no longer,” he murmured against her skin. “I must have you now.”

Before you could say anything, Hvitserk lifted you up, cradled you against his chest, waited a moment so you could wrap your arms around his neck and then carried you out of the water. His strides were large so it took little to no time at all to get from the deepest part of the river to the grassy riverbank. He walked in the direction where your wet shift had landed earlier and he attempted to spread it out a little with his foot. He put you down carefully and reached down to swiftly remove your last cloth barrier. When the soft breeze touched your bare sex, you shivered involuntarily. You pushed yourself up into a sitting position, your eyes falling on his manhood accidentally and when you saw the size of him, panic settled in.

“I have never-“

“Shhh.” He pressed a finger to your lips and hung over you. “I know.” His lips found yours again and he kissed you until your nerves settled down a bit, even if you felt them flare up again when you felt his hands on your thighs that you had clenched tightly together. “I will make sure that you are ready for me.”

“H-how?” You had heard that it would hurt and you looked down again. His hands had gently opened your legs and how he had moved to sit on his knees in between them. “It won’t fit.”

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled and moved his head so he was filling your line of vision entirely now. “I will go slow. Promise.” Despite feeling nothing but trepidation, you also could not ignore the fact that you wanted him and that you craved what he was offering. You nodded and gave him the consent that he seemed to want before continuing. “I will make sure you won’t regret it,” he said before giving you another fiery kiss. “I promise on my honour as a true Viking.”

“I trust you.” It sounded odd to say that to someone that you barely knew, but you found that you did indeed trust him. After all, he had been doing things at your speed up until now so you had no reason to suspect that he would push you into doing anything that you did not desire. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing.” When he saw a slight frown crease your brow, he kissed you again, with more hunger this time, as his hands skimmed its way down your body. “Lie back and enjoy yourself. That’s what I want you to do.”

“That is all?”

“Yes.”

This was indeed a far cry from Oswine’s more clumsy groping. He had grown more insistent lately and you did not know how much longer you would be able to keep him at bay. The arrival of the Northmen had made him more convinced that they would steal you away from him one day, even if you had never been his to begin with. How right he had been in that regard.

Hvitserk’s hands settled on your chest once more, his nimble fingers tweaking your nipples into hardened peaks. You arched your back, pushing your chest into his hands, wanting more of his touch. He had told you to lay back and enjoy yourself, but you had remained seated so you could look him in the eye. His eyes were mostly green with some flecks of brown and you were struck with how beautiful they were.

Green as the first leaves that emerged in early spring. Green as the grass on the meadows that lay just outside of Wintanceaster. Green as some of those stones that richer people had on their jewellery…

“What?” He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours intently. His fingers never once paused their ministrations and drew soft moans from you every time that he rolled one of your nipples between his fingers. “Tell me what you’re thinking, min elskede.”

“Your eyes,” you breathed out and you brushed a hand over his cheek. “They’re beautiful.”

“Women usually say that to my brothers…”

Before he could finish his sentence, you’d cupped his face in your hands and kissed him full on the lips. He matched your fervour easily. One of his hands moved to the back of your head, keeping you there while he slipped his tongue past your lips and swallowed up every single one of your small gasps.

The hand that had been steadily massaging your breast slid down your belly, until his fingers brushed through the coarse hairs that covered your mound which made your skin tingle, only for his hand to move to the side and brush down your thigh.

“What was that word, the one that you said earlier…”

“Min elskede?” You nodded and his hand moved to the inside of your thigh, fingers dancing over your skin and steadily moving upward. “My love.”

“Oh.” You shivered when his hand came to a stop mere inches from your core and you tilted your hips up, hoping that it would tempt him into moving again. When that didn’t seem to work, you set to pleading. “Please…”

“Viltu mig?” He dug his fingers into your skin and you felt his thumb press into the apex of your thighs. “Do you want me?”

“Yes.” Never before in your life had you been so sure about anything. Yes, you did want him and the pleasure that he would be able to offer. “I want you,” you breathed against his lips when you closed the distance between the two of you once more. “I want you, Hvits-oh!”

The intention had been to add his name to the confirmation in an attempt to make your desire for him even clearer, but when you had gotten the first few syllables out of your mouth, he moved his hand up to cup your sex and his fingers dipped between your folds to pick up the moisture there and spread it all over your slit. He paid special attention to what lay at the top, almost buried there, and when his skilled fingers circled around it you felt your muscles spasm in delight.

“Kan du lide det?”

You had no idea what he was saying, but since he was looking at your face so intently, you assumed that he had asked if you liked what he was doing. You nodded and bit your lip to stifle a moan when his fingers moved a bit faster. He moved the hand that had been gripping the back of your neck to your mouth, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“Jeg ønsker at høre din stemme.” He pulled your lip down ever so slightly and you gasped when his other fingers applied light pressure against your entrance. “Want to hear you.”

Any words that you would have used to answer him, died on your tongue as soon as he slid one finger into your channel. It was an odd sensation, to have something enter you like that, but not altogether unpleasant. He kept his movements slow to let you get used to it and when he was confident that you had, he added another finger.

There was a mild stretch from having two of his digits inside you, but it was soon replaced by the first waves of a growing feeling of ecstasy. Especially when he found a spot that made a heat bloom in your lower abdomen. You gasped when the heel of his hand applied pressure on your clit once more, the movement of his fingers increasing and the sound that they made as they moved in and out of you was bordering on obscene.

Your hips bucked up against his hand helplessly, needing more friction, just plain desperate for more.

His skilful fingers played you like a harp, moving with such precision that it was mind blowing. The heat that had been simmering at a low burn was steadily increasing, building to such heights that it was hard to bear. You reached down in a flash, grabbing his forearm and digging your fingernails into his skin. You were torn between pulling his hand away and wanting him to continue.

The slight smile that had been on his face the entire time suddenly turned wicked, more devilish in a way, and then his fingers thrust harder and deeper into you than before. It brought along a new layer of sensation that you were entirely unprepared for and it essentially exploded within you, scorching a path through your body with such an intensity that you cried out suddenly. Your walls clamped down on his fingers, desperately trying to keep them there and draw them deeper inside still. Your entire body was shaking, your muscles pulled tight as a bowstring.

A pitiful whine escaped from your lips when he pulled his hand away from your sex. Moments earlier you weren’t sure if you even wanted his hand on your cunt at all and now you wanted his fingers to stay between your legs indefinitely. With your hand still wrapped around his wrist, he brought his hand up to his face, briefly looking at how his digits were coated in your juices in wonder before sticking them into his mouth. An involuntary gasp broke free as you watched him sucking on his fingers like they were covered in the sweetest fluids known to man. His eyes were closed in concentration, wanting to savour every drop.

When he finally opened his eyes again, the corners of his mouth curled up because the awe was easily readable in your expression. Hvitserk brought his hand up to your face and presented his fingers to you. You briefly tilted your head to the side, slightly unsure for a moment, but seeing the sparkle in his eyes made you lean forward. You parted your lips for him and he pressed his fingers inside. Despite not tasting anything worth savouring in particular, you still sucked on his fingers eagerly, twirling your tongue around his fingers and loving how his own lips parted when you did this. The tip of his tongue darted out, poking out of the corner in concentration, which you took as a sign that what you were doing felt good.

Your grip on his wrist tightened, pulling his hand away and then bridging the gap between the two of you so you could catch his lips with yours. This time you swore that you could taste yourself on his tongue or maybe there was just something about his particular taste that you liked. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating. It was having the same effect on you as when you’d had one cup of ale too many, that all too familiar lightheaded feeling.

You barely even noticed that he was bringing your hand down to his groin and it wasn’t until you felt his shaft brush against the back of your fingers that you realised what was happening. Your eyes shot down, focusing on his rock hard member once more and then quickly focusing your eyes back on his face.

“Vær ikke bange, min elskede,” he murmured against your temple, his voice soft and raspy. “Scared?”

“No,” you replied in an effort to come across as more bold than you actually were. He leaned back slightly so he could look at your face and his raised eyebrows told you that he was seeing straight through your lie. “A little,” you finally admitted. “I-I apologise.”

“No need,” he said with a grin. He teased your fingers from his wrist which you still held in an ironlike grip. You flexed your fingers and then he started guiding your hand to his cock, his own hand covering yours. Your palm soon made contact with the smooth skin of his shaft and he urged you to wrap your fingers around it. Your curiosity drew your eyes back down and you were suddenly struck with the realisation of how small your hand looked. “Scared of me?”

“No.” You blurted out the word and it was plain to see on his face that he believed you this time. Your other hand had been firmly pressed into the ground all this time and you brought it up to touch his face. Your fingers left little trails of dirt along his cheek which you instantly tried to rub away, but instead you only made it worse. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s not so bad.” The dirty smear that now ran from just below his eye all the way down to his jaw did nothing to diminish his beauty. “We can wash again after.”

“Oh yes. I suppose we could.” You could feel your cheeks burning up in embarrassment. You hadn’t even considered that even if the two of you were sitting right next to the water which provided a nice calming noise in the background. Even if it did nothing to calm your heart which was still furiously pumping blood through your body. “But you just…”

“I know, I know…” He trailed off just when he jerked your hand up and started hissing through his teeth instead. He guided your hand a few times until your hand started to move on its own. “Godt… good…”

Apparently Hvitserk had difficulty keeping track of which language to use now that his excitement was growing. Speaking in his native tongue while caught up in the throes of passion was probably a lot easier for him and you felt another burst of heat erupt between your legs. All that because of the thought of what it must be like to have him on top of you and to hear him groan those unknown words directly into your ear.

You hadn’t even noticed that your breathing had gotten more laboured until he put his hand on your chest and made you more aware of the quick rise and fall of your ribcage. Pressing his forehead against yours, his hazel eyes peering directly into yours, his gaze was so intense that it made you accidentally squeeze him a bit tighter. Any apology that you could offer died quickly on your tongue, because the way that his face contorted told you everything that you needed to know. You gave another slightly more tentative squeeze and the same thing happens, accompanied by a moan this time.

“You like that?”

It was your turn to ask him now and he gave you a quick nod. His hips jerked up into your hand when you repeated the gesture. You were enjoying the power that you had over him right now. While you had been completely at his mercy before, the roles seemed to be reversed at this very moment. The urge to see him unravel from your touch was overwhelming. His head dropped down to your shoulder and when you speeded up your movements, taking your cue from how good it had felt when he fucked you faster with his fingers, he emitted a low groan.

“Stop.” His lips moved against your skin and he reached down to grab your hand to make you stop what you were doing. “Don’t want to…”

“What?” You stared at him in confusion, unsure why he even wanted you to stop. Hvitserk had obviously liked what you were doing, so why did he pull your hand away from him? “You don’t want to… what?”

“Kom i din…”

He gestured at your hand somewhat feebly. It seemed like he was at a loss for words. It took you a moment to process what he actually meant.

“Oh. You mean…”

Your cheeks were burning up again. It seemed to be turning into a regular occurrence and you briefly wondered how many more times he would be able to make that happen.

Hvitserk put his hand on your sternum and pushed you back until you were laying down. Your heart was beating so fast that you feared that it would be bursting out of your chest any minute now.

This was it. It was going to happen. You really were going to allow this Viking prince to have you.

Positioning himself on top of you, he caged you in his arms and briefly looked down into your eyes. Perhaps he wanted to check if you were still interested in going through with this. Since he didn’t vocalise his thoughts, you had no idea. Moving your hand up to his face, you traced a fading scar under his right eye and you found him leaning into your touch. In turn, he moved one of his hands to your mouth, holding himself up with one arm now, his index finger tracing the outline of your lips.

It wasn’t until you smiled at him that he leaned down to kiss you again. The kiss deepened in seconds and his hand glided over your skin, pausing on one of your breasts briefly to give a quick squeeze and then moving down lower and settling at the top of your legs. His fingers found the swollen nub at the top of your slit effortlessly, drawing quick circles around it that left you moaning into his mouth.

His hips had started moving of their own volition and his erection kept proding into your thigh. There was still a minor hint of trepidation in the back of your mind over what was about to happen, but you steeled your resolve and reached down so you could wrap your fingers around his cock. He bucked his hips up so hard that the tip suddenly came into contact with your dripping folds and brushed against your aching clit. You breathed in sharply, it felt as if all your nerve endings were on fire, even more so than before.

The anticipation was killing you. You wanted him now.

But once again, he brushed your hand away.

“No,” he said in a low voice. “Not yet.”

The urge to beg and plead with him to continue, to ask him to stop his teasing and somehow convince him that you were ready for him was starting to overtake every other emotion that you felt. You were wondering what else there was that he could possibly do and when he shifted suddenly, you hoped that that question would soon be answered.

Moving down, he started kissing and licking his way down your body, momentarily stopping to pay special attention to certain areas as you writhed underneath him. It wasn’t until he reached your stomach and still made no signs of stopping that you seemed to understand where he was going. You tried to squeeze your thighs together, but since his chest was currently in between your legs, you were unable to.

Hvitserk paused and briefly looked up at you, confusion lining his handsome features. “Vil du ikke dette?” When you didn’t immediately reply, he pressed a kiss on your lower belly, mere inches away from the apex of your thighs. “Do you not want me to?”

Feeling very exposed all of a sudden, you covered up your chest with your hands. He waited for you to find the words to vocalise your sudden change of heart. You wanted him to continue. Really you did, but the thought of his head in between your thighs was one that felt even scarier than having him stick his member inside of you. You had heard stories of men doing this kind of thing, some liking it even, but those stories were few and far between.

“I don’t know.” Your voice sounded softer than usual and you cleared your throat so you wouldn’t sound quite so scared. “I’ve never done this.”

“I know,” he replied soothingly. “It will make you feel good. I promise.”

Having trusted him before somehow made it easier to believe him again. Hvitserk hadn’t lied earlier so if he told you that you were going to enjoy this, who were you to doubt him? When you had never experienced anything like this before? He obviously knew what he was doing, that much was clear, so that made him more knowledgeable about this than you. Taking in a deep breath, you tried to get your nerves back under control. Hvitserk seemed to sense that you were loosening up a little bit and pressed another tentative kiss below your belly button followed by another one directly below it.

When he reached your thigh, he dragged his lips over your flushed skin until he had made it down to your knee. Settling on his stomach with your still wet shift spread out underneath him, he very slowly started kissing a path up the inside of your thigh. At one point you could feel his teeth break the skin, leaving a love bite there and temporarily marking you for any potential other lovers that you might end up having.

Though how you could ever be convinced to experience this with another man after having Hvitserk was anybody’s guess. None of the local boys could ever hope to measure up to him.

The closer he got to reaching your core, the more you started to squirm. You heard him shushing you as if he was calming a frightened animal. He placed his hand on your belly, fingers splayed out over your skin and without thinking, you covered his hand with your own. He lifted his hand up slightly so you could wrap your fingers around it and he gave you a comforting squeeze. You found yourself focusing on that instead and the more you did, the more you relaxed.

His warm breath hit your cunt, blowing air against your soaked folds first and then you felt his lips on your clit. There was a sudden noise that sounded inhuman to your ears and it took you a short while before you noticed that you were the one that was making those noises. He was hitting every spot effortlessly and left you keening with every swipe of his tongue, like he knew your body better than you ever did.

“You taste…” Hvitserk started to say, adding a vibration that was hurtling you closer to the edge with every passing second. “...så godt.”

He started humming against your sex, opening his mouth wide and moved his tongue against your opening, pressing the muscle in as deep as it could go. You bucked your hips up against his face, your fingernails digging into his palm. His grip on your thigh was hard and he was pressing it down into the dirt as hard as he could to keep your legs open. Your other leg was wrapped around his shoulder, your heel continuously applying pressure to the top of his spine, but you could feel the muscles in your leg begin to tense up from your impending orgasm.

“Oh my g-”

The last word came out as a strangled cry, something that no one would be able to make sense of. The hand that had been clutching your breast, shot down to grab at Hvitserk’s head, your fingers tangling in the intricate braids and probably pulling a little bit too hard. The only thing coming out of your mouth was a long stretched out moan as you pushed his head down against your core. You swore you could feel him grinning against you right before the waves pulled you under and you were left drowning in such pleasure that you had never been able to imagine before.

If your eyes had been open, you would have seen that his eyes were on you, his lips sucking on your swollen and overworked clit, showing no signs of stopping until he was satisfied that you had come to pieces entirely. By the time that he released you, you were such a mess that you barely even knew where you were anymore.

Surely this was heaven. It had to be. There was no other possible explanation. Odd to think that heaven could be found in the mouth of a Viking prince.

Hvitserk crawled up your body and his face hovered above you for a bit, carefully studying your still blissed out features.

“Godt?” His word for ‘good’ sounded very much like he was saying ‘God’ and you couldn’t help giggling to yourself. Considering the way he had made you feel, you supposed that it wasn’t such an odd comparison to make, even if it felt mildly blasphemous to even think about it. “Good?” He repeated himself with the right word this time.

Even if he knew the answer already, his face still lit up when you nodded to him and whispered an affirmative reply. Delight creased his features and then he nuzzled your cheek, huffing his warm breath against your skin as he placed a trail of kisses down your jaw and then capturing your lips in a searing kiss. This time you could taste yourself on his lips and even more so when he pushed his tongue into your mouth.

A hand settled at the top of your legs, his fingers rubbing over your wet, swollen folds with a sense of urgency. His fingers almost slide in too easily and he groans when he feels your walls clenching around them. He presses in until he can go no further and pulls his hand away just as quickly.

“Now you are ready,” Hvitserk breathes against your mouth and then you feel the head of his cock against you which he slides over your folds slowly until you’re panting beneath him. Reaching down, he lines himself up in front of your entrance and very slowly starts to press himself inside.

It’s a lot wider than his fingers were and the stretch as he presses himself further into you is amazing. You breathe in sharply when you feel a slight pang of pain and almost immediately Hvitserk starts whispering how good you’re doing, how well you are taking him. You focus on his voice as he stretches you wider still and it wasn’t until he stopped moving, sheathed up to the hilt inside you, that you seemed to notice that your eyes had been screwed tightly shut.

Opening your lids, the first thing that you see are his eyes and then his smile right before he kisses you again. He shifts his hips, grinds them against you and the way that your body responds to him draws a moan from your throat. How is it even possible that he could make you experience such pleasure again?

“You alright?”

“Yes.” You cannot help but sound surprised. You had been expecting more pain than this, but right now it is nothing more than a dull, throbbing kind of pain. His hand reaches up to brush away an errant tear, bringing your attention to the fact that your eyes were wet. “Tears of joy,” you quickly and he chuckles softly in reply. “Not pain.”

“Good.” He grinds against you again and you lift your leg to wrap it over his thigh. “Because I need to move.”

“So move.”

Not needing to be told twice, he pulls back, sliding almost all the way out and then plunges back in again. You cried out, your skin scraping over the dirt and grass underneath you as the force of the impact made you slide up. He grabbed your thighs, his grip tight, so he could angle your body just right. With every consecutive thrust his body made contact with yours in such a way that he was hitting the right spot on the outside and on the inside.

The fact that he seemed unable to take it slow didn’t matter to you. It made you forget about the slight hint of pain. Instead it made you focus on how he filled you up to the brim every time that he rammed himself into you and the brief feeling of emptiness when he pulled out only to impale you again seconds later. It was impossible to keep up with, but the faster he moved, the more you felt the pressure inside yourself start to build until you were damn near fit to burst.

Without any warning, it practically exploded inside of you, attacking you from the inside with such force that all you were capable of was to cry out, though you could have also been screaming at that point. Your nails clawed at every part of his body that you get purchase on, digging into the skin of his back that you wouldn’t have been surprised if you had actually drawn blood. Your walls clamped down on him, practically milking him, and he swore in his mother tongue.

His own movements got more frantic as he fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his own release now. You whimpered when his hips slammed against yours one final time and you could feel his cock twitch inside of you as he coated your walls with his seed. He let out an almighty growl when his arms buckled underneath him and he collapsed on top of you, laughing breathlessly. It took a while for your orgasm to ebb away and Hvitserk was taking the same breaths that you were in an effort to steady himself.

“Hvordan var det?” When you didn’t reply, he lifted his head from your shoulder and pressed a finger against your brow when he saw how it was knitted together in confusion. “How was that?”

“Amazing.” Hvitserk beamed a smile at you and you found yourself wishing that you could see yourself, because you were absolutely positive that the bliss that you felt inside was written all over your face. “Truly amazing.”

His lips found yours again the second that you stopped talking. This one was decidedly more sweet than the others and it felt like there was a hint of a promise behind it that there was more where that came from if you ever desired it. When he shifted to pluck a blade of grass from your chest, he raised himself up on his arms to look down at your bodies. There were bits of grass everywhere from when he had been laying on his belly before. You did not even want to know what kind of state your back was in at this point.

“Dirty,” Hvitserk said with a wide grin. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and took a short moment to look at you, as if he wanted to burn the disheveled sight of you into his memory. Holding a hand out to you, he pulled you up into a sitting position and leaned in to steal a quick kiss from your lips. “Come. Let me wash you.”

As soon as the two of you had gotten back into the water again, Hvitserk set to getting all the dirt from your hair, arms and back. He even dipped his hand in between your legs again and while you let out a whimper as soon as his fingers made contact with your sex, his aim was not to get you worked up this time but to clean you.

“You said something earlier…”

“Hmmm?” He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your back flush against his chest. “What is it, min søde?”

“You said that I always ignored you, but we never even met before today.”

“Oh, that.” His fingers drew absentminded circles on your stomach and his lips made contact with the base of your neck. “You never seemed interested. And I’m not the only one that thought that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are a beauty so naturally we were curious.” All of this was brand new information to you and you had no idea that they had even been talking about you. Then again, that would explain some of the more lingering looks that you only seemed to notice when it was too late. “And then there was that boy who is always by your side. We thought he was your husband.”

“Oh my lord,” you exclaimed suddenly. “Oswine is not… I’m not married and I will definitely never get married to him. He’s… he’s… I’ve known him my entire life and I-”

“No matter.” When he cut you off, you could hear the amusement in his voice. “I will kill him if he gets too close to you.”

“You can’t just-”

“Maim?”

“No!”

“Not even a little bit?” Hvitserk swiftly turned you around and laughed when he saw your pitiful attempt at what was supposed to be an angry look. He cupped your chin and brushed his lips over yours briefly. “I need to protect my woman, but if you don’t want me to punish him then I won’t.”

“Your wo-”

There was meant to be more. A question and maybe even a kiss at the end of it. Or two, but quite possibly even more than that. You swallowed the last part of the word however when a deeper voice called out from not that far away.

“Hvitserk? Where the fuck are you?”

“Over here!”

“There you are, brother. Been looking all over for…” Another figure stumbled out from behind a large tree and he stopped talking as soon as he saw that his brother was not alone. “Oh. You are with someone.”

“Yes! This beauty was finally left unsupervised. Lucky me!” Somewhere in between their conversation, you had hidden yourself behind Hvitserk’s back and were pressing your chest against him in an effort to obscure yourself from his brother Ubbe’s vision as much as you could. The way that his blue eyes remained fixed on you was telling you that it was not working however. Hvitserk briefly peered at you over his shoulder and flashed you an easygoing smile and then talked to his brother once more. “Come into the water, brother. She won’t mind.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“You think?” You couldn’t understand a word that they were saying, but Hvitserk sounded surprised over whatever Ubbe had just said. “I was supposed to go swimming with my brother, but he was… busy?” He switched back to Saxon and did his utmost not to burst out laughing when he said the last word. You could see his brother’s nostrils flare with anger. “You really need to tell her to get lost one day.”

“I keep trying,” Ubbe said with a deep sigh. “But she will not listen.”

“Want me to tell her? Please let me tell her.”

“No. I can handle it.” Ubbe’s eyes darted over to you again and you noticed that he tilted his head quizzically while his smile grew more with every second. You pressed your cheek against Hvitserk’s shoulder blade so you could avoid his brother’s heated gaze that was already igniting another flush of heat in your lower belly. “I don’t think your new friend likes me very much, brother.”

“That would be a first,” Hvitserk replied with a laugh. “Skønne?” You hazarded a glance up so you could meet his hazel eyes. “Do you mind if my brother gets into the water as well? He smells like a pig when he hasn’t washed himself.” When you looked in Ubbe’s direction, you could see that he rolled his eyes at his brother’s words, but his features softened somewhat when he saw that your eyes were on him again. “I share a room with him and it’s terrible. The stink makes my eyes water.”

“Hvitserk!”

“It’s true!” You covered your mouth to stop yourself from bursting out in laughter, because you didn’t want it to look like you were laughing at Ubbe’s expense. “So. Can he?”

You managed to sneak another glance in the older brother’s direction. His ongoing stare was really doing nothing to quench the growing fire inside you. Hiding your face behind Hvitserk once more, you pressed your cheek against his neck and made sure that he was able to tell that you were nodding in approval.

“You have been granted permission.”

Soon after Hvitserk spoke those words, you could hear the rustle of clothing coming from just a few feet away. It was very tempting to look up. Very tempting. You tried to resist the lure of seeing Ubbe strip down out of his clothing for as long as you could, but in the end you were quite simply unable to withstand the call so to speak.

Turning your head so your eyes could peek over Hvitserk’s bare shoulder, you saw that Ubbe had taken off everything apart from his trousers. Your breath hitched when you took in the sight of his half naked form. Their physiques couldn’t be more different. While Hvitserk was rather lithe, Ubbe was considerably bigger. His shoulders were broad and his muscles rippled as he moved. It wasn’t that Hvitserk didn’t have muscles, but he was built differently. With narrow hips and long legs, he seemed to be built for speed more than anything. His brother appeared to be better suited for strength and endurance.

You would have come up with more differences between them if Ubbe hadn’t pulled his trousers open and pushed them down. A loud squeak burst free when you saw his cock, making you avert your gaze instantly. Two sets of chuckles filled your ears and you could feel Hvitserk’s laughter vibrating through his back.

“She is shy!” Hvitserk said loudly and you heard Ubbe give a bark of laughter back in reply. “You don’t have to be afraid of him. My brother won’t bite you.” He craned his neck so he could press his lips against your temple and whisper a small addition to his words. “Not unless you want him to.”

His teasing words made you gasp and you looked back up just to watch Ubbe wade into the water. God almighty, he was beautiful. He didn’t appear to be paying you much attention and instead started rubbing his hands all over his body to clean himself. It meant that you could stare at him as much as you wanted and it had not gone unnoticed by Hvitserk.

“You want my brother too?” When you heard his voice, you quickly splashed some water on your face to somehow make it seem like you had not been ogling Ubbe like a piece of meat. “You can if you want to.” Hvitserk pressed on regardless, pretending not to notice that you were pretending very hard not to be interested in whatever he was trying to propose. “We used to share women before.”

“You did?”

“A few times.” It wasn’t until Ubbe replied that you realised that he had been paying attention to what Hvitserk had been saying, yet he did not look in your direction. “We have a way of working things out when we both want the same thing.”

You bit your lip in thought. Before Ubbe had arrived, you and Hvitserk had a talk about how he thought that you had been ignoring him before. You recalled how he had implied that it hadn’t just been him who had noticed you before.

We were curious. Those were his exact words.

Whenever you saw Hvitserk or Ubbe in town (and you had noticed them before no matter what Hvitserk had thought), they were always in each other’s company. Spot one and the other would no doubt be near. So if Hvitserk had been talking about you with someone else then the chances were high that the other person was Ubbe.

It was almost as if Hvitserk had noticed the moment that the realisation set in for you and he twisted round until he was facing you. His hand was on your chin, angling your head up so he could look straight at you. Apparently your facial expression was satisfactory, because he pulled away and moved to stand behind you so you had a clear and unobstructed view of his brother.

Ubbe ran a hand over the top of his head and your eyes followed it as he moved it down his thick braids. When his hand dipped below the surface of the water, you swallowed hard before looking up at his face. His gaze was nothing short of hungry now and you rubbed your thighs together to ease some of the pressure.

“Don’t be shy,” Hvitserk whispered directly into your ear. “My brother won’t do anything that you don’t want him to.”

“B-but what should I...”

“Easy.” Hvitserk’s lips started nipping at your neck, just below your ear. “Tell him to come to you.”

Easy, huh? That didn’t sound easy at all. A fearsome Viking warrior and all you had to do was tell him to come to you. Was that really all that there was to it? Just one word and you could have him too? Both of them?

You released a breath that you hadn’t even realised you had been holding and when you raised your arm up, it was almost as if it was happening in slow motion. Turning your palm up to the sky, you beckoned to Ubbe with your finger and said, “Come here.”

“Godt.” Hvitserk’s voice sounded husky and his hands settled on your hips as Ubbe came over to where the two of you were standing. Like Hvitserk had done moments earlier, he cupped your chin and tilted your head up so he could press his lips down on yours without ever saying a single word to you. “You are learning…”

[dreamlandcreations]

Misc. masterlist

❌ dark(ish) ||🔥 smut || 🧸 fluff/soft ||⚡ angst || 💔 soulmate!au || 🌎 au || 🎱 mention of reader’s sexual orientation || 🤍 gender neutral reader (otherwise it's probably fem reader) || ✨ reader description (mostly just implied) ||🎗miscarriage / infertility / reader not wanting kids || ❤️‍🩹 not quite angsty but it’s definitely in the “it hurts” category

•

see the

• Main Masterlist •

for Boba Fett, Santiago Garcia, Andromache, The Darkling, Billy Russo, Outcome 3, Poe Dameron, Nathan Bateman, Duke Leto Atreides, Alfie Solomons, Bishop Losa, Eddie Munson, Stranger Things (Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Billy Hargrove, Max Mayfield, 11), Eames, Tommy Conlon, James Delaney, Jake “Hangman” Seresin, William “Ironhead” Miller, Xenk Yendar, Aemond Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen, Shanks (OPLA)

•

Star Wars

Jango Fett

Just a simple man - Jango Fett x half alien!Reader

Summary: You save him and he shows you there is more to life than fighting…

Meeting • Trust • Stay 🔥🧸 • Life 🔥🧸 • Death⚡

Speak Freely (epilogue of Just a simple man) ⚡🧸 - Boba Fett x half alien!Reader

Summary: Boba hasn’t spoken Mando'a since the death of his father…

Darth Maul

Beauty and the Beast - Darth Maul x Queen of Naboo!Reader ⚡

Summary: Maul is tasked to keep you in line while his master’s plan comes together on Coruscant…

Marvel

Bucky Barnes

Imagine: Birthday Party, Avenger style

True Love’s Kiss - Steve x Bucky, (Steve x Natasha) 🔥⚡🧸🌎

Summary: The King of Northern America is engaged to the beautiful Princess Natasha of the Russian Empire, too bad he is falling for someone else…

Happily Ever After (part 2 of TLK) - Steve x Bucky, (Steve x Natasha) ❌🔥⚡🧸🌎

Summary: Wanda returns to have her revenge…

Steve Rogers

True Love’s Kiss - Steve x Bucky, (Steve x Natasha) 🔥⚡🧸🌎

Summary: The King of Northern America is engaged to the beautiful Princess Natasha of the Russian Empire, too bad he is falling for someone else…

Happily Ever After (part 2 of TLK) - Steve x Bucky, (Steve x Natasha) ❌🔥⚡🧸🌎

Summary: Wanda returns to have her revenge…

Tony Stark

Doctor Strange

Pietro Maximoff

Erik Killmonger

Loki

Grinch green - Loki x Maximoff!Reader

Summary: Being paired up on a mission with Loki ends up changing your relationship with the moody god…

Elektra

Casual fun - Elektra x Reader 🔥(🎱)

Summary: Riding high on adrenaline, you find something else to ride too…

Matt Murdock

Thor

Imagine: Birthday Party, Avenger style

X-Men

Erik Lehnsherr

Charles Xavier

Remy LeBeau

Apocalypse

Lord of the Rings

Thranduil

Legolas

Haldir

Éomer

Foundation

Brother Day

Day & Night - Brother Day x Reader ❌🔥⚡🧸

Summary: You can’t resist a challenge and what could be more daring than changing the fate of an Empire but you didn’t calculate with the obstinate nature of Day…

Triple Frontier

Benny Miller

Little Miller - Benny Miller x Will’s BFF!Reader 🔥

Summary: You are Will’s new bestie and everyone (except the two of you) thinks you’re gonna end up together but your love-hate relationship with his lil’ bro takes an interesting turn when you find out his call sing, that they never actually use…

Dog Soldiers series (Love, Death & Robots - Shape-Shifters AU)

Part 3 - Benny Miller

Gentlemen

Raymond Smith

A deal is a deal - Ray Smith x half Asian!Reader 🌎

Bribing • The Offer • Deal • Business🔥⚡ • Pleasure 🔥🧸 •  All’s fair… 🧸

Summary: You make an offer and you get yourself a Ray of Sunshine with the deal…

This is a terrible idea - Ray Smith x aristocrat!Reader

King Arthur - Legend of the Sword

King Arthur

All Hallows Eve - King Arthur x mage!Reader ⚡🧸

Summary: Staying at the castle, you train Arthur so he can wield the sword properly. When All Hallows Eve arrives, the dead wants to be heard…

The Legend of his Queen (part 2 of AHE) - King Arthur x mage!Reader ⚡🔥🧸

Summary: You fell in love with the King, even though you knew his destiny was to fall for someone else…

Good Omens

Crowley

Aziraphale

Vikings

Ragnar

Ubbe

Ivar

Teen Wolf

Derek Hale

We are even - Derek Hale x hunter!Reader

Summary: You work with the Argents but you play by your own rules…

Chris Argent

Enola Holmes

Sherlock Holmes

Bride (to lover) - Sherlock Holmes x Reader 🔥⚡🧸

Summary: A marriage of convenience. You never expected it to be anything else…

Narnia

Caspian

*Dating the Darkling / Billy Russo / Logan Delos / Caspian / +Sirius Black headcanon 🔥⚡🧸

made up fic title: The Summer Prince

Witcher

Geralt

Vilgefortz

Darkness Within series - Vilgefortz x Calanthe’s daughter!Reader ❌🔥⚡

Summary: He found you when your mother sentenced you to death, he took you in and taught you everything you know, then he found out just how special you are…

Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon

Robb Stark

The Wolf and the Lion - Robb Stark x Lannister!Reader

Summary: Stranger, betrothed, enemy, prisoner, wife, lover, traitor, saviour, captor…

Tyrion Lannister

Alicent Hightower

Imagine Alicent seducing you...

Star Trek

Khan

Spock

Bones

James Bond (No Time to Die)

Paloma

The Enemy of My Enemy - Paloma x Villain!Reader 🔥⚡

Summary: Your relationship with her is complicated but you have to take aside your differences because Bond needs you both to save the world this time…

Harry Potter (Marauders/Fantastic Beasts )

Sirius Black

*Dating the Darkling / Billy Russo / Logan Delos / Caspian / +Sirius Black headcanon 🔥⚡🧸🤍

made up fic title: Serpent's Heart

Percival Graves

Westworld

Logan Delos

*Dating the Darkling / Billy Russo / Logan Delos / Caspian / +Sirius Black headcanon 🔥⚡🧸

Venom

Eddie/Venom

*Misery loves company - Venom x Reader x Eddie

Summary: You harbour Eddie’s fugitive ass and put up living with the dysfunctional couple because you became friends with Venom after he saved your life.

Peaky Blinders

Tommy Shelby

Zablife Story Share - Chapter 6 Tommy Shelby x Solomons!Reader, written for @zablife's Story Share collab

Summary: A few months ago Tommy woke up to find his wife gone, along with half his fortune. Now he is prepared to make a deal with the devil himself if he can get her back...

Imagine Tommy coming to you all bloody after meeting with Alfie

John Shelby

Polly Gray

made up fic title: The Devil's Gift

Mad Max

Max

Hero - Max x Reader 🤍

Inuyasha

Sesshōmaru

Imagine being some kind of cat yōkai

Imagine that you are the daughter of Ryūkotsusei

Imagine dying from poison

Kraven the Hunter

Sergei Kravinoff

Temptation

Silver Silence

changeling!Sergei Kravinoff x Carter!Reader (Psy-Changeling AU)

Summary: Control. Precision. Family. These are the principles that drive the youngest Carter, who is the director of the new agency that is meant to protect the three races and the fragile peace between them. If only the new leader of a powerful predatory changeling pack wasn’t so distracting and destructing…

TRESE

Maliksi

Sandman

The Corinthian

Imagine the Corinthian hunting you…

Imagine Dream taking you to his realm...

Imagine being an immortal and the Corinthian falling for you...

Gen V

Jordan Li

Imagine that your power is that you are able to mimic other powers…

Imagine Jordan being too insecure to ask you out but not for the usual reason…

Imagine thinking that Jordan is trying to intimidate you…

Once Upon a Time

Cyrus

OUATIW Cyrus Scenes GIF: part 1, ...

One Piece (OPLA)

Dracule Mihawk

Imagine Mihawk finding you, a weapon maker, extremely fascinating…

Imagine that Mihawk is sent to capture you…

Imagine that Mihawk is sent to capture you… (2)

Imagine getting a reputation among the Marines because you survived a duel with Mihawk…

Imagine that you are the reason Mihawk gave up his Marine hunting ways…

made up fic title: The Girl with the Laurel Tattoo

Roronoa Zoro 

Vinsmoke Sanji

6 Underground

Billy/Four

Sons of Anarchy / Mayans M.C.

Jax Teller

made up fic title: We are what lies beyond

Angel Reyes

made up fic title: Where the squirrels burrow

[mrsalwayswrite]

Hvítr gown, nýr life (Ubbe x Reader)

This is my contribution to @geekandbooknerd​ 2k followers challenge! Congrats again, my dear! 

My prompt was: "People aren't born good or bad. Maybe they're born with tendencies either way, but it's the way you live your life that matters." - Cassandra Clare, City of Glass. 

Couple notes for this fic- Bjorn & Torvi are still together because reasons. Italics mean speakers are using Old Norse. 

The title means ‘White Gown, New Life’ in Old Norse. 

Also, this is my first time writing Ubbe so.... hopefully its not OOC?

Words: 4800

Warnings: one or two swear words. implied sex. I think that’s it???

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​

"You cannot truly be considering this!" Bjorn thundered in the small, enclosed room. 

 Ubbe observed his elder brother- a man he had aspired to be like his whole childhood, a man he still looked up too, regardless of his faults. "Of course I am."

 Bjorn slammed his hand on the wooden table, making it shake, as his voice shook like thunder in the room. "You are throwing your future away!"

 "I am protecting our future!" Ubbe snapped, finally rising to his feet, irritation leaking into his tone. He met Bjorn's incensed blue eyes with his own resolute gaze. "We need allies, alliances, everything to make father's dream come true. If this is the price I must pay to fulfill Ragnar's dream, then I will gladly do it. It is not about me. It's for our people."

 After a long, tense moment, Lagertha pushed off the wall she and Torvi were leaning against. Gliding closer, she moved to stand in front of Ubbe, tears swimming in her eyes. Gently, she cupped his cheeks. "Your father would be so proud of you, Ubbe. I pray the gods bless you with happiness in this."

 "Thank you, Lagertha." Relief swelled in Ubbe's chest. If he had Lagertha's support, he knew Bjorn would come around. 

 Since they fled Kattegat and came to England, he had watched the shieldmaiden age before his eyes. He could not help but wonder if her soul yearned for Valhalla and to be reunited with Ragnar. Not that he could blame her. To hear her speak of Ragnar and his approval of Ubbe's actions, it only further solidified his choice. 

 Torvi spoke up, surprising him.  "I think Ubbe should do it." When Bjorn opened his mouth to interject, she snapped her gaze over to her husband. "This is his decision, Ubbe. He has asked for our advice but it is up to him. We need security and this, though we don't trust them, this can provide that security."

 Bjorn huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine! Do what you want!" 

 "Thank you." Ubbe softly said, looking at all the family he had left in this world. "I'll go inform King Alfred now." 

 With a firm stride, he left the quarters they had been given in Wessex. After some time trying to locate the young king, a passing servant was able to tell him Alfred's location. Thankfully the king was in his private study, reviewing petitions from the worker's guild. The guards at the door allowed Ubbe entrance only after the king called out to allow him entrance. With a look of unrestrained animosity, almost begging him to give them a reason to throw him out, the guards opened the door for him to pass. Ubbe nodded his thanks, but never removed his hand from the sword at his side until the door closed behind him. 

 Straightening in his chair, Alfred looked up from the papers spread out over his desk. "Good afternoon, Ubbe. I suspect you have sought me out because you have an answer for my proposition."

 "I do, your highness." Ubbe paused, knowing how his life was going to irrevocably change once he answered. "And I will accept. I will take a Saxon wife to further the alliance between us."

 "I am greatly pleased by your decision." The dark-haired man pushed away from his desk. He moved to a nearby table to pour them both a cup of wine, something these Saxons seemed to favor, as he continued speaking. "Alliances must be built on trust and understanding. A political marriage certainly helps solidify that trust."

 Ubbe received the cup, missing the taste of ale from his homeland. After taking a small sip, he stared at Alfred. "So what do we do now? Do I meet some potentials or is there a matchmaker?"

 "No, I already have someone picked out for you. My cousin." Alfred answered without hesitation before pausing in contemplation. "What your father and my grandfather would think of this arrangement….our families tied by blood."

 "Yeah…. What is her name?"

 "My cousin? Lady Y/N. Fear not, she comes from a well-respected family and with a substantial dowry. She has spent most of her life at a nunnery, so there is no fear of her virtue being tainted."

 "Great." Ubbe sighed out. Though he knew Alfred meant all that to be reassuring….it felt anything but. 

 *****

 It was not until almost a month later, Ubbe met his intended bride; with the wedding set for three days after her arrival. Apparently King Alfred and some of the Saxon noblemen were keen on the arranged marriage happening as soon as possible. 

 Ubbe stood off to the side in the throne room. With his hair freshly braided and pulled back and wearing one of his nicer tunics, he hoped he appeared princely. Even if by Saxon standards, he knew he fell woefully short. Lagertha had given him a nod of approval as they waited in the throne room. Though outwardly he kept his face passive and calm, his insides twisted into knots and his hands were clammy. 

 "Are you still certain about this, brother?" Bjorn clapped Ubbe on the shoulder as he whispered, eyeing the Saxons standing around. 

 The flaxen-haired Viking glanced over at King Alfred, who sat on his throne, talking in hushed tones to one of his advisors while his mother looked on with a sour expression. 

 Ubbe answered solemnly. "Aye, we need this alliance."

 With a grunt, Bjorn removed his hand but stayed at his brother's side. Something Ubbe appreciated. Although Bjorn had no issue airing his thoughts on this foolish alliance and how Ubbe was making a mistake in regards to choosing a wife again, he kept his complaints behind closed doors. In front of the Saxons, they presented an united front. 

 The large doors to the throne room opened with a groan. All eyes turned to witness as a sole figure cautiously yet gracefully walked forward, head held high and hands clasped in front of her. 

 "Cousin!" King Alfred exclaimed, rising from his throne, arms spread wide. Immediately, he descended the few stairs with a fond smile on his face. "Your presence has been missed here at court."

 The woman dipped into an elegant curtsey, her dress gliding around her like water. "You are far too kind, my king."

 As King Alfred embraced his cousin in a warm hug, Ubbe could only stare in shock. Standing there in a deep red gown, the woman looked like a goddess. Ubbe had prepared himself mentally for his intended bride to be marginally pretty like most of these Saxon women, but someone he easily overlooked. Not her though. Without even saying a word to him, he felt beguiled by her. It was more than just her physical beauty, it was in the way she carried herself, with grace and a nobility. It reminded him distantly of his mother. A woman who knew her place and dignity. This woman, his intended bride, was truly stunning. He could not help but wonder if the true reason for her prolonged residence at a nunnery was not because of piety but to preserve and protect her. Something he was suddenly immensely grateful for. 

 "This is your betrothed." Alfred walked her over to where the Vikings stood, at the bottom of the steps leading to his throne. With a pleased smile on his face, he introduced the two. "Ubbe, son of Ragnar Lothbrok, this is my cousin, Lady Y/N." 

 She curtsied to him, her movements so graceful like they were part of a dance. When she spoke, he was further enchanted, for even her voice was beautiful. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Ubbe."

 "It's just Ubbe. Since we are to be married, we can skip the formalities."

 A coy smile played on her lips. "As you wish….Ubbe."

 "Excellent." King Alfred beamed. "Perhaps a walk in the gardens to better acquaint yourselves would be desirable?"

 Before Ubbe could whole-heartedly agree, wishing to learn more about his intended bride, a sickly-sweet voice interrupted. 

 "Y/N has only just arrived. We have wedding plans to finalize and she must try on her dress." Princess Judith interrupted, wrapping an arm through her niece's while pointedly ignoring the Vikings. "Maybe another time, but I am sure y/n will be quite busy with preparations. Come, my dear."

 With that, she swept her niece out of the throne room as if the Vikings had the plague and she refused to breathe the same air as them. But before y/n disappeared, she peeked over her shoulder and met Ubbe's gaze with a tender smile teasing her lips, then disappeared from view. 

 "There is much to finalize and my mother wants to ensure the wedding will go smoothly. You and y/n will have time after the wedding to become acquainted." Alfred said, studying the direction his mother and cousin vanished. With a sigh, he pulled his gaze back to Ubbe. "Now that introductions are made, I have matters with the clergy to attend to."

 Ubbe barely paid attention when Alfred walked away, returning to his throne and listening to some priests whine about something petty. 

 A bump of a shoulder against his own drew Ubbe's attention back from thinking about y/n. 

 Bjorn leaned over to whisper conspiracingly in his ear. "Well, at least you won't have a problem bedding her." 

 *****

 The wedding ceremony was outlandish and dragged on for entirely too long. Between the many prayers of the priests and the rigid formality of everything, Ubbe was ready to draw his sword and spill some Christian blood, just to break up the monotony. Even Lagertha appeared ready to fall asleep from where she stood. 

 The only aspect that kept his attention was his bride. Watching her walk down the aisle, he almost swallowed his tongue, leaving him gaping at her in a slack-jawed awe as she slowly approached. In her flowing wedding dress, a crown of flowers in her hair and eyes alight, she appeared ethereal. Standing in his nicest tunic and pants, he knew he paled in comparison to her, but he did not mind. 

 When the priests tried to forcefully convince Ubbe to dress in Saxon clothing for the wedding, he not-so-subtly threatened to decapitate them if they mentioned it once more. He was a Viking and would dress as such. Besides this was to be a physical representation of an alliance between Saxon and Viking, it would make no sense for him to dress as a Saxon. 

 Thankfully Alfred agreed with his thoughts, so the clergy kept any further comments to themselves. 

 Once the wedding concluded with Ubbe and y/n proclaimed man and wife, the couple was escorted to the celebration. The following feast was beyond lavish, with drink and food in overflowing abundance. To his dismay, Ubbe found himself unable to converse with his new bride. Either Alfred was introducing him to someone new, some nobleman pestered him with questions or worst of all, Judith purposefully continued to make excuses that pulled y/n away. When their eyes met, he could see the apology in them, which lightened the stone in his heart. 

 As the feast progressed, Ubbe found as more time passed, the more his gaze drifted to his bride. The gods had truly blessed him with this marriage. Watching her, he was captivated. Although, he found his hand frequently shifting to reach for the hilt of his sword no longer strapped to his side. All the appreciative or lustful looks she received from other men did not go unnoticed, and if one of them tried to lay a hand on his new wife, he would not be held accountable for his actions. His fists could be just as deadly as any weapon.

 Finally, the time was called for the bedding ceremony. 

 Alfred and some of the clergy explained to Ubbe what happened during a bedding ceremony when he was learning about the wedding's customs and the vows he would have to recite. To say the Ragnarsson was shocked was an understatement. It sounded barbaric…. and him and his people were called the heathens. But he understood the need to maintain protocol for building the alliance and the trust of the Saxons. 

 So that was how he found himself walking down a corridor with Bjorn at his side, while the feast and celebrations continued on without him. 

 "Are you sure about this?" 

 Ubbe rolled his eyes at his elder brother, his stride never faltering. "You did not have to agree to it."

 Bjorn scoffed, keeping pace. "And miss out on all the fun?"

 The two brothers laughed, the sound loosening some of the tension in the bridegroom's body. When Alfred told Ubbe he needed a witness to represent his people at the bedding ceremony, Bjorn was the only option. When Ubbe initially told his brother about the tradition and asked for Bjorn's presence, the hulking Viking had doubled-over in laughter, followed by making several crude comments about the need to instruct Ubbe on how to properly bed a woman. The discussion ended in a brotherly tussel but Bjorn agreed. 

 Especially when Ubbe explained his plan. 

 The bedroom was in the wing of the royal families' rooms. Since y/n was related by blood, she was given a room there whenever she came to visit and naturally, this meant it was where the marriage would be consummated. Several candles were lit but the bedroom was kept dim to give an illusion of privacy. A quick glance at the bed made Ubbe raise an eyebrow at the generous size and the curtains draped around it. A fire burned in the fireplace providing warmth in the bedroom, a sharp contrast to the stern, cold faces of the clergy who waited. 

 The bishop who married them stood off to the side with two other clergy, all in their robes and barely suppressed looks of disgust on the priests' faces. Two female attendees fussed over y/n, clearly everyone waiting for Ubbe and Bjorn. Once again, Ubbe had to force himself to keep his eyes from staying glued to his new wife. She stood there in a thick robe, with her hair falling about her shoulders loosely, free from the bridal veil. Her gaze jumped from Ubbe to the clergy and back as she nibbled on her bottom lip, clearly nervous about what was to occur next. Cheekily, he sent her a quick wink, hoping that would help settle her nerves. If the blush that grew on her cheeks said anything, at least she was not repulsed by him. 

 The bishop stepped forward. "Are you prepared to consummate your marriage to Lady Y/N before God and man?"

 "I am." Ubbe defiantly met the man's eyes. 

 "Then by the power given to me by the Holy Church, let the two become one in the sight of God and these witnesses and the marriage shall be complete." With that, the man drew their strange cross sign in the air and stepped back to rejoin his fellow clergy. 

 The two attendees helped y/n out of her heavy robe, revealing a thin, white nightgown that seemed to only enhance her beauty and innocence. Desire thrummed in his blood at the sight of her, but Ubbe ignored the sensation for the moment. The heavy robe was laid on a nearby chair and the two women left the room with a quick curtsy, leaving only the men and y/n. 

 After a shared look with Bjorn, Ubbe walked over to his new bride, keeping his movements slow so as to not startle her. Her hands were clasped before her, but even as he approached, he could see the faint tremble in them. Her gaze never strayed from the floor. The confidence seen previously in her seemed to have melted away into anxiety, making him think of a skittish colt. He could not help but wonder what changed, if it was due to him or what was supposed to occur between them. 

 Standing before her, he gently reached out to take her soft hands in his own larger, calloused ones, pleased when she did not flinch at his touch. Although her gaze remained downward. 

 "Are you alright?" He whispered, aware of the four pairs of eyes watching their every move. 

 "Of….of course, my lord husband."

 "Remember, I told you to call me by my name."

 That caused her head to snap up and meet his gaze. Now he could see the tears welling up in her eyes and her swollen bottom lip from constantly worrying it. 

 "It'll be alright." He tugged her bottom lip from between her teeth. The way her breath hitched at the intimate touch made his heart pound. He gave her hands in his, a quick squeeze. "Trust me, yeah?"

 After a moment, she gave a faint nod, still eyeing him warily but appearing less like she wanted to flee, mutely squeezing his hands back.

 A voice broke the stillness in the room, immediately causing her to tense again. 

 "The two of you must proceed to the bed to finalize the union. We do not have all night to wait for confirmation of her virginity and consummation." One of the priests drawled with an apparent undertone of disdain. 

 "Then it is a good thing you don't have to wait any longer." Ubbe retorted, narrowing his eyes at the priest. The man huffed but a quiet rebuke from the bishop had the priest pressing his lips together. With one final, assessing scan, the flaxen-haired Viking shifted, pulling his new bride into his side and wrapping an arm around her waist. He felt her tense against him but ignored it to stare at the three clergy with a mocking smirk. "Bjorn."

 At the sound of his name, his brother moved from leaning against the doorframe. A scowl on his face, and with the shadows cast over him, made him appear more looming and menacing. "Everybody out."

 The three clergy looked back and forth between the two Viking brothers, clearly confused and intimidated. 

 "You can't….we must witness…."

 "I SAID EVERYBODY OUT!" Bjorn roared, pulling the axe from his side and waving it in the air. "OR DO I NEED TO SPLIT YOUR SKULL TO HELP MY WORDS REACH YOUR TINY BRAINS?!"

 The three scrambled, eyes wide in terror, tripping over their long robes in a pathetic attempt to reach the door faster. The bishop turned around, hands grasping the golden cross hanging from his neck. "King….King Alfred will hear of this." He stuttered out in feigned confidence. 

 A deafening war cry from Bjorn practically shook the room in answer. That was enough to silence the bishop and have him flee, following his companions.

 At Bjorn's roar, y/n began shaking like a leaf, her hands tightly holding onto Ubbe's arm wrapped around her. He further pulled her against him, providing shelter from his brother's fury. Even as the room fell back into silence, he could still feel her trembling in his arms. He prayed to the gods that this did not darken her view of him and cause her to fear him. 

 Once the room cleared and the pounding footfalls of the clergy could no longer be heard, Bjorn turned around with a grin, scratching the back of his neck with his axe. "You know Alfred will be upset when he finds out." 

 Ubbe smirked. "We can't let him have everything he wants, yeah?"

 That made Bjorn chuckle. "I'll go guard the door." He pointed his axe at Ubbe, still grinning. "You owe me for this."

 "Scaring priests shitless isn't enough for you?"

 Bjorn scoffed. "I can do that whenever I like."

 "We'll name our firstborn after you."

 Bjorn waved him off, opening the wooden door and stepping out. When the door closed, the echoing sound seemed to fill the empty space in the room. 

 Ubbe peeked down at the woman in his arms. "Are you alright?"

 "Your brother….is….frightening."

 "Aye, don't tell him that though. It would only inflate his ego more."

 Once he was certain she was steady on her feet and would not faint, he pressed a chaste kiss to the side of her head before striding away to the other side of the bedroom. Quickly he pulled off his tunic and boots, tossing them onto a nearby chair and then flopped onto the massive bed in only his pants. If nothing else could be said for tonight, he knew he would sleep well. The bed was comfortable, even rivaling his own bed back in Kattegat. With a pleased groan, he tucked an arm under his head and settled under the covers. A wave of exhaustion crashed over him, his eyelids sliding closed.  Even though he felt like he spent most of the day standing around and kneeling for the wedding, it was still tedious and draining. Thank the gods it was over. 

 "Um, my lord…." 

 "Ubbe." He interrupted, lips twitching in amusement. "Or husband. Whichever you prefer."

 "Ah, Ubbe….are we not….?" Her hesitant voice trailed off, but the unspoken question lingered in the air. 

 He snorted. "I have no plans to force myself upon you just to appease your priests and bishop."

 "But we must consummate the marriage."

 "I will only have sex with you if you desire me as your husband and not just to fulfill an obligation."

 The following, prolonged silence caused him to open his eyes and look over at his new wife. It was apparent she had not moved from where he left her. He expected to see fear on her lovely face or revulsion at the idea of her ever willingly wanting him to touch her. Instead, she seemed to be studying him with a mixture of curiosity and respect. That confident woman he had previously met, making a reappearance. 

 After holding her gaze for a moment, he patted the bed next to him. "Come lay down. I doubt standing there all night will be pleasant."

 With a soft smile, she stepped over and crawled under the covers, but maintained an arm’s length distance between them. They both laid on their backs, together yet alone. The only sounds were of the crackling fire and their breathing. 

 Before he realized it, Ubbe found himself speaking, filling the silence with his babbling but strangely felt he needed to share these thoughts with the woman beside him, the woman whose life was now tied to him, whether she wanted it to be or not. 

 "I doubt this is the marriage you were dreaming of as a little girl. Probably expected some prince or lord….not a Viking. Your people only see us as heathens, as barbaric devils, at least that's what one of the noblemen said. That we cannot stop the evil and destruction we cause because we are possessed." He snorted, rubbing a hand down his face. After a deep breath, he turned his head to look at her, amazed to find her already watching him. His tone softened as he continued. "I'm sorry you were forced into this marriage. I know it might not mean much to you but I vow I won't ever physically harm you or force myself upon you. After all the wedding ceremonies, you can return to the nunnery if that is what you want."

 Her eyes widened momentarily, then drifted away as she worried her lip once again. As he waited for her to speak, his gaze traveled over her face, taking in the small details that until now he had not been able to observe. It would be a blatant lie to say he did not desire to lie with her, to touch and taste her. The current state of his manhood was evidence enough of how simply gazing at her beauty affected him. He made a vow to her. If nothing else, he hoped they could be friendly to one another. 

 To his shock, she rolled onto her side, facing him completely, hands tucked under her cheek. Without hesitation, he mirrored her action, but kept his head cradled on his arm. 

 "I have not traveled much," she quietly said, almost shyly, "but there is one thing I've learned through my studies and the observation of others. People aren't born good or bad. Maybe they're born with tendencies either way, but it's the way you live your life that matters." She paused as if choosing her next words carefully. "I do not think you are a barbaric devil or….or possessed. I think…."

 "What?"

 "I think you are very brave and strong. Not many would seek an alliance with those that fervently claim them as an enemy….nor be kind to a simple noblewoman."

 He smirked, finding himself charmed by her honesty. Carefully, he reached over and brushed a thumb over her cheek. "You are no simple noblewoman, my lady."

 "If you are just Ubbe, then I request you call me, y/n."

 An unexpected, loud banging on the door startled them both. Y/n gasped and rushed to sit up against the headboard, eyes wide with fright. Ubbe immediately pushed himself up, making sure to put himself between his wife and the door, unsheathing a dagger he had subtly slipped under his pillow. 

 "Are you two done yet? Some ugly priest out here wants to know!" Bjorn shouted through the door. 

 Ubbe groaned, putting the dagger away, before calling back. "No! This woman is insatiable! Tell the priest to come back in the morning! Hopefully I can still walk!"

 A harsh bark of laughter preceded loud arguing, which could be heard through the door. Raised voices crept underneath the door frame, the loudest being that of Bjorn. Ubbe stayed perched on the bed, to assist his brother if the need called for it. No matter what Alfred or those whiny clergy ordered, no one would be witnessing any consummation of his. Ever. Eventually, the voices dwindled like a dying flame until only silence could be heard from outside. Ubbe figured Bjorn must have won the argument, or used enough threats of bodily harm, since no one entered the bedroom. 

 The dagger returned to its sheath under his pillow. A habit he had since childhood. A glance to his side showed his wife still shifted as far away from the door as possible, hands clutching the sheets in a tight grip. He reached a hand out to her. "It's alright. Bjorn won't let anyone in."

 She took his hand, still eyeing the door warily. "What did you say to him?"

 "Ah, nothing important. Just to keep the priests away."

 "Ok."

 "We should go to sleep. Today has been long." He stated after he coaxed her back under the covers and no longer sent glances towards the door. Only after she was settled did he relax. Laying on his back, an arm behind his head, his eyes closed almost instantly. He could hear her shuffling occasionally but he paid it no mind. Sleep slinked into his mind, hovering on the edges. 

 "Ubbe…." A barely-heard whisper pulled him from the brink of sleep. 

 "Yes?"

 "What if….what if I want to."

 "Mmmm?"

 "Um, fulfill our marital duties."

 Well, that got his attention. He turned his head to the side, noting how her gaze traced over his bare chest slowly then lifted to meet his gaze. "Are you asking me to have sex with you?"

 "Yes." She bit her bottom lip, even as her eyes never strayed from him.

 "Are you sure?"

 She nodded. 

 "Hmmm….well, I may be convinced but….you have to kiss me first."

 Cautiously yet deliberately, she scooted closer until they lay side by side. In a graceful movement, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his in an innocent, chaste kiss. Her lips were softer than even the pillow beneath him and by the gods, she was going to be his undoing. After a moment, she leaned back, gazing down at him with a nervous yet endearing smile. Before he could say anything, to encourage or instruct, her lips descended on his once again, but this time hungrily. His initial surprise transitioned to a carnal satisfaction when a soft moan slipped out of her after he tugged on her bottom lip. Their mouths connected with a needy kiss, sending a jolt of electricity through him. All thoughts of sleep forgotten. 

 Suddenly, he flipped them over, pinning her underneath him, taking charge of their love-making. She giggled at the abrupt action but that was quickly silenced by his mouth crashing against hers and thrusting his tongue into her mouth. 

 As she kissed him back passionately, he wondered if maybe this marriage was not such a bad idea. If the way her lips eagerly sought his, her hands gripped onto biceps as if to keep her steady, her back arched as he trailed open-mouth kisses down her neck….maybe the marriage could be more than just political. 

 Soon enough, all thoughts vanished from his mind that were not related in regards to exploring the exquisite body of his Saxon wife and listening to her moan his name repeatedly. 

[simsadventures]

Vikings Masterlist

Ivar the Boneless: 

Snowed In 

You woke up to a snow-storm in Kattegat. And you are more than happy to stay in with your husband, who needs a little coaxing. (fluff, smut)

Your Day 

It’s your birthday, and Ivar tries to make it the best day of your life. And he succeeds. (fluff, swearing)

Magic Herbs 

You hear how Margrethe and Freydis talk about Ivar and his abilities in bed, and plan to show him as well, as everybody else, what Ivar can really do. With a little help. (angst, fluff, smut)

Bjorn Ironside: 

Marital Bliss  (Modern AU)

You and Bjorn fight over petty things, but then realise just how foolish you both sound. (fluff, swearing)

Ragnar Lothbrok:

Little Kitten (dom!Alpha Ragnar x Omega Reader)

Ragnar comes home from a raid, and all he needs is to feel you. All of you. (a/b/o, fluff, smut)

Hvitserk: 

Beating Hearts 

You and Hvitserk are sworn enemies. Or so you think. (fluff, angst, smut)

Hush, Hush 

You and Hvitserk have the same idea for some feast related fun, but his plan doesn’t go as planned, so you play with him a little. (jealousy, angst, fluff, implied smut, dirty talking, breeding kink)

If you’d like to be tagged in any of my stories, Viking stories, or just characters, let me know via message/ask :) x

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Lips of an Angel

My Masterlist  

Pairing: Ivar/Danish!Reader, Ivar/Freydis, Reader/OC

Summary: “Well, I had this idea of Ivar x reader based off the song Lips of an Angel. (If you feel like a Modern AU works best that's fine) Where Ivar is with Freydis, but Ivar never let go of his feelings for the reader and she never let go of hers, and you can decide how you want it to end.”

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Angst, lost love, implied sex/cheating, mention of polygamy

A/N: This is the closest I’ll get I’ve gotten to writting 5b Ivar, and it still is ooc probably. I feel like a horrible writer for ignoring canon like this, but istg that season almost made me give up on Vikings altogether and I just can’t write it, or any of the characters as they were then.

Anyhow, hope you like this, I was on the fence about making it a modern!au or not, so I decided to write both a Viking times version and a Modern version. Different story completely, of course.

You can find the Modern!AU version of this request right here

Kattegat is still the same, you realize, it is as if Aslaug still sits on that throne.

In a way, you think she still does.

Álfarr’s hand is a comfortable weight on your back, and his warmth helps you thaw from the cold of memories and regret that took a hold of you the moment you crossed those walls.

“You cannot leave me!” His voice is an enraged snarl, his hand is gripping tight at the axe on the table.

You know it is madness to turn your back on Ivar the Boneless, you know it is madness to ignore the rage in his eyes. Still, you walk out of that worn-down church, and surprisingly, you survive.

And because the man you are travelling with, the man that claims to love you and to know you love him too, is too smart for his own good, he notices the way you wish for nothing more than to leave this place you just returned to.

And so he tries reminding you of what you have returned for, of the life you will be able to have once you spend one winter in Kattegat.

“I was thinking, after this, we could travel to Ribe,” Álfarr offers casually, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, “The Danes are sure to welcome you back.”

“Hmm,” You reply, nodding your head, and because he deserves it, because you can’t forget what made you left Kattegat or what has made you return, you offer a smile, “I don’t know if they would welcome you, though.”

“I fought against Angantyr once,” He reminds you with a chuckle. After a moment, he brings you close and presses a kiss to the side of your head, “Besides, more than a year ago I was convinced-…”

“Convinced? You make it sound as if-…”

“I was convinced by a beautiful Danish woman to leave those wars behind,” Álfarr continues with a knowing smile, ignoring your glare of protest. “And I don’t regret it.”

“Well let’s hope she doesn’t regret this, eh?” You try around a deep breath, a smile that feels fake.

One winter. Only one winter in Kattegat, and then Álfarr will be at your side wherever the Gods will take you. Such was the pledge he made, and the deal you agreed to.

____

Long before the night that now envelops you had settled, word had reached you that the King calls for you, and all you’ve been able to do since that thrall delivered the message was to consider the cost of running away, cowardly as it may be.

Reminiscent of those last weeks before he drove you away, before you left him behind.

“Ivar calls for you.” Hvitserk tells you with a sigh, taking a seat at your side with an exhaustion that is more than physical.

“What for? He listens only to his own voice lately.” You quip bitterly, but still stand up and with a soft touch of the Prince’s shoulder, you answer a call that hurts your pride, your hope.

Álfarr’s steps approaching you take you away from the dangerous lull of memories.

“Are you going to go?” He asks without preamble, taking a seat in front of you.

You sigh, “If the King calls for me-…”

Álfarr chuckles bitterly, interrupting you, “Ah, of course. The King summoning a Völva, nothing more. Surely not your ex-lover wanting to see you again.”

“Do you want me to say no? Not many survive denying Ivar.”

“You survived leaving him.”

“Yes. I left him,” You repeat pointedly, not intending to withstand foolish jealousy. But because what the years made out of you isn’t happy with the way he is soothed slightly at your reminder, you add, “I left him when he tried keeping me chained.”

And Álfarr was always a smart man, it was one of the reasons you first trusted him. So in response to the threat you don’t voice, he only shrugs, “You wouldn’t leave me.”

Your eyebrows raise at the unwavering certainty, “What makes you think that?”

“Nothing could make you wish to return to Kattegat until me,” Álfarr offers you a smile, that you almost start returning, “I still consider it a feat, to have been able to sway you.”

You drink down the last of your mead, tilting your head back and trying to chase away bitterness with the honeyed drink.

“You swayed me the moment I found you dying and chose to save you, you fool.” You quip, betraying a fond smile that he returns.

Without any more words, you stand up. Your hand traces the outline of his shoulders, strong and familiar, as you walk out the door.

____

Ivar waits for you sitting in what looks like an adjacent room to the throne room.

You wish you could say he looks the same, you wish you could say he still has the face, the eyes, of the man you once loved.

But his face is darkened by shadows and something more sinister than that, his eyes are colder and crueler than you ever had the misfortune of seeing them.

It still makes a pang of pain travel to your chest, to the place where your heart ought to be if you hadn’t carelessly given it away years ago, to see him before you, in the flesh, not a dream or a memory.

“My King.” You bow your head.

“Say my name,” Ivar orders gruffly, and at your startled expression when you lift your gaze to his, he amends, “We’ve-…Don’t act like we are strangers. Call me by my name.”

“Alright, Ivar,” You concede, the familiar sound of his name on your lips still managing to make your chest tighten. You take a seat in the chair across from him that was offered, and fold your hands over your lap to keep yourself from fidgeting. “Why did you call for me?”

“You arrive at a Kingdom and don’t dare visit the King, hm?” He taunts without missing a beat, “You used to have better manners.”

And you used to avoid playing these games with me, you think, but bite back the words.

“I needn’t bother any king with an announcement of my arrival,” You remind him, “I am no one of importance, of fame.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” A soft and dainty voice says, making a chill run down your spine even before you see the blonde approaching from the shadows. She offers a smile, but the eyes of the Queen of Kattegat are as cold as the King’s. “You’re the Völva that granted the Black Danes many victories, aren’t you?”

You watch, frozen in your place, as she approaches Ivar with ease, resting one delicate hand on his shoulder, standing by his side.

Trying to keep your eyes from following the movement of Ivar’s hand that goes to touch hers where it rests on his shoulder, you reply, “I have granted no man any victory.”

“The Gods did, but in no little thanks to your work, your magic. I have heard of you,” She insists, and you frankly do not know what to do with her false warmth. Looking into her eyes feels like watching a flame from the other side of a glass window, an illusion, a façade. “And I am honored you’re here.”

You bow your head in acceptance, “Thank you, Queen Freydis.”

She betrays a wider smile, a more feral smile, and your blood runs cold.

“Ah, you know my name. You have heard of me too, then?”

You feel like you’re being ambushed, so instead of giving her an answer, you return your gaze to the King.

“Why was I summoned here?”

Ivar regards you in silence, eyes slightly narrowed and a cold cruelty in the slight curve of his smile.

Still, he gestures with his hand, dismissing his wife, ordering her to leave the two of you alone.

“Word is you aren’t here to stay.”

“Just for the winter.”

“A Völva, and one always close to the sons of Ragnar at that,” He lists, leaning forward in his seat, elbows resting on armored knees, “I could have use for you.”

You feel cold creeping over you, and lean back.

“Use?”

“It is a matter of time before Freydis becomes pregnant with my child,” Ivar comments with what to anyone else would look like nonchalance, but you hear the cruelty behind the words. “I could use a witch weaving her magic to protect my child and wife.”

It hurts, it hurts at a deep part of your chest, so much so you almost want to look down to see if there’s a gaping wound where your heart should be.

“There’s many that would be willing to do so, but not me.”

“Why not?”

“My home isn’t Kattegat.”

“Where is it, then? With that blacksmith?” He accuses without missing a beat. The anger in his tone, the accusation, the vitriol, the rage, it is all so familiar.

It is all you left behind, with reason to do so.

“I will put word that Kattegat is in search of a Völva to protect the King and his family,” You say around the foolish and hopeless knot of pain at your throat, “I’m sure someone will be of help.”

Standing up from your seat, you mutter a goodbye and turn your back to the King.

His voice, loud and enraged as he calls your name, makes all of this a familiar scene, and it makes you stop dead on your tracks.

“I didn’t give you permission to leave.” Ivar snarls at you, the sound of a crutch stabbing the ground as he stands up as well.

You take a deep breath, but don’t turn around.

“May I leave, then?”

“No,” He sentences, walking closer, “Not now, and not when winter is over.”

You gasp, “What?”

“I’m keeping you here in Kattegat,” Ivar states, intimidating, venomous, unfamiliar as he towers over you, “I’m King, I can do as I wish with you.”

“I am a free woman,” You remind him, “Only my blood would rule over me, and they are all dead. My blood or my husband, and you, Ivar, are neither.”

“You cannot command me!” You insist with a laugh, defiant even as you tilt your head to the side to let him continue his thorough exploration of your neck with his lips and tongue.

“Hm, you forget who leads the army you fight for, witch.” He teases, a breathed laugh against your neck when you pull on his hair, offended at the title

“No one but my family commands me, Ivar.”

“They are all dead.”

“Not all of them,” You quip, a foolish knot on your stomach tightening at the conversation you’re about to start, “Family isn’t just blood. One day I will be married, and my husband will be my family.”

“So, no one but your blood or your husband would dare rule over you,” He intones, pulling back and searching your eyes, “Why do I have the feeling it wouldn’t be so easy to make you surrender?”

“Because you have good judgement?” You offer with a tentative laugh.

Ivar only smiles, and leans down to capture your mouth in his. His kisses never fail to make your heart beat so fast you hear it in your head.

In the way his hands tighten over whatever part of you he has a hold of, in the way his tongue demands entrance to your mouth, in the way you feel the soft sounds he cannot keep trapped; you find yourself gone, enthralled, his.

When he pulls back, his eyes, darkened and burning, linger on your kiss-bitten lips for a few moments.

“With those lips of yours, love, it would be very easy to make any man surrender.” Ivar confesses in a hoarse whisper, and past the pang of heat his words and the way he’s looking at you send through you, you smile.

“My lips?” He hums an agreement, and in the few moments you have him enthralled, your smile turns devious, “Where?”

Ivar grits his teeth at the reminder, and the flash of pain you imagine seeing for a moment could make you believe he remembers the same moments you do, the same life you wish you could have lived till your last breath, the same world you wish you had never left behind.

“That blacksmith you came with.”

“He’s a warrior, and you know his name.” You tell him, aware you’re prodding a dangerous beast but still doing so with an arrogant tilt of your chin.

“Does he know about me?” Ivar asks, voice low and dangerous, “About us? About what you promised me?”

“Does she?” You ask, unable to keep the bitterness from your tone.

Ivar’s reply is immediate, “Yes.”

And with a simple word weighs on you the realization that either she means much more to him than you ever imagined, or you still do. You aren’t sure you want to know the answer.

“I have to go,” You tell him, stepping back and lowering your gaze to the dark wood under your feet. “Tell your brother I would love to see him. I’ve missed him.”

“You’ll just leave?”

“No, I will stay until winter passes. I-…”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean, and you know it,” He accuses, furious movements of his crutch as he approaches you again. “You’ll leave me again.”

The words tug at a pathetic and foolish part of your heart, a part of your heart that you never got back. A part of your heart that was left behind in some old church in York.

Still, you offer truth, a truth that lacerates at your throat on the way out, “I never returned to you, Ivar.”

His free hand grabs roughly at your arm, and his breathing is fast, his eyes are searching yours desperately.

The furious glint in his eye, the twinge of madness in his scowl, the phrase he would repeat over and over as if he could make it truth by will alone, “You will not leave me.”

“You are here, Fate brought you back to me.”

“Fate brought your wife to you,” You remind him, pain interwoven in your every word, “Fate brought Álfarr to my side. Fate pulled us apart, Ivar.”

But he shakes his head, stubborn and desperate. For a moment, in the way the snarl in his lips trembles, in the way he blinks quickly, you see the man you love.

“No.” Is all he says, before he brings you to him roughly, and claims your mouth.

You have been familiar with magic all your life, and you know it is something other than it, but it feels like magic when you let yourself give into his kiss. It feels like something stronger than magic when you find yourself giving in to Ivar, breaths quickened as you watch him answer the command of the gentle push of your hand and sit on the chair at his back.

Kissing him, it is anger, it is anger and lust and grief and love, you won’t deny it. It is biting and demanding and rough and him.

Getting lost in the feel, the smell, the taste, of him was always easy. Terrifyingly easy, once.

And so you lose yourself in the push and pull of your bodies moving as one, in the way he demands with bites and kisses and soft sounds breathed against your lips the surrender you refuse to give, in the way he lets you try and lure him to that same surrender with your lips on his skin and the intonation of his name on your lips that still makes him tremble.

His hands are rough and demanding as they grip your hips, and he makes you move above him with a punishing pace. And it feels like he is trying to punish you. For leaving him. For returning.

Your own hands grip onto his shoulders, nails digging into the skin and drawing blood, traying to dispel the touch of any other with each drop. So that there’s a bit of you left with him, a proof. Of how you once were his. Of how he’s still yours.

____

You lay in the quiet that lets you pretend you never left that world you once loved so much, in the peace that makes your chest ache for the unsaid vows you broke.

Ivar’s head rests against your chest, letting you every once in a while feel the drag of his mouth over your skin, lazily retracing a path he bit and kissed his way through earlier. Your fingers, aching to be once again familiar with the feel of his skin, the softness of his hair, travel wherever you can reach, ceaselessly.

It is as if in each breath shared, in each moan that trembled past parted lips, in each moment of ecstasy and of pain; the anger and the resentment and the hate gave way, let the world that once was take a hold of the moment you live -bask- in now.

The quiet is broken by a soft murmur of your name, and your chest pulls tight at the sound of it in Ivar’s voice, at the return of the fragile softness, the hidden gentleness, you once were the sole recipient of.

“I have…dreamt of you, these passing years,” He tells you, even a confession such as this traced by underlying anger. He presses yet another kiss to the skin above your heart, “I have missed you.”

“So have I, more…more than I could ever say.” You offer, closing your eyes to keep tears from filling your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave me again.” Ivar whispers, voice so, so quiet.

You release a breath that shakes and trembles past your lips, “You and I are fated to say goodbye, I think. Always were.”

He lifts his head, strikingly blue eyes meeting yours.

“It doesn’t have to be like that.”

“You have a wife, Ivar, I can’t-…”

“You can be my wife too,” He offers, making your heart both soar and break. “You wouldn’t be queen, but you never minded for pow-…”

“Ivar,” You interrupt, voice shaking, “Listen to what you’re saying. You’re asking me to be your second wife. To take Freydis as my sister-wife.”

“She won’t object,” He says it with such certainty that it sickens you, and you scramble to stand, to part from his embrace. “She’d do anything I asked her to. She will accept.”

You are shaking your head, putting the shield your dress serves as back up over your skin.

“I could never accept,” You tell him, and because you want to linger for a moment longer in the sun, in the brief paradise where you’re allowed to see the real him shining in his blue eyes; you walk closer one last time and let your fingers trace the side of his face lovingly, smiling even if it is a goodbye, “No woman that loves you would settle for half of you.”

Whether you speak of her and her faults, or you and your hopeless heart; you don’t know.

____ ____ ____

Hope you liked this! Thank you so much for reading!!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @1950schick​ @ietss​ @peachyboneless​ @encounterthepast​ @maggiescarborough​ @chibisgotovalhalla​ @fae-sedai​

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Unexpected Places (Pt. 11 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 2 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

<- Previous part (10)

{Vikings Masterlist}

×

Home

Walking slow, you keep up the pace of a heavily pregnant Aslaug. The news of the child on its way came on the last day of the feast for your wedding and it was well-received by everyone. The snow falling gives Kattegat an amazing look, with everything painted white. The ocean is starting to freeze, but there are still boats coming and going, doing the last trades by sea before the ice keeps them away, having to endure the walk instead of sailing here.

Heading to the main hall, you stop when Aslaug stops, a hand on her swollen belly. “Everything alright?”

“Yes. I just need to lie down for a while.” She answers, setting in motion again. “Ragnar sons are always–” She's cut short once you enter the hall, the high number of people gathered around getting both your attentions. “Did something happen?” She asks, raising her voice. Ragnar comes to stand beside her, very protective ever since he found about the pregnancy.

You make your way to where Ivar is, seated on Ragnar's throne. “What's going on?” You ask him. “Bad news?”

“Boats were seen sailing this way.” He answers, gesturing, and dismissing the men. “With your brother's flag.”

“What the hell does Aethelwulf want?” Shrugging your shoulders, you stand beside Ivar, who takes your hand and places a kiss on it.

“Ask father.” He says, clearly annoyed.

Raising an eyebrow, you look at Ragnar. “Last raid I might have left implied that you were here on Kattegat, so... I think they came to take you back.”

“Why would you do that?” You inquire, hands on your hips.

“They were really pissing me off.” Ragnar justifies, and you roll your eyes.

“Are they coming for war?”

“No,” Bjorn says, entering the hall and dusting off his clothes from the snow. “I don't think they're planning on battle us, on our ground, with such few people.”

“Good. It means I can just tell them I don't wanna go and they'll leave.” Sighing, you look at Ivar. “And here I was planning on asking you to take me on the next raid.” You complain to Ivar, shooting Ragnar an angry glance. “England came to me.”

“Missing home?”

“Are you seriously asking me if I want to sail for weeks, stay on a camp in the woods for the entire summer for any other reason than to staying with you?” Faking an annoyed tone, you raise an eyebrow at Ivar.

Giggling, he bites his lip, nodding his head. “My mistake, princess.” Winking, he turns his attention back to his father. “Let's do what we have to do and get this tiny problem out of our lives so I can enjoy winter with my wife.”

“Speaking of enjoying the winter, I'll fix myself a warm bath and I hope you to join me.” With that, you turn around and head inside, ignoring the low chattering your words caused.

The word got out, you think, about Ivar being able to perform sexually. But since you were the first one to know, you don't mind the gossip.

The girls don't take much time to get everything ready, and you let them help you undress before you step into the tub. You always use Ivar's tub now, since you just moved into his bedroom after the wedding. As if you weren't sleeping here before. A few moments later you hear Ivar coming inside, taking off his clothes before joining you, making the hot water spill off when he moves inside, settling down next to you.

“You're so beautiful.” He whispers, immediately pulling you into a kiss, and you can't help but smile as you cave in, running a hand through his chest.

“Thank you, handsome.” You mutter when you pull away to breathe, biting your lip.

“Won't you even consider it?” You don't follow, so you pinch your eyebrows together, looking at your husband.

“Consider what?”

“Going back home.” There's fear in his voice, and that's a sentiment he only shows to you.

Ever since the announcement, Ivar has been listening to some rude things. People are mean, some of them at least. They say you'll leave him, trade him for a full man. That you'll get tired of him soon enough. You've been into awful arguments with some people about it, and Ivar have nearly killed a man a few weeks ago. With time, these comments are fading away, but it always gets to him. And when it happens, it's your mission to reassure him your love hasn't changed, it has only gotten bigger.

“I am home.” Caressing his cheek, you smile. “This is where I belong.” Your voice fades when you remember you have something to tell Ivar. It's been a while since you've been feeling odd, and your period is very late. “Actually, I need to talk to you about something.”

He furrows his eyebrows, a question on his face. “What is it?”

You know he wants kids, you've always knew. And you've been waiting until you're sure. And you're kinda sure at this point. “Ivar, I... I may be with child.” Speaking low, barely a whisper, you focus on his expression, trying to read it.

But you don't need too much. Ivar's lips break into a smile, and he kisses you deeply, until you're out of breath. “I'll be a father.” He says when you pull away.

“Yes, you will. And if it depends on me, you'll have a bunch of children, my love.” You can't wait to tell everyone, to let them know Ivar can do what they all doubted.

“I love you, (Y/N). More than everything.”

“We need to talk names now.” Giggling, you caress his face. “Everyone will have a suggestion.”

“We'll have to do it later.”

“Later? Why? Are you planning on doing anything now?” Smirking, you don't need any other answer than the kiss he gives you, and suddenly all the rest is put aside for a moment.

°°°

Hours later, when the sun is about to set, you're at the docks, watching as the two boats approach. A great number of people came too, of course, to see how it'll play out. There are soldiers, ready to fight if that's the case, but if it depends on you, it won't come to that. It doesn't look like they're here for war.

It gets your attention when one of the men, standing on the edge of the ship, recognizes you. He raises his eyebrows, but you don't show any expression. Slowly, he and a few men step out of the boat, eyes scanning through the Vikings, ready to defend themselves and their leader. That's when you recognize the man, Sir Wilfred, one of your father's man, now working for your older brother. He was kind to you, so you don't have your walls all the way up.

“Princess (Y/N).” He greets you with a small smile, taking your hand and placing a kiss on it. “It's a true blessing to find you alive and... Well.”

“It's good to see you too, Sir. Hope you made a safe trip here. But may I ask why did you and such a small army bothered to sail all the way to Kattegat?” Cutting straight to the point, you offer him a small smile. Ivar, who stands beside you, gets a worried stare from Wilfred, and you can feel his anger emanating.

“King Aethelwulf, your brother, sent us. After Ragnar Lothbrok told him you were here, brought by your own will, he decided to give you a chance to reconquer your old life, as a princess, by his side.” There's more than he's saying because you know your brother. It doesn't sound like something he would say. Aethelwulf wants you back because he can't even begin to imagine who would want to stay here. And he's ego demands him to try and get you back, so he can present you to his court, telling them how you came back to your senses and abandoned the barbarians.

“Tell my brother I have no intention of leaving Kattegat.” You begin, getting a weird expression from Wilfred, and some of his men start gossiping with each other. “I made myself a home here, among the Vikings. I even married one.” Gesturing at Ivar, you have to bite back the laugh that threatens to emerge at the surprise on Wilfred's face. “This is Ivar the Boneless, my husband and the father of the child I'm carrying. And I believe you know him very well Sir.”

“My princess, I don't understand–”

“I'm thankful for this... Rescue party you brought with you across the ocean, but I don't need to be rescued.” Cutting him off, you step back a little, gesturing at the people who stand behind you. “This is my place now, my people. My house, my King and Queen, my husband and friends. I'm not being held against my will. In fact, I didn't come against my will.” You raise your voice, so all of his men will listen, so the truth can find a way to your brother's ears. “With the same people you call soulless, barbarians, monsters, I found great happiness, something that I never had back in England. And I apologize if you had to endure such a journey for nothing, but I won't be going with you. And, just in case you were ordered to take me by force, I must advise you not to try it. Because you will lose.”

“My princess, those aren't the orders,” Winfred speaks again, clearly uncomfortable. “King Aethelwulf commands that, if you are indeed here by your own will, and refuses to return home, he will tell your people you died, and never again you'll find refuge in his kingdom.

Laughing a little, you shrug your shoulders. “So be it.” You simply say, looking at Ivar, who has a smile on his lips. “I'm not going anywhere.” You tell most to your husband than to anyone else. “It was good to see you one last time, Sir Wilfred.” But now I must ask you and your men to sail away from Kattegat. Your presence here isn't welcome.”

“I wouldn't stay even if you invited me, Prin... (Y/N).” He quickly corrects himself, and the change of humor makes you giggle.

“I wasn't planning on inviting you, Sir. Have a safe trip back to England.” Nodding at him, you turn around, walking away with Ivar next to you. Everyone steps out of your way, and you notice how some of Ragnar's men take a position to follow the Saxons back to their ship and until they're far enough from the town.

The commotion soon stays behind as you make your way back home, the wind, which gets colder by the day, messing with your hair.

“I love both of you,” Ivar says, out of nowhere, making you stop on your tracks by the main hall's entrance.

“What's that now?” Squinting your eyes, you stare at him, a chuckle caught in your throat.

“You make me happy. Like I never thought I'd be.” He comes closer, a hand on your belly. “This child is the very image of what we feel. And I never thought I'd ever love someone this much. Or that someone would love me even though–”

“Well, I love you. Just the way you are.” Your heart warms up at his smile, genuine and kind. “Now, let's get inside. It's getting cold.” Taking his hand, you pull him inside.

Many things are on the way now. The child, the raids, on which you do want to go every once in a while. The road is long and full of surprises, but you're willing to enjoy every step of the way. You never thought this would be how your life turned out, but as crazy as it is, it's good. It's the proof that love and happiness can be found in the most unexpected places, and you found both those things in a town across the world, with people who live in a completely different culture, in very different ways. But you would do it all over again, and now that you're here, you'll never take things for granted. You'll never trade this for anything else, not even for the throne of Wessex. This is far more valuable than all the crowns of the world.

×

@multific @revolution-starter @crackhead1-800 @youbloodymadgenius @clown-boyyy @kitten0394 @castielsangelx-blog @goldlion07 @midnightmystic @readsalot73 @xvxcarolinexvx @momowhoo @fangfoxy @msrawog @walkingonshunshine @alytavzla @anotherfan07 @heavenly1927 @msrawog @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

[zodiyack]

Hope

Requested by @writerdream22​: Could I request an Ivar The Boneless drabble (or gif imagine, whichever you find the most comfortable writing) with the prompt #08“People can do worse things than kill you.”? In the scenario, the reader ( a shieldmaden/ healer) is betrothed to Ivar but her choice isn't seen as the right one by the people in Kattegat, and they make it clear for her to know. One day, the reader is clearly not feeling ok so Ivar asks her what's wrong, and she lets all her feelings out.

Pairing: Ivar ‘The Boneless’ Ragnarsson x Female!Shieldmaiden!Reader

Prompt(s): [8] “People can do worse things than kill you”

Warnings: Angst, fluff, swearing?

Words: 1,241

Summary: (See Request)

Note: I think it’s established that I’m cringe at writing threats n stuff

Taglist: @matth1w​, @redspaceace-writes​, @fandom-puff​, @darling-i-read-it​, @simonsbluee​, @youbloodymadgenius​, @thewarriorprincessxo​, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow​

Masterlist | Vikings Masterlist

Previously a shieldmaiden, Y/n knew the feeling of war, of loss, of hurt, but the feeling of safety was the one she knew how to decipher strongly. Constantly being aware of her surroundings was her life until now. She felt ready to die until now.

Betrothed to the love of their life, one could feel invincible. That’s how Y/n felt now. The battles faded from her dreams and the shield had been put on the wall to rest. Feeling highly aware of her company no longer, she felt safe. She felt she’d found a home for the first time in years. Kattegat was the town, Ivar was her home.

As a youngling, she’d pictured a happy family with a strong and loving man. Then, when she was introduced to shieldmaidens as a teen, her dreams changed. But as an adult who’d followed through with their dream, she was reminded of the one she’d tossed aside. And like that, she had two dreams.

Ivar was a hard person to miss, and his face was hard to forget. Not just for his disability, nor the words spoken of him, but for Y/n’s attraction to him. While others saw a cripple, she saw Ivar. While others saw a monster, she saw a king.

Soon, she confessed her attraction. “I’m interested in you...Ivar.”

“Why?”

She almost cackled at his innocent response. He’d probably asked that of her because of the townsfolk, yet she didn’t believe a single word they spoke. “I just am. I was taken away by your beauty and luckily my heart agreed with me.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that to you?” They shared a small chuckle and a gaze that wouldn’t be their last. Since then, secret glances and smirks were passed between the two, secret until the day he’d swore his heart to her and they were betrothed.

They announced their betrothal together, and although the people cheered, they looked about as interested as a child did in schooling. Deep in her heart, Y/n knew something was wrong. She leaned into Ivar’s side and clenched his hand that rested in her grip, smiling reassuringly when he looked to her with concern. But she wasn’t as calm as she seemed.

One day in the town, a man made his comment known to the future-queen. “I would not be so eager if I were you, miss. That man deserves no more love than his father. A laughing stock.” It made no sense. Sure the brothers spoke of their father with just as much negativity, Bjorn excused, but Kattegat was used to Ragnar as far as she knew. Frankly, she didn’t know much about him.

“But you’re not me.” The man nodded at her point then shrugged to show his lack of care. “I’m a shieldmaiden. I’ve seen gore and felt pain, believe me, I can handle myself.”

He chortled mockingly. “Not for long.”

“Just what exactly are you implying?”

“The cripple. He’ll mess up sooner or later, and you’ll be the proof.”

Her tone was stern yet her voice cracked on the verge of sorrow. “Ivar has never hurt me.” She tried to turn, walk away and ignore the rudeness of the stranger.

“Sure, he hasn’t. Yet.” She hurriedly paced away with anger and fear coursing through her body. The man’s cackles from behind her were unnerving. They sent goosebumps crawling over her skin. “He deserves no love! Especially not yours, queenie!”

As much as she’d hoped it was, that wasn’t only the time the people of Kattegat let her in on their disliking of their betrothal. It happened over and over again, always when Ivar was not present with her. Recognizing the pattern, she began to have Ivar go with her whenever she had places to be. She thought she’d successfully evaded the appalling run-ins. However, when Ivar left her for a split second, the heinous meetings she’d forgotten about had returned.

“Be warned, shieldmaiden. If you don’t call it off, we’ll spare you a life with the crippled freak ourselves.” And just as ominously as they’d appeared, they disappeared. No words were exchanged aside from their warning. A chill shivered down Y/n’s back and she swore she forgot how to breathe until Ivar was next to her, by her side once again.

Y/n was too nervous to tell Ivar, but then again, there was no need. He could see how nervous she was. The whole kingdom could. From the way she never seemed to be mentally present, to the how quick she was to jump at the littlest of things, as well as how concerned about her surroundings she became. It wasn’t until a week before their wedding that Ivar managed to get it out of her.

“You carry your weapon everywhere with you, despite me having my own. What is bothering you, my love?” He tried to gain her attention, but she continued to to avoid his tender eyes. “Do you not trust me?”

His genuine confusion startled her as she shook her head rapidly. Her distrust was announced in bold print, hence her sword being on her hip daily. She was not one to shy away from setting a boundary...apart from this one time. Ivar was one of the few she actually trusted, it hurt that he didn’t know that, that he thought the opposite.

She wept into his chest, wetting his clothes with her sorrow. His hand brushed up and down her back in a comforting manor but her sadness nipped at his curiosity. Y/n explained the events that always seemed follow her when she was in her lonesome. She ranted about the fear that overwhelmed her, carrying it like Atlas carries his burden, the weight of the world on his shoulders equal to the weight now resting on her own.

“Do you agree with them?” The soft tone of his voice held the same worry as it did when he inquired his place in her trust.

Her head snapped up, ensnaring his gaze with her own. “Of course not!”

“Then why listen? It is up to us whether we let their words hold power over us, and if you truly love me, if you truly want to be with me- ...Don’t let them put a gap between us.” His forehead rested against hers as he whispered.

“But...Ivar...they would do anything to stop us from being wed. Even kill me...or you.”

“People can do worse things than kill you.”

She knew he wasn’t talking about her, but simply stating a fact. After all, he was a cripple, and people talk. People talk the worst of things. Those words, the rumors, they all affected him much more than death ever could.

The situations clicked in her mind. The things that happened to him applied to her own life, how negatively the talk in Kattegat had affected her. At this point, killing would be a mercy. A mercy from the cruel whispers that were spoken about or too someone. A mercy from the harsh, judgmental, downgrading glares. 

“Promise me you won’t back down.” His blue orbs flickered with hope.

Y/n lifted her head to take his face in fully. A matching glint was all Ivar could see in her own orbs before their lips collided. Her hands came to rest on his warm skin as her lips found his. Despite the chilling events that had followed their announcement, they wed with one feeling in mind...apart from love.

Hope.

[waiting4inspiration]

The Chase II (Alpha!Bjorn x Omega!reader)

Summary: After being claimed by Bjorn, he takes you back to your town that had been already raided by his brothers. After reuniting with your sister and Bjorn accepting her into his family, you decide to explore another side with your new mate. A Viking side

Warnings: small angst, strong language, mentions of sex, mentions of mating, implied smut, abo dynamics, fluff, mentions of death/raids, mentions of rape

Word Count: 2,122

A/n: So, I decided that it’s probably best to keep my mind distracted, which means I’m back at writing. And, kind of posting. I won’t to updating every day as I’ve done before, but maybe every second day or twice a week or something like that. So, I’m back, but not entirely... I’m still taking things slow, so there’s a lot of things I’m unsure about. Things like snippets. But anyway... Moving on

The Chase Part 1 II Vikings Masterlist

A claiming bite can subdue an omega’s heat for a few more hours, or days even. And now that you are Bjorn’s omega, you go where he goes. Even if that meant returning to his Heathen Army the next day after you mated through the night. 

He retrieved your father’s cloak from the other side of the lake where you had shrugged it off during your little chase, scented it - something you don’t think your father will appreciate if he’s still alive - so you can have something that smells like him around you when you walk among his people with him. 

Just to be safe, he has his arm wrapped around your waist upon walking into the chaotic town. You glance all around you, trying to find the army you saw before he started to chase you, a chase you know you started and you will freely admit that. 

Bjorn keeps you close, and you keep your face turned into his chest to avoid the sight of dead bodies being piled up, women being made slaves or mourning the loss of their alphas, or being raped. The sounds of their wailing and screaming makes your shiver. It’s something Bjorn notices, and he pulls you closer to his body to comfort you. 

This is the life you have to live now that you are a Heathen’s omega. Does that make you a heathen too now? It seems as though your Christian days are behind you now, even though you weren’t that a devout follower of Christ. Still, you know what sin is. But is it a sin to mate with a pagan if he claimed you as his? That’s as good as marriage, right?

“Ah, Bjorn. How nice of you to join us,” a voice snaps, making you flinch and subconsciously step closer to your new alpha. 

You and Bjorn turn your gaze to the source of the voice and your eyes land on an alpha in a chariot. You’ve heard of him. Ivar the Boneless, the crippled son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Walking up to join Ivar’s side are the other brothers, two other alphas, and one beta. 

Bjorn glares at Ivar and moves away from you. “I am here now, aren’t I?” he sneers back and Ivar, reaching back to your so you can place your hands in his. 

“Yes. But while you were fucking some omega in the woods, we were the ones that raided this town.”

“Careful what you say, Ivar. She is my mate now, not just some omega,” Bjorn fights back, letting go of your hand and stepping towards his brother with a low growl in his throat. 

Ivar growls back at him before he chuckles. “But you are not hers. Her mark is not on your neck yet which means that anyone can easily take her from you,” he snaps back, lifting his eyes up to you as you take a step back. 

Bjorn growls, pulls out his sword and points it at Ivar as he pulls out his ax to push against the blade of your alpha’s sword. “(Y/n)!” a small voice shouts from across the town square. You know that voice. 

Your head snaps to the sound and you spot your sister, pulling her arm out of a viking warrior’s hand and running across the square towards you. “Sweterun,” you breathe in relief, running forward to meet her halfway. 

Dropping to your knees and pulling her into your chest for a hug, you stroke the back of her head as she wraps her arms tightly around you. You nuzzle the side of her face, sigh in relief to know that she’s alright and that she’s alive. 

The scene makes Bjorn pull his sword away from Ivar and turn to walk towards you. He holds up a hand to stop the alpha that had your sister, telling him to leave you and her.  

You pull out of the hug and take your sister’s face in your hands, stroking her tear-stained cheek with your thumbs. “I told you you would be alright,” you chuckle, nuzzling her face to scent her so she smells like you. Or, well, like Bjorn. You feel you have to do so to prevent anyone from trying to take her from you again. 

Her head turns away from you to look at the nearing alpha and she gasps in fright and tries to move away from him. “No, no, it’s alright, Sweterun,” you comfort, quickly grabbing her before she can runoff. “This is my alpha, now. He won’t hurt you,” you reassure, looking up to Bjorn to give him a small smile which he returns. “Bjorn, this is my sister,” you softly say, standing to your feet again as you turn to face him. “I’m the only family she has.”

He smiles down at her, a thought coming to his mind that the pups he could have with you might look something like your young sister. Holding out his hand to show that he means her no harm, he takes one last step forward and nods his head. “Now, she will be part of my family,” he states, making you breathe out a small sigh of relief at his words. 

Sweterun places her hand in his, a sign that she doesn’t fear him and that she trusts him. You can only imagine what your father might think to know that you are mated to a heathen. That is, if he hadn’t died in battle defending the village.  

You weren’t involved in much for the rest of the day because Bjorn insisted. Instead, you made sure your sister is well looked after before being led to chambers Bjorn has claimed as his for the remainder of the stay. He says that he wants you to rest and relax before your heat comes. That he needs to settle this dispute with his brothers about going after you instead of staying with them and attacking the village. He said that after that, he’ll spend time with you, take care of your oncoming heat. 

And you can feel that you won’t have much time before you go into heat. You were just on the edge when Bjorn found you, stalling it for a few hours with his bite. But now there is nothing to stall it anymore. And, truthfully, you do want to claim you Alpha before you do it in a lustful haze brought on by your heat. 

Even though you know that he claimed you in lust, or as a war prize, you really feel deep down that he can be a good alpha to you. You’ve been told so many times that an omega needs an alpha to care for their sexual needs. Well, now you have an alpha. And though you didn’t ask to be claimed, it can’t be that bad. This could be like an arranged marriage where you can learn to love your alpha. Right?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the door swinging open, but you don’t freak out or get a fright from it because you could smell Bjorn’s scent. And you can smell the frustration on his scent, probably from the interaction with his brothers. 

He falls down on the bed beside you with a huff, mutters to himself in his language words that you feel are curses as he unties the laces of his boots. “What happened?” you question, moving onto your hands and knees to crawl closer to him. 

“My brothers thought that it was a mistake of me to go after you in the woods,” he bluntly says, throwing the boot away from him, making the hit the wall as he grumbles to himself again. 

You bite your lip and rest your hands on his shoulders, wondering that you can say to make him feel better. What you can do to make him feel better. 

Reminding yourself that he’s a Heathen, you recall the stories you’ve heard about them. You remember the stories about how they’re known to be sexual fiends, how they’re not afraid to be promiscuous. Especially the woman. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to give it a try. 

Moving so that you can straddle his lap, he lifts his head up to you and smiles as he rests his hands on your lap. “And what do you say? Do you think it was a mistake coming after me?” you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands travel down your thighs. 

He pulls you closer, a smirk growing on his face as you gently grind down on him. “I wouldn’t have gone after you if I thought it was a mistake,” he whispers, leaning forward to touch his forehead to yours. 

“Then why do you care what your brothers say?” You raise an eyebrow at him and let a small smile grow on your face, unsure where your confidence is coming from. 

He’s a stranger to you that found you in the woods, knotted you and claimed you without asking. Then why do you feel so safe around him? Why do you feel so...happy with him? You should be fighting him, not giving up and letting this alpha have what he wants.

But, perhaps, sometimes it’s good to not fight. Sometimes, it’s better to just give in. At least, that’s what your mother used to tell you. 

A bond between an alpha and omega is like a chase, she used to say. Something like your first encounter with Bjorn and how he pursued you through the woods. At first, there’s the resistance, the want to be left alone. But a chase can only go on for so long before someone has to give up. And you’re not weak because you gave up. That’s just how things go. 

Bjorn chuckles at the perplexed look on your face and he brings up a hand to break you from whatever thought you have going around in your mind. And when you look back at him, a blush crosses your cheeks to think that you spaced out in front of him. 

“I care what they say because I fear one of them will take you from me.”

You raise an eyebrow at that and lean slightly backward. “Take me from you?” you question, a frown creasing your eyebrow now instead of a curious look. “Why?”

“Because we are Vikings. We want the best,” he whispers as he leans closer. His lips come just in front of yours, teasing them with the kiss as you breathe out a soft sigh when his hands grip the back of your thighs. “They want to know what made me want to go after an omega instead of fighting with them in this raid. It’s your scent they want,” he whispers. 

His hands start to lift the nightgown you wear, his hands that are slightly cold touch your hot skin, making you groan in content. “My scent,” you begin, your face dropping in his neck where your bonding mark should be. Where you want it to be. “My scent is yours. I am yours,” you whisper, kissing the stop on his neck and making him groan. 

Running his hands up under your gown, you moan against his neck as he gropes your breasts. “Omega,” he growls, his lips kissing the mark he left on your neck yesterday when he mated with you after catching you. 

“Alpha,” you respond, pressing your hands against his chest when he tries to turn you over onto your back. He pulls away from you, a frown on his face at your resistance. You take in a deep breath and run your hands up so that they come to the side of his face. “This is what Viking women do, isn’t it? They like to ride their men?”

That’s when he understands what you’re getting at and it makes a smirk grow on his face. “Is that what you want to do, omega?” he questions with a laugh, making you bite your lip as you nod your head.  

You breathe out a shaky sigh as you shift above him, your hands running down his stomach and towards his breeches. “It’s what I want. And I want to mark you,” you whisper, your face falling back in his neck and letting your teeth graze over his skin. 

He growls, his hands falling to your hips and gripping them tightly as you sink your teeth into his skin, just as he had done to you. And as you pull the laces of his breeches, pushing him down onto his back, you allow yourself to explore a new side. A ‘savage’ side that would otherwise be frowned upon in your village. 

A Vikings side.

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[honestsycrets]

A Child of Mine

Gif credit: sigyncreation

A/N: So I know its Ragnar’s SS, but, this fic is complete and it IS about Ragnar. Ivar is the main character.

There is one more thing.

Thor is beating his hammer tonight. Gusting winds thrust into the sail his men rushed to take down. The waters were overchurning with a briny foam; waves tossing into the thick wooden boat. He sat with his hand on the sturdy mast reflecting upon the time father once tied him to one of these just one months before.

There is a girl. Your age, maybe a little older like Ubbe.

He hadn’t often kept charms but this one was given to him specifically by his father. This was a charm of their own people. A sole hammer threaded through a metal chain. It was etched with squiggles around the symbol of Mjolnir. It was hers.

My last wife. She’s pregnant… with your sibling.

Are you an idiot?

Listen to me.

The boat made it to shore. He docked it outside of town where he was told that she should be. It was pleasantly warm here. The storms gave. The tall grass is crisp under his gloves as he pulls himself out of the reeds and onto the trail leading away from town as he had been told the way by father. This is the place his father had ran to after Paris. A place of farms, a place to sit and think between his travels. Apparently also a mighty great place to get his dick wet with young, pretty girls.

The day’s sun begins to set on the horizon when he found it. A meager little farm that shone under the summer sun. He braces himself with a sigh as he pushes forward through the large wooden gates flying an allegiance of red and black, his arms drag his lower half through the rough granules of mud.

Bring her back to Kattegat.

Bark! Bark! Bark! Ivar stops when he hears the noise from inside. He looks up to the home sitting slightly elevated from the rest of the farm.

“Hush, Tru!”

She sounds very young. Not because her voice was necessarily meek and mild, but she held a sweetness at the end of it all. He couldn’t explain it if asked. The doorway fills with the presence of a young woman, axe in one hand and her stomach-- clearly distended underneath her nightdress.

“Name yourself!” She calls with her other hand tight on her mutt. A fluffy thing, low to the ground with his large paws like that of jotunns. Ivar looks around for sign of his father’s touch. He finds it in the image of ravens perching, crowing. Protecting. Breath escapes him for a few moments before he answers.

“Ivar the Boneless, a Ragnarsson.”

Unconvinced she hisses, “There are many men that claim to be a Ragnarsson. Why should I believe you?” She looks out to his place crawling in thick mud. So much for hospitality, he thinks.

She won’t believe you at first. You’ll have to make her.

He sits up, swinging his bound legs in front of him. “I am his crippled son.”

“Anyone can pretend to be a cripple.” She looks one way, then another. Did she believe that there were others? There were… but they had filtered out into the town with the threat of the gods instilled in their hearts. Ivar hunches over, unlacing his gloves. He offers her his wrist, pulling off a thick bronze armband.

“This is my father’s armband.”

She releases Tru first-- and of instinct, Ivar’s hand flew to his axe. The pup waits for her to approach instead, even allowing her to use him as a stool to lower herself down. She takes the jewelry from him and examines the very band in her fingers. Then like a crumbling rock formation under the waves, her hardened features drop.

“Oh, my sweet Ragnar. He’s taken you to Valhalla.” She cries out, drawing her fingers across the braided jewelry up to the raven’s mouth. It is sweet Ragnar’s, he can see her mind churning with every stroke against the piece. In the solemnest display of tears he’s seen, she seems to grieve. They stream over her cheeks and dribble onto her belly.

“Where did you get this?” She asks past heavy tears.

Let her see my armband.

“Father gave it to me. Before Ecbert sent him away.”

She finally believes him. The tears sliding down her cheeks were real, wet and without qualm of him seeing them. She kneels before him in the mud with his father’s armring all too real in her fingers. He wondered-- what all would she be thinking? Several seconds pass and she finally turns her face away.

“Please… come in.” She replaces the armband back on his wrist, setting back for the inside of the home. He follows after and its like being in another world entirely. The inside of the home is decorated with items of hunt, antlers and fresh flowers everywhere. There are clothes hanging, tunics that belonged to his father and furs that he must have worn once. She locks the door behind him. Tru stalks around him, inevitably collapsing in a pile of fluffy furs while leering at Ivar.

“Lets get you out of those clothes.” She says, beginning to loosen his armour when Ivar’s hand snaps to her wrist.

“You expect me to go cold?” Ivar hisses.

“You expect to stay in sopping clothes?” She snaps back. “You can wear something of your fathers.”

She’s feisty too. Ivar grunts and allows her to continue, unlacing the bindings on his legs while he rids himself of his tunic. With his clothes discarded, Ivar looks as she hardly takes him in. He turns as she moves away, looking for his fathers clothes. She picks a deep olive tunic, setting it in his lap.

“It’s (Y/N).” You say to him.

“What?” Ivar asks.

She slides her hands over onto her hips. “My name, Ivar.”

He nods, finding his stomach rumbling more than the interest in such a name. She’s back into the space of her kitchen preparing who knows what. He looks over to her as she takes up a plate and come back around the corner. She kneels before him, setting the food on the lap of his slacks.

“Why are you here?” She says, running her hand over her stomach. His eyes fall to the bump. The last Ragnarssson-- or Ragnarsdottir to be known to be legitimate. His brothers would have liked to know.

“I’ve come to take you to be with us.”

Her eyes turn away from him. Her once peaceful life is about to be uprooted. Her head bobs a nod. “I see I have no choice…” She trails on with such a thought. Then, seeing Ivar’s eyes are so deeply focused on her stomach, she smiles.

“Would you like to touch?” She suggests, leaning over to take his destructive hands away from his food and against her stomach. Just so slightly, he can feel the child moving under his palms. It’s a strange feeling-- a proud one. And he wasn’t even the father!

Father…

“Is it a boy?” Ivar says gruffly. All Ragnar’s children had been boys but one girl. Her fingers massage the swell, a small delightful smile at her lips. They crawl forward, cupping the hand on top of her stomach.

“It was foretold Ragnar would have many sons.” She smiles. “But I always hoped for a little girl.”

Ivar stares at the hand, daring on top of his, rushing for words. The right ones that wouldn’t have her throwing his hand off of his brother or sister. “And father?” He asks.

“His mind was very tired. He never said.”

Ivar’s hand slides away. A small, pensive moment passes before Ivar slips his lips apart. A scoff, a laugh or a smile-- his hand slips off of her stomach. Ivar speaks in a smooth voice. “It will be a girl.”

“You think so?” She keens fondly, breaking his bread and setting it in his glove clad hand. Ivar brings it to his mouth, ripping off a piece. His eyes fall back to the hammer of Thor, your pendant. He can so clearly hear the words pulsing through his brain.

Name her Aðaliz.

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[fuchsiagrasshopper]

Contending the Flame VI

Author’s Note: Happy Holiday season everyone! Hopefully you are having a better time than I am currently with work and new lockdown restrictions where I live. I already have the next two chapters written, so I plan to upload each within a week of one another. Thanks as always for being awesome!

Vikings Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word count: 2234

Warnings: Servant dynamic, language.

The coming weeks had slowed as the provisions for the Heathen army continued to dwindle. As the weather closed in around them, so too did the Saxons. Their plight to negotiate for land had gone unheeded by Ivar. Well, it was Ubbe's plan but Hvitserk had gone along with it. Lately, it seemed he was being pulled back and forth between his brothers, his only use being the mediator. He wasn't sure which brother to follow, preferring it better when they all worked in tandem. Right now it was best for him to stay out of their way. 

Ivar had returned to how he had been before, after the misfortune with Margrethe. He was terse with the thralls, and he shunned any prolonged company with women. There were moments, either when he was sitting at a table or alone in a corner, a strange look would pass over his face. Hvitserk was sure he was the only one to notice, but he didn't let on about it. 

If Ivar wondered about the nun, he never said as such, and Audhild had reported that he hadn't come around inquiring about you. On the surface, it seemed whatever had started between you was over, but Hvitserk didn't think so. You were two boats passing in the night, waiting for the other's signal.

Hvitserk had taken it upon himself to keep watch of the nun. He had told Ubbe from the start not to get involved, but now he had thrown himself in headfirst. You no longer seemed to be a danger to yourself, and Audhild had said that you thrived as a healer, though you spoke very few words. It got Hvitserk curious, and he set out to find you.

Until the battle against the Saxons would start, the healers were not so occupied. Audhild had told him where you could be found. It was a courtyard that was led in by an archway, with bushes of purple flowers. At its heart was a statue of a man who Hvitserk wondered about. Christians had these carved monuments of people everywhere. What great deeds had they accomplished that granted them the honor of being captured in stone?

He quit his thoughts as he spotted the nun hunched over by a bed of flowers. It struck him then that he didn't know your name, and the few words he picked up in English would not get him far

"Mary...erm Sister," He called, trying to recall what you had said when you were first claimed by Ivar.

You stood with abruptness from being startled, your guard up as you recognized him. Your sheared hair was now covered in a sage green scarf, twisted and wrapped not unlike the Sami people. Hvitserk could see a black and blue bruise around your left eye, about the size of a fist. "Sister Mary Catharine, and you don't have to call me that."

He was glad you had answered in his language. Though some of your pronunciation was wrong, they would get by well enough on the gist of things. "Why not?"

"I don't think I am a nun anymore, not in the eyes of God. Just Catharine will do."

As Hvitserk took a step forward, you shifted back. The mistrust hung heavy between you both, and he realized he'd have to go slow in order to gain your favor. He stood firm where he was. "What happened there?"

You gingerly touched the mark on your face he had indicated to, a sad smile forming. "I'm not the discarded whore of the crippled bastard, even if some of your men think so. When one took out his cock and tried to relieve himself on me, I fought back."

Hvitserk was disappointed to hear what had happened, though such behavior was unsurprising. His heart sunk for his brother as well. Some of the men still only thought of Ivar as the lesser son of Ragnar, even after he had proven to be a sharp mind with a fierce heart. 

"Do you know who he was?"

The nun shook her head. "No, and I have not seen him again. At least I still have the Lord's mercy."

You made a crossing gesture over your heart that Hvitserk did not understand. He spotted the cloth bandage on your wrist as well. "How's that healing?"

"It's fine," You said as you folded your arms behind your back. "Why does it matter? He didn't send you here, did he?"

The white look of terror on your face was hard to miss. You looked like a hare caught up in a trap. Hvitserk tried to think about the best way to ask his questions in order to get the answers he needed. "My little brother doesn't command me. I just wanted to know why you did it."

"I wanted to spare myself from a worse fate," You said, turning your back to him while you felt at the petals of the flowers. "I didn't want to suffer like the priest."

Hvitserk recalled what an imposing figure Ivar had cut hovering above the Christian man as he poured molten gold down his gullet. "Ivar told you about that?"

"No." You gazed over your shoulder a moment before your eyes flickered down. "I knew he had done something horrible, but it was another slave who told me. She said I should be careful, and that your brother hates all Christians."

Hvitserk took a step towards you without thinking and grabbed you by the shoulders. "What slave?"

"I don't know," You gasped while breaking out of his hold. "She came to clean the room one day. It was the first time I had spoken to anyone else besides Ivar."

"Why would she need to tend to his room when he had you?"

You frowned, seeming to forget your previous grievances for his closeness as you leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

Hvitserk knew from an early age that he was not exceptional. Ubbe is a strong swordsman and scout, Sigurd was musically inclined, and Ivar is a cunning strategist. At best he could survive raids and follow a battle plan, achievements that any of his brothers could do better. But none of them had his gut instincts, and his stomach was wrought with the feeling that a trickster had snuck their way into the camp.

"It's nothing," He said eventually, though not with enough conviction for the nun's liking.

"I don't believe you."

The earnest look on your face would have annoyed him more if not for how undisguised your naivete was. Maybe that was what drew Ivar in.

Hvitserk prepared to say more but was interrupted by a voice calling over his shoulder.

"Brother," Ivar called, followed by the indistinguishable sound of metal steps plodding the ground.

Hvitserk turned, bracing for whatever force Ivar would throw at him. If he was surprised to see the nun, he didn't let on, instead, his face sat stoically as he maneuvered forward with assurance. He was too young to look so miserable. 

Ubbe was with him, peering at the girl who had taken refuge from prying eyes behind Hvitserk's back. His was a face easier to read, both tense and curious at the discovery. Hvitserk knew he would be answering questions later.

"She won't sleep with you brother," Ivar inserted with a cold chuckle. "She's chaste."

Hvitserk scowled at Ivar's attempt to maim with petty insults. "That's not what this is. Audhild sent Catherine to tend to an old injury I sustained from my raid with Bjorn," He lied.

"Catherine," Ubbe said. "Is that her name?"

"No, her name is Ólaug," Ivar interrupted before Hvitserk could speak. "Isn't it, Bride of Christ?"

You refused to rise to his idle taunts. You were as still as the Saxon statue, and your eyes never left Hvitserk's back. 

"I don't know if it's really her name, but it's as she told me. Now what do you want, Ivar?"

"We are leading this army together, yes?" Though it didn't sound as if he meant that. "The Saxons prepare to attack at dawn, and we need you before going over our plan of countermeasures."

"Right," Hvitserk mumbled, turning back to the nun while nearly knocking you back because of how close you stood beside him. "Audhild will be expecting your return. You should go."

Your eyes grew wide with gratitude and you gave a curt nod. You made certain to keep an arm's breadth away from Ivar as you passed, taking the route around Ubbe instead. Ivar watched you leave over his shoulder, his face filling with scorn as his attention snapped back to Hvitserk. 

"What happened to her face?"

"She's a thrall, Ivar. When they disobey, they are punished." His blunt remark had the desired response, as he noticed Ivar's jaw stiffen and grind back and forth. "Forget that for a moment, I think we have a worse problem. There's a spy in our camp working against you little brother."

"What are you talking about?" Ivar sneered, adjusting his stance as his crutch struck the ground.

"I know why she tried to end her life. Another slave told her about what you did to that priest. She didn't let on about it, but I think it was implied to her that she would suffer the same fate, or worse by your hand."

"But I would not have done anything to her," Ivar tried to defend, his face falling into guilt.

"It's not like she would know that, though," said Ubbe. "She's a nun, and sees us as little more than rapists and murderers."

"I was kind to her," Ivar huffed, struggling away from them towards the same flower bush the nun had been eyeing. He pulled on a branch, bringing the blooms close enough to smell.

Hvitserk shared a discreet look with Ubbe, communicating the shared thought of Ivar's favor for his former thrall. "Whoever spoke to her probably knew that, and was trying to get her away from you."

"They probably wanted to catch you alone," Ubbe added. "Your life could be in danger."

Ivar scoffed, releasing the branch back with a snap. He pivoted towards them, his movements were aggressive. "I don't have time to worry about one spy. The Gods would never let me die without honor, alone and asleep without renown. Tomorrow we fight the Saxons, and face victory."

Turning back towards the archway of the garden, he began down the same path the nun had departed prior. His stance was rigid, and his grip tight on the crutches. Hvitserk still held his breath on habit, afraid to watch Ivar stumble knowing that he couldn't offer to help him back up.

"Where are you going, Ivar?" Ubbe called.

"To address the army, and I expect you both to join me," He said, never stopping on his way out to even look at them.

When they were alone, Hvitserk could feel Ubbe eyeing him before even turning his way. "What?"

Ubbe chuckled, "You told me not to get involved, yet here you are jumping in headfirst."

"I'm worried. Ivar has been distracted since giving her away to Audhild, and we need him thinking straight if we're going to beat the Saxons together."

"We should have known Ivar would fall in love with the first woman to show him kindness," said Ubbe, looking pensive at the statue that had transfixed Hvitserk earlier.

"You think he loves her?" Hvitserk exclaimed in surprise.

"Well, he's at least fond of her, but with Ivar, it's difficult to tell." Ubbe ran a hand over his face as if to wipe away the stress he was feeling. “What really happened to her face?”

“One of our men was not kind to her. Ivar still does not hold the favor of every warrior in the army, and she is at risk as a result of that. I’ll tell Audhild to keep a closer eye from here on out.”

Ubbe nodded in agreement. “We’ll continue to try when we can as well, but I don’t know what will happen once we finish here. I don’t think Ivar has plans on remaining in York much longer.”

“I know,” Hvitserk said, feeling resentment towards Ivar for all of the misery he was constantly dragging them into. Even if they were to return to Kattegat next, Hvitserk knew it would be to war with Lagertha and Bjorn. He loved Ivar and would follow him to the four corners of the world, but not at the cost of their family and their father’s legacy.

It felt like they were using you as a buffer for their little brother’s madness, but in the days that Ivar had kept you, he had been more agreeable and even happy. Hvitserk held respect for you even if he hated your Christian God, but if it was your freedom measured against the success of their army, then he would have no trouble giving you back to Ivar in chains. Peace in the time of the sons of Ragnar was more important than one nun. 

"I hope you know what you're doing, getting involved, brother," said Ubbe, disrupting his train of thought.

Hvitserk approached his older brother and gave him a clap on the shoulder. "Of course I don't, that's why I have you. Now come, let's go speak to our army before Ivar gets any more ideas about leading without us."

Taglist

@pomegranates-and-blood​

@siren-queen03

@peachyboneless

@didiintheblog

@soleil-dor

@zuxiezendler

@pieces-by-me

@xbellaxcarolinax

@heavenly1927

@everyartistwas-firstanamateur

@youbloodymadgenius

@xceafh

@shannygoatgruff

@tgrrose

@1950schick

@castielsangelsx

@rose1729

@mlchael-guerin

@strangunddurm

@ladynightshade30

@dangerouspsychicgardenflower

@readsalot73

@ritual-unions-gotme

@lonewolf471

[alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom]

THE MASTERPIECE: CHAPTER 3/5

Pairing: Modern!IVAR x Reader x Modern!HVITSERK

Spotify playlist: here (only for those who like latin urban music)

Warnings: implied smut/oral sex, strong language

Words: 1938

a/n: This MASTERPIECE was so much fun. It was such an honor to do this with you @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie. Every hour of writing and editing was definitely worth it!

Summary:

Ivar and Hvitserk had always prided themselves in being the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. They had a comfortable life full of everything they wanted: houses, cars, money, and the most beautiful women. And with all of that came the security of always having the upper hand. But what happens when a bewitching girl from Ragnar’s past arrives into their lives claiming his fortune?

“Now’s your turn, brother. Tell me what happened.” Ivar grunted, ignoring the chatter of people in their lunch break that only grew louder with each passing minute that they remained at the café.

“Well, some days after your ‘business meeting’…” Hvitserk air quoted the word with irony and Ivar puffed out a breath in exasperation. He was anxiously sitting on the edge of his seat, wishing Hvitserk would hurry the fuck up. “...she called me as well.”

~~·······~~

“Hvitserk?”

“Yeah, who’s this?”

She could hear a noisy crackle on the other side of the line. Was he... eating?

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Who?” The obnoxious sound of a slurp resounded next. Yeah. He definitely had food in his mouth.

“The girl who owns your fortune.” She explained flatly.

“Why are you calling me? And where did you get my number?”

“I want to apologize and…-” She hesitated. “...yeah, just that, I guess. I want to say sorry. In person. I can go to where you are or you can come to my house again.”

“Really?” His teeth crunched down on whatever crispy snack he was nibbling.

Y/N made an effort to make her fake discomfort ring true with long awkward pauses: “…Yeah… But is it possible... that you don’t tell Ivar about this? I’m not exactly... comfortablewith him around...” Then came a planned stutter: “I’d like to s-solve this without him.”

Hvitserk hesitated but agreed. “Uh- sure.”

And it was sold.

After all, she wasn’t the first woman who was afraid of Ivar.

She smirked slyly.

“Ivar’s out on a business trip and he will be gone until tomorrow. I’d tell you where we live, but I’m pretty sure you already know our address. Since you’re the new mistress of the house and all…” He spat out with irony.

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

~~·······~~

“I’m guessing that’s when you first slept together.” Ivar chimed in much to the blond’s annoyance.

“Don’t do that... Don’t interrupt me. I want to finish, please.”

“Is that how you used to beg her?” Ivar tried his hand at a sarcastic dirty joke.

Hvitserk clenched his jaw and exhaled. “Very funny. But yes. That was the first time...”

“How many more nights were there?” Ivar shifted in his seat. His coffee had turned cold as ice almost a half-hour ago. He was visibly uncomfortable by their conversation but he still needed to know how many times he’d been fooled by Y/N.

“A couple...” Hvitserk slid down in his seat and avoided giving a direct answer.

Ivar narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t going to let it slide so he insisted: “I asked how many.”

“Every night for at least a week. Then a few times a week for a month or so. I don’t know, baby bro. I wasn’t exactly counting.” Hvitserk’s eyes showed a sense of pride. Even though he’d been cheated just as Ivar had, he still acted as if he’d won some unspoken competition between them.

“Every night?! Are you fucking kidding me brother?!” Ivar stopped listening after the first two words.

“Hey, you fucked her too and you didn’t tell me anything about it either. So, calm down.”

Ivar pressed his lips together and nodded stoically. “I see.” He didn’t want to let Hvitserk know how much the knowledge of their nights together was hurting him. By comparison, Y/N and Ivar had only slept together a handful of times. Maybe Y/N really liked his brother best. Maybe she only slept with Ivar because she had to, and she faked every second of it but it was Hvitserk the one that truly made her moan and shiver under his touch. With a slight shake of his head, Ivar shoved the thought out of his mind.

“Are you mad?” There it was again, that antagonizing glint in Hvitserk’s pupils.

“Just- go on...” Ivar knitted his eyebrows together and looked to the side, fixing his gaze on the countertop where a young man was placing his money to pay for his coffee.

~~·······~~

When Y/N stepped through the door of the Lothbrok’s grand mansion, she wasn’t sure of what she was expecting, but seeing Hvitserk sprawled on the couch shirtless wasn’t it. She wasn’t counting on him being so attentive and pleasant, not after the number he pulled last time, and she definitely wasn’t expecting him to charm her into bed so quickly. She hadn’t come to his domain to be seduced, she wanted to be the one seducing him, looking for little weak spots in his defenses that she could use against him later.

But he’d changed his whole strategy. He wasn’t coming off as a fumbling asshole anymore. Rather, Hvitserk seemed at ease, confident, and with a peculiar spark in his eyes that should’ve tipped her off as to his intentions. It seemed to her that he’d made up his mind as to what was going to happen that night between them long before it happened. He was cute and he knew that she knew.

Y/N just couldn’t resist doing things his way for once and… having a little fun wouldn’t hurt either.

Minutes later, she was sinking to her knees in front of Hvitserk, as her hands slid up his thighs to pull at his belt with impatient fingers, then she helped him unzip his pants. All of a sudden, she was so eager to please him, looking up at him through the curly lashes that fanned her cheeks, and she knew then that she was making a mistake. A big one.

But mistakes rarely ever tasted that good. And they didn’t moan so good either. His voice was like music to her ears. His throaty praises sent a rush of warmth to her core and made her feel accomplished.

“Yes, Y/N, that’s a good girl. Just like that, baby girl.”

It seems like he’d finally learned her name.

Then, for the next hour or so, she discovered that his tongue served for more than just spewing unkind words. Whenever he flicked it against her skin, she sank deeper into her pleasure.

It was a struggle trying to come up with a strategy to get her way later when all she could think about was how she hadn’t been fucked that good in months. It was a miracle the bed hadn’t split in half.

She wondered how she was supposed to infiltrate his family and betray him now that they’d slept together. It would be a damn shame to lose the best lover she’d had in so long.

Hvitserk was never supposed to get the upper hand, not for one second, and she knew she should’ve felt angrier about it. But when Hvitserk threw a blanket around her body and an arm around her waist, she only moved to feel him closer.

“So… what did you want to talk to me about?” Hvitserk asked after an extended silence. Even without seeing his face, she could tell there was a smugness to his voice. The little bastard knew how much she had enjoyed their little tumble between the sheets.

“Well, I just feel like we got off on the wrong foot here.”

He scoffed. “Ya think?”

“Yeah, just because Ragnar left me in charge doesn’t mean that we can’t get along.” Y/N stared at the fireplace in his bedroom.

Among the many expensive pieces of art that she’d seen in their house, there was one that caught her attention. It was a painting of a proud woman bedecked in jewels and gold holding the decapitated head of a man above the fireplace. Y/N felt a satisfying darkness stirring inside her as she pictured Ragnar’s head where the man’s head was and her own face replacing the features of the woman. Her little fantasy brought her a smidge of happiness.

“That painting is really…. special.” She raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Father had dozens of paintings scattered around the house, but this one is just sick. I don’t like it at all.”

Soon Y/N could have the Lothbrok’s place all to herself if she wanted. She still hadn’t figured out if she was going to kick Hvitserk and Ivar from their house. Leaving people without a roof over their heads seemed a little too cruel, even for her, but it was well within her power.

It was thrilling to know that everything that the Lothbrok’s owned was technically hers, but she still didn’t want to be too brash and upfront. They didn’t know who she’d been to Ragnar and she wanted to keep that information to herself.

“About that… who are you exactly? I mean, don’t get me wrong, this was fun… reallyfun…” Hvitserk ran his hand up her tired thigh, feeling every inch of her skin. “And I would definitely do it again… but you’re still the enemy.”

“I guess that makes you a very poor strategist.”

“I think you mean it makes usvery poor strategists… I can tell you came here with a mission before I got you all sidetracked.” Y/N heard his throat produce a low chuckle. “Contrary to what Ivar likes to think, I’m not stupid.” Hvitserk’s tone was carefree but somehow still serious.

“Actually…” Y/N sat up and clutched the sheets to her chest. “Yeah, yeah I did. I was reading through the papers that the lawyer left and I just… I think it’s too much. Don’t you?”

“What’s too much?” Hvitserk’s hand caressed her back up and down absentmindedly turning her skin to gooseflesh.

“This. All of this.” She gestured in the air with her hands. “Like, I don’t need all that you own. And as much as it would please me to piss you and Ivar off-”

Hvitserk scoffed with humor. “I bet…”

“I think I could settle for less.”

“I guess my first question is... why do you want to piss us off?” Hvitserk placed a hand on the back of her head, tightly scrunching a fistful of her hair to make her stretch back her neck before biting the exposed skin harshly. “We’ve never done anything to you, mysterious woman.”

“Maybe we could discuss that some other time.” Y/N closed her eyes and her throat whimpered.

His lips were hot like molten metal and just as velvety smooth. “I thought you came here to talk.” Hvitserk’s cheeky mouth kept sucking on her skin until she couldn’t handle the painful throbbing of her center anymore.

Y/N turned around and let him get on top. The thought of feeling Hvitserk filling her up again so soon made her quiver. This had to be the third time he’d taken her that night. He was insatiable and she loved it.

“And then my second question would be, what do you mean by ‘less’?” Hvitserk prodded while he positioned himself in between her legs.

“Mmm… something like that painting over there. I think it’s one of Klimt’s masterpieces, isn’t it? I could sell it and still live like a rich girl.”

“That was my father’s favorite painter.” Somehow, Hvitserk still had enough willpower to form coherent sentences. “We- hmm. Fuck.” He lifted her leg up to his shoulder then lowered his hips with a rough grunt. “We own lots of works by that artist. I’m sure we would not miss one stupid painting.”

“Sound like we could come up with an agreement then. But Hvitserk?”

“Yeah?” He sounded just as out of it as she felt.

Fuck, it was going to be hard to get rid of him.

“Business can wait.”

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

Summary: There is only person that Heahmund cherishes above all, and when she is threatened, he realizes he would do anything to protect her…. even sell his soul to a blue-eyed devil. 

This is my contribution to @maggiescarborough​ 500 followers celebration! (I’m so sorry this is late but here we are.)

Flower chosen: periwinkle- religious symbol in the Middle Ages tied to the Virgin Mary, benevolence (desire to do good to others, charitable), nostalgia and purity.

I also decided to add an extra challenge and write for a character I would not normally write for- hence Heahmund. 

Words: 6000

Warnings: implied abuse/mistreatment, mutual pining, couple swear words, heavy religious overtones, Ivar being manipulative 

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​ @evelynshelby​ @pomegranates-and-blood​ @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​

Also, a huge shout-out to @flowers-in-your-hayr​ for this absolutely stunning moodboard. Look at this! Its gorgeous! Be in awe! 

 He knew where she would be. 

 The leaves and twigs underfoot crunched beneath his boots. The morning sun casted shadows as it peeked through the foliage above him. His sword bounced against his back almost in sync with the cross upon his chest. The weight of both, something he was continuously aware of. 

 It was here he first met her on a hazy summer day. 

 It was here the two of them always seemed to find one another like two stars caught in each other's orbits. 

 It was here he could never decide if she was his salvation or his damnation. 

 Along the thin trail, his feet guided him, stepping over sticks and rocks. His mind wrestled with the news, but as his mind fought, his heart broke within his chest. It was a selfish reaction, he knew. Yet that did not cease the pain welling in his chest, so strong it threatened to bring forth tears. He kept them at bay. For he was a man of the cloth, a man of God. 

 But sometimes he struggled with just being a man. 

 Soon the gurgling of the bubbling creek could be heard amidst the summer songs of the birds. His footfalls quickened and after several more paces, she finally came into view. Kneeling near the creek, hands folded before her in supplication, she appeared the very vision of pious purity. 

 Heahmund gently called out her name, like a whisper in the breeze, a soft caress on skin. When her head lifted, turning to find him walking closer, his heart skipped a beat. Those eyes that beguiled him, those sweet lips that only allowed kind words to pass through, and her smile…. oh, that smile that lit up her face like a lamp uncovered to shine in the darkest of nights. 

 To his dying breath, he would fervently believe she was an angel in disguise, a blessing from the Lord God bestowed on his creation to remind them of His goodness. 

 And that was why she was both his salvation and damnation. 

 Because he wanted her. He wanted her with all his soul. But she was too pure, too benevolent, too holy for someone like him. She made him want to be better in both his vows and himself. To fight without wavering in protecting his country from the heathens. To protect her from ever having to fear them. 

 And when she turned those eyes to him, when she smiled gently at him like he was her favorite person on earth, he was undone. 

 "Your Grace." She rose to her feet, brushing off the few pieces of grass that stuck to her green dress. 

 "I heard the news that you will no longer be in my congregation."

 "Yes. My father has family in York. With his failing health, he thinks it wise for us to move there."

 Heahmund hummed in thought as he moved closer. Even though his face remained impassive, his heart clenched at the thought of her leaving. For who else would he look to while saying prayers at Mass? Who else would he recite scripture and poems to while they reclined next to the bubbling creek? Who else was kind enough to seek him out after he returned from a raid, to clean his wounds if any and make sure he was fed?

 "I shall keep your family in my prayers to our Lord." He whispered, now standing before her. "My congregation will not be the same without you…. or your family."

 She gazed shyly at him through those long eyelashes. "You are too kind, Bishop Heahmund."

 "You have denied yourself for many years to look after your ailing father and the rest of your family. If the Pope heard of all your sacrifices for your family and our church, he would name you a Saint."

 "I am nowhere worthy of sainthood. You tease me."

 A smile drew his lips upward as he watched her. "Perhaps a little."

 She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked downward. It took all of his willpower not to lay a hand beneath her chin, the draw those beautiful eyes back to his own, to gaze upon her beauty, both inside and out, for longer. To ask her to never leave him. 

 But it was not his place. No matter how he felt for her.  

 "If it is not too bold of me…." She broke through his turbulent thoughts, her sweet voice trailing off as she toyed with one of her sleeves. 

 "Go on." He encouraged, heart hammering away inside of him. 

 "I made something for you. It's not much, but…. but it's just something to remember me by and know you will be in my prayers as well…. for your protection against the heathens." Quickly she dropped to her knees, digging in the basket by her feet. 

 The basket had gone unnoticed by him as his focus resided with soaking in these last few minutes with her. For he was unsure if the Lord's work would bring him to York. She swiftly pulled something out and held it out with both hands like an offering. His eyes momentarily widened before he reverently reached out and clasped it in his hand. It was a white, square kerchief, soft and pure. It was when he looked at the corners that he truly saw the beauty of it. A small cross was stitched in one corner and in the other opposite corner was a grouping of three small, periwinkle flowers. 

 "Thank you, y/n, truly." He returned his gaze to her, struggling to keep the awe out of his tone. "I shall cherish your gift as if the Virgin Mary herself gave it unto me."

 She giggled, a coy smile on her face. "I would hope that she would bestow a better present for someone as holy as yourself."

 "I would never cherish it as much as yours." He admitted with more candor than he should. 

 Her gaze snapped to his then darted away like a startled bird. A weighty, tense silence hung over them, drawing them closer yet apart simultaneously. For it was this blissful, torturous attraction that left them both spellbound, lost to reality in the presence of the other. 

 Unable to stay away a moment longer, he cupped her cheek with his calloused hand, forcing her eyes to meet his. 

 "Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out. 

 "Must I remind you to call me just Heahmund when we are alone?" 

 "Heahmund." She murmured, one of her hands coming to rest on the center of his chest. To anchor herself or him to this moment, he did not know. 

 Desire and longing colored the air around them. A tension that pushed their bodies closer without their awareness, until they could feel the breath of the other gliding across their lips. Something burned between them, this thing that remained unnamed for so long. Heahmund knew it was not lust. For that carnal sin was something he intimately knew and had used other women for, much to his disgrace. No, this was something far stronger, far more powerful, far more dangerous for both of them. For as the years passed, it never faded or wavered like a dying flame. It endured. 

 His gaze zeroed in on her bottom lip as his thumb caressed it with an almost-there touch. Her lips parted on a quiet gasp but she made no move to pull away. Those enchanting eyes beheld him with absolute trust. Something he was unworthy of. 

 After taking a deep breath, his hand traced down her neck, to her shoulder and down her arm to hold her hand leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brought her delicate hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. Then, regretfully, he released her hand. 

 "Come, I shall escort you back to the city. You should not linger out here alone for too long." He said, taking a step back. Needing space before he did something indecent and unbecoming of his station. 

 "Thank you." She replied automatically, blinking rapidly for a second as if waking from a dream. A dream he wished he could have further explored, to share openly with her. Bending down, she grabbed her basket and held it against her hip. 

 They walked back through the woods in silence, more spoken in their actions and looks than could ever openly cross their lips. With each step, Heahmund silently beseeched his God that this encounter would not be their last. Although she was his sweetest temptation, his forbidden apple in the garden, he could not abandon her. It was for her that he picked up a sword to fight the heathens that invaded their land. With what might he had, he would see her protected and defended, that the purity she wore like a veil, the benevolence that dressed her daily, the pure goodness she radiated, would never be blemished. 

 Even if he never had the honor of holding her against his body, of tasting the sweetness of her lips, to hear the pleasured cry of his name from her mouth, to ever be more than just a man of God to her. It was worth it. For she was his angel. 

 *****

 With eyes that could pierce stone in the raging fury bubbling beneath his skin, Heahmund stared at the city of York. 

 Captured by heathens. 

 Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. 

 Saxon warriors moved about him, none bothering him, either thinking he was strategizing how to reclaim the city or praying for the Lord's protection over His people as they beat back the devils. 

 What none knew, what no one could see, was the despair and wrath gnawing away in the bishop's mind. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain in the Saxon camp with the new King and his sons and not to scourge the city of the infestation of heathens. But to go seek for her. To find and protect her. Somehow in his heart, he knew she was down there. In what condition though, he dared not imagine. 

 When the two sons of Ragnar came in the night to talk of peace, his resolve almost broke. Questions of her coated his tongue like the sweetest of poisons, slowly driving him mad. Yet he swallowed them back down. Not just for fear of his fellow warriors learning of his unholy affections towards her; but fear if she was alive and the heathens realized the depth of his care for her. Surely it would bring about her doom. So when he slipped into their tent like a snake cornering its prey, his fists dirtied by the blood of the Ragnarssons, it was his silent promise to save her, that even from here he would protect her. 

 They must retake the city, to drive out the Vikings, for God and country and justice. Most importantly for him- they must retake the city so he could find her. 

 *****

 "You call me heathen, but to me, I am godly. I live by the gods."

 "There is only one God." Heahmund bit out. The chain around his neck was even more sharp than his tongue. 

 Ivar continued, arrogance dripping off each word. "But I have seen other gods. I have seen the Odin, the All-Father, with my own eyes."

 "They are the devil's work. He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us. And lead us into evil."

 "What is evil?" The raven-haired heathen asked in a haughty undertone. 

 Heahmund sighed, dropping his chin back to his chest. His legs were growing weary beneath him, having been chained here for hours already and he saw no true reprieve in sight. "Slaughter of the innocent." He answered in a whisper. 

 "You slaughter when it suits you." 

 Rage filled the Bishop at the way this heathen turned his words, how he taunted with that arrogant smirk on his face, how he disrespected the one true God. "He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent." He shouted, pointing his finger in condemnation at the ungodly sinner beside him. Then for a moment he wondered if this was why he had been captured by the Danes. If this was all the Lord's mysterious work. His tone softened as he continued to stare at his captor. "But I could show you the ways of God, to salvation and eternal life."

 But it was all in vain. 

 He chuckled darkly, almost as if shocked that the bishop would even try to convert him. "Do you know who I am?"

 "Of course. You are Ivar…. son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Many there are that fear you." 

 "But not you."

 "No, I fear no man….no matter how wicked." Heahmund allowed the sneer to taint his voice at the end. For it was true. No matter the horrendous stories he heard about the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, fear never sunk its claws into him. For he followed the Will of God. 

 There was only one reason alone that fear gripped him, tighter than a lover, slipped beneath his skin to momentarily poison his mind…. but that reason was gone now. Dead. 

 The two sat in silence for several minutes, a heathen and a bishop, lost in their own thoughts. Heahmund could not help but wonder as he eyed the young man, if this was all some bloody, gruesome game to him. Was he even capable of remorse? Fear? Mercy? Love? Or had the fires of hell already scourged them from his soul?

 The shackles around his wrists grew heavier by the hour. The chain around his neck chaffed. The cold mud beneath him seeped into his trousers, slowly injecting a chill into his bones, amplified by the chains keeping him bound. 

 "I beseech thee, Lord. Save me or show me why I am here. Grant me Your mercy. Do not cast be aside into the darkness. Grant me Your light so I may see." He murmured to himself. 

 The sound of a door opening just off to the side of Ivar could be heard but Heahmund paid no mind. He knew his time on earth was dwindling, for how much longer would the heathen bother to keep him? Surely, he would be killed in a cruel and painful way. When he first took up the sword to defend his faith and his people against the Danes, he assumed that was how his life would end. On a battlefield somewhere, surrounded by blood and screams, with his cross upon his chest and sword in hand. Not like this. Not a prisoner to be tortured for amusement. 

 A soft voice hesitantly spoke up from behind Ivar. "My prince, your brother…."

 That voice. Oh, that voice had haunted his dreams, but lately it had only been heard in his nightmares. She would beg for his help to save her, only to witness her dragged away or killed before his eyes, chains or ropes or fire keeping him imprisoned, unable to do more than scream her name. More than once he had jerked awake to find tears streaming down his cheeks. 

 Now his head jerked up, ears attuned, desperate to see or hear her again, to confirm she was alive and not just a hallucination. To know all his nightmares were wrong. 

 He prayed his nightmares were wrong. 

 Ivar beckoned her closer with an annoyed huff and a roll of his eyes. Then she appeared, as if from the mist. His fears confirmed. Her green dress was ripped and filthy. Her hair matted and unwashed. But it was the dark circles that lay beneath her dimmed eyes, the bruise on her cheek and the split lip that adorned her face which brought his rage to the surface, festering in his gut. His hands clenched into fists at the sight of her and images of what all she must have endured played in his mind. 

 The heathen snatched the cup from her outstretched hands, mumbling something in his own language. "Go." He arrogantly dismissed her with a wave of his hand as if she was some pest he detested. 

 As she turned to walk away, her eyes drifted over to Heahmund and she froze. Time stood still as their gazes locked. He watched as a series of emotions passed over her face- surprise, relief, concern, fear, worry- they all took their turn to shine from her eyes. He wondered if his own expression mirrored hers. Her name, that name that tasted like the sweetest of honey on his lips, danced on his tongue. How he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her out of his sight. To promise no one would ever hurt her again. To press his lips to hers tenderly. His chest constricted as he witnessed a single tear slip from her right eye, washing away a streak of grime on her cheek. His own tears burned in his eyes, threatening to betray him. Here she was. Alive. But mistreated by these heathens. Something he could never forgive. 

 "You know this…. priest, thrall?" Ivar's amused voice broke their staring, like a bucket of cold water suddenly thrown on them. 

 She jerked, brought back to the here and now, that her and Heahmund were not alone. Wordlessly, she lowered her head and nodded. 

 "Ah, I see." Ivar's shrewd blue eyes jumped between the two as his smirk widened. "You may go to him. I will allow it for now. Ah! And here, give him this." He held the untouched cup out to her.

 Hesitantly, she reached out and took it, as if expecting it to get thrown in her face at the last minute. Keeping her gaze downcast, she walked the few steps to stand before Heahmund. Once more, she peered over to the side at Ivar, silently requesting his permission before proceeding. 

 "Let him drink! I am certain he is quite…. thirsty." The heathen chuckled, playing with his bottom lip. 

 "Y/n…" Heahmund started quietly but she interrupted him. 

 "Drink, please." Immediately, she brought the cup to his lips and carefully helped him to drink. At the slow pace she allowed the water to flow, it was perfect to quench his thirst but not fast enough he would choke on it. A skill she must have learned from the many times she was forced to take care of her ailing father. The whole time, he locked his gaze on her face, refusing to look away for even a moment. For fear of her vanishing. For fear of missing even a second of this cherished time in her presence. Even if he was bound in chains like a common criminal. 

 "Are you well?" He asked once she pulled the empty cup away from his mouth, keeping his voice low for some resemblance of privacy under the heathen's scrutinizing gaze. 

 She peeked at Ivar out of the corner of her eye before whispering back. "I'm alive."

 "Are they treating you well?"

 Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup. 

 And her silence burned through Heahmund like a wildfire. He knew it was foolish to ask as soon as he uttered the question. The evidence on her face was proof enough. But he had hoped for a different answer. Wanted a different answer. And the truth ate away at him like leprosy. For chained here…. a prisoner…. a prize…. he could do nothing to save her. To protect her. 

 His nightmare coming to pass. 

 He swallowed thickly, emotions clogging his throat. "Stay strong, y/n. The Lord knows the challenges we face and will give us strength to endure. We are not forgotten."

 She nodded, hastily wiping away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "What…. what about you? What will happen to you?"

 Her concern for him warned his soul more than a fire and hot meal ever could. Even amidst her circumstances, she worried for him. She cared about him. Heaven certainly lost an angel when she was born onto this earth. For she was far too good to not be one of the Lord's divine beings. 

 "I'm deciding if I want to keep him alive," Ivar interrupted, tone all together smug and cocky, "or crucify him, like your god. A fitting ending for his priest."

 She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation. 

 Heahmund wanted to comfort her, but words failed him as he gazed upon her. For his life was no longer in his own hands. A fate he despised. Before he could speak words that would hopefully bring her some solace, the heathen spoke again. 

 "Thrall, come here." Ivar commanded. She walked over to him with visible trepidation, cup still clutched in her hands. Instantly, he grabbed her wrist when she was close enough, the movement as sharp and fast as a viper. The cup dropped and bounced on the ground as she gasped. In the next moment he yanked her down to kneel before him, a soft cry slipping from her lips that seemed to spur him on, a malicious smile forming on his face. So reminiscent of a hungry wolf cornering a young lamb, the taste of blood already tainting the air. An allure the wolf feasted on shamelessly. 

 Heahmund could taste iron in his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue to keep from demanding her release. He could only watch helplessly as this devil toyed with her. 

 "Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

 She said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes firmly planted on the dirt. "Y/n."

 Complacently, the heathen tipped her chin up, staring into her eyes for long enough she began to tremble. He chuckled, moving her face side to side and scanning her body like examining an item for sale at the market. "And who owns you now?"

 "Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

 "Ah. Haakon. A good warrior by our people. But I have heard he is not so kind to his thralls. Hmm?" He stated, but this time his smug gaze was directed at Heahmund, waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see what his latest prize would do. 

 At his statement, she flinched and it felt like a flaming sword was driven through Heahmund's gut. He made no appeal to mask his hatred nor fury, his eyes hard as stone as he met the heathen's unnatural blue eyes. In his mind, he swore to himself that he would never forget the name she spoke with such a mixture of fear and despair. Somehow, he would kill this man. God, help him. 

 Ivar grinned, still focused on his prisoner, even as he traced a finger over her split bottom lip, tears springing forth from her eyes. "Maybe I'll buy you from him. What do you think?"

 She just stared at the ground, body trembling. Completely submissive. Entirely surrendered. 

 "You may go. Tell my brother I will join him soon." Ivar said, releasing her chin. 

 Carefully she scrambled to her feet and took a hasty step back. Her watery gaze flickered over to Heahmund's, meeting his eyes. Oh, how he wished these chains no longer held him. He would slaughter every Dane in York in holy recompense for the abuse she endured. He would shield her with his body, keeping her close until the fear bled from her like poison from a wound, until she was the sweet, vibrant woman he knew. 

 "I said leave, thrall." 

 As if startled out of a dream, she jumped at Ivar's shout. Then spun around on her heel and disappeared the way she had come. The cup laid forgotten on the ground, having rolled away. 

 The bishop dropped his head to his chest. What was left of his heart slowly eroded away inside of him. Why must she be made to suffer at the hands of these devils? Was this why the Lord allowed him to be captured? To save her? 

 "Y/n…." The heathen rolled her name on his tongue, voice inquisitive with his following question. "What is she to you?"

 The Saxon remained silent. He owed his captor nothing. The heathen had no right to say her blessed name, let alone touch her. He was evil, darkness, something to be destroyed. To touch y/n, her perfect soul, was a crime against all that was holy and good. 

 "Ah, you act like she is nothing but I could see it in your eyes. You want her. Like a man wants a beautiful woman. But more than that…. she means something to you. So, answer my question or maybe I'll call her back and slit her throat in front of you."

 Heahmund licked his lips, debating what to say. "She is the Virgin Mary."

 "She's a virgin?" Ivar scoffed. "I doubt that's the truth anymore."

 "No," he snapped, glaring at Ivar before turning back to stare straight ahead. "She is holy and pure. She is the epitome of benevolence, something you would never understand. She is a soft breeze on a scorching day, the spring rain come to bring new life. She is the candle of fond memories, keeping away the dark thoughts that threatened to cloud my mind. She is…. y/n."

 "You love her."

 "How could I not?" He sighed, for that was the truth. No matter how hard he tried, prayed for deliverance, she had wormed her way into his heart and planted herself there like an oak tree.  

 "Well, if Haakon owns her, then she will be leaving soon to journey to Norway with us." Ivar stared at him for a moment before looking away. They sat in silence for several minutes before Ivar laughed and shifted from a sitting position. "Prepare yourself, Bishop Heahmund, you are coming on a journey with us."

 "I am already on a journey." He called out, voice unwavering. 

 "Aren't we all."

 He watched the heathen crawl away like an overgrown snake, deceptive and cunning, wondering what this journey meant for him. What it meant for her. Closing his eyes, shutting out his surroundings, he focused on the feeling of her kerchief tucked away under his tunic. Close to his heart.  

 *****

 The crowd jeered around him, a sound beating against his mind like a hammer. The stench of the ocean clogged his nostrils, the fish guts spilled on the docks and ground, the masses of unrighteous bodies pressing closer to have their chance to spit at him. For once, he was grateful that he did not understand their language so his ears would remain untainted by their insults and taunts. 

 The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson led the parade with Heahmund being the center of attention. Like a spectacle for all to see. A large blond Viking pulled on the chains binding his hands, chuckling at making Heahmund stumble drunkenly to keep his feet beneath him in the unsteady mud. The bishop spat out a mouthful of blood onto the mud. The cut on the inside of his lip a courtesy from a punch to the mouth by the brutish Viking who currently held the chains. 

 Stubbornly, he yanked on the chain binding him, refusing to let himself be dragged around like some stray mongrel. The brute growled at the Saxon and gave a strong pull, disrupting Heahmund's already unstable footing. In the next moment, he found himself face-first in the revolting mud. The cheers of the crowd exploded around him to new heights at his predicament. 

 Through sheer determination and a refusal to appear weak to these ungodly wretches, he rose back to his feet. Will unbroken. Though he walked through the valley of death, he refused to fear the evil around him. The Lord would provide a way. Somehow, he would be delivered. Carefully he wiped the mud from his face on his sleeve.

 Once back on his feet, he could see Ivar sitting at a nearby table. Although from the way he reclined, he acted more as if it was a throne. The infuriating smug look on his face as he met Heahmund's gaze. All resemblance of vulnerability and unveiled candor from the prior night was gone. Replaced with the arrogant warlord who sentenced people to death with laughter on his lips. 

 All night his mind wrestled with their conversation from the prior night. How could he fight for this godless heathen? Surely the Lord would smite him for that? Even if in the fighting he only killed more heathens. Was he not also a man of peace like the Lord Jesus Christ? Which was more important right now? Which one was stronger in times like these…. the olive branch or the sword?

 He walked with confidence until he noticed y/n standing just behind Ivar. His feet faltered for a moment, shocked to see her. Since their encounter in York, he had only snatched a glimpse of her as he was being loaded onto the boats. His mind wandered to her fate more than he cared to admit. There were many times as he sat alone, he gently toyed with the kerchief she made for him, touching the periwinkle flower sewed onto it. His thoughts on her and all his regrets. 

 Now his eyes quickly scanned her, noting the different dress she wore. Something rough and bland he had noticed other slaves wearing. She appeared no worse. The bruise on her cheek was gone, the split lip healed. Her hands clasped before her as if waiting for instruction as her eyes followed him. When they finally met, a flood of relief and concern passed between them. For no words needed to be spoken to understand the predicament they both were in. Both of their fates were no longer in their control, only in the Lord's and their captors'. 

 He could not help but wonder why she was here? To witness his shame? His death? What game was Ivar playing?

 As he watched her, his mind returned to his short burst of despair earlier. How he had called out to the Lord for deliverance. But if the Lord delivered him from the hands of these heathens…. would the Lord deliver her also? But did not the Lord send angels to protect the Virgin Mary as she carried Jesus in her womb? How could he then abandon y/n in her hour of need? For it was unthinkable to leave her alone in their clutches. And seeing her now, dressed as a slave, at the beck and call of the blood-thirsty Ragnarsson, Heahmund would rather slit his own throat than leave her alone. 

 Determination saturating his veins, he tried to move closer towards Ivar but as he took a step, the brutish Viking held him back with an animalistic grunt.

 Ivar waved a hand. "Let him approach, Haakon."

 For a moment, Heahmund froze, his blood boiling at the name. This name he swore he would always remember. He turned to stare at the brute with a newfound understanding, fury a living thing beneath his skin. This was the man who mistreated the one most precious to him. An unforgivable sin. A heinous crime. And with the mischievous glint in Ivar's eyes, the bishop knew the prince had purposefully orchestrated for them to meet. Tearing his fiery gaze away from the brutish Viking, he walked over to stand before Ivar like a convict awaiting judgment. 

 "Shhhh…." Ivar hushed the crowd, his voice carrying with an air of authority. "Now will decide if you fight for us." Grabbing the knife out of the table from beside him, he continued. "Or whether I kill you." He paused, pressing the knife to Heahmund's chest. When he spoke next, his voice was low, a harsh truth only to be heard between them. "Nothing is keeping you alive but me."

 The tip of the knife pressed against Heahmund's jerkin, not a threat but a promise depending on the bishop's choice. With his quiet sigh, he peered past Ivar to look at y/n one more time. One of her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Only now was Heahmund able to see the red marks on her wrist, marking of chains, ones he knew he carried also. 

 Without hesitation, the Saxon warrior-priest whispered back, "If I fight for you, y/n goes free."

 Ivar leaned closer, smirk growing on his lips. "If you fight for me…. I will give her to you."

 "Hmmm…." Heahmund's gaze dropped down to the knife still touching his sternum for a second before returning to meet Ivar's penetrating gaze. "Why don't you give me the knife?"

 The manic excitement in Ivar's eyes should have scared Heahmund, but right now he needed blood on his hands. With a wicked grin, Ivar handed the knife over, as if already knowing what was to occur next. He accepted the knife with a huff, surprised Ivar gave it to him. Both smiled darkly at one another, the draw and lust for blood staining their lips. Revenge- a language they both spoke fluently. 

 Slowly Heahmund turned around, the knife pressed to his sternum like he was about to take his own life. Aware of the crowd's eyes on him, he stepped away from Ivar, back into the street. Closer to the brute Viking. 

 Haakon began yelling in his thickly accented English. "Die! Are you afraid?" He sneered, getting right into the bishop's face. "Do it! Coward. Do it!"

 Without a second thought, Heahmund slid the knife home into the Viking's neck. Blood spurting out, coating his hand gripping the knife. As the heathen gurgled, he spat blood onto the heathen's face. The blood on his face was for the punch Heahmund received from him. The knife, though, that was for her. His gift to her. To deliver her from the abuse of the ungodly. He could see death sinking its claws into the Viking, latching itself onto the man's soul to drag him to Hell. With that he let the man drop limply to the mud and threw the knife to the ground nearby. 

 He gazed over the silenced crowd with his piercing eyes, weaponless once again, and curious if one would fight him for revenge for Haakon. They stared back at him, a mixture of shock and anger on many of their faces. A slow clap and madden laughter startled him. He turned back to see Ivar clapping with an unhinged smile. 

 "He will fight with us!" Ivar yelled, arms outstretched as if in victory. 

 The crowd cheered. An example of how fickle a mob can be. As he arrived, being led like an animal to sacrifice, they cheered for his death. Now they cheered for his sword, to fight alongside him. 

 Suddenly a form slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He tensed, prepared to fight until he looked down to see y/n burying her face against his chest, hands gripping his tunic. Her body trembled against his, muffled sobs reached his ears as she clung to him like a lifeline. The bishop lifted his gaze to meet Ivar's, who leaned forward with a side smirk, eyes intently watching the two. As their gazes met, Ivar made a subtle motion with his hand, a quick wave, as if telling him to accept his prize. 

 Careful because of the many eyes still on them and not wishing to cause her harm, he brought his bound hands around her, pulling her closer against him. Embracing her in a way he had only fantasized about. Using his body as a shield, blood staining his hands.

 "You are safe now." He murmured against the top of her head, a storm of emotion whirling in his heart and mind. "You are safe, I promise. I will not let anyone hurt you again. I am here, my angel."

 Silently, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, washing away what grime had been on them. But it was the relief and adoration in her eyes that made him freeze. How she beheld him as if a miracle or answer to her prayers. A reverence in her gaze but also joy intermingled. 

 His heart constricted in his chest; air momentarily cut off by the strong emotion stirring within him. For he knew with every fiber of his being as he gazed down at her, he would do anything to protect her. Would travel any sea to keep her. Fight any army with just his sword by his side. Even sell his own soul to the devil to see her safe. 

 Glancing up at Ivar and the manic smile on his mouth, Heahmund wondered if he had done just that. 

[artemiseamoon]

November Prompts | Oneshots & Drabbles

Assorted characters

List will be updated as I go

Content will vary

KEY 🥺 angst 💜 fluff 🔥 smut

Works so far...

1. Pumpkins and Chestnuts Ezra x Reader 💜

2. Reflections of the Past - Mandalorian x Reader 💜

3. Apple Pie & Chai - Marcus Pike x reader 💜

4. The Art of Storytelling - Ezra x Reader 💜

5. About Vampires -  Max x Reader implied 🔥

6. Confessions under the Stars - Ubbe x Reader 💜

7. Deviant  - Dark!Mando x F Reader 🔥

8. Eros at Dawn Javier Peña x F reader 🔥

9. Hawthorne & Photographs Marcus Pike x Reader 💜

10. Sweet Dreams Zach Wellison x Reader 💜

11. Shooting Stars  Eddie BTVS 💜

12. The Stranger Ragnar x Ofc  (smoldering mystery vibes?) 

13. The Remedy- Frankie (TF) x Reader 🥺💜

14. The Scarecrow Shane Dio Morrisey x Ofc 🥺

15. Lady Fortune  Ezra x Reader 🥺😍

16. Here we are in heaven Zach Wellison x Reader 💜

17. A Little Warmth Pero Tovar x Reader🥺 💜

18. Best In Town Modern! Hvitserk x reader 💜

19. A Little Longer Frankie (TF) x reader 🥺💜

20. Children of the Night Max Phillips x Vamp reader 🔥

21. Simmer Ragnar x Reader * I changed the prompt to fire

22. Exactly What I Needed  Will (TF) x reader 💜

23. Lilacs in the Wind Ezra x Samara (from my Lilac Lounge fic) 

24. Questionable Moments Max Phillips x reader 💜

25. Luminous Ezra x Reader 💜

26. Open topic w/ The Witcher - soon! A little delayed

27. Just Like Old Times Rollo x F reader 🥺🔥

28. Neptunium Vampire! John Wick x f reader 🔥

29. Apple Cider & Maple Syrup Dad!Ezra x f reader 💜

30. Love Letters Ezra x f reader 💜🔥

~

Original prompt list

Rest of the month / I’m catching up slowly

* the 26th will be free form day, open prompt

[lauwrite1225]

The Fire in the Heart || Finan x reader

A/N : God! It took me a long time to figure out a story, but thanks to @othermoony and @bird-on-a-wire20, I finally found something ! I tried my best to do a good fluffy fic and not fall into smut lol. So I hope you'll enjoy it 😌💕

Masterlist

Warnings: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF. Maybe a little angst ?

Words : 3603

The loud scream of Ragnar made you shivered. Sat against the wall of one of Dunholm’s houses, hands on your injured arm, blood streaming between your fingers, you closed your eyes. Finally, Kjartan was dead. Years you wondered what you'd feel the day the man you had pledged your sword to would die. And now, you knew. 

You felt nothing. You despised Kjartan. You were pledged to him only because your father was loyal to him. 

You couldn't help but smile through the pain. You were free now. You could go wherever you wanted. The idea was pleasant. You wanted to leave right now, see more of the world. Fight for other earls, for new lands. You were a shieldmaiden. Fighting was what made you feel alive. Every time you gripped the handle of your sword, it started a fire in your chest.

The idea of travelling somewhere far from here overwhelmed your mind. You could see the sea and the boats ready to leave. The smell of salt water tickled your nose and the feel of sand under your feet made you forget the pain of your arm. You started to run to the boats, screaming them to wait for you.  But you didn't even have the time to reach the water that a hand on your shoulder woke you up. 

You slowly opened your eyes again, narrowing them, blinded by the sun. And suddenly the sunlight faded and you met two brown eyes. You couldn't look away from them, they were hypnotizing. But mostly, and strangely, they were lightening a fire in your heart. 

"Are ya all right?" 

You blinked several times, finally staring at the whole face just in front of you. It was a man, around your age but his skin was damaged and marked by scars still healing, making him look older. His hair, dark and thick, was attached and a beard was covering his jaw. 

The pain of the deep cut on your arm started to resonate in all your body again and your face writhed. The man looked down to your wound, concerned. The blood had started to dry causing the bleeding to moderate. His fingers grazed your arm and you squealed, muscles contracting in reaction of the touch. 

“Ya need to fix tha’.” He muttered, frowning. He stood up and lent his hand to help you. 

You hesitated a moment. He wasn’t one of Kjartan’s men, what could keep him from killing you? Seeing your wary, he smiled.

“The fight is over, I won’t kill ya.” He narrowed your eyes, studying him. He was thin for a warrior, but his arms were strong and his shoulders broad. “I promise.” He added. 

You sighed and caught his hand. He lifted you, not too harshly, and he guided your hand so your uninjured arm was around his shoulders. You wanted to complain that you could still walk, but when you made a step, your head started to spin because the amount of blood you lost. You relied on him and he led you to the Great Hall of Dunholm. 

“Kjartan is dead?” You asked him. Even if you knew the answer, you needed to hear it, to make it realer. He nodded and you smiled widely.

“I saw you fighting.” He said, admiration sparkling in his voice. “A real devil.” He grinned.

You chuckled a little as you finally made it to the Hall. Other people were being healed, of both armies. The man walked you to an empty chair and you slowly sat on it, sighing. 

“Thank you.” You said him, bringing your arm against your stomach. “What’s your name?”

“Finan.” He smiled.

“Y/N.” He nodded. He took a stool and sat in front of you, leaning to rest his elbows on his knees.

“You’re not of Ragnar’s army, right?” Finan asked. 

“No, I am… I was pledged to Kjartan.” You answered, sinking in your chair.

“You don’t look sad that he’s dead.” He raised an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth lifted, probably knowing the answer.

“I despised him.” You admitted, now that it could be no longer a secret. 

He was ready to say something else, but a healer came to both of you.

“Well, now that you’re in good hands, I should leave ya.” He declared, standing up. You kindly smiled at him as he swung a little on his feet, seeming hesitant to leave. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

“Maybe.” You repeated, your smile not leaving your face. 

After, slightly shaking his head up and down, he finally left you with the healer. In an hour, the cut in your arm was stitched and a bandage was wrapping it. 

Finan staid in Dunholm a week. During this time, you spend time with him. First, it was just small talks during dinner with others, and as days passed you came to spend time just both of you. You learned he came with Uhtred, Ragnar’s brother, whom, since he was free of a life as a slave, he had decided to follow. 

But what you mostly retain, was the fire building in your chest every time he was around. Never before, someone made you feel that way. Each of his smile made your stomach flip and your cheeks burn. It was a strange feeling, that only him could create. And yet, even if he had that power over you, you couldn’t help but feel confident with him. So, you talked to him about your own life, good and bad moments. It could last until the middle of the night, when only the night birds were witnesses of your discussions as you were both laid in the grass outside Dunholm. 

Unfortunately, the moment to leave for Uhtred and his men came. You joined Finan in the stables where he was saddling his horse. He turned to you when he heard your footsteps, a wide smile on his face. You gave him back, but yours was tainted with sadness. 

“How’s your arm today?” He asked, pointing to your bandages with his chin. 

“Good. The healer took a look this morning.” You said, lifting it and slowly shaking your hand, proving that the pain was fading. 

“I am glad it’s gettin’ better.” You nodded and he turned back to what he was doing. “What are ya goin’ to do now?” 

“Hum… I don’t know.” You admitted. You wanted to do many things, but where to start ? And anyway, your mind was too filled by thoughts of a certain Irishman to think about what you’d do when your arm would be heal.

“You said you wanted to travel. To fight and discover new lands” He looked at you above his shoulder. “You should do it.” 

“You are probably right.” You admitted, looking down to your feet.

“Of course I’m right, I am Irish.” You giggled cheerfully and you perceived some sort of sorrow in his eyes. “I’m gonna miss that laugh.” He confessed, just loud enough for you to hear him, looking away. 

You stared at him, your lips parted as you realized the meaning of his words. The flames grew in your heart, making your body feel hotter. You let out a sigh like it could weakened the fire that was consuming you. But it didn’t. 

So, you took a step toward him. Your hand found its way to his shoulder, causing his eyes to meet yours. You hold your breath a moment as your fingers ran to his neck then to his cheek. Your thumb rubbing it, he leaned his head a little on your palm. 

“I am going to miss you.” You admitted, not only to him, but to yourself. You knew the feeling would leave with him. 

You stood a moment like this, staring at each other in silent, just enjoying the last time your heart will burn for something else than the adrenaline of a fight. When you finally removed your hand, he leaned toward you until his lips met yours. You gasped, not expecting it, but you quickly let yourself drown in the kiss. His lips were still bruised by his life on the slave ship, but you didn’t care. Your hand slid to the back of his head, deepening the kiss. 

When you separated, you were both breathless. Your hand ran down his arm and your fingers meet his, touching sheepishly. 

“I’m gonna miss this even more.” He smirked and you chuckled again, catching his hand to bring him in another kiss. 

Only the voice of Uhtred was able to broke this moment. Finan’s lips left yours to press them against your forehead. He moved away to untie the reins of his horse and lead him outside the stables. 

You followed him and before he got into the saddle, he turned to you. 

“Promised me you’ll follow your dream.” He said on a serious tone. You pinched your lips a little before shaking your head up and down. 

“I will.” You smiled at him.

“Promised?” He insisted.

“Promised!” You chortled.

“Good, you’ll have to tell me everythin’ when we’ll meet again.” You couldn’t help but smile at the idea of seeing him again, even if it seemed improbable to you. 

And on these words, he got on his horse, looked you one last time and rode toward the gates. As he went away, you felt the flames in your heart diminish.

 …

 You kept your word. For years you traveled across England and other land at the other side of the sea. You even went to Ireland once. And as many times in all those years, you couldn’t help but wonder where could Finan be.

You fought a lot, following different Earls wishing to gain lands or take them back. You got even more skilled with time, able to fight man over twice your weight. Fighting became once more the only way to bring fire to your chest. And sometimes it saddened you. You missed Finan and the few memories you had could only light blazes. So, you just learned to leave without, loosing yourself into more and more fights. Just like that night.

After coming back from Frankia, you decided to go back to Dunholm for a time. Basically, you wanted to rest for a time before leaving again, but you handed up playing at one of the many games Ragnar organized each night.

“I win.” You said, knee on your opponent’s chest and sword just under his throat.

The man under you was still stunned by the fall and couldn’t push you away. You smiled, proud and finally stood up. You raised your arms in the air in response to the shouting crowd around. It was the third fight you were winning tonight. The fight implied no blood, but you enjoyed it anyway.

You laughed when one of your friends wrapped an arm around your shoulders and handed you a cup of ale. You drank all of it and threw the cup, the crowd cheering you even more.

“Who will fight me?” You exclaimed pointing your sword to the peoples in front. You knew most of them and probably trained with all of them.

As you scanned the men and women in front of you, you gasped when your eyes crossed ones you knew well. Flames grew and you almost dropped your sword. Finan was widely smiling. He had changed, a lot, probably just like you. His hair was shorter and messy. You could notice some wrinkles on his skin as the torches illuminated is face, but not the healing wounds from slavery he used to have.

He winked at you before moving to blend in with the crowd. You blinked several times, catching the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You turned your back to the place Finan used to be and forced a smile on your face.

“You know what? I think none of you merit to fight me.” You quipped, handed the training sword to the first person you crossed the way and walked to join Finan.

When you managed to pass through the crowd, you finally perceive him, backed up to a wall. As you approached him, you felt the feeling you missed so much overwhelmed your body. You stopped just in front of him, studying him a moment. He clearly looked in better shape that the first time you met him.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, still amazed that he was right here.

“Uhtred had some troubles in Wessex.” He said raising his eyebrows and looking to the side. “So, we ended up ‘ere.” He shrugged before straightening. “And ya? What are ya doin’ in Dunholm?”

“Well, I came here to rest before leaving again.” You said, your eyes unable to leave his.

“You weren’t really restin’ right now.” He chuckled stepping toward you, making the step between you two smaller. “You still fight like a devil.” He smirked.

“I had time to improve.” You answered, on the same tone as him.

You both remained silent for a moment, simply staring at each other. Discovering new marks and scars, signs of the years who had passed. But time didn’t change the way fire ignited your heart. As the gap was getting even more smaller, your fingers touched. You sighed, wishing you could go further than an accidental touch.

“I missed you.” You said, not daring to meet his eyes. You were a shieldmaiden, never scared of a rough fight, but you couldn’t hold his gaze while admitting a truth. But yet, you kept talking. “Wherever I went, for whoever I fought, you were still in my mind.”

Finan’s fingers gently came under your chin, lifting it so you looked at him. And suddenly, his lips crashed on yours. First gently, but then deeper. You wrapped your arms around his neck and his hands found your waist, bringing you closer. And fire spread in all your body as you felt filled by the feel of his mouth on yours.

Finan broke the kiss, but your noses were still touching. “I missed you too.”

A large smile spread on your face, you ran a hand in his thick hair to meet his lips once more. That night, the fire didn’t go out and when morning came, Finan was still in your bed.

You woke up at the feel of his finger on your naked back, running along the tattoos. You slowly opened your eyes, meeting his smile. You smiled back, enjoying the feel of his hand on your skin. He then removed it to rest it at the other side of your body, leaning to kiss you. You turned on your back and brought him closer to you.

“You need to talk to me about your tattoos.” He whispered against your lips. “Just like of your travels.”

“I will.” You breathed, fingers travelling on his bare chest.

His lips caressed your neck, making you sighed at the feel before he let himself fall on the bed. “I need to join Uhtred.” He said, disappointment clear in his voice.

You sat up, bringing your legs against your chest, crossing your arms on your knees and resting your cheek on them. “Then go, I’ll see you later.” You gently smile at him. He loudly sighed and stood up to get dress.

It was the first of many nights he got to share your bed. The fire never faded during the days Finan spent into Dunholm, your eyes always finishing to meet his. You told him about all your travels, the beautiful landscape you saw, the terrible storms and the warriors you met. He told you about Coccham, Winchester and the new battles he fought alongside his Lord. And you could listen to him for hours, your head rested on his chest and his arms around your waist.

But it couldn’t last, and after the arguing of Uhtred and his brother in the Great Hall, the Irishman ran to you.

“Come with us.” He almost begged you, his hands holding yours.

His brown eyes were pleading you to accept but you were unable to decide. Leave with them but to where? You were a Dane, you never wished to fight for some Saxon Kings. You wanted to travel until you the end of the Earth. But in the other hand, there was Finan. Just him. And all the feeling he made you feel, the flames he created in your heart. But could it be enough to replace the life loved?

You avoided his gaze and removed your hands from his. “I can’t, Finan.” You immediately regretted your words, but you couldn’t take them back. He didn’t move for a moment, like he wasn’t sure of what you said.

“Alright.” He said, his voice so cold it blew away the fire.

He made a step back as you held tears to run down your cheeks and he finally left you.

 …

 Days and weeks passed and regret grew even more. You thought you could handle his absence just like you did during years, but you couldn't anymore. Missing him wasn't just a feeling rising in the middle of the night, when you felt alone, it was every day and at any time. Wherever you were in Dunholm, it somehow felt empty without him. 

You missed his presence in your bed, where he used to talk for hours with you after he had made your mind forget the world and your body shiver with pleasure. 

But as you were grieving his departure, the world change and you found yourself joining the Dane army, walking South to defeat Wessex. At least a fight would make you forget him just for a time. 

When you heard the first screams of battle, a smile spread on your lips and you caught the handle of your sword. Fire exploded in your chest as you shed the first blood. Your blade doing precise movements, you enjoyed the sound of steel against steel. 

But suddenly, your attention was caught by a voice you well knew. Your eyes widened as you saw Finan, killing danes with fierce strokes of his sword. He must have seen you, because for a moment you swore you could have seen his eyes sparking the same way they did when you were alone with him. And once more, regret overwhelmed your body. But you couldn't let yourself drown into it. Not now. Not in middle of a battle.

You took a deep breath and tightened your grip on the handle. You rushed toward him, avoiding bodies on the floor. When you were close enough, you raised your sword and split the air in direction of his shoulder. He hadn't seen you coming and he stopped your blade at the last second. But it was what you wanted. 

For a moment you thought he'd push you away, that he hadn't forgave you for the decision you made. But he didn't and your eyes met. You could feel his breath on your face, jerky because of the fight. Flames he created join the one born with the battle. 

"When it's over." You said. "Join me to the lake."

He frowned, confused. You removed your sword, freeing him from the pressure you were exerting. You raised your eyebrows, waiting for an answer. He finally nodded and you smiled at him. You stepped back, leaving him still confused but the battle quickly brought him back to reality. Just as you. 

You let yourself drown in the fight, your mind already thinking of the end of it, no matter the winner. You just needed to survive and leave for the lake you noticed earlier in the day. 

Your muscles were aching when you finally heard someone shouting to retreat. It was a Dane earl. You lost the battle, but you didn't even feel disappointed. You simply ran from the battlefield with others and find a place to hide until the night.

When dawn fall, you could only hear the scream of joy from the Saxons. You stood up, your body tired, and you managed to leave the forest to the lake. When you arrived, a shadow was already there.

"Finan?" You called him and he turned to you. A wide smile on your face and a heart in fire, you ran towards him. "I am sorry." You told him as he was frowning. "I should have joined you." 

His eyes widened a little at your words, but you couldn't see them, to focus on your hands as you apologized. 

"I thought, I could handle to leave without you a second time. But I couldn't. You are always in my mind. Day and night and…" He cut you by bringing his hands to your cheeks and leaning his head until his mouth met yours. 

You froze a moment and finally close your eyes appreciating the kiss you so longed for. Your whole body was burning as he left your lips.

"It's alright." He murmured, brushing your cheeks with his thumbs. 

You smiled to him, small tears of relief shining in your eyes before you wrapped your arms around his neck and hid your face in it. He was smelling blood and dirt but you didn't care. 

"Will you come with us then?" He asked you, hope clear in his tone. 

You moved away from him, just enough to meet his eyes. "I will." 

His smile widened so much, you thought the corners could touch his ears. He pressed his lips against yours, kissing you deeply, lightening the fire that never faded in your heart since.

  Tagged: @geekandbooknerd​ @amyyreblogss​ @for-bebbanburg​ @bird-on-a-wire20​ @beowulfsdottir​

[kawennote09]

He left me

Sihtric x Reader

Helloo! I know it’s been forever since I’ve posted anything but this has been sitting in my drafts for forever soo here we go.

After the battle you had with Haesten, all of Uhtred’s men and you had been brought to Droitwich, Lady Aethelflaed Estate in Mercia.

You had settled into the hall and sat next to Finan and your soon to be husband, Sihtric, and started drinking Ale and ate lightly. 

You had decided to ask the one thing that had been bothering you, you probably wouldn’t have asked but you were drunk.

“Sihtric?” he turned towards you ”why are you so obsessed with Skade?”You asked. He looked at you surprised.

“What do you mean? I am not obsessed with Skade.” he all but hissed, you shake your head at him

“You know what I mean. It seems that all you have been talking about is how we are all cursed, and Skade this and Skade that. Do you want to fuck Skade?” He turned away from you, and started talking with Finan again. You huffed and kept drinking.

You had tried to talk with Sihtric again and he just kept ignoring you and you didn’t want to start another argument with him. But it really annoyed and pissed you off that he was so sure that we were all cursed and that we shouldn’t follow Uhtred to retrieve Skade, but you were loyal to Uhtred and you had faith in him that he will get Skade and take care of this curse she placed on him. So when Uhtred came back into the hall and came in straight to the table you sat at, you were annoyed and kept sipping your ale

“How’s Osferth?” he questioned, you look at him and answer

“Sleeping. As we all should be.” You answer, he nods and sits across from you.

“Just as soon as he’s recovered we should attempt to recover Skade.” Finan sits up. “Once again.” Sihtric retorts “So long as she is free, Lord, you are cursed.” Finan ignores Sihtric. Uhtred sighs “Skade is with the Danes. We cannot reach her.” He looks down “We will not chase her to our deaths.”

“Death will find us regardless.” Sihtric speaks up and Uhtred looks up at him. You glare at Sihtric. “Shut up, Sihtric.” You say harshly.

“No, no Y/N. Do you have something to say, Sihtric?” You shake your head at him and look to Finan. “He does not.” Finan says lowly

“Except that enough of us have died already.” He continues

“You are a warrior. Death is a hazard.” Finan continues to try to diffuse what Sihtric said. Uhtred looks appalled and it was quiet for a few seconds before Uhtred changes the subject.

“I’ve decided to go to Ragnar. I must help him find peace.” But Sihtric wouldn’t let it go.

“All you will find at Ragnar’s graveside is ghosts.” Uhtred looks between the three of you then looks to the fire. “You will keep watch of Aethelflaed and you will rest.” Uhtred gets up and is almost out the door.

“No man who serves Uhtred can rest, not until Skade is reclaimed.” 

“Sihtric” you and Finan say at the sametime as Uhtred turns around.

“you are drunk and you are tired.” 

“Yes, I am tired…” he turns to Finan then looks at Uhtred “of marching north and then south, being called a traitor, what about me and Y/N!? We are to be married. For what?” Uhtred walks back to the table. “Then leave, boy.”

“Uhtred, you do not mean that.” You try to stand but Sihtric pushes you back.

“If you are unhappy in my service, leave!” Sihtric quickly stands up “I have fought for you!” you go to stand up again but Finan pulls you back and goes to stand between the two.

“You fight because you enjoy it.” Uhtred chuckles. Sihtric gets more in his face “And you would dismiss me as easy as this?” you finally are able to get up and stand behind Sihtric.

“Stay or go, I do not care.” 

“He does not mean that. He does care.” Finan looks to Sihtric than Uhtred.

“Now, let us all sit.” you quickly say and try to pull Sihtric back.

“Stay or go, Sihtric Kjartanson. It is your choice. Make it!” Sihtric slightly flinches and backs away. He looks to Finan then back.

“If you wish to make the square, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, let us do it.” You pull Sihtric back “No there’ll be no squares made, no fighting, just sleep!” Sihtric quickly looks at you and continues to stare at Uhtred.

“Sleep! Jesus!” Finan shakes his and turns away. “Get the prisoners back with the pigs, bound.” Sihtric turns away listening to Finan.

“Sihtric!” Uhtred says sharply “I will leave first light.. But I will return. And if you are here still then I will kill you.” You look to Uhtred with wide eyes as he makes his way out the hall. Sihtric inhales sharply. Finan shakes his head “Why?” and Sihtric hits his cup on the table. “He has cursed us all!” he yells in your face and you turn away from him.

“She has cursed you all and Uhtred allows it.” Dagfinn says smugly. 

“Shut your mouth” you harshly say and sit back at the table

“Abandon him, boy. It’s your only chance.”

“Your a Dane, first and last.” Finan says dismissively. And a guard comes and smashes Dagfinn’s face into the table.

“I’m going to bed.” You say to Finan “Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupider.” He nods his head, you stand and make your way to your bed, a hand grabs your wrist, you pull away knowing it is Sihtric, you turn to him.

“What?” You ask bitterly. He looks at you nervously but he hasn’t spoke.

“Look what you have done! You’ll be killed before he even worries about that damn curse. It all goes back to Skade though. Where will you go? What about me? Did you even think about me?” He steps back, so you turn and walk away to your hut.

You lay in bed waiting for Sihtric but he never comes. You toss and turn, but you can’t sleep without talking to him, you need to know what he is going to do. You get out of bed, put your shoes on and you grab your sword out of habit. You see that it is almost daylight as you walk out of the hut you and Sihtric were supposed to share. You head to the hall, but Finan and the other men that were there were passed out but you didn’t see your man. When you couldn’t find him anywhere you figured he went to clear his head, so you went back to the hut and tried your best to rest.

You here knocking at your door and you get up quickly to answer, hoping it will be Sihtric but find that it is Finan. You nod your head and let him in the hut.“Is Sihtric here?” You shake your head and furrow your brows. 

“No, I left him with you last night.” Now it was his turn to look confused. 

“He said he was coming here before we all went to sleep in the hall.”

“Well he never was here, and this morning I couldn’t sleep and went to talk to him and I couldn’t find him anywhere.” You sat there thinking, when one of the men yelled for Finan. You both quickly walk to the man and looked nervous.

“What is it?” the man looked between us “The prisoners escaped. And they took horses as well.” you and Finan looked at each other. “How?” Finan asked looking at the man. 

“We don’t know, Lord, we went to go give them food and they weren’t there.” You looked to Finan then back at the man. 

“We cannot find Sihtric either.” They nodded knowing what you implied.“We won’t look for them. Tell the others.” Finan says the guy nods and walk away. 

Finan looks at you. You heart is racing and you don’t know what to do, you thought he loved you, you never thought he would leave like this. You never thought he would leave you.Looking up at Finan all you had wanted to do was cry. Your eyes watered, and you turned away.

“Lady,” you turn to him “Are you alright.” You shake your head.

“He left me.” a tear falls down your face. Finan walks to you and pulls you into a hug.”I love him, and he left me.” You wrap your arms around him and cry into his shoulder.

Days had passed when Uhtred came back. Osferth was better and you sat playing games with him and Finan.

“I need ale, slave.” Osferth said

You stood up laughing and giving him more ale when I looked out the window and there was Uhtred, you looked to Finan and he came over seeing Uhtred.

“What is it?” Osferth asked

“You mean, ‘who is it?’” you replied, Finan looked excited.

“Osferth” Finan walked over to the door to greet him. You stayed by the window.

“You’re back” you rolled your eyes at Finan

“I’m back.”

“That’s good” They laughed and hugged

“I am back.” they pulled away. “Sihtric?” Finan looked to you.

“Uh, gone. Long gone and, um, with the prisoners, Lord.” Uhtred nodded “Good journey, then?”

“It was.” Osferth stood up, Uhtred not looking yet. “I know what I must do now.” he turned around seeing Osferth. 

“Osferth”

“Lord.”

“You’re still alive?” he joked

“Of course.” Uhtred brings him into a hug. He then turns towards you.

“Y/N” you nod your head at him.

“Lord.” Then Aethelflaed came in.You sat at the table and they all joined you, Finan on you right and Uhtred had sat to your left. They started to talk of when and how to get Skade back but you didn’t listen to them and kept drinking you ale. You couldn’t look at Uhtred, you knew why he did what he did, but that doesn’t stop the anger and hurt that you’re feeling.

“Uhtred, Sihtrics departure.-” you start to listen hearing his name.

“-Betrayal”  Osferth interrupts, Finan looks at him, then back to Uhtred.“It has disturbed the men. They feel that you are to share the blame. You and your quest for Skade. Some may not want to go looking for her all over again.” Him and Uhtred look to you but you pay them no mind, “think on it.” Uhtred nods his head and takes a deep breathe. He gets up and says he is going to see Aethelflaed.

When he comes back he has a man from Winchester, and you leave the hall not wanting anything to do with it at the moment.

The next morning you were all readying to head to the Danes. You were standing by you horse when Uhtred and Finan were almost out the door and Osferth came up behind them.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Finan asks him.

“Did you believe you were leaving without me? Not a chance.” Osferth replies and walks towards you. The two men follow after them, mounting they’re horses you start ahead of them.

“You better hurry up, or do you wish a lady to beat you?” You tease the guys as you pick up your speed, you can hear hooves coming hard and quick.

You arrived at a village the next day, Crowland, You hadn’t received the warmest welcome but you sat in the alehouse for the day, it had reached nightfall when Osferth had seen that the ealdorman had men outside surrounding the building. You laughed thinking that they were going to kill us, when they were the ones most likely not getting out of this alive.

Uhtred set fire to the Village and killed the ealdorman. To say the least we made it on the outskirts of the Dane camp the next day.

Uhtred, Finan, Osferth and a few men crouched near the tree line, while you had leaned against a tree a couple feet away from them. You had watched Cnut and his army head away from the camp. You had all stayed there till dusk, when someone had started to approach.

“It is Sihtric” Osferth says. You quickly turn to see that indeed it was him. You stand fully waiting to see what Uhtred would do.

“You have something to say to me, boy.” You knew then it wouldn’t end well. 

“I do” Sihtric pulls out his sword and points it towards Uhtred “Yield to me.” Uhtred raises his hands and drops his knife. You move towards them readying yourself for anything to happen, but you didn’t expect to see Sihtric put his sword in the ground and hug each other and laugh.

“You were playing us. My goodness, they were playing us, Y/N, Finan. Why?” Osferth laughs. Uhtred laughs “If you had not believed it Osferth, nor would others.”

“I fooled you” Sihtric said happy.

“No, I knew.” Finan said, not giving in. “No, you did not. Was I good?” They hugged

“I’m telling you, I knew.” They all laughed and then Sihtric turned towards you. You looked at him then and nodded your head, turned and walked back towards where all of the men were. You could hear Finan

“I hope it was all worth it.” You looked back and he was looking at you. Sihtric nodded

“I hope so, too.” You turned around and went back to camp. Just minutes after they joined me. But you were too lost in you thoughts to care what they were talking about.

We stood off to the side as Uhtred met with Skade along with Sihtric at the tree. You heard Dagfinn start yelling to Haesten. You had all started to run towards ships that Sihtric was telling us to go to. When you had all made it safely to the boats and Uhtred got in, we had made it out safe with Skade this time, and we were headed to Coccham. 

Your home, and you were almost scared of going home. Home you knew that you would be able to relax, you would be able to make love to Sihtric and now you didn’t know what was going to happen. You didn’t know where you and Sihtric stand. You didn’t know, and it scared you.

Tagging the fellow Danes: @whenimaunicorn @laketaj24 @oddsnendsfanfics @tephi101 @princessofthalia @fandomfic-galore @equalstrashflavoredtrash @geekandbooknerd @medievalfangirl @errorcosplay67

Also I’m think a part 2?