#ragnar fic

[redskull199987]

Hey

Can you do a ragnar x reader x lagertha where she refuses their proposal to be with them bcs she thinks they are caos ( they are tbh)

Thank you

I absolutely love this one, it was so much fun to write. It's a little bit short though, I hope you don't mind:)

I walk alone

Ragnar x Lagertha x female!reader Request

Word count:0.7k

Warnings:none

Summary:Ragnar and Lagertha keep nagging you about marrying them, but even though you're in love with them, a marriage is something that you didn't even consider so far...

Masterlist

"We won't ask you again, Y/N", Lagertha mumbled. I felt how she traced the features of my face with her delicate fingers. Nevertheless, my eyes remained shut. I was not giving in.

"She's right", Ragnar agreed and I felt how his cold hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer to him.

"You guys are annoying", I answered and finally opened my eyes, "This question is getting tiring"

"What do you mean?", Lagertha asked, Irritationen in her voice.

I sighed and slowly started to get up, trying to get out of their embrace.

"It means, I won't marry you", I said, giving her a calming smile.

"Don't take it too personal", I explained while starting to get dressed.

"What do you mean, don't take it too personal?", Ragnar wondered. He sat up now too, eyeing my every movement.

I watched, as Lagertha propped herself up next to him, leaning on his shoulder, while Ragnar kissed her temple softly.

I smiled at the two. They were truly made for each other.

Only recently, I had joined their relationship and to say it was awesome, was an understatement. But still, I couldn't bring myself to agree to marry them. Not only were they already happy before me, but they were also absolute chaos. I have no idea, how these two survived so far. Whenever I joined them for literally anything, something went wrong. It was disastrous. If they didn't have each other, one of them would've died at least once by now.

I had no idea if it was because of me or if they were like this on their own too, but the chaos sometimes was too much for me to handle.

And of course, I loved them. I loved being together with them, spending time with them, but marrying them? That is something that never really fitted into my head.

"I will see you later.", I explained, as I kissed them goodbye. Ragnar only nodded, while Lagertha tried to pull me back into bed, but I managed to escape eventually.

"Lagertha, you know I have to help my brother with his shop."

"Oh he can build his boats alone." Ragnar mumbled. I playfully punched his arm.

"Don't talk about your best friend like that!",I scolded them.

"But it's true.", He laughed and layed back down, "Floki is the best boat builder in the nine realms."

"Well, maybe I just like seeing my brother.",I smiled, as I turned around to leave.

"See you later, you two. I love you.", I shouted as I stepped out of the door.

"We love you too, Y/N!", I heard the laughting, as I left their home.

I was making my way over the market of Kattegat, in search of my Brother Floki. But it seemed like he was still at his house, a little bit away from the town.

"Y/N"

I turned around, as I watched Bjorn jogging towards me. I smiled at the young boy and greeted him.

"Hello Bjorn.", I smiled, "How are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm fine.",He said and looked at me,"Have you said yes by now?"

"Oh you too now", I sighed, "Why is everybody asking me that today?"

Bjorn smiled at me Apologetic:"Sorry. It's just... I really want to know."

"I didn't say yes so far.", I informed him, "And I won't say yes."

"Why not?", he asked perplexed.

"So, you approve?", I grinned.

"Honestly, my parents are absolute chaos, you're making them a lot more bearable.", he explained.

I chuckled at his words:"Well, thank you. But I still won't marry them."

"Huh",Bjorn huffed, "Its your choice after all. But you won't leave them, right?"

"Gods, no!", I said, "I love them too much for that, I just won't marry them."

"well that's fine by me.", Bjorn said and patted my shoulder,"I'll see you later."

"Yeah, bye", I smiled and watched as he made his way back to the Market.

I was walking alone again. I guess I would be doing that 'till eternity.

[grantairescurls]

been importing to my apple books some of my favourite athelnar fics :3

Welcome to my table (bring your hunger)

Command me to be well (Amen)

The babysitter

[vikingsmasterlist]

Young God

(Ragnar.OFC)

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

[undiscovered-horizon]

Vikings preference: your friend hits on you and gets aggressive

@ivartheb0neless

Ragnar Feels genuinely hurt because he thought he could trust your friend. Whenever Ragnar went away, he'd ask your friend to keep an eye on you and generally make sure you're safe and sound. Makes veiled threats and passive-aggressive jokes at first, hoping that he can both force a boundary and not sour any relationships but his humour is gone when he realizes that your friend is not keen on taking no as an answer. If you raise your concern about "safety vs. keeping a friend", Ragnar makes a sarcastic comment about your sentiment - because a guy who forced himself on you is such a great friend to keep, right?

Gives you a knife to keep on you at all times. If you have the guts, and such an occasion arises, to stab the man once he gets physical with you, Ragnar will have your back no matter what. Also, low-key thrilled. But if you don't end up fighting your own battles, he'll gladly do it for you. Not an ounce of regret on his face during or after.

Bjorn Pretty direct. Makes plausible threats and will fulfil them. Terrifyingly calm and collected for the most part. He's angry but also disappointed that someone you considered a friend could repay your kindness and affection in such a way.

If you tell Bjorn that you're unsure what to do because you want to keep your friend or you think that he's overdoing things, he might get short with you but it's not out of malice. He's worried that if you don't see your male friend for the lying snake that he is, you might get even more hurt and that possibility enrages him so much he doesn't entertain that thought longer than necessary.

Bjorn is definitely the type to make his revenge somewhat public. Not only will that make others keep their distance from you but it will also earn him respect among other men - he takes his husbandly duties seriously. Whether your "friend" lives or dies is entirely up to them and how callous they have been with you. Whether he meant to or not, Bjorn causes people to look away from you when you're walking through the town. No one wants to risk getting your friend's treatment.

After that, Bjorn will never trust any man who tries to be your friend or claims to be one.

Ubbe Tries to be the bigger person at first and has a stern word with your friend. Ubbe is probably the only one to seriously take your word/assurance that there's nothing to get worked up about. He will also wait relatively the longest before getting seriously involved - not because he doesn't care, it's quite the contrary. He doesn't want to impose on your independence, so even if he's uncomfortable with the situation but you keep saying "I've got this", he will keep to himself although will voice his concerns (and will refuse to leave you alone at any place or time). When things become serious and the man starts to get physical, Ubbe will make it clear that from now on he's more concerned about your well-being than your freedom: "I'm sorry for disregarding your wishes but I can't sit and watch you get hurt". Believes to be responsible for your safety as your husband.

Ubbe is the type of person who will seek your friend out on his own and resolve the issue right then and there. He goes to the other man's house one night and leaves it only when an agreement is reached - doesn't matter how far he has to go to ensure that. Ubbe's not afraid to get his hands dirty for the right reasons.

Hvitserk Also hurt because he was actually getting along well with the other man. Hvitserk will ask about your perspective and wishes but if your safety is compromised, he won't make them a priority. At first, he's trying to get you out of harm's way, so you're leaving your house only if he's by your side. But once he learns that your supposed friend forced his way into your home and put his hands on you, Hvitserk is determined to take things into his own hands. He won't seek out your friend on his own but rather wait for an opportunity to arise; doesn't start the fight but surely will end it. The next time another unwanted advances are made towards you, Hvitserk has an axe in his hand and this time, he's the one who doesn't take no for an answer.

If you ever befriend another man after that, Hvitserk will tolerate him but never let go of any suspicions. Also, might tell the story of your previous "admirer" to scare your new friend into behaving properly.

Sigurd The most probable to get into a brawl right away. At first, he feels quite self-conscious seeing another man flirting with you but when the man in question starts to become aggressive, Sigurd coins his insecurity into hostility, effectively picking a fight. After what seems like lakes of blood and an entire concert of bones breaking, the brawl ends. Sigurd looks like he's been through Hell and still that's a lot better than your friend, who would be pronounced dead if it wasn't for the sporadic raise of his chest as he tries to take in a ragged breath. Sigurd will also voice his anger as he's caving in the other man's skull ("Was it fun when you grabbed her? Enjoying a little manhandling, eh? I'm happy to provide").

Gains respect in his brothers' eyes but none of them quite wants to admit it.

Ivar He would also feel self-conscious at first. Considers your friend's bold behaviour an assault on his masculinity ("You think I'm not man enough and therefore think you have any right to bother my wife"). Not surprised in the slightest. Hated the guy's guts from the very beginning and made it obvious. Might actually say the dreaded "told you so".

Because he perceives your friend's aggression as somewhat personal, Ivar is driven to go quite far in order to make the punishment fit for the crime. Not only does he do it for your sake but also to make sure that everyone knows just how much of a true Viking is inside him. Some say that "silence is golden", so if your friend decides to use less-than-savoury language towards you, he might end up with his throat filled with liquid gold to ensure no more offence leaves his mouth. Similarly, he's going to suffer the "equivalents" for whatever other thing he's done. He grips your hand so hard there's a bruise? Ivar will wrap his hand with a chain and slowly tighten it until all the bones crack and the wrist is literally torn away from the forearm. But no matter what he does, in the end he still feels like it doesn't quite make up for your friend's wrongdoings.

[pinkykats-place]

Vikings x Reader Insert Fics

Tumblr Recommendations

Disclaimers!

None of the stories linked are mine.

Mostly female reader inserts.

Some contain mature content.

Gifs are not mine.

Feast

Ragnarssons x fem!Reader

Summary: During a feast, the sons of Ragnar can’t seem to take their eyes off you as they watch you enjoy yourself.

Una Flor Masterlist

Ragnarssons x fem!Reader

Summary: When someone returns from a journey, one would expect for them to return with trinkets and gifts from the journey. Apparently, Ragnar didn’t get the message and instead returned with a foreign flower his family wasn’t expecting.

Series: Where Am I?

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

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

Series: Shield-Maiden

The Ragnarssons x fem!Reader

Series: Blood.

Reader is Ragnar’s daughter

Summary: the lives of ragnar lothbroks children, their stories, their legacies will be told for years to come. his five sons.........and his only living daughter.

Kissed by Fire Masterlist

Ragnar x Reader, others x reader

Series summary: Ragnar Lothbrok and his crew are blown off course on their journey home. Coming to a place known as Iberia, he becomes infatuated by the only daughter of the leader of this foreign land that he intended to marry off to his son. Upon marrying her, it changes the life of his young sons forever.

An Irish Heathen?

Hvitserk x fem!reader

Summary: When Hvitserk brings a salve home from Ireland all the brothers start to take interest in her at a feast.

She is not a bird

Hvitserk x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: In Eddas, every great warrior falls in love with a Valkyrie - a winged goddess equally beautiful and imposing. Hvitserk finds his after a battle as she's stitching wounds and bringing comfort to those who will not see another dawn.

Three times when Hvitserk gives you his food

Hvitserk x Reader

Life After Death

Bjorn Ironside x Female Reader

Summary: Your relationship is dying, about to die and you know the only way to get better was to end the relationship. Before you could end the relationship, you find out that he was unfaithful the entire time you were together. Leaving you heartbroken and carrying his unborn child inside of you. As well as your sons.

@peaceisadirtyword ’s Vikings Masterlist

@honestsycrets ’s Vikings Masterlist

[blakeswritingimagines]

Wiping Away Their Kisses

Ragnar: He'll laugh and smile, then he'll jokingly chase you around, trying to kiss you again, though he's pretty much pretending to put in any effort into it. Once he's caught you, he'll wrap you up in his arms, and kiss you on the neck instead.

Athelstan: "What are you doing?" He can't help but ask as he frowns at the act of wiping away a kiss. He is not happy about you being playful, especially when it comes to something as intimate as a kiss. He sees this as a sign of you not valuing the connection you have, and it bothers him.

Floki: His grin spreads wide at this like he's finding the situation hilarious. He lets his lips curl into a lopsided smile before leaning back slightly and playfully sticking his tongue out at you, teasing you. He winks and giggles, "I guess you're just not into it, huh?" His voice is teasing but playful.

Lagertha: She'll chuckle to herself, secretly entertained by the playful gesture. She'll lean forward and press her lips against yours once again, enjoying the feel of your skin against her own. When you playfully wipe it away again, she grins and says in a teasing voice, "I'll keep kissing you until you're too overwhelmed to wipe them away anymore."

Aslaug: She'll laugh after knowing it was a joke, and give a teasing look, then pull you close again and softly kiss your lips. She'll whisper, "Who said I was done yet?"

Bjorn: Is annoyed at first, but he quickly becomes playful and grabs your hands, preventing you from wiping away any more kisses. He leans in and slowly kisses your cheeks, lips, and finally neck. He'll release your hands and trail his fingers along your body, gently squeezing your hip before backing away.

Ubbe: A look of playful annoyance crosses his face. But that quickly turns into a devilish smirk. When you go to wipe away another kiss, he gently grabs your hands and pulls you closer so you can't.

Hvitserk: If you playfully wipe away a kiss, he would playfully pretend to be offended, then he would playfully grab your arms and pull you into another kiss while saying in a playfully playful tone, "You can't get rid of me that easily."

Sigurd: "What are you doing?" He'll laugh to hide his embarrassment and playfully reach for another kiss. He moves closer to you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you in close. With one hand, he'll cup your chin and lean in close. He'll gaze into your eyes and gently kiss you again, taking his time and letting your lips softly brush against each other.

Ivar: He gives you a playful glare, letting his lips curl into a small smirk. "Oh, you're asking for it now." He leans forward, putting his hands on your hips, and starts kissing you again.

Halfdan: He smirked at the little trick you tried to play on him. He then leaned forward and wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed you passionately, deeply, and repeatedly as he runs his fingers through your hair, leaving strands of it disheveled as he does so.

Harald: He would look you in the eyes and smile, leaning in to kiss you again. He takes your hand and gently pulls you close. He'll whisper in your ear: "I couldn't help myself, darling - your lips are too irresistible to resist." As he kisses you again, more deeply this time, and gently bites your bottom lip before pulling away. He looks deep into your eyes and whispers again, "Let's not be play tonight, shall we?"

[anxiousotters]

Rewatching The Mandalorian S3 and oh my god, Axe and Paz have so many fantastic little moments??

1. The eye contact when the Mandalorian fleet first touches down on Nevarro

2. The way Paz instantly volunteers to scout Mandalore’s surface after Axe does

3. Their exchange on the drop-ship

4. The little nod during the perimeter sweep

5. The fight

6. How they get Grogu out of danger together

7. Axe monologuing about the Great Forge and Paz asking follow-up questions

8. The way Paz not only believes that Axe is their best chance at getting word to the fleet but also notices the gap in the ceiling and lays down cover for him

9. Axe standing next to Ragnar when Bo-Katan re-lights the Great Forge

Proof:

[larluce]

You know when it would make more sense for Arthur to come back? Viking era! Because that's when everyone believed King Arthur would rise again! Why? Because they were being invaded and killed by "demons" from the other side of the sea!

Besides, Arthur could fight them still. Battle strategies and weapons hadn't develop much from his time. Nowadays how could his knowledge be of any use? He would need to update on so much!

So what do I need now? A fic where Arthur returns during that time and fight vikings. Along side Merlin, who would disguise as a priest, because when you do magic with a cassock on they consider it a miracle rather that something from the devil.

Also, For the ones who watched "Vikings" on Netflix, it would be an interesting crossover! Imagine Athelstan and Ragnar meeting Arthur and Merlin! They would get along well, wouldn’t they? Both Athelstan and Merlin being in love friends with their repectives masters just as Arthur and Ragnar are with them.

[levithestripper]

Patience Is a Virtue

summary:

stuck in winchester due to a quicker-than-usual winter and confined inside king ecbert’s castle with nothing to do, ragnar finds himself trailing behind athelstan, being strung along to god knows where. but his little priest promises it's worth it, and ragnar makes good on athelstan’s promise.

warnings: fluff, smut, porn with a sprinkling of plot, corruption kink, god complex, church sex, oral sex, semi-public sex (?), religious imagery and guilt, degradation kink, praise kink, aftercare.

length: 7.6k || read on ao3 || join my taglist

a/n: born of a thought i had with @grantairescurls :) the brainworms consumed me while writing this and i somehow managed to finish it before the new year. ending the past two years with an athelnar fic may become a tradition around here who knows. ANYWAYS i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did while writing it. doubles as day 16 of my three year old kinktober series i'm struggling to finish lmfao.

Winchester is a fascinating place. The landscape is similar enough to Norway’s, albeit missing the country’s magnificent mountains and rolling hills that Ragnar has somehow grown bored of. It has grown even closer in similarity these last few months, with winter bringing heavy snowstorms, covering the courtyard in fluffy white snow that glitters in the cold sunlight.

Free of King Ecbert’s all-knowing gaze, he walks beside Athelstan, eagerly waiting to see where his priest is leading him. But he’s known for being impatient, voicing his restlessness to Athelstan, a man who has enough patience for the both of them. “Where are you taking me, little priest?” Ragnar asks, trying to push the right buttons to irritate him, but it fails. 

“Patience is a virtue, Ragnar,” he replies, a knowing look on his face.

Ragnar rolls his eyes with a dramatic groan, earning himself a quiet chuckle from his friend. “Well, are we close, at least?” 

Athelstan doesn’t answer him on purpose, knowing it’ll annoy him further. Before Ragnar can continue to complain, Athelstan announces they’ve arrived at their destination. “We’re here.”

They stand in front of two giant wooden doors at the end of the long cobblestone hallway they found themselves in. The black metal handles make it look like the entrance to a dungeon. 

Ragnar looks at Athelstan with confusion. Ath must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere! Ath surely can’t be serious when he says this is what he is so eager to show him! “Didn’t realize you’re a comedian, Athelstan,” he smirks. “Come on, where are we going, truthfully?”

Athelstan turns to meet his gaze, unaffected by Ragnar’s cockiness, far too used to him and his shenanigans. “I told you, patience is a virtue.” He leaves Ragnar’s side, walking up two pointless steps, and takes hold of the cold metal handles, pulling both doors open in a grand reveal of what lay behind. Light flooded the dark hallway, causing Ragnar to raise a shielding hand to his brow. 

Through squinted eyes, what he sees takes his breath away. Larger-than-life stained glass windows filter the massive amount of winter sunlight into a rainbow of colors across the beautiful stone floors. Despite the colorful sunlight, the room is still relatively dark. The ceiling is taller than the hallways’, at least three stories worth of height between the two, the top coming together at a point. Hanging from the pointed ceiling is a fancy—and expensive-looking—candlelit chandelier, adding to the specific atmosphere in the room that Ragnar can’t find a descriptor name for. In the center of the room is a marble statue depicting what appears to be a stable of some kind. The wall behind the statue hangs a large wooden cross with a bronze man nailed to it. 

“This is what I wanted to show you.” Athelstan looks as if he is in his God’s heaven. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Ragnar slowly trails behind him, head craning back to absorb everything before him. “Is this what you talk so much of back home? What is it called…” he mumbles under his breath, searching for the word in English. “A… church?”

Athelstan smiles at the effort Ragnar is putting towards getting the correct answer all on his own. “Close. A chapel,” he says in Norse, then repeats the new word in English.

He nods, trying to commit the phrase to memory. “What is the difference?” he asks, returning to Norse. 

“A chapel is a place for private prayers, while a church is for congregations led by a priest.” Ath lets Ragnar take his hand within his callused one, keeping him close. 

The Vikingr’s eyes light up at the mention of a priest. Finally, something he knew something about! “A priest? A priest like mine?” 

Ragnar’s words cause a red dust to bloom across Athelstan’s cheeks. “I’m not a priest, Ragnar.” 

He shrugs. “They’re basically the same thing.” Ragnar turns and points at the marbled statue in the center of the room. “What is that? It’s not like anything you’ve told me about.”

Athelstan looks to where he is pointing and pulls Ragnar towards it with the hand the Vikingr still held onto. “This is a nativity scene!” 

He looks at him with a confused expression, suddenly lost again. “A nativity scene? What is a nativity?” Ragnar asks, the English word feeling foreign and unnatural on his tongue.

He gnaws on his thick bottom lip as he mulls over the easiest way to explain it in Norse. He sighs. “A nativity is the place of someone’s birth. And a nativity scene is a depiction of that.” Ragnar circles the statue, looking at it from every angle imaginable as if he were sizing an opponent up for a fight. He crosses his arms over his chest, pressing his elbow into the meat of his forearm, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. 

“Why?”

It’s Athelstan’s turn to feel puzzled now. “What?”

“You heard me, Ath. Why? What is the point?” 

Ath moves to stand beside him. “It’s a recreation of the birth of our Savior.”

Ragnar interrupts him. “Our savior?” he questions, voice full of snark.

“Shut it and listen,” he smacks his bicep. “It’s how the faith celebrates the birth of the son of God all year round. Every year around this time, churches will put together beautiful masses to commemorate the birth of Jesus. It’s an important symbol in the religion, making the Lord tangible for all the world. Etching it into stone makes it permanent, ensuring parishioners never forget that He was once a helpless babe like they were.” 

He doesn’t respond immediately, absorbing Athelstan’s words and attempting to understand them to the best of his abilities. “God’s son?” Ragnar squats in front of the marble baby. The stone infant slept in a pile of straw compiled within a trough, surrounded by who Ragnar assumed were his parents and extended family. Ragnar trails his finger across the babe’s cold forehead, feeling the finely chiseled details against his skin. “Is this the eldest son?”

Athelstan sits cross-cross next to him, nodding.

“Like Thor?”

Ath makes a face. “I suppose so.”

“Who are your god’s other children? Why are they not here?” Ragnar shifts to sit as well. “Why dishonor his other children this way?”

“Jesus is God’s only son.”

Ragnar chuckles. “Your god must be stupid, then. Betting everything on one son, only for him to die before having sons of his own.”

“Everything was a part of His plan, making Jesus’ death far from stupid,” Ath counters, leaning against Ragnar’s shoulder. 

The Vikingr sighs deeply. “Do you worship him still? This Jesus.”

Athelstan shrugs. “I see the Lord in the blooming of spring flowers, but I hear Thor in my ears when I run into battle beside you. I feel the Lord in the summertime breeze, but I pray to Freyja to protect my norse sisters when they enter motherhood.”

“You’re a confusing man, Athelstan. No matter how much I learn about you, you never fail to reveal something I’m incapable of understanding.” Ragnar’s words earn him a giggle from the man beside him. 

Ath turns his head, his chin digging into the soft tissue in Ragnar’s shoulder. “You’d be bored if I were any different.” Ragnar’s silence is telling, confirming Athelstan’s statement as correct. 

Ragnar doesn’t stay silent for long. He never is quiet for long, always spouting the first thing that comes to mind. “Why is there no table?”

“Table?” Ath questions. 

“The table!” he repeats as if that would clarify it. He gestures with his hands, trying to visualize the image in his head by drawing it in the air. “The table the priest hides behind!”

Ragnar’s words finally clicked inside Ath’s head. “Oh! You mean the altar?” He nods. “Chapels don’t have altars since they’re designed for individual prayer.”

“That’s a shame,” he says with a coy smirk, a devious glint in his icy-blue eyes.

Athelstan raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh, yeah? Now, why is that?” Ragnar invades Ath’s personal space, noses just barely touching. It doesn’t startle him in the slightest, having grown quite used to it in the past handful of years being Ragnar’s partner.

Teasingly, he licks the tip of Ath’s nose. He leans in, whispering hotly in his ear. “If there were a table,” Ragnar refuses to call it by its proper name, purposely to irk him, “I could bend you over and fuck you on it.” He finishes with a sultry drag of his tongue up the shell of Athelstan’s ear, biting the lobe when the younger man shudders underneath him.

Athelstan’s expression looks as if he can’t decide between being aroused or being appalled. “Ragnar!”

“What, little priest? Does the idea of fucking on your god’s table make you uncomfortable?” Ragnar slides a rough hand over one of Athelstan’s thighs. “Or does the thought of defiling your Lord’s precious altar fill you with an embarrassing feeling of desire?” Ragnar’s words are hot against his ear, drawing another shudder from him.

“Ragnar!” Athelstan exclaims, his face a bright shade of red. 

His smirk broadens as he drinks in Ath’s reaction. “Hm? Did I strike a nerve in you, my love?” Ragnar goads, teasing his hand further up Athelstan’s inner thigh, fingertips sending tingles straight to Ath’s slowly hardening cock. “Maybe I should take you right here instead, take you apart piece by piece in front of your beloved stone nativity.”

Athelstan grasps his wrist, halting his hand from edging along any further. “We can’t—I can’t. Not here.” 

“Then explain why your cock is telling me a different story, my love,” he hums, breaking free of Athelstan’s hold to cup the man’s groin in his palm. Ragnar feels his own cock twitch against his thigh. “Let me show your god exactly how I worship you.” Ragnar closes the barely-there gap between them, lips pressing against his messily, hungrily. Athelstan practically melts under his ministrations, just like always. He grips Ragnar’s wrist again, trying to keep himself grounded, or else he feels as if he might float away. 

“Ragnar, we can’t, it’s wrong!” Athelstan isn’t sure if he’s saying it to convince himself or Ragnar. Maybe both. When he’s kissing him, he can’t be sure of much. “Seriously,” Ragnar kisses him again. “We shouldn’t—” Another kiss. “We can’t!” Another kiss, this one sloppier than the rest.

Ragnar mocks him teasingly. “We can’t! We shouldn’t! It’s wrong! You should give me a real reason, little priest.” He moves to kiss down Ath’s neck, sucking on the spot he knows will make the man whimper and shiver. “Don’t try and hide how badly you want this. You know I can see right through your little disguise, sweetheart.” Ragnar squeezes Ath’s quickly thickening cock, pulling sweet, embarrassing noises from him. Athelstan’s resolve is quickly deteriorating, much to Ragnar’s pleasure.

“This is no fair; you’re no fair, Ragnar,” Ath complains, forgetting to add malice to his insult. His blush has spread down the column of his neck, making Ragnar want to suck pretty purple bruises into the soft skin there. Ragnar’s quick to act on his impulses, leaving an impossible-to-hide bruise in his wake. “What—What if someone walks in?” Ath manages to stutter out.

He chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating in his chest. “So what?” he snickers, kissing a line down Ath’s neck, roughly tugging on the neckline of his tunic so he can continue along his shoulder. “Who cares if someone finds us. It wouldn’t stop me.” Quickly finding the blue fabric irritating, Ragnar pulls it over Ath’s head and tosses it behind them without a care. Taking off his own shit as well, Ragnar pushes him to lie on his back, shoving his tunic underneath Ath’s head as a makeshift pillow. “So what if your beloved god watches me fuck you? He should be honored to watch one of his creations be so thoroughly taken care of,” he hums, his words sending another wave of sparks through Athelstan’s body.

Athelstan doesn’t have a response for him. And even if he did, he doesn’t think he’d be capable of speaking without stumbling over every word. So he stays silent to keep from embarrassing himself further. The lack of any comeback made Ragnar grin maliciously.

“Not talking, my little priest?” he asks coyly. “Now, now, why could that be? I know you’re good with your words.” As Ragnar speaks, his deft fingers quickly begin unlacing Athelstan’s trousers. “Perhaps,” he licks his lips enticingly, his grin morphing into a familiar cocky smirk, “perhaps you want me to turn you into a dirty little sinner. Maybe you just don’t wanna admit how hard the thought of defiling your beloved god’s house makes you. ‘Cause then,” Ragnar leans down to whisper in his ear, his breath hot against his lover’s skin, “you’d be a filthy heathen like me.”

All of the willpower Athelstan had mustered up ‘till down crumbles around him at Ragnar’s words, the thought alone making his pretty pale blue eyes roll backward in his skull. “Fuck, Ragnar,” he groans, his voice shaking as if he might start crying any minute. “Fuck it, fuck everything, fuck God—I need you right now!” Ath exclaims, wiggling out of his trousers and kicking them away. He fumbles with the ties on Ragnar’s pants, desperately trying to push them down his thick, muscled thighs.

Ragnar cheekily nips at the shell of his ear before helping Athelstan relieve him of his pants, leaving the pair in just their undergarments. “Didn’t hold out for as long as I thought you would, sweetheart. Are you that desperate for me to defile you? To ruin you in front of your god?” Ragnar kisses down his sternum, laving his tongue over the sparse freckles he found dotted across his lover’s chest. He teases his fingertips along the waistband of Athelstan’s underwear. “Is that right, Athelstan?” 

Instead of words, Ath whines pathetically, embarrassment flooding his senses. He felt his cock throb and leak beads of pre at the sound of Ragnar saying his name in such a lustful, inappropriate manner. “How long do you truly expect me to hold out for when you seduce me like this?” He unties Ragnar’s ponytail but leaves the braided sections alone, running his fingers through his now mostly loose locks. “You should leave your hair down more often.”

“Only if you promise to pull on it,” he says with a smirk, earning himself a deserved smack on the shoulder. With a giggle, Ragnar unceremoniously tugs down Ath’s underwear, watching intently as his cock slaps against his lover’s toned abdomen. Laying between Ath’s now spread legs, he mouths over his jutting hipbones, kissing everywhere but where Athelstan so desperately wishes he would. Ragnar lifts Athelstan’s legs to rest on his broad shoulders as his rough, weathered hands wrap around his thick, supple thighs, keeping him from squirming away. Nipping at his inner thigh with his teeth, Ragnar slowly makes his way down to Ath’s groin, littering small kisses as he goes. 

Slowly regaining his confidence, Athelstan teases him right back, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Starting to think your bark is worse than your bite, Ragnar.”

He cocks an eyebrow at him. “Oh? How so?”

“You’re going so slow it’s almost like you’ve got cold feet or something,” Athelstan smirks, egging him on.

Ragnar returns his gaze with sharp eyes, telling Ath everything he needs to know with just one look. If he wasn’t before, he’s sure in for it now. Ungentle hands spread the globes of Athelstan’s ass apart. The rush of cool air to the newly exposed skin makes his whole body shiver with anticipation. Ragnar licks a hot, thick stripe from Ath’s hole to just below his balls, drawing an unexpected yelp from him. The yelp soon turns to moans as Ragnar continues, each lap of his tongue sending his nerve endings into overdrive. Slowly working his hole loose, Ragnar slides a free hand up Athelstan’s chest, stopping when they reach his red, bite-swollen lips. “Go on, pretty boy, make them nice’n wet for me.”

He wastes no time, opening his mouth for two of Ragnar’s fingers, sucking on them fervently. Ath licks them from base to tip, acting as if they were his cock and not mere fingers. Once Ragnar deems them wet enough, he pulls them from Athelstan’s lips, a string of spit connecting them briefly before it breaks, now sticking to Ath’s chin instead. “Good job,” Ragnar hums, sliding his spit-slick fingers down Athelstan’s taint and over his entrance. “Do you feel your god? Can you feel him watching us? Watching you?” he taunts with a click of his tongue. Ragnar presses the pads of his fingers against his entrance, threatening to sink inside but never following through with it. 

Athelstan nods, embarrassment bubbling to the surface once more. 

“I don’t think he’ll still be your god after this, little priest,” he licks over his top teeth with a gross wet sound. “I think I’ll be your god instead.” With that, Ragnar presses two fingers inside him, and Athelstan’s jaw drops in a silent scream. The sudden stretch burns slightly, but he likes a little side dish of pain with his pleasure. 

Ragnar sits up, folding his legs underneath him. Athelstan’s legs are still propped up on Ragnar’s shoulders, stretching to stay up there as he moves. He unhurriedly thrusts his digits in and out of Ath’s tight hole, watching smugly as a lewd expression spreads across his lover’s face. Using his free hand, Ragnar holds Athelstan’s left leg steady, peppering light kisses along his meaty calf. 

“You can—fuck—you can add another finger; please add another finger,” he begs, fighting to keep his eyes open and focused on Ragnar. 

He chuckles, but it sounds like it came from the Vikingr’s chest instead of his throat. “What if I don’t?” The pads of his fingers just barely brush against Ath’s sweet spot, enough to tease but not enough to satisfy. “Weren’t you the one just lecturing me about how patience is a virtue?”

Athelstan huffs in frustration, mildly upset that his words were successfully being used against him. He chooses to ignore it for now, focusing on the first question posed to him instead. “I’d be upset.” He looks up at him with a devilish gaze as if he were daring Ragnar to go through with his threat. They both knew he wouldn’t. Ragnar enjoys taking him apart far too much to deprive him of it just to fulfill an empty threat. 

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we? A God has to keep his subjects happy, after all.” Ragnar slips out of him, wetting his ring finger with his own spit before pressing all three inside. Athelstan blesses his ears with a moan that sounds almost as pretty as he looks. “There we go,” Ragnar mumbles, spreading his fingers apart methodically, occasionally curling them against Ath’s sweet spot. After a few minutes, he deems Athelstan’s hole to be loose enough and pulls out, his knuckles glistening with a combination of their spit. Ragnar removes Athelstan’s legs from their home on his shoulders, motioning for him to sit up.

Quick to obey, he braces himself on the heels of his hands. Ragnar meets him the rest of the way, bending over slightly to kiss him. It’s sweeter than their previous kisses, but it’s not that way for long, Athelstan taking the lead and licking into Ragnar’s eager mouth, turning the sweet kiss into a sloppy makeout. Athelstan anchors his hands in Ragnar’s hair, tugging on it harshly, earning himself a low grumble from the older man. “Let me suck you off, love?” Ath whispers, lightly dragging his teeth down Ragnar’s neck.

He growls, the sound rumbling in his chest handsomely. “Like you need to ask.”

Athelstan wastes no time swapping positions, pulling Ragnar’s underwear down before settling between the man’s spread thighs. He doesn’t beat around the bush, far too eager to get his mouth around Ragnar’s thick cock. Laying down on the cold stone floor, Athelstan presses his face against the crease where Ragnar’s inner thigh meets his pelvis. Breathing in his scent, he lifts his head up and kisses the tip, licking a bead of pre-come off and swallowing. Holding Ragnar’s gaze, Athelstan slowly took him into his hot, wet mouth. Unable to keep his head up, Ragnar closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of Ath’s lips around him. 

“Didn’t know you had such a sinful little mouth, Ath,” Ragnar groans out, putting all his effort towards not fucking his lover’s throat ‘till he can’t speak correctly.

He simply hums around him, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to his core. Sinking down to the base, Athelstan chokes slightly when the tip hits the back of his throat. He gradually quickens the pace as he loosens his jaw, allowing for more of Ragnar’s cock to fit down his throat. Returning the favor, Ragnar yanks on Ath’s dark brown curls, keeping him from pulling off for a few seconds. Spit and drool drip from the base of his cock and down his heavy ballsack, eventually pooling on the gray stone beneath them. Ath’s chin is also slick with spit, his beard damp and curling even more due to the moisture. 

With each bob of his head, the room echoes with sounds of him slurping and the occasional gag. One would think Athelstan had no idea he was in a church based on how he was acting, slobbering around a heathen’s cock as if it were what he was put on this Earth to do. He tongues the thick vein running along the underside of Ragnar’s cock, drawing a strangled moan from the man. Ath does it again before moving upwards, focusing all his attention on the overly sensitive head. He teases the slit he finds there, eagerly lapping up all the pre-come that had begun to dribble out. The action causes Ragnar’s cock to throb and his leg to twitch, and he’s quick to tug on Athelstan’s hair again, a silent warning that he’s close. Noticing this, he promptly pulls off with a wet pop sound. His chest heaves as he quickly tries to catch his breath.

Somehow, Ragnar looks in worse shape than Athelstan does, long hair matted against his sweaty forehead, his cock a deep shade of red and oozing pre-come. The perfect depiction of Satan’s temptations laid out in front of him, just begging for Athelstan to come and take a bite. He doesn’t think twice about going against his Lord’s wishes or what it would mean for his soul, far too enraptured in the delicious spread before him to care about some pretty garden his Lord had to offer when he could have Ragnar Lothbrok instead. Not even the King of Kings can win a fight against the King of the Northman. Ragnar beats everything his Holy Father offers him with little effort. Athelstan looks him up and down, drinking in the sight of him as if he were about to devour him whole.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Athelstan shuffles on his knees to straddle Ragnar’s hips, his cock bobbing enticingly in front of Ragnar’s face. The Vikingr gazes up at Athestan, taking in the beauty before him. His rough hands grab greedily at supple hips, thumbs meeting at a belly button surrounded by a thick trail of coarse hair. Ragnar feels Ath’s hungry eyes on him, an unneeded boost to his severely overblown ego. “You look good enough to eat, my love,” he digs his teeth into his bottom lip, returning Ath’s hungry gaze with one of his own.

“Good enough for a God?” Athelstan asks, voice dripping with lust.

Ragnar pretends to contemplate the question as he rolls his hips upwards to grind against Athelstan’s. “Depends on what His sinful little disciple can offer Him.”

Licking his lips, Ath splays his hands over Ragnar’s chest, tracing over long healed scars with his fingertips. “He can devote his life in service to Him.” Athelstan can’t articulate why, but speaking of himself in the third person like this stirs something within him that makes a pleasurable heat pool in his abdomen. “Devote himself to loving Him, serving Him, obeying Him.” He leans down as he speaks, slowly coming nose-to-nose with Ragnar. Athelstan shifts further down Ragnar’s abdomen, ass now nestled just above Ragnar’s cock. “Would He like that?”

Ragnar’s mouth curls in a devilish grin, grinding against his plush ass. “He’d have to renounce his previous Lord. This God doesn’t like to share with others.”

He kisses the edge of Ragnar’s mouth, knowing how it drives him mad. “Will his new Lord take care of him for eternity?” Ragnar turns Ath’s head to face him properly, his pointer and middle fingers holding his chin as he captures Ath’s lips in a heated kiss. The passion within his embrace serves as Ragnar’s answer, something Athelstan effortlessly picks up on. 

Ragnar pulls away enough to whisper against his lips, switching back to first-person language, his brain too addled with lust to adequately phrase sentences that way for any longer. “How about you make yourself nice’n pretty for your new God?”

“How does He want me?” Athelstan nips at Ragnar’s ear before kissing it, almost like an apology for biting him.

“On all fours, face down,” he slaps Ath’s ass, and Athelstan yelps in surprise, “ass up like you’re praying.” Athelstan gets off of him, but not without a furious red blush flooding from his cheeks to color his pale chest beautifully. Sitting up, he watches how quick Ath is to obey his request. It merely fuels the flames of Ragnar’s ego, making him even more eager to take Athelstan apart piece by piece and put him back together in his own image.

Ath makes a show of bending over, swaying his hips as he goes, and arching his back, making him the picture of temptation. “Like this?” he asks innocently, spreading his legs and looking over his shoulder at him, resting his weight on his forearms. 

Ragnar settles behind him, shamelessly running his hands over the globes of Athelstan’s ass. “Mmhm, just like this. Such a sinful little worshiper you are. Defiling your previous Lord’s house, throwing away your chance for holiness without a second thought.” Ragnar fists his cock, spitting on it to get it wet again. He taps it against Athelstan’s still loose hole, watching it clench desperately around nothing. 

Athelstan’s cock throbs pathetically at Ragnar’s words, sending a whole body shiver through him. He presses his ass into Ragnar’s hands, silently pleading for Ragnar to bury himself deep inside. All it accomplishes, however, is getting the Vikingr to smack his thick cock against him again. 

“I think,” he hums, pausing solely to draw out Ath’s torment, “you should beg your abandoned Lord for forgiveness.” Ragnar presses his cockhead against Athelstan’s entrance, barely dipping inside before retreating. “You are sinning in his house, after all.” Athelstan gasps at his proposition, and Ragnar takes advantage of his lover’s shock, deciding it to be the perfect opportunity to push inside him. He bullies his way inside, not stopping to give Ath time to adjust until his balls are pressed against Ath’s thighs.

“Ragnar!” he yelps, the sudden intrusion knocking the breath from his lungs. On top of having been a while since they last laid together, Ragnar’s cock is far thicker than the three fingers he prepared him with, so there’s a slight burn in the stretch as he bottoms out. “Fuck, you’re so stupidly big!” Ath whines, gripping the makeshift pillow in an attempt to stay grounded. 

He tsks at him. “That’s no way to talk to your Lord, Athelstan. Don’t you think?” Without waiting for a response, Ragnar pulls out nearly all the way, leaving just the tip. He grips Athelstan’s hips roughly, the pads of his fingers squeezing the soft, unmarred skin there.

He panics at the sudden empty feeling, immediately backtracking, determined to be a good boy for Ragnar. “No,” he choked on his words, his brain moving faster than his mouth could keep up with. “No, it’s not; please forgive me!”

“I’m not who you should be apologizing to, remember?” Ragnar goads as he sinks back inside at a gruelingly slow pace. “Or should I pull out to help jog your memory?” Keeping one hand on Ath’s hip, Ragnar sinks his right hand in Ath’s dark brown curls, tugging his head up to force him to look at the cross directly behind the nativity scene before them. “You tell me stories of how Jesus died for your sins, only for you to shame him by sinning in his chapel.”

Athelstan whimpers and whines, shamelessly canting his hips back on Ragnar’s cock. “Please don’t pull out,” he begs, sniffling. Despite how he sounds, Athelstan doesn’t think he’s ever been this aroused in all his thirty-five years of life. Made to gaze upon the man he had once dedicated his life to serving, on his knees in mock prayer, but it wasn’t Jesus he was praying to this time. It looks unlikely he’ll ever pray to the Heavenly Father or His son again after this, having found something much sweeter and far more rewarding. Something more real to Athelstan than the figure on the wall or the marble Blessed Virgin Mother in front of him ever will be.

The unmistakable sound of Ragnar snarking breaks him out of his thoughts. He’s remained unmoving since bottoming out a second time, providing a deep-seated, pleasurable pressure within Ath’s abdomen. “I’m not above using you as my own personal cockwarmer until you start begging, darling,” he threatens, only this time Athelstan knows it’s not an empty one. 

Unfortunately, Athelstan’s bratted too close to the sun more often than he cares to admit. This might end up one of those times if he doesn’t play his cards correctly. “What do you want me to beg for, Ragnar?” he questions cheekily, playing dumb, knowing exactly how to get the reaction he wants from Ragnar. 

Ragnar yanks on his hair as a warning. “You’ve been good up ‘till now, little priest,” his deep voice rumbles low in his throat, words sticky with pent-up desire, the little self-control he has left quickly deteriorating with every passing minute. “I wouldn’t go fucking it up now if I were you.” He emphasizes it with a slow, punishing roll of his hips, cockhead brushing against Athelstan’s sweet spot. “But if you don’t want me to fuck you after all, keep doing what you’re doing, sweetheart.”

The moan Ath lets out is utterly sinful, and Ragnar hasn’t begun to fuck him in earnest yet. He briefly debates his options, but it wasn’t a hard decision. Solidifying his gaze on the nailed God before him, Athelstan began to pray for the Lord’s forgiveness. “Lord, I seek Your forgiveness and healing. Help me to release the weight of the guilt and shame that I carry.”

“Aww, there we go, little priest. Beg to your nailed god,” Ragnar taunts. He pulls out again and truly starts to fuck him now, thrusting into him quickly. The hand on Ath’s hip squeezes tightly, sure to leave bruises later. Ragnar tugs Athelstan’s hips back on each thrust he gives. The chapel echoes with sounds of skin slapping against skin and Athelstan’s choked, moaned prayers. Sweat slides down the ridges of Ath’s spine and pools in the divots at the end of his tailbone. “Imagine how disappointed he must be in you, Athelstan,” he says with a yank of his hair. He drapes himself across Ath’s back so he can whisper into his ear. “Once a pious little monk,” Ragnar delivers a particularly harsh thrust, hitting a pleasurable bundle of nerves inside Athelstan. “Now reduced to a devilish sinner by a blasphemous pagan.”

Athelstan wonders briefly about where in the world Ragnar could’ve learned that word, but the arousal thrumming through his body made any coherent train of thought impossible. He was barely managing to get out his prayers, let alone anything in addition to that. “Grant me strength, ‘O—oh fuuck—‘O Lord, to learn from my previous mistakes and help me grow,” Athelstan stops mid-sentence, interrupting himself with a slutty moan. “Ragnar, Ragnar, fucking hell, you’re so deep,” he whines, rolling his hips back on each thrust he gives.

His lips curl in a cocky smile. “How’s it feel, sweetheart?” The hand in Ath’s hair twists, making him groan loudly.

“It feels s’good, Ragnar!” He moans, white-knuckling Ragnar’s abandoned tunic. Ath fights his eyes from rolling back in his head, desperate not to appear as how slutty he feels. It doesn’t work. “Harder, Ragnar, please!” He almost forgets to continue his prayers, but a perfectly aimed thrust to his prostate reminds him of his orders. “‘O Lord, I thank You for even though I am a sinner, in the kindness of Your mercy!” Athelstan feels shame flood over him and the omnipotent eyes of Jesus Christ boring into him from across the room. Judging him, condemning him, and casting him down from the light of heaven, sentencing his soul to the fiery pit of hell for eternity. But that humiliating feeling is accompanied by a shameful pleasure that greedily spreads throughout his entire body, making his extremities tingle.

Ragnar is more than happy to oblige, fucking into him at a punishing speed, hips moving at a godlike speed. Each thrust hits Athelstan’s sweet spot dead on, ripping a loud moan from him every time. “You’re still so tight, Ath.” He bites the fleshy junction of his shoulder and neck, leaving a blotchy red mark in his wake. “It’s like your god made you to be wrapped around my cock like this.” He releases his hold on Ath’s hair, moving to fist Athelstan’s red, leaking cock instead. His hand nearly engulfed his cock entirely, just the tip peeking out from above his fingers. “What do you think, hm? You think he made you just for me?”

Ath manages to nod, biting his lip so hard it nearly bleeds. He’s given up praying for forgiveness now, his mind all-encompassed by Ragnar and the arousal coursing through his veins. “Just—Just for you, always been just for you!” He cants his hips into Ragnar’s hand, needy for any and all friction he could get against his poor, neglected cock. “Please, please, please, Ragnar!” he begs, unsure exactly what he’s begging for, just that he needs more of whatever it is. 

“Please, please, please!” Ragnar mocks and Athelstan can practically see the conniving smirk he wears in his mind’s eye. “Please what, little priest? Can’t give it to you if I don’t know what it is.” Athelstan’s whole body shudders from his next thrust, eyes quickly rolling back from the intensity of it.

He opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out are incoherent moans and slutty whimpers. “Please—oh, right there! Please, just, more, more of—fuuck—everything, please, Ragnar!” Ath’s arms give out from underneath him, his weight resting on his shoulders, cheek pressed against the cold stone floor.

“More, hm?” Ragnar slows his movements, earning himself a pathetic whine from his lover. “Even with all your pleas for forgiveness, you still want more?”

Ath nods with another high-pitched whine.

“Do you think your precious nailed god would approve of that desire?”

He shakes his head no.

“Perfect,” Ragnar growls, standing up straight once more, drinking in the sight before him as if it were the perfect cup of ale. He takes his hand off Athelstan’s cock and places it on his hip, spreading his cheeks apart with his thumb and forefinger. Reestablishing the pace he had previously, Ragnar watches his cock disappear inside him, a creamy white ring of pre-come circling his base. “I hope he’s watching when I paint your pretty insides and fully claim you as mine,” he pairs his words with a punishing thrust, far harder than anything else he’d delivered previously. “Watches me take you from him for good this time.”

Each thrust is like electricity, sending tingles from his toes to his fingertips. “Yours, Ragnar,” he hiccups, “Yours, make me yours!” 

Ragnar lands a harsh smack to Ath’s asscheek, a slightly pink handprint blooming across his pale skin. “Always have been mine, little priest. Ever since I stole you from your comfy little monastery.” He angles his hips so he hits Ath’s sweet spot with every thrust. “I wanna hear you say it. Tell your beloved god who you truly belong to.”

“You! I belong to you!” he cries, voice bouncing off the walls, echoing his shame for all close enough to hear. 

He yanks Ath’s head up, forcing him to speak directly to the cross instead of begging into the floor. Ragnar hoists him almost entirely off the floor, now barely able to graze the stone with his fingertips. “Look him in the eye when you speak, sweetheart. After all, you can’t disgrace him further by being rude, and I’m sure you don’t want that.” Ragnar’s words are soaked with liquid sin, the droplets burning a hole in the consecrated floors of this sacred building he’s corrupting with each passing minute. 

Athelstan hums a yes and repeats himself, staring into the cold, metal eyes of Jesus, his former savior, who died to atone for humanity’s sinful souls. Even though it’s only a statue, Ath felt as if it were Jesus himself nailed there, flesh and blood dripping to the floor with cold splats. He can practically see him there, gold and brown colored metal morphing into pale skin marred with rivers of red. “I’m sorry, ‘O Lord! Please bless me with your kind mercy!” he cries out in his thoughts, but deep down, he knows it’s not a genuine apology. He knows God knows as well. Ath doubts his soul will be cleansed, but he can’t doesn’t care any longer. He has a new God. 

“Tell him who you belong to.” Ragnar’s thrusts don’t let up, somehow gaining in force instead. 

Ath swallows thickly before speaking, eyebrows pressing upward, his face screwed together in overwhelming pleasure. “You! I belong to you!”

Ragnar twists Ath’s curls in his fist. “Who? Say my name, Athelstan. He might believe you’re talking about him.”

“You, Ragnar!”

“Hm? I can’t hear you, Athelstan; you’ve got to speak up, or else he won’t hear you, either,” Ragnar goads, grinding his hips hard against his ass. 

The curve of Athelstan’s spine is nearly pornographic. Ath scrambles to find something to hold onto but comes up empty-handed. “I belong to Ragnar! You, Ragnar!” he yells, stretching his arm backward to grip the back of Ragnar’s head, fingers anchoring in his hair. “Oh, my God—oh, my god fuck—I’m close, Ragnar, please!” 

Ragnar releases his grip on Ath’s hair to wrap his arm around Ath’s stomach, holding him closer than believed possible. He presses his sweaty forehead against Athelstan’s shoulder, his thrusts growing uneven and sloppy as he approaches his limit as well. “Fuck, Ath-Athelstan,” he stutters, the mask he wore cracking at the edges, revealing just how desperate he really is. “Fuuck, yes, that’s it, you’re so fucking hot like this, baby. Fucked open and needy, just for me and no one else.” Ragnar splays his fingers over the tensed muscles of Athelstan’s stomach, pressing down gently.

“No one else, all yours, my love,” Ath babbles, leaning his head back to rest on top of Ragnar’s. His chest heaves with each gulp of air he takes, the lower half of his ribs showing slightly every time his stomach sucks in. “Gonna—oh, fuck, there—gonna cum!” 

“Cum for me, Ath, make a pretty mess all over my hand, fuuck,” Ragnar moans out, words warbly and uneven as he does his best to speak without stumbling over everything. “You’re so pretty, so good for me.” His thrusts quickly lose whatever rhythm they had left as he reaches his climax, spilling his cum deep inside Ath’s spasming entrance. 

Athelstan’s cock throbs and twitches when he feels Ragnar’s orgasm, his own cum spurting all over his stomach and Ragnar’s hand. His legs shake violently, toes curling and uncurling in tandem with each spurt of his cock. The short nails of his left hand rake across Ragnar’s back and side, making the man shiver. As they both come down from their highs, a mix of Ath’s cum and sweat drips wetly onto the floor. He can feel Ragnar breathing heavily against his back, finding his equally exhausted presence comforting.

As his cock softens, Ragnar carefully slips out of him, a rush of cum quickly following. Shivering, Athelstan shuffles to turn around before Ragnar does. Now face to face with his lover, Ragnar kisses him gently, as if Athelstan would break if treated too roughly, a stark difference from how Ragnar was manhandling him a few minutes prior. He tilts his head to one side and cups Athelstan’s unmarred cheek with his clean hand, thumb stroking his sweaty cheekbone. Ath licks into his mouth, nose pressing into Ragnar’s scarred one. The kiss lasts for both years and only a handful of seconds simultaneously. Neither knows who pulls away first. “Are you okay, Ath?” he asks, rubbing his nose against Ath’s.

He nods with a hum. “Are you?” Ragnar nods, too. “Didn’t know you had that in you, baby.”

Ragnar snickers, kissing the tip of his nose. “And this surprises you?”

“Nothing about you surprises me. Not anymore.” Athelstan scrunches his nose cutely after he kisses it. “We’ll have to be quick about cleaning up; someone might come looking for us.”

Ragnar snags his tunic off the floor and uses it to wipe away the cum dripping from between Ath’s legs. “Did you mean what you said? About belonging to me and only me? Forever?” he asks somewhat quietly, the insecurity he shows uncharacteristic of him. 

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Ragnar,” Ath says softly, his voice soothing, like a wool-lined blanket on a cold winter’s night, calming any worries Ragnar might be harboring within him. “You know that.”

Dropping his now-soiled tunic, Ragnar wraps his arms around him in a tight hug, corded muscles flexing beneath his skin. “Good; perfect. You’re perfect.”

Athelstan drapes his arms over Ragnar’s shoulders, hugging him back just as—if not more—tightly. Ragnar traces shapeless designs into the skin of Ath’s lower back, pressing soft, grounding kisses along the column of his neck. He kisses the bite mark he left, which is now starting to bruise. They slowly sink to the floor, Athelstan sitting in Ragnar’s lap, legs on either side of his waist, head resting against the lower part of his shoulder. “I love you, you know.”

“I know. I love you, too,” Ragnar says, almost as if he’s been saying it to him for decades, not years. As if every time he’s said it, it’s always been for Athelstan, even before he knew him. As if his love is reserved for Athelstan and Athelstan only. He lays his cheek on the top of his head, careful not to dig his chin into Ath’s skull. “When we go home in the spring, we’ll hold the biggest feast our halls have ever seen.”

Ath gazes up at him the best he can. “What for? What’ll we be celebrating, other than a successful return like always?”

Ragnar holds his hand, lacing their fingers together. “A wedding.”

“A wedding?” Ath questions, getting a nod in response. “Who’s?”

Ragnar breaks his gaze, looking up at the ceiling. “Our wedding.”

Blindsighted but elated, Athelstan shifts to look at him properly, refocusing Ragnar’s eyes where they belong—on him. “Our wedding?” Ragnar calmly nods like he didn’t just propose to him. “You need to work on your proposal skills, darling,” he giggles as a stupidly wide, toothy grin spreads across his face.

“Is that a yes, then?” Ragnar asks, donning a toothy smile of his own.

Athelstan holds Ragnar’s face in his hands and kisses him. “You dumbass, of course, it’s a yes.”

Ragnar kisses him again, then litters small kisses across his cheeks, chin, forehead, and anywhere else he can easily reach. “Perfect,” he kisses Ath’s lips. “Next time I take you, it’ll be on our marriage bed.”

“Ragnar!” Athelstan gasps with a slight laugh. His words made his softened cock twitch in curiosity. “You can’t just say that!”

“Yes, I can.” Ragnar squeezes his waist. “We both know you love it,” he teases, pressing his thumbs into Ath’s soft abdomen, messing up the dark hair there.

He rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh, unlacing his hand from Ragnar’s so he can drape them over Ragnar’s shoulders again. Ath holds his own hand, lacing his fingers together. “You’re so insufferable, you know that?”

Ragnar grins cheekily, far too proud of the fact. “You love it, don’t even try and deny it.”

“What if I do deny it? What’ll you do then?” Athelstan asks, licking his lips and shifting his hips to brush against Ragnar’s cock, who’s making an effort to chub up again. 

He nips at Athelstan’s nose as a warning, a grin still spread across his face. “Something we can’t get caught doing in here, baby.” He reaches back to grab Athelstan’s tunic, blue eyes never leaving pale ones. Ath slips it over his head and stands, tugging on his trousers. Ragnar copies him, minus a shirt. They gather their things and clean their fluids off the floor as best as they can manage with the little supplies available. Once it looks like nothing sinful has occurred, the pair leaves the chapel hand in hand, eagerly heading for Ragnar’s chambers. 

taglist: @moonlighttfoxx, @demon-of-the-ancient-world, and @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics.

[imaginesmai]

Once upon a fairy tale - Ubbe Ragnarson

Enemies to lovers, forced-marriage and based on the Disney movie The Swan princess. Here is what is probably the work I’m proudest of. Things you need to know before reading:

- As a medieval fic, there will be typical misoginist behaviours, racisims at some points and stereotypes. 

- In this fic, Ubbe is from Mercia, not a viking, but a prince. His whole family is ruling that country, while yours rules over Wessex.

- Ivan doesn’t exist. I had to erase a brother for the plot I’M SORRY.

- It hasn’t been proof-read. So, if you find any mistake, please let me know!

Ubbe Ragnarson knew three things: that he would inherit the throne when his father died, that he should get married soon to assure that throne, and that he hated Y/N Ealhmunding. And those three facts were related. Because your hand had been promised to him since you were young kids, and now it’s time to fulfill that promise.

As princess of king Ecbert Ealhmunding, you also knew three things: that the laws for a kingdom ruler weren’t fair, that your father had done everything he could for you and your future, and that you hated Ubbe Ragnarson. Not only you hated that they had decided your future without you, or that you were expected to leave every braincell behind once you married, but also that the same boy who you had hated since childhood would be your husband.

Every summer, Mercia and Wessex try to make you both fall in love. And they fail.

But this summer is different, because a series of tragic and unfortunate events brings you closer to Ubbe than ever.

You’re no longer mischievous kids pulling pranks on each other, but responsible adults looking for what’s best for your country. And trying to survive in the meantime.

Preface:  Ubbe and you meet for the first time, foreshadowing what your relationship is going to be like.

1st part:  Just like any other summer, you have to leave your country. Just like any other summer, Ubbe has to open his to your annoying presence.

2nd part:  your sixteenth-first encounter goes as good as planned.

3rd part:  Aslaug tries to push you closer to Ubbe, leaving you in a vulnerable situation. When faced with a group of soldiers, they don't hesitate to make their opinion about you crystal clear.

4rd part:  The soldiers’ attitude forces your father to make a decision, and you finally see an end to your engagement. Only that, when presented with the chance, you’re not so sure.

5th part:  No longer under the pressure of an arranged marriage and with the hunting raid around the corner, you can almost taste your freedom. But something new awakens and neither Ubbe and you know how to deal with it.

6th part:  The morning of the hunting raid arrives, and new feelings are revealed.

7th part:  Ubbe and you take important decisions, about your future and the future of your kingdoms, not knowing that something bigger than you is happening outside the castle’s walls.

8th part:  tragedy strikes when you least expect it.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

[not-that-syndrigast]

"athelnar is queerbaiting"

Absolutely not. You must have NOT watched the show.

Media literacy is at an all time low but come on! Ragnar told Athelstan he loved him, straight up in the face and people will still say "he meant it as brothers/friends" how about the time he asked Athelstan to sleep with him? Can't remember him asking Rollo or Floki that!

In my opinion, it just proves that some people are homophobes. Yes, Ragnar was also married to Lagertha and later Aslaug, but there's this funny thing called Bisexuality and Ragnar was not all that known for never cheating.

Sure, he wanted kids, but if you seriously think he wasn't absolutely in love with Athelstan and only wanted these kids because of the way he was raised, in a culture where having children to remember him and make people remember him is everything!

Just because they never kissed of intercoursed (on screen, atleast) doesn't mean their relationship wasn't canon. He intercoursed with Aslaug multiple times, doesn't make them be all in love and shit but hell was Ragnar in love with Athelstan

[gummifrogs]

I NEED Viking content. Pretty sure I’ve read every fic on Tumblr and the ones on Wattpad that I’ve read (I am so sorry) suck ass. AO3 only has so much content as well. Where’s the girly pop fans that know what I want? I am getting desperately feral.

[lokifromvalhalla]

A nice punishment

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Ivar The Boneless x [gender neutral] Reader Genre: Smut / Comfort Words: ± 2 100 Kind of content: Oral fixation / Nipple play

Playing with his chest does get Ivar to shut up for a little. It feels way better than it should.

Not proofread! Sorry for any mistake!

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

“How many times do I have to tell you?” You sighed as your hands ran across his warm back, feeling every muscle and the bump of every scar under your fingertips. That was something you had done so many times already that you almost memorized his whole back, always knowing if there was any new scar, as small as it could be.

Ivar scoffed, his back vibrating with each word. “And what do you want me to do? Simply not go anywhere? Just sit here like your little doll, is it?” Of course he would be dramatic, twist your words just so you could feel guilty and let him do whatever he wanted, but you already had a resistance to his whining just like Ubbe and Hvitserk, even if it wasn’t as strong. Dealing with Ivar wasn’t any new to you; you were there long before Ragnar returned, then with him when Ragnar came back and took him to England, helped avenge his father’s death, and now dominate York.

The flames from the torches hanging from the stone walls illuminated the room. Ivar had taken over the cathedral so he could establish his base, and used one of the  main rooms—probably the bishop's—for himself. It was wide, rather luxurious, as a noble's place. In the first days, you would just hang around the room, but with how he kept asking you to help him with massages or undoing his braces until late at night, now it was also yours.

Today was something like this. A long day of unnecessary efforts and blueish eyes by the morning had Ivar’s muscles protesting in pain, so you were there once again, your hands rubbing oil against his rough skin in an attempt to help him despite all the complaints. He did appreciate what you were doing, though. You knew it was some sort of facade because, even between four walls and a closed door, Ivar still had to keep his goddamn posture at least in a few points to ‘keep you humble’. As if you couldn’t shape him exactly the way you wanted, just like Ubbe would do with his younger brothers sometimes.

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” you chuckled against his skin and pressed a kiss to the back of his ear. “My pretty little doll, all for me to use, hm?”

Ivar was silent for a moment, choking on his own words to the same level his cheeks heated up, just seconds before he was turning around and throwing his hands in the air. “What do you think you’re saying? I’m going to feed you flaming hot iron if you keep it like this!”

Another chuckle escaped your lips as you pushed him to face forward again. “And what?” You pulled him against you so his back met your chest instead. “Lose your best warrior? Best strategist? I don’t think you could handle even a day without me, knowing I’m not coming back,” you mumbled, chin over his shoulder and arms under his whilst watching your hands work against his ribs, slowly going up.

Whatever was going on in Ivar’s mind, vanished at the moment your hands started running over his chest. Instead, there were only quiet and incoherent grumbles that you could barely make out. “(Y/n), what...” His words trailed off, breath caught in his throat—he tried to fight against the will to arch his back at the feeling of your fingers tracing his nipples, running around them until they were hard. "Wh..."

"I'm just doing the massage you asked for," you scoffed, hands going down his torso just to come up and stop right under his pecs, proceeding to go up slowly. Ivar hissed at the friction as he arched his back; his hands tugged a little on the sheets before they found their way to your thighs, hence his nails sank into the skin messily in an attempt to both ground himself and warn you. Fruitlessly, of course. "How was your day, Ivar? You just mentioned why you're in so much pain, but never really told me what happened while I was gone.”

“Quit playing.”

“I asked you a question.” The weight in your voice had him shutting up for a moment, though the silence was quickly broken by a moan. Your fingers pinched his nipple, and it shouldn’t feel so good.

Ivar sucked in a breath, at first just spitting out stutters until the way you squeezed his pec had him speaking. “I—I was training, but then got... got in a fight.”

Got in a fight? You clicked your tongue. “Ivar. You woke up with blue-ish eyes, why would you even do that?” It was entertaining to watch how sensitive he was, slowly starting to squirm just because of his chest being fondled.

An indignant gasp came from Ivar, but he paused for a moment; his head leaned back against your shoulder for a moment while his hand adjusted against your thigh. “No...! I couldn’t let that happen! H—He was challenging me! Provoking!” His voice cracked once you pinched his nipple, playing with it between your index finger and your thumb, daring to give it an experimental tug. A louder gasp escaped his lips, back arched against you.

Oh, the old discourse about how a cripple can’t rule properly, you thought. It was already getting annoying to deal with.

“Of course, you ignored everything,” you mumbled, continuing to pinch his nipple, though now also doing the same to the other, and it was enough to start reducing him to pieces—the already uneven breathing lost its pace completely while his fingers trying to grip onto your skin however they could, almost having him throw his hips in the air in search for friction. “and grabbed your little sword so you’d kill the poor man.”

“Not a poor man!” Ivar growled. “He dared to doubt... of one of the sons...” He never finished his sentence, words lost into the dark corners of the room once you let go of him so you could get off your position. “Hey! What are you doing?” The blue irises were nothing but thin rings around the dilated pupils that observed you in desire.

Your chuckle had his eyebrows lowering, mouth pursing. “I thought you didn’t like it?” You raised an eyebrow, moving around until you straddled his thighs, pushing him back against the pillows. Whatever answer he had on the tip of his tongue, it died down with the way you parted his legs with a knee, carefully, instead earning yourself a glare, but it would take a lot more to discourage you. His hips were warm under your hands as you held onto them while leaning down to press kisses to his neck, sometimes nibbling on the skin. “You complain so much, sometimes I don’t know whether it’s real or not. How do you feel being so annoying?” 

“I think that you should shut the fuck up before getting yourself killed.” Empty words, of course. Ivar liked the teasing, if anything. In contrast to his words, his arms wrapped around your shoulders at the same time he threw his head back into the pillows to grant you more access.

You breathed a chuckle against his skin, feeling it rise with a shiver according to how you trailed down. “Oh, honey, you still insist on tricking yourself that you can live without me? Pitiful.”

It was fun to tease Ivar then silence him, watch the frustration build up in groans and quiet complaints, his nails sometimes pressing into your skin a little too hard. He was once again silenced, letting out a hum instead at how your lips worked on a spot some inches down his collarbones, sucking and nibbling on the skin until a purple spot was left behind. You knew he had some sort of sensitivity when it came to his chest, but you never knew it was that great until you decided to start exploring it that night; it probably was greater that time, given how long he had gone without being touched like that.

The way he shuddered and breathed shakily just because of how your tongue ran flat over his nipple was truly rewarding. You did it once more, this time snatching a moan that extended itself by how his crotch found a nice source of friction when meeting your thigh on the way once it pushed up. Your grip on his hips didn’t really prevent him from moving, more of guiding his movements and limiting his freedom.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you came untouched,” you mention. You could taste the light herbal taste of the oil on your tongue—it wasn’t bad, actually.

Ivar clicked his tongue, glancing down at you with a glare that would’ve made anyone else start praying for their life, but not you. Never you. That look didn’t give you anything more than entertainment. “Do you wish to die?”

“To kill you would be fun, actually.” A grin tugged on your lips, easily having Ivar more flustered. He wasn’t in position to criticize anything anymore, nor had enough coherent thoughts for it; he just turned his head away instead.

At first, soft kisses surrounded his nipple, soon being replaced by your teeth softly tugging on the skin, and there it was—whines spilled from his mouth with every nib until he clasped a hand over his own mouth in an attempt to muffle his sounds. It had you pausing, taking a moment to observe his messy form. Sweat had some of his hair strands stuck to his forehead, skin already flush and glistening softly under the dancing light of the flames. His chest heaved up and down with the deep sharp inhales.

The lack of interaction had Ivar’s eyes slowly turning to look at you, and that fucking deathly gaze had something stirring in your lower stomach.

“I wanna hear you,” you finally said, pressing a kiss to his fingers before you started to tug his hand away from his face, finally kissing his lips instead. His hands somehow felt in the way of something, something he didn’t know, but it still didn’t really feel right to just grip onto the sheets while you worked on him. He whined softly against your lips, kissing back with little care because all that mattered was how good you treated him, nibbling on his lips and letting your tongue meet his.

His back started arching once you started trailing down his neck once again, this time starting to nibble on the area around his nipple right away, this time working on the opposite one, with your hands back around his hips, tightly. “Fuck,” he whispered softly, voice tight in his throat, soon replaced by a moan. Your lips wrapped around his nipple to suck softly on it until he was arching his back and fighting against your hands, so you’d change to running your tongue flat against the nub instead.

It was slow and agonizing. Every single time the feeling would start to take over Ivar, erase the thoughts away from his head and have his eyes rolling back, you were there to pull him down, ground him again. Ivar crashed back into reality with quiet complaints and groans that only motivated you to continue, even if your lips would be left sore later. Then, there it was, finally. This time, you weren’t pulling away at the moment his hips started pushing up; you continued to suck on his nipple, even letting your teeth tug on it, and he wasn’t even that restrained anymore, with one of your hands letting go of him to instead fondle with the opposite side of his chest.

A string of curses escaped Ivar’s lips, though soon interrupted by the lack of air in his lungs, his teeth gritted and eyes pressed shut. His hips dragged slowly against your thigh, sending sparkles up his body and down again, right to his lower stomach. His shorter breaths had each time more space between them, as if just breathing would drive his focus away from his release, but then, there it was; a long moan was drawn from his lips at the same moment he finally came. As much as you wanted to see the face he was making, it seemed more of an advantage to continue messing with him until he was squirming, on the edge of oversensitivity.

You pressed a kiss to the bright red skin before you finally brought yourself up to look at him. He had his eyes shut, mouth moving lightly in inaudible mumbles to himself until he opened one eye lazily to observe you.

“You good, love?”

Ivar nodded lightly. “Do you need me to...?”

“No, no.” You shook your head and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “For the gods, Ivar,” you chuckled, “look at you. Came untouched, in your pants!” And just a few words had the haze that took over him fading away, replaced by his usual annoyance, curses and threats that escaped his lips seemingly unstoppingly.

[idkyetxoxo]

Prologue | Allure | The Last Kingdom

Allure (al·​lure)

noun: the quality of being powerfully and mysteriously attractive or fascinating

adjective: having a strongly attractive or enticing quality

verb: powerfully attract or charm; tempt

|| masterlist || next ->

───☆⋅☾⋅☆───

Y/n Ragnarsdottir - 

A woman whose allure is as potent as it is mysterious. She possesses an otherworldly beauty that draws people in like moths to a flame. Her piercing eyes hint at unfathomable depths of darkness. She's the embodiment of the devil in disguise, with a smile that could tempt saints and a gaze that could ensnare sinners. Every step she takes is a dance with death itself reveling in the chaos that surrounds her. There's an undeniable aura of danger around her, one that both thrills and unnerves those who dare to get close. For she is a living embodiment of chaos and beauty intertwined. 

Sihtric Kjartansson -

Known for his unwavering loyalty and fierce warrior spirit. He bears the marks of battles fought and victories won. His sharp eyes hold a depth of experience and determination. Despite his rough exterior, he possesses a keen intellect and a sharp wit. He would gladly lay down his life to protect those he cares about. Though haunted by his demons, he remains steadfast in his commitment to honour and justice, a beacon of strength and resilience in a world plagued by chaos and uncertainty.

Background -

The youngest daughter of Earl Ragnar, sister to Uhtred, Thyra, and Ragnar the Younger, finds herself entangled in a tumultuous relationship with Sihtric Kjartansson, a loyal follower of her brother Uhtred. Their first meeting, marked by violence as Sihtric wounds her deeply, ignites hatred and distrust between them. As they navigate an unforgiving world, unforeseen events bring heartache and suffering. Amidst chaos, they confront fears and vulnerabilities, forging an unexpected bond. Despite their turbulent history, they're drawn together, gradually blurring the lines between enemies and lovers. Spanning from the beginning of season 3 and to the end of season 4 their story unfolds.

Aesthetic

───☆⋅☾⋅☆───

Y/n Ragnarsdottir -

Sihtric Kjartansson -

[undiscovered-horizon]

🙌🙌🙌🙌 Just read the one you did for me and holy shit, you are such a good writer 😭❤❤ now if it is okay I am going to do angst or on the verge of angst. One with the ragnarsson family ( both female and Male, maybe even ragnars brother if that is okay?). Their reaction if you got seriously injured maybe even dies when they left their house/town for like an raid??? ❤❤❤

Vikings preference: You get injured while they're gone

Ragnar On the outside, he appears relatively calm and collected, asking you what exactly happened. Once he makes sure you're alright in general terms, he goes out to search for whoever did this to you. Tells them that if they have a dispute with him, they could have simply talked to him but now that they have committed to a violent way, Ragnar challenges them to a duel. Fairly obviously, he wins but decides to spare the offender and instead of taking their life, he takes one of their limbs. Having children with him wouldn't really influence his actions, only the severity of his anger and the damage he does to the culprit.

Bjorn He's seething. Bjorn is very well aware that because of who he is, there are many people out there who don't need any more reason beyond that to spill blood. Apparently, if they can't spill his, yours is just fine. His method of solving the problem is finding whoever did this to you, dragging them out of their house, making a huge scene with an exalted speech, only to kill them in one strike in the end. Until you're alright, and he's very sceptical about your assurance, he visits you during the day but never lingers for too long. Bjorn think he should be out there to catch any scheme in the making. If you have a son of age, Bjorn will take his anger out on him partially: the boy was, after all, told to look after you when his father can't. But if you have smaller children, he's definitely not letting them out of his sight for the next month or so. Also prohibits them from spending time with strangers, just in case.

Ubbe Being a prince, part of him expected something like this to happen, so he's not exactly surprised but still, he thought people had more respect towards him and his family. No matter the severity of your injury, he's off to have a 'stern talk' with the offender, which means more or less that he's going to beat them within an inch of their life while making very believable threats of what happens should they try something like that again. Until you get better, only Ragnarok itself can force him to leave your side. But if you have children, the scale is tipped instantaneously and he's not afraid to decrease the population of Kattegat. He's very family-oriented, so a threat towards his offspring is a threat towards him personally.

Hvitserk Grabs Ubbe to get the problem 'sorted out' which comes down to Ubbe holding down the culprit and Hvitserk going absolutely berserk on them. If anyone asks, neither of them knows what happened. Suspiciously, the culprit themself doesn't speak up about how they got beaten nearly to death. Despite the suspicious obliviousness, everyone and anyone who once wished ill will on you are having second thoughts. If you have old enough children, he considers that 'incident' a sign to start teaching them to fight.

Sigurd More baffled than angry. Out of all the Ragnarsons, he's the least notorious, so why in Gods' names did someone specifically go after you? He figures that the offence wasn't really aimed at him but rather at his entire family and the culprit went for whoever was the easiest target. Which doesn't really make him feel any better: you got seriously hurt by random chance, only because you decided to settle down with him and you, apparently, were at the wrong place, at the wrong time. Depending on how severe your injuries are, he's willing to ask Ubbe and Hvitserk to join him in going after the culprit. After that is dealt with, he begins seriously considering moving away from Kattegat. If you have children, he both decides it's time to teach them to fight but if you have a son, he's going to get the short end of the stick: Sigurd will constantly remind him that when he's gone, it's your son's responsibility to defend you.

Ivar He may be a deranged individual but he's not stupid, so he doesn't storm off to fight the offender in a duel - Ivar knows his chances are slim at best. So he thinks of a perfect ruse, something that would lure the culprit into their own demise. It, quite obviously, ends up working and all of Kattegat gets to marvel at his horrendous and yet impressive genius. Whoever dared to raise their hand against you is not publicly begging for death as some of the bravest men around grimace in disgust. The message to his enemies should be considered received. For most of his life, he was quite convinced he couldn't have children so when he finally has them, he's horribly protective of them. And that means his ruse becomes slightly more unhinged.

Aslaug She can't retaliate in an equally violent way but that doesn't really matter - she has her own way of making life Hell for the offender. Aslaug exiles them publically, making sure that all of Kattegat heard about their wrongdoings. As a queen, she can go even a step further and ensure that all of Norway knows what they had done and no family or jarl will ever give them shelter.

Lagertha Publicly promises to kill them but not before a fair trial. It's not really about justice but rubbing their punishment in - in other words, she follows the way of the Gods to make sure that the culprit goes through absolute torture in this life and the next one. Once the verdict is announced, she spares no time in driving her sword through their chest. Similarly to Ragnar, having children doesn't really influence her choice of actions but only how much anger she expresses and the unsavoury language she uses.

[mommytauriel]

+ · 。~ OC chart for Thyra

This is my oc chart for my oc Thyra! She will be the main character for my upcoming Vikings story! I’m still wondering if I should post the story on here as well, please let me know what you guys think! I hope you guys like her!

This was my first time doing something like this! I’m definitely going to be doing this for other oc’s of mine 🤗

Feel free to send in some asks or questions that you have for this story! I would love to answer them 🫶🏻