#vikings angst

[miss-madness67]

Married Woman (Ivar & Bjorn)

You find yourself attracted to a man that is not your husband. Worst of all, he loves you too.

The first time you saw him, you were instantly drawn to him. It was not because he is a son of Ragnar, you didn’t even know at the beginning. It was all himself. His broad shoulders and his blue eyes were quick to hypnotize you. The next thing you knew, you were in his bed. You could easily say that night was one of the best you spent with him. From then on, your relationship moved quite fast. He wanted to marry you, and you didn’t oppose. You married at Hedeby, his mother’s domain. You met him there when he came back from avenging his father in England. Your family just moved to the town in hopes to marry you. They were not disappointed when Bjorn Ironside took you as his. Not that you were complaining. Marrying a prince was more than you were expecting, considering that your parents are farmers.

“It’s really hard to be here and look at you, as though I’m not completely in love with you.”

The thread you were knitting breaks when you hear Ivar behind you. You stand up and turn to face him. He is by the door that leads to the hall. You take a quick look around the resting room, you are lucky it’s empty right now.

“Ivar, you know you can not say those things.” You scold, looking directly at him.

His gaze is so intense you have to look back at your knitting. You are making a robe for Bjorn. Lately, he has been a little distant. You think it is perhaps because you have yet to get pregnant. Yet, considering that you have not slept together in two weeks, it is a little hard to do so.

“It is the truth, should I lie, uhm?” he raises a brow mockingly.

You met Ivar a few months ago when Bjorn decided to come back to Kattegat for a while. You had just been married for a few weeks then, still, you instantly knew that Bjorn was not a man that stayed in one place. When you arrived at Kattegat, you also learned that you were not your husband’s first wife. Apparently, Torvi had just separated from him before he went to Hedeby. And he had another wife before her that disappeared.

You leave your knitting behind and walk to the other side of the room. “It is something you should not say to your brother’s wife,” you respond without glancing his way.

Ivar has always harbored feelings for you. They were not evident at first. He was just kinder to you than he was to everyone else. Then he started to get bolder, to the point that even Ubbe had noticed. Luckily, neither Queen Aslaug nor Bjorn suspected anything. You thought that perhaps if they knew, they would surely kick you out. Not that it was your fault Ivar felt that way, or that you have done anything with him. You have not.

You hear Ivar’s crutch as he approaches you. Your heart starts pounding rapidly inside your chest. Even if you have never done anything, you cannot deny how your body reacts to him. It is not that you do not have feelings for Bjorn anymore, it is just that what Ivar brings out in you is stronger. Ivar’s hand finds its way to your hip. His fingers delicately trace inconsistent patterns on your hip bone. Your skin burns to the contact in spite of the clothing in its way. You try desperately to control your breathing. He cannot know that his desire is reciprocated because if he does, you are scared of what he will do. You are scared you might do not want to stop him.

“My brother does not deserve you,” he whispers in your ear. “You know how he is. I’m sure Torvi has warned you he is quick to fall out of love.” She did warn you, but you refuse to believe it.

You try to step away, but he does not let you. “It is fine, once I am with child it will be fine.” you attempt to justify.

Your skin feels hot to the touch. You want to escape the feelings that Ivar causes in you, so you think that if you turn around, he will put distance between you. However, once your eyes clash with his, his hold on you tightens. You have never been this close to Ivar. For a moment, all of your rational thoughts leave your brain instantly. The only thing you can think of is his eyes. They are so unlike his brother’s. The shade is the same, yet they transmit something entirely different. They make you feel something completely new.

At that moment of insanity, you take a step towards him. Your senses drown in his presence. You feel you, yet you feel more. Your hand finds its way to his neck. He is taller than you and you love it. His chest clashes with yours and both your breaths mix. You do not know what you are doing, but it feels so right. It is like welcoming your lover after how long raid far from home. It is everything you wish you felt with Bjorn but never did.

“Once you are with me,” he murmurs on your lips, “it will be fine.”

You do not have time to process what is happening, or even to think. One moment he is looking at you like you are his whole life, and the next, he is eating you like you are the greatest feast ever served. His lips mold perfectly with yours. Your hands cup his neck exquisitely. His hand moves from your hip to your back, leaving a trace of fire on its path. Your tongues dance like never before, and you forget your name. It feels like, before this moment, you didn't truly know what happiness and passion were like.

You feel the hold on his crutch slightly wavering. You know that he is strong, yet he must be feeling lightheaded like you. You part from him momentarily, and he tries to follow your lips with his. You pay no mind and quickly locate a chair nearby. You push him towards it. He sits with a puzzled look on his face. Still, he easily knows what you are up to once you climb on his lap.

Your mouths take no time to find each other again. Now, both of his hands caress your sides and your back lovingly. Meanwhile, yours play with his braided hair. You wish it were loose so you could run your fingers through it. You move your hips involuntarily. That causes a moan to escape his mouth. If you were not aroused before, you are now. You continue with your movements so you can listen to the delicious sounds his mouth makes. It is until he places his hand in your left breast that you realize you are moaning too. Right now, you are not thinking that you are in a room where anyone could walk in. You are not thinking about Bjorn. Or the fact that you are kissing his brother.

A loud crash breaks the atmosphere instantly. In the doorway, a male thrall is standing with a surprised look on his face. At his feet, there is a jug with spilled mead. You quickly climb out of Ivar. The thrall turns away, apologizes, and scurries off. You do not try to go after him to prevent him from saying anything. You are too embarrassed to even glance at Ivar. The silence stretches for a moment.

“I…” before Ivar can say something else, you run out the door.

...

A few days go by. You have been ignoring Ivar ever since the kiss. You only talked when he told you that he took care of the thrall. You did not ask what he did, but you suspect it. A dead slave would not be questioned. In that short conversation, you only managed to nod and flee. The desire you feel for him is too great to simply ignore. Now that he knows he is reciprocated, he has been more persistent in his advances. It has made it nearly impossible to avoid him. Still, what you fear the most is that if you are in a room alone with him, all of your resolutions will be broken again. You fear Bjorn noticing your heart no longer belongs to him. You do not think he will hold it against you, but you still care for him. You do not want to break his heart.

On the other hand, some part of you believes it will not be broken. He has kept on being distant towards you. The night you kissed Ivar, you tried to sleep with him out of guilt. Your advances were stronger than the nights before, and he finally complied. It is safe to say that was the worst sex of your life. At first, he could not get it up, and then it was just not… satisfying. You had to conjure the image of his brother in your mind in order to finish. So, even more so than the neglecting, that was what made you think there could be another woman. Torvi had warned you, so had Ivar and Ubbe. You did not believe it then. Now you do.

As you follow Bjorn through the streets of Kattegat, some part of you wishes to be wrong. You do not want him to cheat on you, which is a bit hypocritical considering you kissed Ivar.

A woman crashes with you, and she murmurs insults your way. Nevertheless, when she looks at your face, she stops. Recognition flashes in her eyes. She smirks, apologizes, and then says something like "one of Ironside wives". The comment bothers you, not because that would make you second to other women in Bjorn's life, but because that means that you are not even memorable to the people of Kattegat. They think you will be gone soon, forgotten in the list of many wives. That you are just one of the many he will have. Still, you must not let it show that it bothered you, so you look down on her way and walk off.

The little encounter makes you lose sight of Bjorn. It takes you a while to find again his blond hair in the crowd. When you do, you see him entering a cabin on the outskirts of town. It was hard to trail him without him noticing, but now that you have seen where he went, you do not want to ruin it. You wait a few minutes at a safe distance, but no one comes inside. Slowly, you approach the place. Your heart is pounding rapidly, wondering what you will find.

The first thing you notice is the loud moans of a woman. That makes you freeze on the spot. Your head screams ‘I knew it’ but you need to see, to make sure. There is a crack in the wood near the door, you go near it. The hole is big enough to show you what is inside. From your spot, you have a direct view of the bed. You are not surprised by what you see.

Your husband, Bjorn, is bent over a woman laying in fours on the bed. You cannot see her face, but you distinguish blonde hair.  Bjorn is pounding rapidly into her. The cabin is filled with her moans and the obscene sounds of flesh hitting flesh. Bjorn groans above her. He grabs her by the hair, lifting her face, and that is when you recognize her. You have never talked with her, after all, she is merely a thrall. You think her name is Freydis. You remember her because she used to cling to Ivar until she realized he was not interested. Back then, you had been slightly jealous. Now, looking at your husband fuck her makes you feel… relief.

You had expected to drown in betrayal or heartbreak. None of that happens. Instead, it is then that you realize that you can be free about your feelings for Ivar. If Bjorn does not care about you any longer, then it does not matter that you are in love with another. You no longer have to remain loyal to him or feel guilty over a simple kiss. Especially with him fucking a slave for Odin knows how long. However, you crave closure. So while Bjorn is still pounding her cunt, you open the door noisily.

Your husband looks up from his task and stops abruptly. He says your name, shocked, and pushes Freydis away. The slave falls to the ground with a thud, but you do not spare a glance her way.

“I know now why you were distant,” you talk first.

He stands up and covers himself with the furs. “I…”

You do not let him talk. You have never seen Bjorn Ironside startled, yet it is your turn to express your feelings. “It is ok, Bjorn. I do not mind, nor do I feel betrayed. Everyone warned me this would happen. Tell me, do you still love me?”

He is even more surprised now. He looks down at Freydis and then at you. He seems embarrassed, though certain. It takes him a while to answer. “I am sorry. I still care about you, but not the way I used to.”

You nod in understanding. “It seems like the gods had put us together to derive our paths to someone else.”

For a moment, he appears confused. Then, a knowing smile overcomes his face. “Ivar, am I right?”

Now is your time to be startled. “How did you…”

He interrupts you. “He is not very subtle… The way he looks at you, I have never looked at anyone that way.” At least he is honest about not loving the thrall either. Then, he adds: “just be careful with him, yes? He is still Ivar The Boneless.” You both know what he means, but you are done listening to your now ex-husband. You nod at him and walk away.

Your body is buzzing with freedom inside your veins. The love and desire you feel for Ivar drives you to search for him. You know he must be in the forest right now, probably in the spot he showed you once; where he went to think. It is not very far from where you are now. You bypass half Kattegat and then scurry off into the woods. The hike seems endless, but it is the best one of your life. Your heart beats fast, and your cheeks hurt from smiling. You have to control yourself before you meet him . You tell yourself that over and over again. And yet, when you see his back, you shout his name. He turns around and sees you.

He is confused, you can see it in his eyes, but when you sit in his lap and kiss him senselessly, he does not pull away. He places his hands on your face and pulls you closer. You know that you must explain everything to him. Tell him that you are no longer married, that your heart belongs to him, that you want with him what you could not with his brother. You want to tell him that and more, but for now, you express it in the kiss. And when he pulls away and looks into your eyes, you know he understands.

[angelltheninth]

Hello, dear! I'm kinda new to all of this, so I don't know whether you still take requests or not. If you do, could I ask for Ragnar× reader and some hurt/comfort? Thank you!

You sent it in just before I closed requests so you're all good Anon.

Pairing: Ragnar Lothbork x Reader

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, nightmares, injury, soothing kisses, caring Ragnar

A/N: Big, buff viking being all soft and caring for you, just you and no one else.

It's not uncommon for you to have nightmares about your husband going off to war and never coming back, only on most nights you have him there to make sure that he is back

On this night you were alone, Ragnar was still in battle, leaving you to maul over the possibility of his death

You didn't doubt his fighting abilities, you knew he was a great warrior but the fear never truly left you even after seeing him returning victorious so many times

You were curled up in your bed, drinking hot tea, wearing one of his big shirts for comfort when you saw him happily stumbling through the door

He had a deep cut over his face but was smiling nontheless

He should have gotten back tomorrow but he couldn't wait to see you

Speaking of, what are you doing awake, you were supposed to be sleeping and only wake up when he kissed you awake

You brush your worries aside, instead running into his arms and snuggling into his chest

You lean up to kiss him, not too hard because you can see the fresh bruise on his lip

He's still not convinced you're okay, he knows you, he knows you don't wake up in these hours without reason

His injuries can wait, tell him what's wrong, or you can compromise and clean his face up while telling him about your worries

Listens to you despite being dead tired

Constantly kissing your hand

He knows he can't avoid death, no one can, but he can do his best to delay it a little longer to be by your side, he can embrace you for as long as he can before embracing death

It might not soothe you fully but you know that Ragnar always gives it his all to come back to you every time

As you go to sleep he wraps around you, making you feel safe and protected and loved, his beard tickling you in that familiar tingling way as both your eyes close from exhaustion

[bonkywobble]

Kinktober ‘22 - Day 7

Day 7 - Somnophilia with Lagertha

Pairing: Lagertha x fem!reader (East of The Sun and West of the Moon AU)

Word count: 639

Warnings: Language, fluff, angst, sexual content (18+ only): somnophilia (consensual), vaginal fingering, slight nipple play, slight body worship.

Disclaimer: Please heed the warnings - if this makes you uncomfortable then click away. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION.  I do not give anyone permission to take, repost, copy or translate my stories, regardless of whether or not they are credited. This blog and all works associated with it are 18+ only. Minors please do not interact or follow.

A/N: Day 7, one week in finally! Dividers by @firefly-graphics.

Kinktober ‘22 Masterlist

You wish you could watch her wake up with the sun. See the sleepy smile spread on her face as the light hits lustrous honey tresses that splay on your pillows, head tucking itself into the crook of your neck and muscle rippling under inked chainmail as she rolls over with eager, open eyes. A loyal warrior braver than most; a devoted but vigilant queen; and a love you know will last beyond your lifetime - you understand that you’ll never be worthy of any part of Lagertha.

Alas, the gods are vicious, bitter beings, so a deal is a deal and a dream can be no more than desirable thinking. In the dark you hide once more, wishing you could be a better half to an already beautiful whole.

Fur gives way to skin as your body transforms into its true form, and you peel off the covers atop your sleeping shield maiden. Even in the cover of night, you can tell that Lagertha sleeps like the free woman she was born to be, arms stretching out waiting for the world to come and show her the glories and horrors of the new dawn.

Again, you momentarily lament how cruel those you once worshipped must be to damn the both of you.

Your fingers trace the Drakkar on her bare thigh, their own adventure just beginning. Bending your head to her chest you nuzzle her soft mounds, tongue sweeping across scar tissue and teeth tenderling plucking at the small red buds. She hums, pleased, but otherwise remains still.

The trust she has in you makes your heart swell, the tumultuous journey to earn it well worth the wait.

Your hand glides up battle-made curves and grazes her folds, fingertips prying them apart to rediscover her heated core. A thumb begins to gingerly rub circles her nub as your mouth latches on to her hardening nipple, and you moan at the taste of sweetness and sweat - surely all Valkyries taste like this.

Yet another memory to savour for when you’re both finally and blessedly free.

A wispy sigh escapes your fearsome companion as her cunt bucks subconsciously. With your other hand giving her other breast the attention it deserves, you press your thumb down and swipe faster, index finger teasing the opening of her dampening sex before eventually working its way in, eager to find that spongey and magical spot.

There’s a jerking of hips and legs, followed by a sharp gasp, the breathlessness in her following proclamation pleasing you greatly. “I’m happy you’ve found your - gods - boldness again, precious Skogkatt. Fuck, don’t stop.”

Whether it’s due to Lagertha’s status or in your nature, you obey, taking great pride and pleasure in watching her unravel within minutes. The euphonious moan she releases as you sink another finger into her wet pussy has your own clenching in arousal, leaving you struggling, desperate to stave off your own orgasm long enough for her to finish riding out her own waves of bliss.

Her legs stop shaking not long after and the lusty fervor growing in your slick heat fades to a dull throbbing. Whispering sweet nothings she caresses your arms as you move up to touch your lips to her waiting and wanting ones.

She kisses you as slowly as an ember burns. “One day I will know your face. I will wake up in Sunna’s light and see you as unashamedly and freely as you see me.”

Though Lagertha can’t see it, she can feel the tear that lands on her nose as you wistfully say, “That which has become so dear to me, I could wish for nothing more. But, my Queen, today is not that day.”

Her kisses continue, an immediate reassurance and a hopeful declaration for the future.

The hot oil hits your cheek five days later.

[doumadono]

Warnings: violence, viking!Dabi, viking!Shoto, earl!All Might, viking!Hawks, viking!Natsuo, fem!reader, viking themes, viking!Bakugo, viking!Kirishima, blood and injuries, gore, childbirth, Shoto is a massive jerk

Summary: months after Touya's death, you finally convince Hawks to take you to the place where your beloved man passed away. Upon returning, overwhelmed by unbearable sorrow, you give birth prematurely, and it's clear who the father is. Little did you know, an envoy saw Shoto and brought some important news

Word count: circa 8,4k

A/N: if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know ♥

KVITRAVN - MHA VIKING AU • MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER • NEXT CHAPTER

ACT VI - THE PAST NEVER DIES

7 MONTHS LATER

Lying in bed, the white sheets felt crisp against your skin, almost blinding when you first opened your eyes. A gentle smile adorned your lips as a powerful, calloused hand reached out, delicately brushing a strand of your Y/H/C hair off your cheek. Turquoise eyes, wise and filled with affection, met yours. Touya smiled, his long fingers tracing the contours of your face.

"Do you know you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life?" he rasped, his voice carrying the remnants of a fading dream.

You nodded, recalling the numerous times he had expressed the same sentiment before.

"I mean it," Touya insisted. "I always thought Christian women were average, but you, my love, you're beyond beauty. You're a goddess. I can't take my eyes off you."

A soft smile played on your lips as you took his hand in yours, bringing it to your lips to kiss the place where scarred skin met healthy flesh.

Touya hummed, his gaze fixed on you. "I still can't comprehend why you love me. I held you captive. I ripped you out of your land. And I look like a monster."

Frowning, you moved, sitting up with a quilt pressed to your naked chest. "Stop it. You're not a monster in any way. Yes, our beginning was rough, but looking back, I am grateful you did it. There was nothing waiting for me there but an arranged marriage to some older man and a life of ordinary domesticity, taking care of kids and a homestead."

Touya grinned softly, his turquoise eyes holding a warmth that spoke of relief. "I'm happy you're not holding any grudges."

Shaking your head, you moved closer to him, laying your head against his scarred chest adorned with staples. "You're not only my lover. You're my best friend," you whispered, pressing a tender kiss to his chest.

His arm wrapped around your shoulders, fingers slowly rubbing the naked flesh, his quiet hum resonating within his chest with every breath he took. "So are you. You're the only one I trust."

Feeling his fingers lift your chin, you met his gaze before he pulled you even closer, brushing his slightly chapped lips against yours.

"Always," he whispered after breaking the kiss.

Tilting your head, you looked at him quizzically. "Hmmm?"

"I'll always love you, no matter what," he declared, his words filled with a sincerity that lingered in the air.

Leaning in to kiss him again, you felt his arm, still wrapped around you, suddenly go limp. Frowning, you looked down at him, only to find a pool of blood where Touya, your beloved man, once lay. He vanished like a fleeting mist.

Your heart pounded within your chest, a sudden fear gripped you as you called his name with all your might. "Touya! Touya!!!"

The room darkened, as if happiness had fled through the window, replaced by an ominous void. A sudden, searing pain gripped your abdomen. Clutching your stomach, you clenched your teeth, hissing as the unbearable pain washed over you. Trembling with waves of agony, you began screaming, choking on your own tears. "Touya! Save me, please!"

And then, abruptly, you woke up, gasping for air, the vivid nightmare fading into the recesses of your mind.

You looked aside, your gaze settling on Shoto sleeping peacefully by your side, one hand slipped under his head. 

A scornful glare crossed your features as you pondered the man who had used you so many times, who hadn't hesitated to raise both hand and voice at you, the man who forced you to become his concubine. It baffled you that he could sleep so soundly.

How could he find peace in slumber when his hands were stained with the blood of his own father and older brother? The memories of his mistreatment of Natsuo, treating him like a discarded piece of trash on a daily basis, flashed before your eyes. You couldn't comprehend how he managed to find solace in sleep, bearing the weight of so many innocent souls on his shoulders. He had killed his own warriors, loyal to his father, without a second thought. The toll on Skjaldvargr was evident, with the population dwindling by half in the past month alone.

Shoto's apparent solution, letting cutthroats and offscourings from other settlements live among his subjects, only fueled your frustration. The ease with which he dismissed the lives lost and the suffering inflicted upon his own people left you in disbelief. As you watched him sleep, a bitter taste filled your mouth, knowing that the man beside you was responsible for a cascade of pain and death that stained the land.

With a heavy sigh, you touched your round belly, feeling the slight kick from your unborn child. "Hush, hush, my sweet child," you whispered, a tinge of sadness adorning your voice. "It's okay, we're good."

The revelation of your pregnancy had shaken your world. Torn between love for the life growing beneath your heart and a deep loathing, your emotions were a tumultuous storm. Shoto, forcing you to lay with him shortly after you lost your innocence to Touya, clouded the paternity of the child. The uncertainty haunted you, and you couldn't be sure whose blood flowed through the veins of the little one.

Praying dearly to Freya, you wished the child belonged to Dabi, not Shoto. The complexities of your emotions were woven into the fabric of each whispered prayer, as you cradled the tiny life within you, caught in the tangled web of past choices and an uncertain future.

Shoto stirred by your side, slowly opening his mismatched eyes, casting you a cold glance. "Why are you not sleeping?" he asked with an air of indifference.

Rubbing your belly, you spared him a brief glance. "The baby was kicking," you lied.

With a growl, Shoto sat up and pushed your hand off your belly, replacing it with his own. He rubbed soothing circles around the bump. "It's okay, little one, daddy's here."

A gag reflex surged within you upon hearing those words. Excusing yourself, you pushed his hand off your tummy and swung your legs off the bed, slowly getting up. "I need fresh air," you said simply, wrapping a thick bear fur around your shoulders.

Shoto scoffed. "You should be resting, Y/N. If you don't want to care about yourself, that's fine. I couldn't care less. But my baby needs some peace. Don't be fucking long," he growled, laying his head back on the pillow.

Without another word, you left the room as you sought solace in the cool night air, the thick bear fur offering little comfort against the chill that now surrounded you.

The guards in the throne chamber greeted you with acknowledging nods as you passed by.

The night air was cold, and tiny snowflakes swirled on a chilly northern breeze as you made your way through the Great Hall.

With a heavy sigh, you rested your back against the wall of the longhouse, your breath visible in the cold air with each exhale. The silence of the night surrounded you until a familiar voice broke through.

"My lady? Are you okay?" The figure emerged from the shadows, and before you could see his face, you nodded.

"Yes, Keigo. It's okay."

"Shall I wake the earl up?" the blonde-haired man asked, finally stopping beside you.

You shook your head. "No. We just talked."

As much as you harbored resentment towards Hawks for blindly following all of Shoto's orders, you knew the young man didn't have much of a choice. Natsuo had shared stories with you. Hawks, being older than Shoto and one of Endeavor's most loyal warriors, spent a significant amount of time around the young prince. He taught Shoto how to wield an axe and sword, how to fight, and how to survive in the cruel world. Endeavor's lack of time for his own children made Shoto grow fond of his older "colleague," and vice versa. 

"You can't sleep again?" he asked, noting the weariness in your eyes.

You nodded quietly, your expression revealing the traces of a restless night. "Yeah, another nightmare with Touya," you confessed softly.

At the mention of Touya's name, a wave of emotions washed over you, and a few tears rolled down your pale cheeks. In an effort to regain composure, you bit your own knuckle, a physical anchor against the overwhelming memories.

Hawks watched you with a heavy heart, his concern deepening. “My lady, maybe…”

You shook your head in response. "Keigo, can I ask you for a favor?" you asked him.

The blonde-haired man furrowed his brows upon hearing your words but nodded slowly.

"Keigo, can you take me to the place where Touya died?" you asked, your voice steady but carrying the weight of the emotions you had long suppressed.

Hawks looked at you, concern etched across his features and a slight frown crossing his forehead. "Why would you want to go there, my lady?"

Taking a deep breath, you met his gaze. "I need closure, Keigo. For months, I've been haunted by the memories. I can't move on until I confront the reality of where it happened. I just... I just need to see this place. I want to pray there. I just... I just need it."

He sighed, realizing the depth of your pain. "Are you sure about this? It won't be easy, my lady, as the earl surely won't let you go."

You nodded, your eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and resolution. "I have to do this. It's the only way I'll find the closure I've been seeking for months."

Keigo stood before you, torn between his loyalty to his earl and the plea you bestowed upon him. The weight of your words seemed to reopen old wounds that he had long tried to bury. "I'll see what I can do, my lady," he finally said, nodding his head with a conflicted expression.

He left just like that, leaving you alone in the quiet night.

Alone, you rubbed your tummy softly, seeking solace in the warmth beneath your hand. "Save us, Freya," you whispered as you hoped for protection and guidance in the tumultuous journey that lay ahead. “Save us from Shoto.”

7 MONTHS EARLIER

When Touya woke up, all he could think of was pain. Unbearable, burning pain that seemed to spread all over his body, with a particular intensity in his legs, even though they mostly felt numb. 

The first moment he opened his eyes, he found himself in an unfamiliar place. Strange faces surrounded him, leaning down, their hands touching his face and shoulders. A potent herbal scent enveloped him, making him want to cough and vomit.

The women treating his wounds seemed a little scared, their eyes betraying a mix of apprehension and discomfort at his appearance. This made Touya not only feel uneasy but also fueled his desire to leave this unfamiliar place as soon as possible. 

One day, when Touya awoke to find Earl Yagi Toshinorison by his bedside, he immediately understood his surroundings. He was in Toshinorison's settlement, known as Hvinverjadalr.

"It's good to see you awake," Earl Toshinorison greeted with a warm smile as he approached the young man lying in bed. "Are you feeling well today?"

Dabi, still recovering, looked up at the earl and responded with a hint of sorrow in his voice, "I feel pain, my lord. The wounds are healing, but it will take time."

Earl Toshinorison gazed sternly at Dabi, his eyes betraying a mix of curiosity and authority. He raised his hand, gesturing to the maids who were tidying the chamber. "Leave us," he ordered with a commanding tone.

The maids exchanged uneasy glances before hurriedly exiting the room, leaving the Earl and Dabi alone in the dimly lit chamber. 

Silence lingered for a moment before Dabi broke it. "What happened?" he asked, his memory clouded with fragments of being sent north by his father, along with his younger brother and a contingent of warriors.

Earl Toshinorison, known for his calculating mind, cocked an eyebrow, considering Dabi's question. The earl regarded the injured man with a measured expression, his voice calm. "You were found by two of my warriors under a cliff, accompanied by the lifeless body of a massive wolf," he disclosed, his eyes studying the scarred features of the man before him. 

The revelation hung in the air, a puzzle waiting to be solved. The details surrounding the scene raised Dabi's questions. "I... I don't remember..." he whispered.

"I need you to tell me everything you remember," the older man commanded, his voice firm yet tinged with curiosity.

Dabi, looking perplexed, met the earl's gaze. "The only thing I remember is being sent by my father north, along with my younger brother and our warriors, my lord."

The earl cocked an eyebrow, a calculated look in his eyes. "And who's your father?"

"Endeavor is my father."

Toshinorison jolted up from his chair, a frown crossing his forehead as he processed the unexpected revelation. "Endeavor? You're Endeavor's son?"

Dabi nodded solemnly. "I am. My name's Touya. I'm Endeavor's eldest son."

The revelation lingered in the air, casting a shadow over the room. The gravity of the truth seemed to echo through the walls.

Toshinorison sat back down, his gaze focused on Dabi's face as he spoke, "I'd never thought in my wildest dreams I'd have one of the most skilled warriors of Denmark under my roof." A soft smile played on the earl's lips, a genuine appreciation for the warrior's capabilities evident in his eyes.

Dabi nodded, acknowledging the earl's words. Gratitude shone in his eyes as he thanked Yagi. However, he wasted no time in getting to the pressing matter on his mind. "When will I be able to return back to my settlement?" he inquired, his tone a blend of eagerness and caution, uncertain of what the future held.

Earl Toshinorison looked down at Dabi, a solemn expression clouding his features. "Touya, your injuries are serious," he began, his voice carrying a weight of concern. "I won't allow you to leave until your body is fully healed."

Dabi met the earl's gaze, a mix of defiance and frustration in his eyes. "I appreciate the hospitality, my lord, but I've got responsibilities back at my settlement. I need to return."

The earl nodded understandingly. "I comprehend your predicament, but I cannot permit you to depart in such a state. Your health is of utmost importance. Once you're well, I'll personally ensure you're escorted safely back to your settlement."

Dabi's scowl deepened, but he couldn't deny the genuine concern in the earl's eyes. "And how long is that going to take?"

Toshinorison sighed, his gaze unwavering. "As long as it takes, Touya. I won't risk your life by sending you out prematurely. Your well-being is my priority now. With broken legs that would take several months to heal."

Dabi's frustration erupted. "A few months?!" he exclaimed, sitting up with a grunt, his face contorted with pain. "I don't have that much time, my lord. They must've thought I died."

Earl Toshinorison gently pushed the scarred man's shoulder, compelling him to lay back down. "Easy. I promise I'll send an envoy to let your people and father know you're alive," the older man reassured. "But, as I said, you need to stay with us a little longer. Once you'll be able to walk, I'll admit my best warriors to help you regain your fighting prowess."

Dabi nodded gratefully as earl Yagi got up. "Thank you, my lord."

Earl Toshinorison smiled faintly, nodding his head before he exited the chamber, leaving Dabi alone with his thoughts.

It took Hawks a few days to set everything in motion for the trip with you. The blonde-haired Viking hesitated to bring it up with his earl, struggling to find the courage. 

Fortunately, the situation became more manageable when Shoto departed to meet earl Gizzor, who resided in the northern part of Sweden. 

This afforded Hawks the opportunity to make the necessary arrangements without drawing undue attention to your impending journey.

Natsuo attempted to dissuade you from the idea, expressing concern about the risk involved in such a trip given your advanced stage of pregnancy. However, you were adamant and chose not to heed his advice.

One afternoon, the thralls assisted you in donning warm clothes, while Natsuo helped Keigo prepare a horse – a stallion that had once belonged to Touya.

"Don't try anything," Endeavorson snarled quietly, ensuring the proper placement of a snaffle on the stallion.

Keigo frowned at the younger man. "What was that supposed to mean?"

"I don't trust you," Natsuo replied, his expression tense. "I expect you to take good care of Y/N during this trip."

"Of course I will," Keigo retorted, his brow furrowed. "I serve the earl as best as I can."

"Of course, you do," Natsuo growled, his gaze intense. "If a single hair falls off her head..."

"Then what, my lord?" Keigo asked, his tone challenging. "What will you do?"

"I'll kill you." The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the seriousness of the responsibility Keigo now carried for your safety.

Keigo scoffed and casually walked closer to Natsuo. "Don't forget, my lord, that earl Shoto ordered me to take care of his concubine," he reminded with a wry tone. "So, do not fret, she's under good care."

As Keigo delivered his reassurance, you left the longhouse and headed towards the stable, where you found the men. "I'm ready," you announced, a sense of determination in your voice as you prepared for whatever lay ahead.

Keigo assisted you onto the horse, ensuring you were comfortable in the saddle. Soon, he mounted his own mare, a skilled rider at ease with his steed.

Natsuo walked over to you, his touch soft as he stroked your knee. "Be careful, Y/N. Stay close to him," he urged, casting a glance towards Keigo. 

The hawk-eyed warrior, however, shook his head disapprovingly, silently expressing his disagreement with Natsuo's wry comment.

You nodded at Natsuo, promising to stay out of trouble. 

Endeavorson acknowledged with a subtle nod and moved aside.

Hawks took the reins, urging his horse forward, and you followed closely behind.

The ride stretched across nearly two days, each passing hour marked by your repeated requests to halt. The biting cold gnawed at your bones, and bouts of dizziness swept over you, making it challenging to endure the relentless journey. The unforgiving weather seemed determined to test your resilience, forcing frequent pauses as you battled against the elements.

The landscape unfolded before you in a blur, a monotonous panorama of snow-covered terrain and desolate wilderness. The horses pressed on, their breath forming misty clouds in the frigid air. The repetitive rhythm of hooves against the frozen ground echoed the weariness that settled in your bones.

Each break served as a temporary respite from the relentless cold, a chance to regain your bearings before the journey resumed.

The trip passed mostly in silence, a thick tension hanging in the air. You found yourself at a loss for words, unsure of what to tell Hawks. There were things you assumed he knew, things you suspected he did, and the unspoken assumptions lingered between you like a heavy fog.

The rhythmic sound of the horses' hooves filled the air as Hawks finally mustered the courage to breach the unspoken divide. "How is it between you and earl Shoto?" he asked, his voice cutting through the chilly silence.

You glanced at him, the weight of the unspoken hanging in the air. "Complicated," you replied, choosing a word that barely scratched the surface of the intricate web of emotions.

Hawks raised an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and concern in his gaze. "Complicated how?"

You scoffed at his question, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "Are you seriously asking me how it is with him? You well know how. He's ruthless, and it doesn't change when we're alone. No, instead, he's even worse than when we're around people. I know he doesn't care about me. All he cares about is power and the fact I might be pregnant with his child. If it turns out it's Touya's, I'm sure he'll order his men to kill me and the child. So, nothing good is awaiting me," your voice carried a heavy burden of sorrow. "Even if the child is his, I'm sure he'll take the kid away from me and exile me," you added, resignation coating your words. "Either way, I'm fucked up, Takami."

He nodded thoughtfully, the lines on his face deepening. "I see."

The quiet lingered again, the horses' hooves maintaining a steady rhythm. The unspoken truths hovered in the air.

Hawks finally stopped his horse and dismounted.

Your horse halted as well, and Keigo, with a silent understanding, moved to assist you off its back.

Hawks pointed his chin north, indicating a small prominence in the distance. "It's there," he said, gesturing with a subtle nod. Without further words, he began walking in that direction, and you followed, the crunching of snow beneath your boots filling your ears. 

Hawks stopped at the top of a small hill, near a cliff. "That's where he fell," he explained, his gaze fixed on the spot below.

You hesitated, feeling the strength drain from your knees as you slowly approached the edge. As you looked down, the world seemed to blur, and a wave of emotions crashed over you, a mix of fear and sorrow.

Hawks reacted swiftly, rushing to you with concern etched on his face. He wrapped his hands around your frame, providing support and shielding you from the potential of falling. 

The warmth of his touch and the protective embrace offered a fleeting sense of security amid the storm of uncertainties that surrounded you.

“Y/N,” Hawks whispered quietly. “Do you want to sit down?”

You shook your head, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. "I can't, Keigo... How... how could that have happened?" you asked him, your voice choked with disbelief as you clutched his forearm. "He is... he was a great warrior..." Strong sobs shook your body, the weight of the loss pressing down on you like an unbearable burden.

As you shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks, he felt the weight of your grief and the burden of his past deeds pressing on him. The realization of the consequences of his actions began to dawn on him, and he started to rethink the choices that led to this moment. A somber silence settled between you, echoing the heaviness of the loss and the reevaluation of past decisions in the cold air.

You slowly sank down to your knees, not minding the cold snow beneath you. Pressing your hands to your heart, you gasped for air, the freezing wind ruffling your Y/H/C hair. "I know I shouldn't be crying over a man who ripped me off my land, but I forgave him long ago, and I love him so dearly... I forever will," you whined, the weight of conflicting emotions pulling at your chest as grief and love intertwined in a tangled dance. "I just wish I could tell him how much he means to me... to us," you added, gently rubbing your baby bump. With an empty gaze, you looked into the white void surrounding you. "I don't exist without him. I don't want to live without him." The words carried a profound ache, echoing the depths of your love and the fear of a future without the one who had become an integral part of your existence.

"Y/N..." Hawks whispered, placing his reassuring hand to your shoulder. "We should go back."

You looked at Hawks, your eyes demanding answers. "What happened here, Keigo?" you asked directly, the urgency and concern evident in your tone. "I know... I just feel in my bones you're not honest with me."

Hawks hesitated, reluctance painted across his features. "It was nothing," he replied vaguely, avoiding direct eye contact.

"Nothing?" you scoffed, frustration lacing your words. "You can't just stand by and watch Shoto destroy your settlement. Are you blind, Hawks? Blind to the destruction he causes, the lives he ruins?" The disappointment in your voice was palpable. "I may not be one of you, I'm a foreigner, that's true, but even to me, Skjaldvargr became home, and it truly hurts to witness it sinking under the spearheading of Shoto. Keigo, we need to stop him," you dared to say through sobs, raising your head to look into the man's golden eyes.

You saw Keigo hesitating, and deep inside, you sensed that a part of him agreed with your words. However, he remained silent.

Lowering your head, hot tears gouged trails in your pale cheeks, falling to the frozen ground beneath you. "He's going to get rid of us all once he doesn't find a purpose for us anymore. Mark my words," you whispered, the weight of your foreboding sinking into the cold, silent air.

Keigo suddenly opened up, his usual guarded demeanor faltering for a moment. "Look, Y/N, it's not that I can't see the destruction. It's just... I'm bound by loyalty. Loyalty to Shoto, even to his father Endeavor, may Allfather let his soul rest. As a warrior, it's not easy to defy the orders of those you've sworn allegiance to. I've known Shoto for a long time, since he was a little child, and I watched him grow. He's a fierce leader, a warrior of unmatched skill. And I swear to my life that I'll protect him." He sighed, conflicted emotions evident in his eyes. "But I do see your point. I can't ignore the destruction, the pain he's causing. It's tearing me apart too."

You slowly got up, looking up at the warrior. "Keigo," you whispered, your voice filled with a newfound understanding. "At first, I thought you were just a dumb marionette in the hands of Shoto, and I hated you with every fiber of my being. But now, I understand. There's only one way you can be freed, and that's by defeating Shoto. Do you think that's what Endeavor would want for his people, for his home?"

Keigo lowered his head, a heavy sigh escaping him. "Y/N, I've questioned my loyalty before, but it's not that simple. Defeating Shoto would mean betraying everything I've known, the code I've lived by. It's not just about me; it's about the years of service, the bonds forged in battles. But," he hesitated, glancing at you, "I can't ignore the destruction he's causing."

You looked up at him with sparks of hope in your eyes. "We need to do something. I don't ask you to stab him in the back. All I ask of you is not to stand in my way when I finally get a plan."

Keigo shook his head, and after a heavy sigh, and a moment of silence, he nodded, a subtle agreement to support your efforts.

You rubbed his shoulder gently. "Thank you for showing your true self, Takami," you expressed, a subtle gratitude in your touch. Glancing back above your shoulder, you shivered, not only from the overwhelming cold but also from the uneasy feeling building within your gut. "Let's get back home, shall we?" 

Keigo nodded, and you both slowly descended the little hill. 

However, you suddenly stopped. "Can you wait by the horses? I want to make a prayer," you asked, looking at him earnestly.

He agreed with a solemn nod, giving you the space you needed for your moment of reflection.

You found yourself in a white void, tiny snowflakes swirling in the cold breeze all around you. As you began to pray, your words were carried away by the frigid wind. "Oh, Allfather, hear my plea," you whispered, your voice merging with the stillness of the snowy expanse. "Grant my beloved Touya the rest among his ancestors in Valhalla. May he find solace and honor in the halls of the fallen warriors. Allfather," you continued, the words escaping your lips in the icy stillness, "grant Touya and Endeavor a reunion among the hallowed halls of your kingdom. Let them feast among the brave warriors, reunited in the afterlife. May their spirits know peace and camaraderie beyond the troubles of this world. I beseech you, Allfather, heed this prayer and let their souls find solace, together."

Your gaze shifted to the heavens. "Freya, goddess of love and guidance, lend me your strength. Guide me through the tumultuous path ahead. Even though I used to be a Christian, I am willing to pay with my life if needed. I believe in the power of your wisdom and protection. Help me, guide me, as I navigate the challenges that lay ahead. In your names, I find strength and solace."

With that, you let the silent void envelop you once more, the cold winds carrying your earnest plea into the vast expanse of the unknown.

Keigo waited for you and walked you back to the horses. With a gentle assist, he helped you mount Dabi's stallion, and soon, the rhythmic beat of hooves echoed as you headed back home.

The wind howled through the icy landscape, biting into the skin of Bakugo and Kirishima as they sat outside their hut. 

Suddenly Bakugo scoffed loudly, his eyes fixed on a figure limping through the dirt path towards the longhouse of earl Toshinorison.

The man, using wooden crutches, struggled with each step, pain etched across his scarred face. 

Bakugo's disdain was evident in his voice. "Tsk! Look at that cripple! He's not even able to walk without wincing like a pathetic bitch."

Kirishima shot his friend a sharp look and retaliated by throwing a tiny rock in his direction. "Quit it, Bakugo. He's not a cripple, and stop calling him names. He's Endeavorson, one of the best warriors of our times. That's not manly, calling someone names just because they're facing a tough time. It's only been three months since we found him, and he's already escaped death, man. Give him time," Kirishima huffed, turning his attention back to polishing his battle axe.

Bakugo rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "Did you fall in love with him, huh, shitty hair?"

Kirishima shot him another glare. "Quit it, I said."

"Or what, idiot?!" Bakugo raised his voice, challenging his friend.

Kirishima rose from his spot, attaching his axe to his thick, leather belt. "Or I won't let you sleep near the fireplace tonight, man."

"Oi! Don't get offended at me just because of some stranger, Kirishima!" Bakugo retorted, but the red-haired man paid him no mind. Determination gleamed in Kirishima's eyes as he made his way towards the man walking with crutches.

"Hey," Kirishima called out, his voice cutting through the icy air. "How are you feeling, Endeavorson?" There was a genuine concern in his eyes, a stark contrast to the disdain Bakugo had shown earlier. Kirishima's approach was both unexpected and kind, catching Touya off guard.

Touya, unused to such warmth, stopped in his tracks, wooden crutches supporting his weakened frame. He looked at the red haired, tall man, surprise mingled with a hint of suspicion in his eyes. "I... I'm fine," he mumbled, unsure of how to respond to someone who wasn't avoiding him or hurling insults.

Kirishima didn't seem deterred by Touya's guarded response. Instead, he persisted, "No need to act tough. We," he pointed his head to the blonde haired man sitting near a little hut, "found you under those snowy cliffs, barely hanging on. Must've been a tough journey, huh? How's the healing going? You're not pushing yourself too hard, are you?"

Touya blinked, the concern in Kirishima's words sinking in. A small, appreciative smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he replied, "It's been... challenging. But I appreciate your concern. Not many here bother to ask how I'm doing, but I understand. They're afraid of me."

Kirishima nodded, a determined glint in his eyes. "Well, we're not all heartless. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask," he smiled. "So were you able to remind yourself what happened on that cliff, man?"

Touya's gaze flickered with a mix of gratitude and hesitation as he continued to walk, Kirishima keeping pace beside him. The snowy landscape seemed to stretch endlessly, mirroring the uncertainties that clouded Touya's memory. "I... I've been trying," Touya confessed, his voice carrying the weight of the struggle. "But it's all foggy, like trying to grasp onto a dream slipping through your fingers, you know? I remember the biting cold, the shadows, and then... nothing. It's frustrating."

Kirishima nodded understandingly, his rugged features softened with empathy. "Must've been a hell of an ordeal. But you made it out alive, and that counts for something, right?"

Touya offered a faint smile, appreciating Kirishima's attempt to find a silver lining. "Yeah, it does. I'm grateful for the second chance, even if the details are elusive. Maybe with time, the memories will piece themselves together."

Touya's gaze lingered on the vast, snowy expanse, contemplating the unknown that lay ahead. 

Kirishima, sensing Touya's internal struggle, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We're here for you, Endeavorson. Whatever you're going through, you don't have to face it alone," Kirishima spoke with sincerity. "I most likely won't understand fully what you're going through, but you have a friend in me."

Touya nodded appreciatively, grateful for the unexpected ally by his side. 

The path to the longhouse was accompanied by a comfortable silence, broken only by the crunch of their footsteps on the dirt path.

Kirishima decided to broach a topic he had heard from Earl Yagi. "Hey, Touya," Kirishima began, a curious glint in his eyes. "I heard from earl Yagi that you were eager to depart as soon as you woke up. What's the rush?"

Touya's gaze shifted, his expression momentarily distant as he recalled the urgency that had fueled his desire to leave. "Yeah," he admitted, a hint of vulnerability in his tone. "My family... they must've thought I died. I just wanted to see them again, let them know I'm alive."

Kirishima's grin widened, sensing there might be more to the story. "Is it just about family, or is there a special someone waiting for you, too?"

Touya's cheeks tinged with a subtle blush, and he averted his gaze. "Well, there is someone. I want to see her again."

Kirishima chuckled heartily, clapping Touya on the back. "Ah, love! Now it makes sense. A man's got priorities, that's so manly! You're not alone in wanting to reunite with your loved one. We all have something or someone worth fighting for."

Touya's embarrassment transformed into a bashful smile, appreciating Kirishima's understanding. 

The imposing structure of the Great Hall loomed ahead, its massive doors beckoning them forward. Kirishima came to a stop, turning to face Touya with a determined expression. "Just so you know," Kirishima began, his voice carrying a tone of sincerity, "I and my best friend Bakugo, that forever-offended blonde you saw earlier, were assigned to help you regain your prowess in fighting once your legs work well again. And just don't mind Bakugo, he has an awful personality, but he's a great and skilled warrior."

Touya nodded appreciatively, grateful for the information and the support he was receiving in this unfamiliar place. "Thank you, Kirishima. I appreciate the help."

As they approached the heavy doors of the Great Hall, Kirishima stepped forward, taking the initiative to open them for Touya. The creaking hinges echoed through the hall as the doors swung open, revealing the grandeur within.

"Go ahead," Kirishima gestured, a courteous smile on his face. "Take your time. And you can call me Eijiro or Red Riot, whatever suits you better."

Touya nodded again, his gratitude evident in his turquoise eyes. He slowly made his way inside, the warmth of the hall a stark contrast to the cold exterior. 

Kirishima remained at the entrance, waiting patiently until Touya had safely entered the hall. "Good luck in there," Kirishima offered a parting wish, his voice filled with genuine encouragement. "And if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. We're here for you."

With that, Kirishima bid farewell to Touya and turned to go about his duties, leaving the Great Hall behind him. 

The heavy doors closed with a resounding thud, enveloping Touya in the welcoming embrace of the earl's domain.

Earl Toshinorison, immersed in the weight of his responsibilities, looked up from the documents as he noticed Touya entering the room. A warm smile played on his lips, and he beckoned for Touya to join him. "Oh, Touya, come here, come here," earl Yagi greeted, his voice carrying a sense of camaraderie. 

Touya, despite the lingering pain in his legs, slowly made his way to a long table and took a seat on a wooden chair with a heavy sigh. "Any news from the envoy, my lord?" Touya inquired, his tone laced with concern. "Forgive me for asking about this repeatedly, but it's already been several days, and we haven't heard from them yet."

Earl Yagi placed a paper on the table and set the metal stylus aside, giving Endeavorson a knowing glance. "You're impatient, son. I'm sure we'll hear from them soon. Don't forget your settlement is nearly four days away from here," he reminded, attempting to assuage Touya's worries.

Despite the reassurance, an unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling lingered within Touya whenever he thought about his home. He hoped for the well-being of everyone there, especially Shoto, praying that he had managed to escape the looming threat they apparently faced together. And then there was you, his beloved woman, whose name rolled off Touya's lips every relentless night.

Touya nodded in acknowledgment of earl Yagi's words, yet the unease persisted. The distant wait for news from his homeland weighed heavily on him, and the yearning for assurance about the safety and happiness of those he left behind lingered like a shadow in the depths of his thoughts.

Shortly after returning from your journey with Hawks, you began feeling unwell.

A day later, Shoto returned from his own trip, only to find you in considerable pain, experiencing contractions.

The burden of sorrow and sadness weighed heavily on you, prompting an untimely and challenging childbirth.

You lay on the bed in earl Shoto's room, the sheets already stained with your blood and tears. The midwives bustled around you, their faces etched with concern. The pain was unbearable, like a thousand knives stabbing you with each contraction. You screamed, the sound echoing through the room. 

Shoto paced back and forth near the bed, his face contorted with worry. "Help her!" he screamed at the thralls, his voice filled with pure rage. "Help her or I'll hang you by the dawn!"

They scurried to your side, wiping your forehead with a damp cloth. The pain was indescribable, a searing, burning sensation that threatened to consume you.

Shoto's face was pale as he watched the scene unfold. He glanced between your legs, his eyes widening at the sight of blood and gore. 

Shoto's eyes darted away, an involuntary reaction to a scene that was unbearable even for someone who had witnessed his fair share of hardships. The weight of the sights he had seen in the past seemed to pale in comparison to what lay before him now. "Do something! She's in pain!" he roared.

"Push, my lady," one of the midwives urged, her voice gentle but firm. "You need to push!"

You bore down, your body shaking with the effort. You could feel the baby's head crowning, the sensation both terrifying and exhilarating. You gritted your teeth and pushed. You had never felt pain like this before, but you knew it would all be worth it in the end. "I... Can't..." you whimpered, your head rolling back to the pillows.

"Again, push now," the midwife said, her voice soothing. "You're doing great, my lady. Just a little bit more, and the baby will be here, my lady."

You pushed once more, using all of your strength, feeling the baby slip from your body, and you screamed in pain again. 

The midwives rushed to clean the baby, their faces alight with joy. "It's a boy," one of them said, and you felt a surge of love and happiness as the first tears rolled down your flushed cheeks. 

But your pain was far from over. The afterbirth needed to be delivered, and the contractions continued to rack your body. You screamed, the sound primal and raw. 

Shoto's face was a mask of worry, but he remained silent, knowing that there was nothing he could do to ease your pain.

The midwives worked quickly, delivering the afterbirth and cleaning you up. The pain slowly began to subside, leaving you exhausted but relieved. 

Shoto approached the midwife who was holding the newborn. After the baby was cleaned, it was passed to the young earl. He scoffed loudly, growing angry upon seeing a white down on the little boy's head and the pair of perfectly turquoise eyes slowly opening from time to time. "Fuck," Shoto growled with anger.

You begged the midwife to pass you the baby, and she took the baby from Shoto after he passed it with anger. 

The baby was placed to your chest, and you slowly stroked the little head. It was Touya's child. Shoto's anger was now painfully clear.

You hesitated to meet Shoto's gaze, apprehensive of the storm brewing within him. His face was etched with pure rage, and for a moment, you feared his reaction.

Shoto, after a moment of tense silence, finally spoke, his voice cold and measured. "I should expect you to bear my deceased brother's child," he stated, his eyes locked onto yours. “Pathetic whore.”

As you glanced at him with a mix of fear and uncertainty, Shoto's expression softened slightly, yet you noticed a twisted grimace curling his lips. "However," he continued, "I'll raise this boy as my own son. Once you recover from childbirth, we'll lay together again. And again. And again. I'll ensure you give me my own heir."

You trembled at Shoto's words, the mere thought of having to lay with him again sending a cold shiver down your spine. The weight of his expectations, the complex emotions surrounding the situation, and the uncertainty of your future left you paralyzed.

Before you could manage a reply, Shoto simply left the room, leaving behind a lingering coldness in his wake. His parting words, a sharp and indifferent command to his thralls, hung in the air. "Clean that fucking mess."

You looked down at the crying baby nestled in your arms, his tiny features a poignant reminder of the complex emotions swirling within you. Gently, you pressed a tender kiss on the tiny forehead, feeling the warmth of your affection seep into the fragile being. "My little boy. My beautiful boy," you whispered, your voice a mixture of love, gratitude, and a tinge of sorrow. The tear that rolled down your cheek bore witness to the intricate tapestry of emotions woven into this moment.

With a heartfelt sincerity, you turned your gaze skyward and silently thanked Freya, the goddess who had guided you through this tumultuous journey. Gratitude filled your heart for the gift of Touya's son, a precious life that now depended on your love and care.

In the quiet moments that followed, the room seemed to echo with the soft cries of the newborn, a testament to the fragility and resilience of life. As you cradled the baby close, you vowed to navigate the challenges ahead with the same strength and determination that had brought you to this moment. And in the stillness of the room, you found solace in the love that already bloomed between you and the tiny soul entrusted to your care.

Meanwhile, Shoto sat heavily on the throne in the grand throne chamber, the weight of recent events evident in the furrowed lines on his forehead. The air in the room seemed thick with tension as he grappled with the tumultuous emotions swirling within.

Hawks, having learned from the guards that the child had been born, stepped into the chamber cautiously. "My lord?" he inquired, bowing respectfully to Shoto.

The red-and-white-haired earl glanced at his most trusted warrior, his expression a mix of frustration and agitation. "It's his," Shoto snarled, the words escaping his lips with a venomous edge. "He won't stop hounding me, even from the afterlife."

Hawks, recognizing the gravity of Shoto's words, remained silent for a moment, his keen eyes studying the earl's troubled demeanor. 

"Is that Odin trying to punish me for my deeds? Apparently, the past never dies," Shoto's voice cut through the somber air, a question directed more to the invisible forces than to anyone present in the room. His mismatched eyes remained fixed on some distant point, as if seeking answers in the unseen. "All I ever wanted was to make Skjaldvargr strong like never before, so everyone would fear us," Shoto continued, his voice carrying a mix of determination and introspection.

As the room absorbed his words, Shoto's thoughts seemed to wander into the realm of self-doubt. "Maybe I made a mistake letting Touya die? Killing my father?" he whispered, the words almost lost in the echoes of his inner turmoil. A moment later, he shook his head, as if attempting to dispel the doubts that threatened to take root. "No. All these decisions were good."

Before the heavy silence could stretch further, a guard interrupted, stepping into the room with news. "My lord, an envoy from Hvinverjadalr pleads to see you."

Shoto's frown deepened, exchanging glances with Hawks, who maintained his silent vigil. With a reluctant nod, the earl acknowledged the envoy's request, setting aside the internal struggle for the time being to face the external challenges that awaited him in the form of the visiting envoy.

The guards led the older man into the throne chamber, where he was forced to kneel before Shoto, the earl of Skjaldvargr. Shoto, in a gesture of casual indifference, rested his chin on his hand, which was propped against an armrest of his bespangled throne, his mismatched eyes keenly observing the envoy.

The older man bowed respectfully and identified himself as an envoy from Hvinverjadalr, bearing a message from Earl Toshinorison.

Shoto's expression tightened slightly at the mention of the earl's name. All Might, known by that call sign, was a formidable adversary of Shoto's deceased father, Endeavor.

"What message are you bringing to us?" Shoto inquired, his tone measured and unwavering.

The envoy bowed once more before revealing the content of the message. "Our earl wants to let you know your brother, Touya Endeavorson, is well and alive in our settlement."

Shoto's eyes widened slowly, the weight of the revelation sinking in. The news was like a sudden gust of wind, sweeping away the hopes of his carefully crafted plans to turn true. A mix of disbelief and hope flickered in Shoto's mismatched eyes, and for a moment, the throne chamber seemed suspended in a profound silence as the implications of this unexpected revelation unfolded. “Is that so?” he ground his question out.

The envoy nodded his head, offering an explanation for the delayed revelation. "We didn't let you know earlier, my lord, as Touya was in a very serious health condition. Thankfully, Allfather helped him to survive and slowly regain his health."

Shoto's gaze shifted to Hawks, the unspoken understanding between them echoing in the charged silence. 

Hawks felt his heart quicken within his chest, a mix of surprise and worry coursing through his veins. The news, while unexpected, carried a glimmer of hope, a flicker of a possibility Hawks hadn't dared to entertain until now. Perhaps Y/N words were prophetic?

Shoto's features remained composed, but the intensity in his mismatched eyes betrayed the emotions churning beneath the surface. 

Shoto, with practiced ease, managed to summon a smile that did not reach his mismatched eyes. "Thank you for the news," he said, his tone wryly polite. The revelation about Touya's survival had stirred a tempest of conflicting emotions within him, and Shoto struggled to conceal the storm behind a veneer of civility. He leaned back into his throne, feigning casual interest. "Did my brother share any details about what happened?" Shoto inquired, a facade of genuine concern in his voice.

The envoy shook his head, "No, my lord. Touya doesn't remember much."

Shoto's grin, though slight, carried a complexity of emotions. It was a bittersweet acknowledgment, for while Touya's survival brought threat to all of Shoto's plans, the memory loss shielded him from the painful truth of Shoto's involvement in the events that had transpired.

"And for that wonderful news, you deserve a reward," Shoto declared, a saccharine smile playing on his lips. His gaze shifted to a guard, and with a small nod, the envoy's fate was sealed.

In a swift, merciless motion, the guard slit the envoy's throat, and the dying man was unceremoniously pushed onto the stone floor. The chamber echoed with the grotesque sounds of a life seeping away.

Shoto nodded at his guards, his demeanor betraying little emotion. "Clean the mess and dispose of the body," he ordered, rising from the throne. 

Hawks approached the earl, his eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and concern. "What are you planning to do now, my lord?" he inquired, his tone laced with a sense of anticipation.

Shoto regarded him with a pointed look, his expression unyielding. "We are preparing for war," he declared, his voice carrying a resolute edge. "I won't allow our people to rally behind Touya. The truth of his survival will inevitably surface, that much is certain. So, we'll take the initiative. We'll inform them that my eldest brother, dear as he may be, has chosen to form an alliance with our notorious adversary, Toshinorison. It will serve as a perfect pretext to launch an attack on Hvinverjadalr, and sever the head of my beloved brother for his betrayal."

heathen wolves: @queenkhepri @indignant-alpaca @misafiryanki @roast-toast @within-eyesight @crystalwolfblog @haseki-huricihan @violet-forgetmenot @dagger-dragger @smartspot @alientobe @zero-sugar-null @peter-sommer @thedancingparrot @dearsunaa @greaterheart @krispyjellyfishzombie @vroobelek @doumaslotus @they2luv1naia

[viking-raider]

Sy's Therapy Barn

Summary: Austin Syverson is newly retired from the Army and struggling to cope with his PTSD. Until he decides to take a chance on a hobby, most wouldn't think could help, and the person there to help teach him how to do it.

Pairing: Syverson/Reader

Word Count: 5k

Rating: M - Quick-Burn, Language, Angst, Fluff, Mentions of PTSD, Combat Fatigue, Trauma, Wine drinking, Flirting, Support System, Movie Quotes, Leap of Faith, Mentions (but no depictions) of Mental Illness, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, SMUT - Light, P in V

Inspiration: I saw this Instagram video of a handsome, buff gentleman that ran a pottery business and promoted it on the site.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed it. I am so sorry to any Pottery people for butchering it.

Syverson wouldn't lie, even though he had thought the hobby was stupid, the first time he thought about it. But, upon seeing a poster at an outdoor market he had decided to attend one, warm Dallas weekend, to get out of the house. Something inside of Sy had urged him to save the number in his phone, before finding the ale stand.

It wasn't until almost a month later, after waking up in the dead of night. He laid curled up in a ball, hugging his knees and struggling to breath. With the blankets and pillows thrown off the king-sized bed, and the black fitted sheet beneath him drenched in his sweat. Aika pressed against his back and whimpering at her owner's distress. It was then that Sy knew he needed something more, other than just denial, the gun range and booze to deal with his PTSD and Combat Fatigue.

He wasn't about to go sit down on some squeaky metal, folding chair, in the basement of some random religious church, listening to other Vets talk about their combat experience. Everyone nodding their heads and offering sympathy and the Word of God. Sy had stopped believing in God over a decade ago. Because, how could some magical man in the sky, with some grand plan for you, before and after you died, allow such bullshit evil into the world.

He didn't want sympathy, far from it.

Austin Syverson, also didn't do sympathy.

So, he pulled up the number from the outdoor market and gave the business a call.

“Mini's Pottery Haven, how can I help you?” A cheery voice chimed on the other end.

Sy let out a hard breath. “Hi, I saw your poster at a market, a couple weeks ago, for a pottery class.” He said, rubbing a palm over his buzzed head, feeling stupid for calling a pottery business, thinking it would help him, in any way, with his trauma. “I was wondering, if you're still doing classes?”

“Yes, we are!” She confirmed, happily. “We have one tonight, with two spots left, if you'd like to join it.”

“Oh!” Sy started, surprised, not expecting one so soon, hoping for a day to work up the nerve to call her back and cancel. “How much is it?”

“Thirty dollars, for just one person, and sixty dollars for a couple.” She informed him, pressing her phone to her ear and bringing up the planner on her computer. “You can pay when you arrive at the class.” She added, distractedly.

Sy paced his kitchen for a moment, before pausing and straightening his back. “I'll take one of the spots and pay the thirty, when I arrive.”

“Excellent! Can I have your name, please?”

“Syverson.” He answered, out of pure habit.

“All right, we look forward to seeing you tonight, and what you create!” She told him, her voice upbeat and optimistic, like she expected Sy to be the next Michelangelo, before hanging up.

“The boys would lose their shit, if they ever find out I tried pottery.” Sy said, stuffing his phone into the front pocket of his jeans.

Later that night, Sy found himself standing out front of the humble, little pottery shop, the full window front was bright from the lights inside, which was flowing with people, all standing around chatting with each other and holding glasses of wine.

“At least, they have booze.” Sy commented to himself.

“First time?” A soft voice asked, from behind him.

“Huh?” He frowned, turning around to find a gorgeous woman standing behind him, a large bag slung over her shoulder, as she regarded him with a kind expression. “Oh, yeah. You?” He asked, trying to be polite.

“Naw, I've been getting my hands messy with clay for years.” You smiled at him, patting your bag. “I assume you're here for the class.” You asked, motioning towards the shop.

“I am.” Sy nodded, licking his lips. “Just working up the nerve to go inside.” He explained to you.

“Ah, yeah. We pottery nerds can be dangerous.” You teased, smirking up at him. “You make one reference to Ghost in there and they'll turn you into a clay mold. If not, pelt you out of the shop with lumps of it.” You giggled, moving by him to step up onto the curb and grab the door handle.

A laugh rumbled out of Sy's broad chest, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I'll make sure to keep the Ghost quotes to myself then.” He said, turning his sparkling blue eyes towards you.

“Well, no time like the present.” You told him, pulling the door open and holding it for him.

“That's true.” He nodded, his smile softly fading as he joined you on the sidewalk, stopping beside you for a moment. “Thanks for the pep talk.” He said, giving you a gentle nod, before going inside.

The place was a buzz with voices as he paused by the counter, taking out his wallet to pay for his admission for the night's class. He glanced over his shoulder to see where you'd gone, but you had vanished somewhere into the crowd. Shrugging, figuring you'd paid in advance or had some sort of membership, he handed over his bank card to Mini, the owner of the business, who was a sweet looking, elderly woman, dressed in a loose and colorful, bohemian strap dress. Taking his card and the Hello, My Name Is: sticker she handed back with it, Sy turned away, spotting the small wine station, also surrounded by numerous black sharpies. He headed over, scribbling Sy, on his sticker and poured himself a glass of some kind of red wine, before finding somewhere quiet to stand, to wait for the class to start.

As he stood there, sipping his wine and looking at a wall of finished clay figurines, cups and other knick knacks, he felt a pair of eyes on him. Clearing his throat, he glanced sideways, figuring you were checking him out, which he was more than fine with. But he discovered it was another woman giving him eye-candy. She was tall, with bleach-blonde hair and in a hot-pink tracksuit, she felt out of place for a pottery shop. Though, Sy knew he shouldn't be one to speak, standing there in a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt, that had been to war with him, tight blue jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, with a black stetson cowboy hat.

The way she lifted her wine glass, however, suggested she wanted to jump his bones.

Which only amused the retired Army Captain.

“All right, ladies and gentleman!” Mini called, clapping her hands together and coming around the counter to regard her customers. “If we can all head towards the other end of the shop, where all the potter's wheels and everything are. We can start the class.” She smiled, motioning everyone to the back.

Everyone moved to the back in a messy, single-file line, still sipping the rest of their wine and chatting with each other. The woman in the pink tracksuit lagging back to walk with Sy, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Ma'am.” He acknowledged her, touching the brim of his hat, but didn't give her much else.

“What's a man like you doing in a pottery class?” She asked, biting the corner of her lip.

Sy licked his lips. “I got nothing better to do.” He said, not willing to admit the real reason he was there to her.

“I'm sure a big, strong, handsome man like you could find something to do.” She insinuated, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Pottery is just fine, thanks.” Sy replied, offering her a weak smile.

“Everyone, please find a pottery wheel and it doesn't matter which one.” Mini said, motioning to the dozen or so pottery wheels in a circle, a round lump of clay already waiting on them to be shaped.

Sy waited until almost everyone was seated, not wanting to take the chance of getting stuck sitting next to the woman hitting on him, far from that mood tonight. So, taking up a pottery wheel and grabbing the provided apron, he took off his hat and set it on a shelf behind his wheel, and slipped on the apron. Sy chuckled, sitting down on the comically small stool before the wheel, as he balanced his large, muscular body on it, smirking up at the rest of the group; seeing some of them sit on the stool like they'd done it a million times and others wobble.

“The first thing we're going to do, before we start shaping our clay,” Mini began explaining, sitting at wheel herself, apron on and perched on her stool, like the forty-plus year pottery maker she was. “is to assign our first timers, helpers. I will be giving instructions and so forth, but your helper will be there for you, just in case you need a refresher or get frustrated.” She told the group, looking around at everyone. “But just remember, just like us, human beings, we are all unique and beautiful. It doesn't matter how many times your clay refuses to shape into what your mind's eye thinks it should, or tears apart, or even if it doesn't bake right in the kiln. It is still beautiful! You still brought it into this world with your own two hands, and you should be proud of that. Because it's something no one else in this room did.”

Sy blinked at her, slightly taken aback by her statement. So used to Army instructors drilling into him about, if it's not perfect, you're dead or your buddy next to you, is.

“So, helpers, I'll let you pick your person. You've all worked here before, so you know how to identify them.”

“And how do you do that?” Someone blurted out, making Mini and the helpers chuckle.

“Well, that's one way for us to find you.” One of the helpers quipped in an Australian accent, moving across the room to said person. “But, it's the name tags, mate, or Ryan, I should say.” He smirked, offering out his hand to the newcomer. “I'm Joel.”

“Those of us here that don't have a name tag, are old pros.” Mini smiled, resting her forearms on the edge of her potter's wheel, while the rest of the helpers spread out.

“Good to see you made it all the way into the building.”

Sy looked over his shoulder and grinned up at you. “Yeah, I had a little bit of help.” He replied, glad, and a bit surprised, to see you were one of the helpers.

“Well, you're about to get some more help.” You said, glancing at his name tag. “Sy.”

He felt a lump lodge in his throat as you said his name. “That's great.” He rasped back. “I'm going to need it. These hands have only known how to do one thing, for the last twenty years.” He told you, holding up his calloused mitts.

“Oh, you got good hands for clay shaping.” You said, taking one of them in both of yours. “I'm sure we can teach these pups a new trick or two.”

“Can you teach this ol' pup any?” Sy asked, smiling at you.

“I might.” You nodded, pulling a stool up beside him. “Let's listen to Mini first, then we can find out what you want to make that clay into.” You told him, giving him an encouraging smile, that cracked open the door to a place he had tried to keep shut.

“Everyone have their partner?” Mini asked, looking around, then nodded. “Good! Now, you're going to learn your proper posture for molding.” She began, leaning forward and started her instruction for the next several minutes.

“Christ, I don't know if I can remember all that.” Sy said, blowing out a breath and shaking his head at his mound of clay. “I'm just a simple country boy, fresh out of the Army.”

You giggled beside him, lightly patting him on the back. “That's why you got me.” You reminded him, sweetly. “Now, what do you want to make? And, I swear if you say a dildo, I will get up and leave.” You warned him, seriously.

“Have people actually asked you that?” He frowned, cocking his head at you.

“Yes, more often than you might think.” You huffed, shaking your head. “I'll make anything else though.”

“To be honest with you,” Sy started, frowning down at the clay and shaking his head. “I don't know what to make. I've never been the artistic type. I always failed art class back in school.”

“Well, that's the wonder of art, and clay for that matter, Sy.” You told him, softly. “You can make whatever you want. You don't need to be artsy for it. What's the first thing that comes to your mind? Anything at all.”

“My dog.” He blurted out, biting his lip, feeling silly for it.

“All right, what about a dog bowl?” You suggested, tossing out the first dog related thing that came to your mind.

“Could we make a bowl?” Sy asked, looking over at you.

“Absolutely!” You nodded, grinning. “If you wanna make a bowl for your doggo, then we'll make one. I'll use all ten years of my clay making experience to help.”

“All right, a bowl for Aika, it is.” Sy nodded back, inspired.

“That's a sweet name.” You commented, watching Sy position himself, much as Mini instructed, then drizzle a little bit of water onto the clay and cup it in his large hands, almost hiding it completely in his palms as he started to work the wheel with his foot. “Good, that's a great speed. Keep it up. Little less pressure though.” You reminded him, watching the clay start to pancake a bit.

“Sorry.” He apologized, letting off on it.

“You're all right.” You answered, shaking your head. “So, what made you try out pottery?” You asked, reaching out, instinctively, to add a little more water.

Sy was quiet for a long moment, playing with and shaping his clay, watching the thick residue from it cover his fingers and palms. While trying to find a way to answer. He could give you the same answer he'd given the pink tracksuit lady or he could be honest. Spying you from the corner of his eye, he noticed you weren't waiting for a reply, not being pushy or intrusive. You had simply asked him the question and given him the space to answer it, when and if he wanted to with no hard feelings.

It was a breath of fresh air to him, just like feeling the wet clay in his hands. Knowing he was creating something, not harming it.

“I was hoping it would help me,” He finally answered you, licking his lips, deciding to be honest. “With my combat PTSD.” He added softer, waiting for your reaction.

“It can be quite calming.” You admitted, no ill reaction on your face. “It can also be rather frustrating.” You chuckled, with a smirk. “I about tossed the piece I was working on this morning, when one of the sides collapsed on me. I'd only been working on it for six hours.”

“Six hours!” Sy exclaimed, sitting back to look at you more steadily.

“You suffer for the art sometimes.” You told him, with amusement at his expression. “But, it's well worth it in the end. Most of the time, at least.”

“Christ, I hope this doesn't take that long.” He said, looking down at the weirdly shaped, almost oblong bit of clay on his wheel.

You looked around the room, before leaning close to Sy. “I think you're wonderful, Oda Mae.” You whispered into his ear, so none of your friends could hear you, knowing the complaints they'd give you for the reference after the class.

A huge smile crossed Sy's face and he howled with laughter, catching everyone's attention.

“I crack a good joke, we all know it!” You told them, grinning with guilt.

“I like you.” Sy said, once everyone's attention went back to their own station. “You're the first person that's made me laugh, like that, since I came home on retirement from the Army. A year ago.”

“Oh yeah?” You grinned, feeling a hot rush through your body that wasn't the glass of wine you had earlier. “Well, if you think I can crack a good joke, you'll see how good of a pottery teacher I am.”

“You take any students?” Sy blurted out, before he knew what he was thinking.

You floundered, mouth hanging open. “Um, no.” You admitted, shocked he'd asked, then saw the light start to fade in his blue eyes. “But I could consider it.” You said, quickly. “Especially if it helps you cope with your PTSD.”

“I think it just might.” He proclaimed, finding himself smitten with both pottery and you.

You laughed, throwing up your arm as Sy flicked the wet clay on his fingers at you. “Austin!” You tried to duck the mucky droplets as they splattered all over your apron, the side of your arm, face and hair, still giggling.

“You were looking a bit dry over there!” He guffawed, grinning at you. “What the heck, are you shapin', anyhow?” He asked, balancing himself back on his stool and eyeing your kaolin clay, seeing the strange, cup-like shape you had going.

“I don't really know.” You sighed, shrugging your shoulders at the grayish-yellow clay before you. “I'm just trying to understand it, and make something. That will hopefully not crack in the kiln. If I ever get around to firing it.” You told him, leaning forward again, feeling the soreness in your lower spine and forearms from working in that position for so long. “What about you?” You asked, cocking a brow at Sy, without looking away from what you were starting to consider your Frankenstein.

“Another ceramic grenade cup.” You smirked, curving your thumb into the center of the clay. “Or, what was that tea pot you made?” You asked, giggling as you recalled pulling the craft out of the kiln.

“I don't want to talk about it.” Sy replied, sounding disgruntled.

You laughed, nodding your head. “That's right, it was supposed to be a turt—Austin!” You shrieked, as his big, wet clay covered mitt swiped across your face. “Oh my god!”

“It was nothing, woman.” He huffed at you, with mischievous eyes, as he sat back down. “But I do have a question for you, babe.”

“Oh?” You replied, standing up to wipe the streak off your face before it dried.

“I was thinking,” He paused for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip as he continued to work his clay. “I still have a large chunk of my retirement payment from the Army, just sitting in my bank account.” He said, scowling as one side of the clay started to collapse.

“All right.” You nodded, staring down at him, as you stood between your two pottery wheels in the garage of Sy's house, situated on the ten acres he owned.

“I've been considering,” He licked his lips and sat back, to look up at you, wanting to see your face when he said aloud what had been on his mind for the last year and a half. “I want to open up my own shop.”

You blinked at him a couple times, processing his words. “Your own pottery shop?” You asked for clarification.

“Yeah, I want to open a pottery barn, to help Vets, like myself. Hell, to help anyone with PTSD or trauma. It helped me through so many nights of episodes and flashbacks.” He explained to you, babbling out the idea that had been swirling around him, and looked back up. “You helped me.” He whispered quietly, before shaking his head and squeezing the clay on his wheel.

“It's a stupid idea.”

Watching him destroy the piece he'd just spent the last hour and a half working on, stung you, but it hurt you more to hear him say his idea was stupid. You thought it was incredible. That it was so thoughtful and sweet of him to want to share a hobby that had given him so much in the last two years.

You were flattered to be a part of that journey with him, as well.

Your big bear.

“I think it's a terribly-” You sat down in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “good idea, Austin Syverson.” You declared, kissing him lovingly. “And if I hear anyone say otherwise, I'll pelt them with wet clay, until they think it is.”

A bright smile pulled across Sy's face as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “So, you'll come be my first employee?” He asked, nosing the side of your neck, smelling your perfume mixed with the earthy scents of pottery, tinged with a light sheen of sweat from how warm it was in the garage.

“Oh, I'm going to work for you, am I?” You cooed, amused. “What position, do I get?”

“Hmm.” He hummed, pressing his lips to your skin. “How about the head of pottery?”

“What's your job going to be?” You asked, eyes fluttering shut.

“I'm the boss.” He chuckled, tugging on your ear. “I'll have a bunch of jobs. But there's no one I trust more than you, with all your infinite wisdom of pottery, to run that area.” He told you, his hands pushing under your tank top. “I do only have two years of experience, compared to your thirteen.”

“Oh, laying it on thicker than a glaze, Captain.” You purred, feeling his fingers leave trails of drying clay on the skin of your back. “But I do like the sound of it. Do I get to boss you around during classes?” You asked, cupping the back of his head in your palm and rubbing the short hair there with your thumb, while your other hand dripped to the strings of his camouflage apron.

Sy smirked, giving your neck a sharp bite and making you gasp. “You boss me around already.”

“I do not!” You huffed, with an amused flash in your eyes, pushing his head back to look up at you.

“Whatever you say, my darling.” He replied, blue eyes sparkling.

“That's what I thought.” You smirked, kissing the bridge of his nose.

Pulling his hands from your tank top and gripping you by the hips, Sy pushed you up and pulled your legs across his lap, so you straddled him. You moaned at the straining bulge in his black sweatpants, pressing down against it through your short-shorts, sucking lightly on your bottom lip.

“What are we calling your little pottery business?” You hummed, reaching between your bodies to slip into the waistband of his sweats, finding his thick manhood and gliding your hand along it, drawing out a shivering sigh out from him.

“I don't know.” He rasped, clawing at your hips and the band of your shorts, leaving red marks in their wake. “Maybe, Sy's Therapy Barn or something.” He puffed, losing focus on the idea of running a business and growing more interested in tearing your shorts and underwear off.

“I like it.” You nodded, slipping off his lap, smiling at his hands grabbing to bring you back, but stood and took your shorts and panties off, before straddling his thick thighs again. “Rolls of the tongue and easy to remember.” You told him, taking his burning shaft in your hand, stroking him firmly as you guided him towards your glistening entrance.

“Mmhm.” Sy mumbled, his mouth latching onto your collarbone. “Whatever you say, babe.”

You chuckled, caressing your free hand over his head and gripped his shoulder, using it as leverage to sink down onto him, with a soft sigh and leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I love you, Syverson.”

“Ditto.” He rumbled back, wrapping his arms around you and locking you against him.

“Welcome to Sy's Therapy Barn!” You grinned as a man came through the door, the bell above it chiming through the building, his ripped muscles making the fabric of his Under Armor shirt scream, his tattooed arms showing below the short sleeves. “Are you here for the classes or to look about?” You asked, motioning around the grand shop with beaming pride.

You and Sy had found a thousand square foot warehouse, filling it with all your pottery and therapy needs and dreams. Sy had even decided to go to school and become a licensed therapist, allowing him to help the people coming into the Therapy Barn better. While they got their hands cupped around the little mounds of clay, during your classes, so they could shape it into whatever their minds wanted or needed.

Part of the warehouse was set up with kilns of all sizes and kinds, tall and wide shelves to hold pour molds and drying creations. While another section was where you and Sy held the classes for the therapy groups, either for former or active Combat Service people or, those who Sy referred to as Regulars, members of the public who hadn't served. All of them there to try and remedy their PTSD, trauma, depression, loss, domestic violence or anything else along those lines.

People that didn't require therapy were also welcome, of course.

But the two of you catered to those in need specifically, and so far, business was booming. Sy had gone to the several local Veteran Centers in the Dallas area with fliers promoting the business's program, as well as the VFW Canteens and posting on the internet. Even calling some of his old comrades. Sy had been worried and a bit skeptical with your first pottery class, sure that no one was going to show up to it. However, when the time rolled around, the bell above the front door started dinging with customers, most of them were middle aged or elderly, but there were several your and Sy's age, looking apprehensive.

It made you smile to see that look on their face, it was the exact expression you'd seen on Sy's face, that night you met in the parking lot of Mini's Pottery Barn, before he discovered the magic of forming clay. You always looked forward to seeing it change into the wonder of how amazing it is, to see your brave Captain use his fresh Bachelor's Degree to help them work through the same struggles he had. The struggles you had woken up at one or two in the morning, to find Sy in the garage, in nothing, but the shorts he'd gone to bed in, hunched over his pottery wheel, his muscles tight and teeth gritted, but his hands cupped gently around the piece of clay he was working. Trying to chase away whatever he had been awoken by.

“I'm here for the class, with Dr. Syverson.” He replied, looking around uneasily, like he expected a bomb to go off in one of the teapots you'd crafted and had on sale in the front window of the shop.

“That's great!” You grinned at him, trying to be open and encouraging towards him. “The class will start in ten minutes. You can either take a seat or have a look around. There's coffee, tea and water on the table with some cupcakes and snicker-doodle cookies, so help yourself.”

“No booze.” He mumbled, eyeing the table.

“No,” You answered, giving him an emphatic look. “Some of our potter's are recovering and sober, so we don't offer it.” You explained to him, glancing over at one of your regulars with a nod. “To repress the urge to relapse.”

He looked at you for a moment. “That's—actually, very thoughtful of you.” He said, blinking as it came over him.

“We do our best.” Sy said, appearing from the back. “Pleasure to meet ya.” He offered his hand to the other man. “Captain Syverson, 1st battalion, 3rd SFG(a). Also Dr. Austin Syverson, the co-owner of this here Therapy Barn.” He introduced himself, always giving his classifications to the Vets, knowing how at ease it made them and started that thread of a bond with him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Captain.” He replied, shaking Sy's hand. “Lieutenant Daniel Burton, 3rd recon battalion, for the Marines.”

“Well, it's good to meet you, Lieutenant.” Sy nodded, then smiled over at you, his hand moving to rest on the small of your back. “I'm sure my fiancee has given you the introduction to our business.”

“That she has.” Daniel nodded, giving you a kind smile. “Though, I'll admit, I'm a little apprehensive as to how this is going to help me get straightened out. I watched some videos on pottery on Youtube and it just doesn't seem like much.”

You and Sy looked at each other, a smile and knowing look on each other's faces.

“It seems that way. I thought the same thing, myself, at first.” Sy confessed, a winking at you. “But, all you have to do is take all your emotions. All your pain, all your love, all your passion and all your rage and work it into that bit of clay we give you on that pottery wheel and the rest comes with it.”

You looked at Sy, it had become a thing between the two of you, and in doing so, that line had become his motto. It had become part of the business's motto, and few people actually caught the reference. But that was all right. The two of you still got through to people in the end. Saving them from their dark past through horrible movie quotes, a man that took a chance on a hobby and your skill with moving clay, sculpting a life and a business out of it.

[axelsagewrites]

Hello,

Can you write an ivar x reader where, as a child reader had a crush on ivar and followed him around. He ends up saying mean things about her to his brothers, not realizing she can hear him. He ends up realizing he has feelings for her but she ends up moving away. Years later, she returns, and she's extremely pretty. Ivars hoping to confess how he feels, but his brothers have also noticed how pretty she's become.

Ivar the Boneless*Shy

Pairing: Ivar x f!reader

Word count: 2081

Warnings: being a shy kid, ivar being bullied by his brothers, ivar being mean as a kid, jealousy, ragnarsson brothers hitting on reader, angst fluff

Masterlist here

As the daughter of a Viking warrior and earl you were expected to be tough and ferocious and rambunctious and all other Viking traits. However, at five years old you were shy, timid, and terrified of Kattegat. You were here with your father on ‘business’ and had been practically clinging to the backs of his legs since you arrived.

It was Ragnar who suggested his sons show you around. Ten-year-old Ubbe took charge of that, giving you a tour around Kattegat as you silently nodded along. Eight-year-old Hvitserk and seven-year-old Sigurd couldn’t have cared less you were there so long as you were quiet when following them all around.

Five-year-old Ivar was sceptical at first, being equally as silent as you. Eventually you ended up at the edge of the forest sat beside Ivar as you watched the older three ‘train’ sword fighting with sticks. Ivar was angrily stabbing the dirt with his stick and didn’t even notice when you wondered off. However, he looked with interest when you returned, what looked like a hundred picked flowers in your apron.

You sat back beside him, dumping the flowers on the ground as you began to fashion a flower crown. “What are you doing?” Ivar’s voice made you jump making him mumble, “Sorry,” as he shuffled to see what you were creating.

“Daisy chains,” you told him, and you sat in silence as he watched you turn the hundred little flowers into a perfectly crafted crown. The whole thing was oddly fascinating for Ivar. “How does it look?” you asked as you placed it on your head.

Ivar grinned, “I love it,” and a toothy smile appeared on your face, “what else can you do?”

Soon you began to play games in the dirt, carving tik tac toe into it with the stick he’d been using earlier. You were laughing away so oblivious you didn’t realise the older boys had gotten bored and wandered off till you heard something howl in the distance.

“Where did they go?” you asked panicked.

“They do that sometimes,” Ivar shrugged. He’d gotten used to his brothers’ antics, but he’d been so wrapped up in the game he hadn’t noticed this time, “We’ll be fine, don’t worry,” another howl, “Okay maybe worry a little,”

Unfortunately, still Ubbe had been the one to carry him here. Ivar tried to pull himself along but soon you were trying to pull him through the forest. “I hate this!” he pouted, trying to pull away.

“It’ll be easier if you’re still!” you snapped, pulling his arms harder in frustration. “Wait here,” you dropped him with a huff as you went to grab a fallen branch.

“What are you doing?”

“Use it like a walking stick,” you said, hooking your arm around his back like in a three-legged race.

“This wont work,” he huffed making you glare. Begrudgingly he tried the crutch and a small washed over his face in a few steps. “I’m walking!”

“You’re walking!” you gleefully joined in as you helped him out the Forrest as the sun began to set. More laughter followed you on the way home though you had no idea that Aslaug had already found his brothers and scolded them immensely when she realised, you’d both been left behind. The anger soon washed away as you and Ivar walked into view.

For the next few days, you and Ivar did everything together. You were essentially attached at the hip. One evening while playing inside the Lodbrok’s house due to the storm outside Aslaug called you to the other room to rebraid your now messy hair.

“Bye boys. Bye Ivar,” you grinned before running to join Aslaug, all shyness gone.

“Bye Ivar,” Hvitserk and Sigurd teased, blowing kisses at Ivar.

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“Are you gonna marry her?”

“Please what girl wants to marry a cripple?”

“Have you kissed her yet?” even Ubbe joined in the teasing now and any semblance of calm was soon gone.

“No!” Ivar screeched. “I don’t even like her!”

“You’re right,” Ubbe smirked, “you love her,” more fake kissing noises came from the three of them.

“Do not!” another screech came from him. He hadn’t seen Aslaug stand from the other room to come see what the fuss was all about, nor did he see you by her ankles, “She’s ugly and weird and I hate her!”

“Ivar!” Aslaug’s voice was the only one louder than Ivar’s. You however didn’t even wait before turning on your heels and running out the house into the storm. “No, wait!” Aslaug tried to stop you, but your feet were too fast.

 You came burling up to your father, burying your head in his legs sobbing. “I want to go home. I hate it here. I hate it!” and for the rest of your trip which was thankfully only another day you clung to his side again. You vowed as you rode away, you’d never return.

-

The glares Ivar was getting from his mother could cut glass. “why would she play with you after all those things you said?” she hissed after pulling him aside.

“I didn’t mean it,” he mumbled, already on the verge of tears when you refused to play with him all day before leaving, “she wasn’t supposed to hear it,”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have said it,”

-

Ivar was convinced you’d come back. a week later, maybe a month. Possibly a year. He kept changing the goal post when you never came. He got his hopes up at one point when he saw your father but was disappointed when he realised, you’d been allowed to stay home this time. The more years that passed the more he forgot.

He was shocked when he saw you again in the first time in over a decade. He almost didn’t recognise you at first, but you could say the same about him. You weren’t some shy, meek little girl anymore. You wore an infection smile, you laughed loudly, and you were downright gorgeous. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one to notice.

Its all his brothers had been talking about since you arrived this morning. “I hope mother has them over for dinner tonight,” Hvirserk said as the boys practised their axe throwing, “See if she wants to catch up,” the way he wiggled his brow made Ivar want to throw his axe at him.

Especially when the other two joined in with their agreements. “Please as if you have a chance brother,” Ubbe smirked, flinging the axe and almost hitting the bullseye, “Girl like that needs a real man,”

With a growl Ivar flung his own axe into the bullseye, knocking Ubbe’s out of place in the process before dragging himself away before he sunk his next axe in someone’s eye. “Talk about someone with no chances,” he heard Sigurd laugh as he stalked away.

-

You didn’t come over for dinner that night like they’d all hoped but rather the next day they saw you in the hall as your fathers celebrated their latest decision to go raiding together. You’d came in later than most and eyes were drawn to you instantly.

“Red is defiantly her colour,” Hvitserk slurred beside him, already several ales in, “I’m going to talk to her,” he tried to stand but Ubbe put a hand on his shoulder.

He pushed him back into his seat, “Brother you’re drunk. You’ll scare her of. Allow me to welcome her,”

“Please if you don’t want to scare her, I should go,” Sigurd joined the protests.

None of them except Ivar whose eyes never left you had noticed you walking straight for them, “Hello boys. Long time no see,” you smiled, even sending a small one to Ivar which made him wonder if you’d forgotten the whole affair.

“Well, well, look who it is,” Ubbe grinned, going in for a hug that made Ivar want to rip his skin off, “You look so different,” he said as he pulled away.

“Good different,” Hvitserk jumped in, “I barely recognised you,”

“I thought you always looked beautiful but now you’re just- “Sigurd rambled as you awkwardly blushed praying for them to stop. “a woman now,”

“Thanks?” you said, glancing down at Ivar, “Ivar,” all he could do was nod in response, scared anything he said would make it worse. “Well, I need to say hello to my family. I’ll see you boys around,” oh gods how he’d fucked this up.

-

While many were still in the hall drinking there had been a bonfire lit in the village square that Ivar was now staring into blankly. He’d left the festivities a while ago though he knew he wouldn’t be missed. There were a few people sitting around the fire, most with ale in their hands or a woman on their arms being obnoxious. If his legs didn’t hurt, he’d go into the forest to get away from them all.

“Hey,” a small, timid voice came from behind him making him turn. “Can I sit?” it was like you were children again, him permanently silent and you scared to even move.

Ivar nodded before turning back to the fire as you moved to sit beside him. You sat in silence for a few moments, staring into the flames. The fire was a good excuse for why Ivar’s cheeks felt so hot, but he knew deep down it was because of you.

“How have you been- “

“I’m sorry,” the words came spluttering out his mouth before he could think, his head whipping round to face your shocked expression, “For everything I said. I didn’t mean it, but I said it and I hated myself for it,” he paused when you stayed silent, turning back to the flames, “I doubt you even remember it. It was so long ago,”

A moment passed before you spoke even quieter than before, “I remember,” the words made his heart shatter, “I used to hate you,” somehow it broke more.

“And now?”

You turned to him with a small smile, “Now I’m not five anymore,” a smile crept onto his own face, “Besides if I’m to move here ill need someone to keep me company,” you grinned, nudging his knee with your own.

“You’re moving here?”  Ivar felt his heart light up as you chuckled, nodding to confirm his glee. Then a sinking feeling hit him, “Did you tell my brothers yet?”

Ivar would be lying if he said the grimace on your face didn’t fill him with joy, “Not yet. You’re the only one of them who looked at my face the whole night,” you chuckled. He laughed but he felt his cheeks tinge pink, “They’re an interesting bunch, ill give them that. also, who’s Margaret?”

“What?” Ivar spluttered as you shrugged.

“Some girls told me to be careful after they saw me talking to Ubbe,”

He couldn’t help laughing a little, “Oh you’ve missed so much,”

“Good thing we’ve got plenty of time to catch up,” you grinned.

-

For the next week you were inseparable. Attached at the hip almost. It brought a smile to Aslaug face and a grimace to every boy your age. You’d both heard the subtle jabs about your closeness from his brothers, especially Sigurd, but somehow when you would put your hand on his clenched fist under the table, he felt his anger melt away.

You also seemed to be the only one who did not notice his legs. Right now, you were both sat by a tree on the edge of a lake as Ivar stared across the water and you worked daisies into your flower crown. “You’re improving,” he teased, seeing this one was in a much better state than your previous attempts.

“Please, id like to see you try,” you snorted, “You’re too rough to even make one chain,”

“I’m not rough with you,” he defended, and his heart melted at the small smile on your face.

“I know,” there was a breeze in the air, a slight chill that made you huddle closer, and no one else around to ruin the quiet. Ivar didn’t even protest when your head eventually made its way onto his shoulder, and you said nothing when his arm went around yours. For once everything was perfect. Especially when Ivar finally brought up the courage to say what he’d been thinking since the moment you reappeared in his life.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,”

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[phenomenal1500]

~In The Gods' Favor~

Masterlist

A/N: This is a combined request asked by three anons on Tumblr. I felt like these requests could fit together perfectly and I hope you all like it!

Summary: Reader is stuck in an arranged marriage with Harald and sees his scars by the Pechenegs for the first time.

Timeline: Season 2, after the Pechenegs.

Pairing: Harald Sigurdsson x Fem!Reader Warning: Smut, breeding kink, arranged marriage.

Sitting in the gorgeously decorated great hall in Kattegat, Y/N was watching the Norsemen feasting and celebrating because of her marriage with the new king of Norway. However, everything didn't sit right with her.

How could other people be happy at such a time but her?

She knew who she married. King Harald had made sure to meet and spend time with her before their marriage so she wouldn't feel overwhelmed marrying a stranger, but happiness? That she couldn't express at this hour.

Perhaps it was because she was closed off to new opportunities or perhaps because she had built a wall so she didn't have to let him in, but she simply couldn't be excited even though she had to admit the norseman was besides attractive also very lovely and caring.

"You're doing alright, sæta?" King Harald slowly dropped himself beside her on the small bench that she had been sitting on all evening now.

"I think I'm doing fairly well." She nodded and looked back at the exciting and hopeful crowd again.

"We're giving them hope." He whispered, laying his large hand on her lower back. "We must think about that."

"I've never been much of a leader." She admitted, for the first time not backing away or pushing his hand away either. Sooner or later things had to get more heated between the two so a simple loving touch didn't bother her so much anymore. "These people.. they aren't my people."

"After today they are, love." He slowly rubbed her back and tried to make her look at him. "They're as much my people as they are yours."

"Out of everyone, why me?" She finally pulled her eyes off the crowd and back to her husband.

"You seemed sweet and very quick-witted." He smiled. "And from the moment they introduced you, I knew you would stand by me proudly."

"I'm not standing anywhere yet." She may have already been royal before they married, but since she was the youngest of her sisters, she had never been taught how to be a proper queen. She didn't trust herself to lead a country yet.

"You will soon." He gently lifted her hand to his lips and gave the back of it a soft kiss. "Trust me when I say you were born for this."

"I trust you." She slowly nodded and had a slight blush on her cheeks.

"That's all that matters." He gently lifted her chin with his index finger before he closed the gap between them, catching her lips with his as he pulled her in for a slow passionate kiss.

"King Harald." She panted softly after she pulled away, cheeks even redder.

"Not the right moment?" He stroked her hair, letting her decide for herself if she wanted to continue the kiss. He wasn't going to force her into anything. That wasn't like him. If the kiss wasn't what she wanted, Harald would apologize right away.

"No, it's not that." She cleared her throat nervously, but instantly relaxed in his touch. "However, perhaps we should go somewhere more private?"

"Is that really what you wish for, Y/N?" He whispered, cupping her face with his hands.

"I think so." She was a bit uncertain, but she preferred some alone time with the man anyway. The crowd only made her feel more pressured to show forced love to him, and if the traditions were true, after the wedding celebrations six people would accompany them to their bridal bed and she would rather experience things alone with him before that.

"Come on then, sæta." He got up and held out his hand which she took without any hesitation.

She wanted to be out of there badly and especially if it meant exploring her feelings with him before anyone would witness it.

She couldn't imagine how forced and hurried that would be like.

The king brought her to their now shared bedroom, helping her inside before he closed and locked the door so no one could get in and harm them. "You're certain about this my queen?" He questioned again, just to reassure himself that she wanted this too and he wasn't forcing her into anything. He had been raised to respect and care for his women, no matter if it was an arranged marriage and they had to by tradition.

For him and a lot of other Norsemen, unlike the men from England, it was important both sides wanted this.

"Yes, I'm sure of my decision, Harald." She smiled a little, feeling soothed by the way he made sure she was okay with such a thing at all times.

"Come over here, gorgeous~." He returned the sweet smile and watched the woman obey him, carefully closing the gap between them herself now.

Right when she took the last step towards him, she could feel his warm lips on hers again. Tongue playfully exploring her mouth, he sneaked his arms around her thighs and picked her up that way, holding her close to him.

She had to admit it made her feel feelings she never thought she was capable of feeling and here she was, experiencing them with a man she actually started to desire.

"My king~?" She blushed and cupped his face, staring deeply into his darkened eyes filled with lust.

"You're allowed to only say my name, Ketta. You are my wife, not an unknown person to me." He spoke against her lips softly and she nodded.

"Harald~?" She licked her lips slowly to taste more of him when he carefully laid her down on her back.

"What is it?" He made sure to caress every inch of her body, starting with kissing her shoulders as he unlaced the laces of her dress located between her breasts. It instantly made her feel flustered, but didn't stop him and he didn't stop either.

Lust was slowly taking over~ they needed each other badly.

"I desire you." She felt her heart speed up a bit when he took off her dress more with every kiss. It even doubled its speed when his hands and lips finally found her breasts, fingers trailing up and down her breasts before rolling her hardened nipples between his fingers and kissing the valley between them. It instantly caused a strange sensation in her body and she suddenly felt the wet heat worsen between her legs.

"I desire you too, ketta." He muttered against her soft skin, hands moving down to her sides and down to her hips as he pushed the fabric further down.

There she was, bare and open to him.

He had to admit it made his cock grow solid in his trousers right away when he saw her gorgeous body, but he was holding himself back and keeping himself calm.

He wasn't a quick-fuck type of guy, he wanted to treat her like the queen she was.

Despite how he felt about how beautiful she was, she herself was slightly anxious. Nobody had ever seen her without clothes, let alone this vulnerable too, and especially after he slowly spread her legs.

"All I'm asking of you is to loosen up and let me take care of her, sæta, that way it'll feel the best."  He ran his fingers over her wet pussy lips to worship it gently and pulled his hand back again. He knew he had to be careful with her and that's why he needed her to relax for him.

"I'll try my best, Harald." She mumbled, nibbling on her lower lip as he suddenly got on his knees in front of her. "What~ what are you doing?"

"It's okay, my love~." He reassured her as his lips touched her inner thigh, giving it sloppy wet kisses as he trailed his way up to the place that needed to be touched the most.... The place that was aching and begging for nobody but his touch.

"Please." She panted softly, letting the small beg roll of her tongue before she could stop herself. She honestly didn't really know what she was begging for, but it made him chuckle and before she knew it he was giving her clit a loving kiss too. Her chest immediately went up and down faster because of it and the pleasure that shocked through her body increased especially when he wrapped his lips around it and gently started to suck.

That brought her to Valhalla right away.

"Mmhmm~." Y/N arched her back, loving the new delightful feelings as he licked her up, giving her wet pussy long and slow licks before going back to sucking. "Harald~."

"I know, ketta." Harald growled, his hands stroking her inner thighs as he dove right back into her ocean. "I know it feels good." He spoke straight into her core, her whole body shivering because of it.

He needed her ready for him.

He needed this to feel good for her.

Lifting her legs and resting them over his shoulders, he licked her insides a little faster. He wanted her pretty pink pussy more than soaked and ready to take all of him and in no time her legs were already shaking.

He knew she was close, but unfortunately for his beautiful wife he wasn't going to make her cum so soon.

Harald pulled back, his beard covered in her juices, but he didn't care. His eyes landed on his wife again, her pretty eyes filled with lust and her cheeks having this cute red tone, she was so precious to him. "You prefer to have all of me?"

"Yes. I would love to have all of you." She smiled after she managed to get out of her stunned embarrassed state. This was all new to her and seeing him this shameless was unusual so of course it was normal she had to get used to the barefaced activities.

She slowly sat up though and actually managed to help her husband take off his armor before her eyes suddenly landed on the horrifying scars on his chest.

"What happened...?" She raised her hand and carefully outlined them with her fingers.

"It happened before I was crowned king of Norway. A man named Vitomir promised to pay me and my friend Leif a lot of treasure if we could deliver something to the emperor in Constantinople." He proudly explained while he unlaced his trousers. "But there were many Pecheneg camps settled along the shores we sailed."

"Pechenegs...?" Her eyes shot up to his deep hazel ones, staring at him with a slightly dropped jaw.

If there was anything she heard about Pechenegs, it was that they were extremely violent, well, they loved giving their enemies a tough time.

It was a wonder Harald was still alive.

"Yes, Pechenegs." He nodded and crawled on top of her in a hot way, his hands resting on either side of her head to keep his body weight off of her. "The cowards pierced my skin and string me up by my chest to see how much it would take for me to beg for mercy, but I never did."

Y/N listened closely to the king, but actually focused more on the ugly scars.

"Do they still hurt..?" She pushed herself up on her elbows to kiss each scar.

"No, neither do my muscles." He kissed her forehead. "So do not worry about me. We're not here together and bare to worry about my injuries."

"I know." She suddenly blushed again when she felt his hard cock pressing against her thigh. She then wrapped her arms around his neck while her legs spread some more on their own to make room for him between them. "I can feel that we aren't here for that."

"You want it~?" He teased playfully, rubbing his tip between her wet folds which got her body squirming with need.

"Yes, please Harald." She begged, her eyes never leaving his as he grabbed her hand and brought it down to touch his perfectly curved cock.

God, he would be able to hit every spot so well.

"Guide him, love." He let her feel around his already rock hard cock, jerking him a little, and he loved the way she was too embarrassed to look down at what she was doing. It was adorable.

"Guide him...? I don't know how." She whispered, glaring down for a second as he gave her a hint, pressing his tip softly against her tight entrance.

It made her bite her lip, nervous at the sight of him so close to her dripping pussy.

"Right there, guide him in ketta." He whispered in her ear, kissing her neck afterwards while she slowly guided him inside of her tight entrance.

Harald could feel her body protest by the unfamiliar stretch, but he could also tell she wanted this so badly by the way her walls were clenching and throbbing around his big cock.

Slowly, he moved his hips forward into hers, feeling her pussy trying to adjust to just his thick tip as she closed her eyes.

"How are you feeling, love?"

"Wonderful, strange, a slight sting as well perhaps?" She named everything she was experiencing so he could understand what she was feeling and his large hands rubbed her hips to help her body relax again.

"It'll feel like Valhalla soon." He groaned deeply, his cock sinking deeper inside of her while she nuzzled his neck. "And the more we do this, sæta, the better it'll feel for her."

"Really~?" She smiled and gasped when Harald repositioned her hips to a different angle that made his cock go deeper.

"Yes~ and if the gods are in our favor, we might be granted lots of children as well." He wrapped one of his arms around her arched back to keep her that way while he thrusted a bit faster, the curve of his cock brushing against her spot perfectly over and over again.

"I'd love to have your children one day." She moaned softly, tightening her walls around him.

"I know you do." He smirked and reached down between their sweating bodies, fingertips stroking that small bundle of nerves to help send her over the edge. "It's alright, ketta~ let it go and give me what I want so I can give you my seed and have you bear my children."

Her body began to shake by his words and she couldn't suppress her loud moans anymore. This feeling, the feeling that was so right and wrong at the same time was just too enjoyable.

She and her body couldn't take much more of it honestly.

Inhaling deeply, the woman gave into the strange yet delightful feeling and finally the knot of pleasure exploded, the wonderful feelings coursing through her entire body as she clung to her husband.

"Harald~ oh gods." She smiled and panted, feeling his cock twitch against her spot before he came deep inside of her and coated her tight walls with his seed.

"You felt so perfect, my queen." He buried his face on the crook of her neck, leaving short loving kisses there while he slowly thrusted his cum deeper into her.

"So what now, my king?" She spoke softly not to interrupt the peace they both felt and he carefully pulled out.

"We go back to the feast and make sure we do this again at the end of our wedding~ hoping my seed will take soon." He smiled and gently helped her stand up so he could redress her.

[ninchen1909]

Side by Side

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless x Reader

Warnings: Death, angst, fluff, best friends to lovers

Word count: ~2.800

 "Ivar, please think straight now. You cannot sail with Ragnar, you will die, he is no longer the great king everyone took him for. He has left you and your brothers alone for many moons, and you have always been loyal to him, always believing in his soon return. But he is no longer a warrior, he has lost his trust in the gods and they have lost faith in him. How can you still follow him like an orphaned dog?"

The steady sound of his crutches dies away as he drops into one of the wooden chairs. For the first time since he revealed to me that he wants to sail to England with his father, his eyes find mine. Ice blue gazes bore into my iris, making me forget to breathe for a few moments.

"(y/n), he is still my father...."

"Yes your father, the one who abandoned you and who now has to pay warriors to sail with him. Quite some time ago, it was everyone's greatest honor to go on plunder with your father, but those days are long gone. Your father's time is over Ivar, you are sailing to your certain death if you follow him."

Ivar's grip on his crutch tightens and I realize he is struggling with his anger. I am also aware that he would have killed, or at least maimed, anyone else who would speak of his father in such a way. But beeing best friends for many years, seems t to allow me certain privileges.

"(y/n)..."

"No Ivar, why are you so intent on sailing to England with him. You can make a name for yourself here and achieve great things. You can stay with me, we will find a way to bring you glory. Isn't it enough for you to be with me? A plunder in England, moreover without a proper army, is far too dangerous for a man like you..."

As soon as the last of these words leaves my lips, I realize that I have made a big mistake. Horrified, I clasp my hands in front of my mouth, my eyes widen in shock, and I watch tensely as Ivar stands up with the help of his crutch and stumbles a few steps toward me. The look in his eyes squeezes the air out of my lungs and I feel like I'm becoming a blood eagle myself.

"Ivar, please..."

"A man like me? What are you trying to say with that?"

"Ivar..."

"Shut up..."

Abruptly, I close my mouth and bury my teeth in my lower lip, the vile taste of iron spreading across my tongue.

"I really thought that at least you wouldn't see me as a cripple, that at least you...my best friend, the person I trust the most and who occupies the most space in my heart, would see me as more than a failed man."

Everything in me cries out to apologize, to tell Ivar that I didn't mean it, but the look in his eyes alone tells me all I need to know.

"And coming back to your question, no, being here with you is not enough. YOU are not enough."

I can literally feel the color draining from my face and I'm sure in that moment that a blood eagle wouldn't have hurt as much as his words. My lower lip begins to tremble suspiciously and my eyes fill with tears.

"Ivar...please...you don't mean that."

"I mean every word I said exactly as I said it..."

The coldness in his voice makes me shiver and the first tears fall from my eyes, tracing a fine trail down my cheek to my collarbone.

"....and now go, I don't want to see you anymore. And even if I die in England, it's better than living an insignificant life here with you."

After these words, he turns his back to me and I watch in despair as he disappears into the back rooms of the great hall. Loud sobs escape my throat and I feel my legs give way as I fall to the cold stone floor. My desperate sounds echo off the stone walls and I bury my head in my hands to avoid seeing anything. A few weeks later, the news of Ragnar's next great raid spreads through the streets of Kattegat. Again and again I try to talk to Ivar, to convince him to stay with me, or at least to be able to apologize so that we don't part in a quarrel. But each time I am met anew by one of his brothers, each of them desperately trying to explain to me that Ivar must do this to prove himself a true Viking. I know they are right, I know that Ivar desires nothing more than to prove himself worthy in the eyes of his father. However, this does not prevent me from caring for him. To be scared for him.

So it happens that a few weeks later I am standing on the dock and watching with eyes clouded over with sadness as Ivar ponderously makes his way to the ship. His gaze wanders again and again, searching, almost longingly over the crowd of people that has gathered on the pier. It gives the impression that he is searching for someone, as if he is on the lookout for someone. For a brief moment I hope that it is me he seems to be looking for, however, his words keep coming to my mind, deeply burned into my heart. Which is why I quickly banish the thought of him looking for me from my mind and push further into the background of the crowd.

My heart sinks as I watch the ships begin to move and Ivar moves further and further away from Kattegat and therefore away from me, unsure of whether we will ever see each other again or if the news of Ivar the Boneless's death will soon haunt Kattegat.

Many moons pass, the pain in my heart seems to consume me, every day I wake up hoping that things would get better, easier. But rather the opposite is the case, every day I send pleading and begging to Odin, promising him a great sacrifice, all so that Ivar, my Ivar returns safe and sound. Even if he will not speak a single word to me in his entire life, I still want him to return in one piece.

Winter is approaching Kattegat in great strides, the few things that grow here have already been harvested and everyone is diligently preparing for the impending cold that will soon come over Kattegat.

Light sweat forms on my forehead as I throw the last ingredients for my stew into the large cast-iron pot in the center of my hut. The warmth spreads comfortably as the open fire casts mysterious shadows through the cabin.

I wince abruptly as a loud, muffled knock shakes my front door, puzzled as to who would be disturbing me at this late hour, I don't move from the spot.

"(y/n) it's me....please open the door."

A soft gasp escapes my lips as I move with quick steps to the door, a loud noise ringing out as I let it crash backwards against the wall. But all this could not be more irrelevant to me at this moment. Eyes widening, I look at the hunched person in front of me, half his weight propped up on my door frame, while his other hand holds a tight grip onthe crutch next to him.

"Ivar..."

My emerging joy however is quickly shattered by the sight of him, swollen, heavily reddened eyes staring back at me, making the blue of his eyes shine even more strongly. His whole form seems to have fallen apart, deep worry lines run through his beautiful features. At this moment, he looks like a broken man.

"May I come in?"

His broken voice startles me out of my dull thoughts and I take a step to the side, nodding to give him enough room.

With a loud sigh, he lowers himself onto the wooden bench next to the fire, for a moment closing his eyes in pleasure as the heat of the flames caresses his skin. Silently I watch him for a moment, soaking up the sight of him, trying to make my heart understand that he is really sitting here in front of me.

"Would you like something to eat? I put on some fresh stew."

His silent nod is answer enough and just a few minutes later, I fill two wooden bowls full of stew before holding one of them up to Ivar. He accepts it with a grateful smile and sinks the first spoonful into his gullet.

An awkward silence spreads between us, the quarrel before his departure still hanging over our friendship like a test of endurance, unspoken questions on my tongue but not daring to leave my lips. The sound of wood on wood startles me from my thoughts, and I watch as Ivar sets his bowl down on the floor in front of him before rubbing his hands together in a warming motion.

"Thank you."

Noisily, I swallow my bite before replying.

"You're welcome."

Briefly, an uncomfortable silence threatens to fall over us again, but Ivar breaks it faster than it could have spread.

"My father is dead."

With a loud noise, the bowl slips through my frozen fingers, the stew spreading at my feet, seeping into the spaces between the wooden boards on the floor.

"Ivar..."

"My father is dead."

A glazed expression enters his eyes and only a few seconds later the hut is filled with Ivar's sobs, his whole body is shaken with sobs and he buries his head in his hands.

 It takes a moment for me to really process his words, for their meaning to really settle into my inner being. With careful steps, I move toward the man in front of me and carefully place my hands on his shoulders. A silent cry escapes me as he pulls me onto his lap without warning and buries his face between my breasts. Without thinking about it for long, I begin tenderly stroking through his full, brown hair. The individual strands glide gently through my fingers, leaving a pleasant feeling on my skin. Again and again I whisper words of encouragement in his ear, but even when his body has calmed down and his breathing seems even again, he doesn't even think about loosening his grip on my body or putting distance between us.

Only when the fire is extinguished, and the cold has returned to the hut as the darkness is broken only by the few candles that I have lit, I lean back a little, causing his face to slip from my chest with a discontented sound.

A mixture of sadness and weariness lie in his eyes, any radiance gone from them as he presses into the motions of my hand almost longingly.

"When's the last time you really slept?"

A worried expression comes to my face as a guilty glint flits across his features.

"It's been a while."

With a careful movement, I rise from his lap, careful not to break his vulnerable bones.

"Let's make sure you get some sleep this night then."

 A short time later, we are now lying pressed tightly together in my narrow bed. What gave me a sense of security and friendship back when I was a child now comes with a fast-beating heart and an unfamiliar blush to my cheek. But Ivar doesn't seem to feel any different.

"It's been some time since we've been in the same bed together," he says.

"Yes, the last time was when we were children."

A hotter laugh escapes his throat.

"Yeah, everything was easier then..."

His words just a whispered sentence, soon lost in the darkness of the room. Silence overtakes us and for a few moments I think that Ivar has already fallen asleep. But the sudden emergence of his voice proves me wrong.

"I want to apologize...for everything I said to you back then. You were, are and will always be the most important person in my life. I'm sorry for making you feel like you weren't."

His words send a warm shiver through my body, a pleasant warmth spreads in the pit of my stomach, and a wide smile creeps onto my lips.

"An apology from Ivar the Boneless. Thank you gods for letting me live to hear this."

"If you tell anyone, I'm afraid I'll have to kill you."

The joking undertone of his voice elicits a bright laugh from me and I search for his with my hand, carefully sliding my fingers between his and then interlocking them together. Tentatively, Ivar begins to draw delicate patterns on the back of my hand with his thumb.

"You know what was odd?"

"What?"

Asking, I turn my head toward the sound of his voice.

"During all that time, even when we were in captivity and my father's fate had been sealed. I could only think of you. At the time when it was not clear whether I could ever again perceive the bustle and smell of Kattegat, I could only think of you. Your face, your laugh, the way you squinted your eyes when I tried to explain something to you, your stubbornness, your gentle fingers running through my hair...it was all I could think about. I hated myself for not saying goodbye to you, that the last words I said to you were not the loving, tender words you deserved, but  the words of a scared little boy..."

"Ivar...."

With a jerky movement I sit up and look down at him . The light from the candle on the nightstand casts a, warm orange glow on his face, making his skin glow and his eyes sparkle.

"Please let me finish. I don't know if I'll ever be able to muster the courage again, if not now...."

A silent nod from me is all he needs in response, as all at once he lifts our still joined hands to his lips, leaving a tender kiss on each of my fingertips before continuing.

"...With each night that I have not been able to be close to you, I have come to understand the real reason why you can upset me so, why only your opinion matters to me, and why your doubts about me and my manhood, my ability to plunder have hurt me so deeply..."

"Why?"

My voice is just a hotter whisper as I wait in anticipation and excitement for his next words.

"Because I love you. Because the stupid crush I had on you as a child has turned into a real, true love."

Tears of emotion rise in my eyes and run down my cheek in hot, salty trails.

"Ivar..."

"I love you (y/n), so much."

My incredulous laughter fills the darkness and I can't help but bridge the distance between us, pressing my lips to his, lit by the candlelight. A surprised sound escapes him before he joins in my steady movements and returns my caresses.  Our lips mould together and moving in perfect harmony. A hot gasp escapes his lips, swollen from kissing, as I finally break away from them. He lovingly strokes individual strands from my face before letting his cool hand rest on the overheated skin of my cheek. Amazement and joy are clearly readable from his eyes.

"Does that mean....?"

"I love you too Ivar..more than you can imagine." With a loud, hearty laugh, he wraps his arms around my body and pulls me onto his torso. I can feel his pronounced abdominal muscles clearly through my thin sleeping robe as he does so, his body heat surrounds me and again and again I noticed how he presses tender kisses on the crown of my head.

My head, meanwhile, rests on his chest, the steady sound of  his heartbeat calming my senses and allowing an inner peace to settle over my body.

"I will go back to England to join my brothers in revenge for our father's death."

I can clearly feel his body tense beneath me after those words, much like he's afraid of my answer. Which I can't blame him for after our last argument.

"I know. And this time, I'll go with you. Side by side"

[lavender-romancer]

Winter

Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader CW: suicide mentions, conflict

You wanted to be his again, not owned by him but a part of him. But it had been so long since you'd felt close to Ivar that it felt out of reach as he descended into rage filled madness

”*°•.˜”*°•. ˜”*°•. ˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

You were drifting apart more and more with every hastily made decision fueled by anger that Ivar made. He would curse you, berate you and you could do anything because you didn't trust that he wouldn't kill you himself. You knew something was deathly wrong when you kept finding yourself high on a hill looking over a rock face, moving closer to the edge every time and not feeling afraid. It was impossible to not feel that you were lost in the dark of Ivar's tyranny. But you still craved his adoration, his love and the affirmation that he only wanted you. All of these things would never happen now, you weren't good enough for him.

You needed him running through your veins like a sickness that couldn't be cured- a toxicity that fuelled your love and in turn, your hatred for him. You didn't want to need anyone, when you were younger your mother had always taught you to never need anyone more than yourself. To stay self-reliant and not let anyone control you but, it was impossible. When you met Ivar he was the son of Ragnar, a grumpy boy with no battle experience and a soft spot for you. Now, after 6 years of marriage you couldn't decide if you needed to try harder or just throw yourself on to that cliff face.

"It feels like he's trying to erase me, fade me out of his life and forget I was ever there." You told Helga as you sat descaling some fish with her.

"Ivar is… complicated, I'm sure I had this conversation with you when you started seeing him. He's a different type of person from us. Not as emotional," she tried to smile but could tell that her words weren't necessarily comforting.

"I was so convinced that he loved me then, that he would do anything for me. But he just wants power and money and meaningless sex, I just can't believe he deceived me into this marriage." Helga suddenly gripped your hand.

"This is not your fault. As you said, you were deceived by someone who claimed to love you. The boy has some kind of power. It pulls some people in and I don't know what it is but it captured you," She paused. "I think you should tell him."

"He wouldn't even see me, I can guarantee there's a thrall rooted to his lap right now." You clenched your teeth together and tried to hold in your rage.

"You need to let it out, your rage. Go to the top of a mountain and scream, allow yourself to feel it." Helga suggested and you nodded.

"What I really want is to have him, it's pathetic but I'm so in love with him it's hard to overcome." You placed down the fish and groaned.

"It will pass, and if it doesn't, meet someone else who will be more emotionally attentive. Ivar seems like the kind of man who needs other people's feelings laid out in front of him." Helga smiled and her dark rimmed eyes made contact with you as the two of you carried on with the fish.

Ivar was drunk out of his mind, two naked thralls sitting on his lap as he'd occasionally take their breasts into his mouth. Some days he would forget you were even his wife, you hardly saw each other. He wouldn't say it was an excuse for his behavior but it was definitely a promoting factor of it. You used to smother him, cover him in a blanket of affection and make him feel like no one could hurt him. Ivar didn't remember when that stopped but he also didn't remember when he began sleeping with other women. The crossover between the two was so seamless it made him feel less remorseful, as if your absence made his actions warranted.

When Ivar saw you walk into the Great hall he felt less than he thought he would. In some ways he was happy to see how miserable you looked, hopeful you'd come crawling back to him in pure adoration. Ivar couldn't think of a better way to gain a woman's affection than by making her jealous. Unaware of his ridiculous thought process, Ivar continued looking you up and down through his eyebrows. You could only glare back at him as you headed towards your room, but you annoyingly had to go past Ivar.

"You despise me, wife?" Ivar asked and you stopped in your tracks, sighing deeply.

"Yes." You said simply, even though you loved him you needed him to wake up.

"But… that's not. What?" He said confused, pushing the thralls to the floor, with a resounding yelp from both the women.

"What do you want, Ivar?" You looked at him with such disdain it genuinely surprised him.

"You cannot speak to me like that!" He yelled and you sighed again.

"Then kill me." You sounded defeated, you didn't care anymore. It would be easier for it to all be over so you didn't have to deal with the emotional turmoil of him.

"I'm not going-" he paused. "You are my wife! Why won't you respect me?" He yelled again and you almost winced at the level of noise he was making.

For a few moments all you could hear was the scrape of his crutch and the crackle of the fire, for a moment it felt surprisingly peaceful. You just wanted to exist in that scene, a beautiful fire with furs on the floor in front of it where the local children would sit and be told stories. There was such a serenity to watching children's faces as they listened to a story, they hadn't experienced the hurt or the pain. All they knew was that this was their favourite day because they could sit inside the great hall and feel important. Even Ivar couldn't take that sense of pride away from them.

"Are you going to say anything, wife?" Ivar broke the blissful silence and you couldn't quite believe how aggravating it all was.

"I hate you, I hate what you've done to me." Was all you said and he looked astonished.

"I won't have this bullshit!" He yelled even louder before calling for his guards. "Tie her to a tree in the forest." He swatted you away like you were a pest but, at this point you saw no reason to resist. Ivar would do whatever he wanted with his power and most of the time that would mean fucking you around.

Even the guards were uncomfortable as they threw a rope over a strong tree branch and tied you by your wrists so that your arms always had to be extended. It wasn't the worst punishment you could have got, you were surprised Ivar hadn't got a lust for blood when you disrespected him. He would continue to degrade you and debase you no matter what you did, even though you loved him it didn't matter anymore. Ivar was so consumed by greed or power or hatred for you that he couldn't focus on anything else.

Your heart felt cold and tight. There wasn't any room for any more love because you had given it all away to someone who didn't want it or didn't realise how much he needed it. In one breath you would hope that he would just come and kill you and in the other, you still hoped he would wait for you. That he would allow your coupling to at least attempt to survive. Sometimes when you were around Ivar, you would feel a tiny part of your body decompose. One part of you died because you couldn't hold on to someone who only wanted to break away from you. But all you wanted was to be taken back to when you were younger, you needed him, you wanted him and he would never be what he was again.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Unexpected: Part 4

Summary: Ragnar returns, angst ensues (yes, he has that effect).

Notes: How do we feel about the reader finding out she’s preggers while Ivar is gone? (no, he won’t die on the raid)

Tagged: @bragisrunes @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @punkrocknpearls @alicedopey @draculasbride-blog

Masterlist | Part 3 | requests are OPEN!

Ivar had been undressing her in the stables when Hvitserk had burst in, looking up at the ceiling because this was his little brother and not Ubbe, to tell him the impossible: Ragnar Lothbrok had returned to Kattegat.

She blushed furiously as she pulled one of her new dresses over her shoulders and helped Ivar with his crutches, but Hvitserk smirked at him knowingly.

“Should I accompany you?” she asked. Ivar shook his head.

“Go tell my mother.”

She nodded, leaving for the Great Hall, while he and Hvitserk went in a different direction.

“So when are you marrying her?” Hvitserk asked.

“I won’t.” Ivar replied simply.  Despite their father waiting for them at the other end of the town, Hvitserk stopped dead in his tracks.

“Why?”

“Mother made me promise I wouldn’t.” Ivar admitted, walking on. “And anyway, why do you care, hm?”

Hvitserk shrugged. “I want her as my sister-in-law.”

“I am not Ubbe.” Ivar hissed.

“I like her. She is kind, and I want to eat the bread she makes for the rest of my life. You should commit to her, tell mother that you truly love her.” Hvitserk insisted.

“For bread?”

“There’s been worse reasons.” Hvitserk laughed. His smile died down when they saw the crowd that had gathered around their raging father. Ivar caught the disappointment in Hvitserk’s eyes. But not him. This was what he had expected.

The people of Kattegat let his brothers through easily, but Ivar had to push his way through. His eyes met Ragnar’s the first time when he shouted, “Who wants to be king?”

For a moment, Ivar felt a rush, wanted to reach forward and take the sword that was offered to him, before he froze. He wasn’t stupid. So he let Ragnar throw his tantrum and embarrass himself, while he stayed still and let his mannerisms wash over him.

In eight years, nothing had changed about his father.

Aslaug’s POV:

Ivar’s girl came running into the Great Hall suddenly. She looked out of breath, for more than one reason. It seemed that once her youngest son had discovered he was a man, Ivar was insatiable.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Ragnar Lothbrok has returned to Kattegat.” She managed. Aslaug froze.

She was queen. Had been for the last eight years – Ragnar couldn’t just take that from her now.

“Prepare for a feast. Then come help me dress.” She commanded. Then, Aslaug left the room to go to her own chamber. With steady hands, she removed her current jewelry, searching for something more imposing. She wanted Ragnar to know that it was her who had built Kattegat into a trading center in the last eight years.

Ragnar made it to the room before she could. Aslaug slipped on the jade bangle that Ivar had gifted her, coming from a kingdom whose name she couldn’t begin to say. He slipped into the room like a shadow, quiet.

“My wife,” Ragnar greeted her. “And mother of my sons. We both know that love was not what brought us together. But you’ve endured me. You’ve suffered my words, and my neglect. Yet you never turned our sons against me. I am sure that there are times when you’ve hated me. But you never poisoned their minds, or stopped them from loving me. And for all of that, with all of my heart, I am grateful to you.”

She could feel his hands on her, fumbling with her hair and Aslaug wanted to turn around and scratch his eyes out. He continued, unbothered, even kissing her hair. He fucking petted her, like she was a dog, and Aslaug hoped that the Gods would strike him down where he stood. Yet, she didn’t move.

“Why are you saying this now?” Aslaug asked instead. Before he can reply, the slave returns, carrying her finest coat. She froze at the sight of Ragnar, standing behind her.

“Apologies, my queen.” She mumbled. Aslaug felt relief wash over her, and pride fill her. This slave saw her as queen of Kattegat, and not Ragnar as King. She didn’t even know a time where Ragnar had ruled here.

She laid down her coat before making to leave, but Aslaug stopped her.

“Stay.” She commanded.

The slave nodded, moving towards Aslaug, who stood from her seat abruptly. She could feel the chair hit Ragnar’s thigh. He took a step back, and Aslaug allowed herself to smile.

“This is Ivar’s slave.” She told Ragnar, who nodded. Before the slave could turn away, Ragnar caught her jaw in his hand. For the first time, Aslaug wanted to side with her.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Y/N.” she replied. There was a pause at the end, and it was clear she wasn’t sure how to address him.

“What are you to my son?” Ragnar asked her.

“It would be better to ask him, I am but a slave.” She replied, avoiding his question. Ragnar rolled his eyes, suddenly bored and let her go. Aslaug stepped toward her, challenging Ragnar. He scoffed, and left the room.

“Thank you.” The slave said, her voice almost a whisper.

“We are still both women.” Aslaug shrugged.

Ivar’s POV:

She looked shaken when she came back to him, and he immediately knew that Ragnar had something to do with it. The entire way to the lake, she hadn’t said a word.

“Did he do something to you?” Ivar asked.

“He just- he’s very intimidating.” She replied. “But that’s to be expected of someone like him, I suppose.”

“And I am not intimidating?” Ivar poked.

“To others maybe.” She replied. “But?” Ivar challenged.

“I could see right through you.” She laughed. “He’s like a wall.”

They sat at the lake in silence for a while. Her head was on his lap for once, and Ivar combed through her hair gently while he tried to bring up the courage to tell her. He had agreed on it with his father in the morning, right after his return. It was late afternoon now, and Ivar still couldn’t bear to tell her.

He didn’t want to hurt her, but he needed to do this.

“I’m going to England.” He told her quietly.

“Is Ubbe going to lead the raid? Or you?” she asked. She had no idea.

“My father. Ubbe isn’t coming.” He said. Abruptly, she sat up.

“No.” she replied.

“No?” Ivar asked. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean that the others talk. No one takes him seriously, after what happened in the town square. He’ll have to pay people to come with him.”

She looked at him intently, until her expression shifted, and she realized.

“You knew that.” She said. “You knew.”

“It’s my only chance to die with honor.” Ivar sighed. He saw horror take hold of her.

“That’s not true!” she argued.

“It is.” Ivar replied, feeling his fist dig into the soft ground beneath them.

“So you mean to leave me here? Alone? What will I do?” she asked. Ivar’s stomach sunk. He hadn’t thought of that. He didn’t say anything and for a while, he let her seethe with an anger that normally radiated off of him.

“I won’t let you go.” She decided. Ivar barked a cold laugh at her.

“You can’t stop me. You’ll return to your duties, and I’ll have Hvitserk and mother look after you.” Ivar told her. That would be the end of it, and she’d let him go without having his stomach turn into knots.

“No. I’m not letting you leave Kattegat.”

“You forget yourself.” Ivar roared. “You are a slave.”

She didn’t say anything, instead getting up. Then, despite what it could mean to her life, she spat at his feet.

“Fuck you, Ivar Lothbrok. I really thought you cared.”

He sat at the lake alone, until it got cold, stewing in his anger. He didn’t want to hurt anyone when he got home. And when he wanted to get back, his anger only grew again.

Normally, she helped him walk over the soft ground around the lake. He hadn’t dragged himself through the mud in months. He gritted his teeth together and began, ignoring the pain in his knees and shins, knowing that he would have to command her to take care of him later. She wouldn’t do it from her own volition, like normally.

He was halfway through the part of the way that had mud when he heard voices. Embarrassed, he turned around, seeing Ubbe and Hvitserk come towards him. Not this, not now.

Their laughter died down when they saw Ivar, his face marred with anger and completely alone. They looked at each other and then, wordlessly, they came towards him and lifted him up, helping him. Hvitserk didn’t mention ‘his girl’ and Ubbe gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

They carried him until he could walk again, and then, Ubbe handed him his crutch.

She passed him outside of the Great Hall, barely sparing him a glance. Ivar could see that she was still just as angry as at the lake, as well as hurt.

“My princes.” She greeted them. Her voice was cold, emotionless. Hvitserk hissed through his teeth when she was gone.

“Ouch.” He commented.

“Don’t push it.” Ivar snapped.

“Talk to her.” Ubbe suggested. “Make her see sense.”

“I can’t.” Ivar replied.

“Yeah, because you picked out someone just as thickheaded as you.” Hvitserk snorted. “Maybe try apologizing for your death wish.”

Ivar pushed him, hard, but Hvitserk only laughed, hands up in mock-surrender.

“He’s trying to help.” Ubbe reminded. Ivar didn’t reply, and Ubbe sighed. “I’ll take care of her while you’re gone.” He promised. Ivar nodded, before he limped off.

A few days later: Hvitserk and Bjorn leave for the Mediterranean

She hadn’t slept in his bed, not once. Ivar hadn’t made any attempts to apologize. His brothers could say what they wanted; he wouldn’t lower himself to her. She was lucky to be alive, and he didn’t even love her.

That is a lie. A voice in his head whispered. Strangely enough, while there was a rift between them, she had grown closer with his mother. They kept together whenever he saw them together, never talking, but keeping their distance from Ragnar.

She was there at the docks now, while Aslaug said goodbye to Hvitserk. She offered him a polite small as he passed her, and Ivar felt his fist clench with anger. He didn’t want anyone to look at her. When he glanced over at her, their eyes met for a second.

He looked away first, but he had seen the amber necklace around her neck. When the ships were gone, she followed behind Aslaug silently, while Ivar remained at the docks. He stayed there for hours, until it began to get darker.

Ivar sat down at the beach. He had seen Ragnar come here yesterday. When Ragnar had come back, he hadn’t uttered a single word, but Bjorn had given him a sad smile. Ivar didn’t know what it meant, and he couldn’t figure it out.

He tried to be frustrated about that, instead of her, but he failed miserably. When he heard steps in the sand behind him, he whirled around. She was on the beach too, but she hadn’t noticed him yet.

“Y/N.” he blurted out.

“My prince.”

Ivar patted the spot beside him, hoping that she would come. She hesitated, but eventually, she sunk down beside him, smoothing out her dress. It was the green one.

“Queen Aslaug-“ she said after a while, searching for the right words. “She tried to explain. I think neither of us want you to go, and I don’t want to understand. If you have to go, I cannot stop you. I just-“

She broke off, and they sat in silence for a while. “I am-“ Ivar began. He wanted to say he was sorry, he really did. “I didn’t want to cause you pain.” He said instead. “But it’s my only chance. Do you understand?”

“No.” she said simply. Ivar sighed.

“Promise you’ll come back to me. Valhalla can wait.” She whispered.

“I’ll try.” Ivar replied.

“It’s not enough.” She said, demanding. She was always demanding, but Ivar didn’t stop her. He wanted to give her whatever she demanded of him. He kissed her instead, because he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

When they broke apart, he saw tears glittering in her eyes, angrily wiping at his when he felt the familiar sting. She mirrored his actions, before her hands began to clench into fists. Neither of them wanted to cry, and Ivar felt himself regretting his promise to Ragnar more and more.

He felt desperate, and lost and confused, but most of all, he felt angry. Angry at Ragnar for returning now, angry at her for ignoring him and angry at himself for hurting her.

“I love you.” He blurted out. Despite what I promised mother.

Her eyes grew wide at his confession, before she gave him a smile. A real one, one of those only he got to see. “I love you too.” She replied. “I love you so much.”

“Thank the Gods.” He stammered out. It wasn’t supposed to be something he wanted to say out loud.

“I missed you.” She admitted. “In two days, you won’t even be here at all.”

“Ubbe will take care of you.” Ivar promised.

“Prince Ubbe will take care of all my needs?” she joked, and Ivar rolled his eyes.

“Think of me.” He replied, imitating Bjorn’s cocky tone. She snorted, before she pushed him down gently, straddling his lap.

“As if that even comes close.”

Ivar felt pride swell in his chest, pulling her down toward him. His hand closed around her neck, squeezing gently, and she gave him a soft moan. Only now he realized how much he had missed this.

“You’re so fucking perfect.” He whispered. Spurred on, she began tugging at his vest.

“Outside?” he asked. “I thought you didn’t like that.”

“No one’s around. We’ll just have to be quiet.” She replied.

“You? Quiet?” Ivar asked. She rolled her eyes, getting up quickly, holding his crutch towards him. Ivar swore he had never walked so fast in his life as they made their way to the Great Hall.

They passed Aslaug, who only rolled her eyes at them, and then Sigurd and Ubbe.

“Well someone’s made up.” Ubbe called after them. Ivar shot a look in his direction, but by that time, he was busy with Margrethe again.

They barely made it into his room and onto the bed, and Ivar had to restrain himself not to rip the dress off of her. He had wanted to take his time with her, to make her squirm under him, but right now, Ivar did not have the patience for that. Instead, he let her guide him into her.

Ivar grabbed her by the hips, flipping them around so that he was on top, before he thrusted into her. He wasn’t careful, or gentle, but her moans spurred him on.

She scratched his back raw, and in return, Ivar grabbed whatever he could greedily. He felt wild, and free, and for a moment, he could forget that he was leaving her behind.

That he was abandoning her.

“You need to slow down.” She gasped under him. “Please.”

Immediately, Ivar came to a halt.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No. Keep going, just a bit slower please.” She replied.

He began thrusting more lazily, and she held him close. Ivar’s forehead rested on hers, and he closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He finally whispered.

“I know. I’m sorry too.” She replied.

“It showed me you truly cared.”

The day that Ivar left, she handed him his new sword at the dock. His mother asked him not to go one last time, but Ivar’s mind was set. He hugged her goodbye, before he moved on to his girl.

“May the Gods keep and protect you.” She told him. Everything else, she left unsaid.

“And you.” Ivar mumbled. If he looked at her, he wouldn’t be able to leave. So he turned around and got into the boat. Ragnar patted him on the back, giving him a look Ivar couldn’t read. He only knew that Ragnar thought this girl didn’t mean anything to Ivar.

As the boat sailed away, Ivar looked back at Kattegat. Neither of the women moved, both unwavering until they were out of sight.

[barnes-lothbrok]

Jealousy

Ivar x reader

Summary - Ivar and you have always had a bond, a closeness but over time and as you mature things change, Ivar gains feeling he can't explain

Warnings - angst, fluff, death of a parent, swears

Word count - 2k

This all started because of a gif set by @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie and I sort of ran away with it

ווווווווווווווווווווווו×

You grow up alongside the sons of Ragnar.  Being the daughter of Aslaug's closest confidant, you were always in close proximity to the brothers during childhood. You were closest in age to Ivar having been born only a few months before and as you grew together, you formed a bond that no one could truly explain. 

You were the only one who wasn't terrified of him after the incident with the boy. As all the children in Kattegat would run away from him, making a game out of it, you were seen happily pulling his cart around, chatting away to him as you venture around the town taking him anywhere he wished to go.

On days where he was unable to play, you would sit with him and make up stories to keep him entertained, often acting out some of the scenes, bouncing around his room as you fought a dragon or giant sea monster. 

As time passed a few things changed, while he was being mentored by Floki, your mother had you learn the loom and the meaning of different herbs.

But you were never apart for long as on days when he was still busy you would run to Floki's cabin and wait for him. On days when you didn't meet Ivar, he would wait for you by the tree you'd claim as your own when you were younger, having craved IL + YN into the trunk.

You spent hours laying under the tree, side by side, watching as the sunset and the stars appeared twinkling between its branches. It was the place you shared your hopes and dreams with one another.

You wished to become a shield maiden, just like the legendary Lagertha, while Ivar dreamed of becoming a warrior, to be able to raid and fight along side his brothers. 

The afternoons and evenings spent under that tree was the first memory Ivar had of the flutter that appeared in his chest whenever he looked at you. You never laughed or mocked his desires, you simply listened and smiled at him. 

The first big change to your friendship was when Ivar spent the night with Margrethe. Everyone was aware of how she spent her time between the princes, of how she'd captured all of their gaze. She was extremely beautiful and you never missed the way, they all looked at her, especially Ivar. 

So one evening after having been invited to dinner and Aslaug had left the table, it was no surprise when his brothers tried to convince Ivar that Margrethe was the perfect option for him to lose his virginity. They spoke as if you were one of them. 

"I'm sure Y/N agrees" Hvitserk said, finishing a mouthful of pork "Right?" 

You looked between each of them from Hvitserk with his dopey expectant smile to Sigurd who peered from under his hair, gripping his cup a little too tight, he had always hated the idea of sharing with Ivar, and then to Ubbe who's smile dropped slightly as if he knew you didn't want to answer. 

"I mean, sure" You shrugged, looking down at your cup of ale, unable to even look at Ivar. If you had, you would have seen the light in his eyes fade a little. "The way you all speak of her, he would be a fool, not too" 

After that night and the rumours of Ivar being impotent spread, Ivar drew himself away from you, spending more time training with his brothers or at the blacksmiths. 

Your dream of becoming a shield maiden was put on hold when your mother became sick. A plague hit the town, taking your mother with it. Aslaug brought you in as a kindness for all the years your mother was by her side and treated you like a daughter she never had. She taught you many things a woman could be, beside being a shield maiden. 

On the day, Ivar took his first steps, you had been in the market when you noticed Ubbe and Hvitserk hanging around the blacksmiths. You made Hvitserk jump as you suddenly appeared between them.

"What are you doing?" You spoke loudly and close to his ear, causing him to almost choke on his apple. You were about to laugh until he pointed at two legs caged in metal on the floor. 

While grunting and groaning, Ivar heaved himself up. You wanted to rush forward and help him but Ubbe gently placed a hand on your shoulder. Taking small and wobbly steps, Ivar stood before your trio, a wide grin on his face.

"Ivar" you whispered, looking him up and down before grinning back "Ivar, you're walking!" You joyfully cried before barreling him into a hug and having to apologise profusely as you almost knocked him backwards. 

ווווווווווווווווווווווו×

It was after the return from their first raid, that Ivar noticed his brothers spending more time with you, getting closer than they did before. It seemed to grip his chest with an urge to hurt them or pull them away from you every time he saw it.

The summer away from you seemed to make the Lothbrok brothers notice how you had turned into a beautiful woman. No longer the messy haired bundle of energy that would play-fight with them or get drunk with them but a woman who held herself with elegance and grace. While they had been away, Aslaug had turned you into someone much like herself. 

Ivar first noticed Hvitserk being closer to you. The pair of you had been sparring, although their mother didn't approve, you would often join them in training when you were free to do so.

As you moved backwards, you stumbled over a small rock and while trying to catch you, Hvitserk's feet became tangled in your own. Crashing to the ground, Hvitserk arms were beside your head as he caught himself from squishing you. Your faces were inches apart as the hair falling out of his braid covered your faces like a curtain. 

Ivar didn't miss the way, you stared at each other, breaths caught before you burst out laughing when Hvitserk dropped his head and blew a wet raspberry on your cheek, causing you to squeal with laughter and push him away. 

The second was Sigurd. He nearly fell over when he walked into the hall and found you sitting on the floor in front of Sigurd. His arms were wrapped around you, from the chair above as he tried to teach you the strings to play a tune on the lyre. He'd been practicing for Ubbe and Torvi's wedding.

When he played it always sounded so beautiful but when you tried it sounded broken. 

"Sigurd, you make it looks so easy" you whined and tried again before you both cringed at the noise it made "nope, I'm leaving the music to you" 

"Probably best too, don't want to anger the gods at the wedding" He teased before surprisingly kissing your cheek. Sigurd had noticed Ivar watching and could help a smirk as he watched him leave before you looked to where Ivar had just been having missed him.

The third and final straw was Ubbe. Everyone was celebrating his marriage to Torvi. The hall was filled with music, laughter and drunken singing. It was late into the celebrations when he saw you speaking to Ubbe and Torvi. 

He'd been watching you most of the day as you walked around, looking like a goddess in your flower crown, with your hair loose. You'd laughed and spoken with many people but not him. He supposed that was his own doing as he pushed you further and further away but how he wished it was himself that you were laughing with. 

He watched over the rim of his cup as you took Ubbe's hand and began to dance. Sigurd and his band changed the music to a slower pace and Ubbe happily twirled you around, his hand coming to rest on your lower back. Ivar could see you talking and smiling with each other. Ubbe said something to make you laugh, the melody echoed in Ivar's ears. 

He clenched his jaw, eyes trained on the pair of you before looking away as your eyes met his. When he looked back again, he felt his heart being squished as you kissed Ubbe's cheek. He slammed his cup down and angrily gathered his crutch. 

He couldn't watch anymore. Ubbe was married and he still had your affection, all of them did but him. Sure, he'd never seen anything more than kisses on the cheek but it was more than you had been giving him.

Ever since they returned, you didn't follow him around like you used to. In the past he would throw a tantrum and yet you would still be there the next day but now you seemed to be allowing him to keep the distance that he created and he didn't like it. 

He thought about going back in there and demanding you talk to him again, that's all he wanted, was for you to talk to him. 

That was a lie, he wanted so much more. He wanted to wake up beside you, kiss you, feel your touch. He wanted have celebrations like this for the pair of you. To have the life you promised each other under that stupid tree when you were too young and naive to understand the promises you were making.

You were meant to be his, you were always his and now you were slipping away with every passing day. 

He paused for a moment conflicted as to keep going or to turn around. If he kept going, he would have time to think but turning around meant he would get answers to satisfy the demons telling him, you hated him, that you couldn't love him, that you pitied him. 

As he turned around, he was taken aback by you coming out of the hall making your way towards him. "There you are" You smiled at him "where are you going? I was looking for you" 

"Well I'm right here, I have been all night. Not that you even care" Ivar's brow was creased, his eyes struggling to hide a burning anger. 

"Not care? Ivar, of course I care" you smiled didn't fade as you looked at him "I wouldn't have come to find you if I didn't, you donkey" 

"You have a funny way of showing it" he spat "Parading around all day. Laughing at any man's attention, even throwing yourself at the groom. It's embarrassing, like a dog in heat" 

"Throwing myself at the groom?" Your smile dropped and turned into a frown "I was congratulating Ubbe on the marriage to the woman he's loved for years. Every woman can offer the groom to dance, mine was tame compared to Greta's, which you would have seen if you hadn't stormed out" 

"I wasn't going to stay and watch you embarrass yourself any longer" he held his head high, looking down on you. 

"Embarrass myself? I was having fun. Which is more than I can say for you. Sitting in the corner of your brother's wedding, watching me with a face like someone pissed in your cup" you spat back. 

He was shocked by the fact you noticed him watching you. You always noticed those intense blue eyes on you. 

"Honestly, Ivar, I don't understand what I have done," you sighed "Ever since you got back, you have been this brooding, and sometimes cruel bastard. I have seen you like that to others but never to me" 

The way you said his name like it was laced with venom, hurt  "So tell me Ivar, what have I done?" 

His jaw clenched as he gripped his crutch harder. His demons were yelling at him to call you a whore, nothing more than someone to warm his brother's beds, that you only stuck around for the lifestyle his mother gifted you and that you'd do anything to keep it. 

But he stopped himself, as he looked at you, the expectant look on your face, the hurt in your eyes and the heavy raise and fall of your chest as if you were scared of what was going to come out of his mouth. He knew his anger could be vicious but never had it been directed at you before. 

"You make me feel…." He started before looking away from you "You make me feel," he quietly said, looking you in the eyes again "and I don't like it. I want it to stop. I don't know how to make it stop" 

[miss-madness67]

17. Mareritt (The Mistress, Vikings fanfiction)

Ivar & Alfred Fanfiction

The week passes by relatively fast, and I almost believe Alfred let me go when sister Emma mentions that we have a guest. Apparently, one of the princes is here to see me, and I do not need to ask who to know. I really thought he would allow me to escape.

“You left me,” is the first thing he tells me once we are alone in an adjacent room.

Continue reading on:

AO3 / PA / WAT

Tags: @youbloodymadgenius @cdauni @justsomecreaturewandering

[froggyfics]

Feb. 24' Release Dates

The following are release dates for my works. It is possible that I add more works to the list, as I am almost done with several, but I just don't want to get anyone's hopes up! Links will be updated in green as the month continues. Please note that these are tentative dates, and as the author, I reserve the right to change them.

Friday, Feb. 9:

For Your Pleasure - 3

Monday, Feb. 12

Play Fighting Slade Wilson x gn!reader

Wednesday, Feb. 14:

Submissive Batboys Headcannons

Thursday, Feb. 15:

The Deadliest Poisons are the Sweetest - 7

Friday, Feb. 16:

Strange Seeing You Here (Strangers Series) Damian Wayne x gn!reader

[underscorewriting]

Don’t hate me, love

Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader

Warnings: Angst but ends in fluff

1324 Words

Ruby red blood was dripping from her cheek. Her heart beating faster as her breath sped up. Her eyes were fully closed, trying to ignore the pain on her side. She was alive, she was okay, yet she heard everyone else scream around her. The voices started to get blurry, her head was spinning as she tried to stay awake. "You will stay here, Save!" "I will not!" Ivar never screamed at her, but he was worried and she wanted to stay by his side, even at times when she couldn't.

She was ready to die fighting for what Ivar wanted to accomplish, she believed in him and in his vision. But he wanted to keep her save, keep her at the hide out with Helga, but she knew something could happen there as well and if she would die, she would die by his side. The sounds were blurred as his face was in her mind. He was her only focus and she was happy, happy that if she would die he would be her last thought, his smile. The one he reserved for her, the one that meant he was utterly happy.

They won. Ivar was filled with ecstasy. His plan was taking form, everything would be the way he wanted it to be with just- His eyes wandered around the field. His smile dropped. Where is she? "Where the fuck is she?!" Ivar was panicking, looking around. Each body was someone he knew, but he couldn't find the will to care. Hvitserk walked to his brother placing a hand on his shoulder. "Ubbe found her, Ivar. He's taking care of her wounds right now..." Ivar pushed his hand away and tried to walk as quickly as he can to him.

His mind was on her, her smile in front of him. He would be lost if something happened to her, if she would die because of his incapability of protecting her. When he saw her he felt his heart ache, she looked small. So fragile. As he heard her wince, he was ready to tackle Ubbe down. His knuckles turning white around his crutch. "Ivar.." Her voice was husky, her eyes barely open. His breath hitched, maybe right now she wasn't, but she's going to be okay.

His lungs filled with air, he could breath again. Putting his crutches away he started crawling towards her, his hand finding it's way to hers, giving a soft squeeze. "I'm here, my love." His lips met her forehead. His voice just barely audible as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear leaning his forehead against her cheek. Her blood coloring his cheek the most beautiful shade of red. "I'm sorry, Ivar..." Her voice was quiet, but he heard her pain.

Ivars eyes closed tightly. His mind was telling him to scream at her, to tell her what a fool she is, that she should've got hurt worse to learn her lesson, but he couldn't. He could barely keep it together. "Don't worry about it, you need to rest." He shot Hvitserk and Ubbe a look, quietly telling them to pick her up as he crawled to his crutch. "No..." Her voice was panicky, the fight having more of a tool on her than she wanted to admit.

She wanted to be held by Ivar, just as much as he wanted to hold her, How he wish he could carry her. "Hvitserk, make sure he's okay..." she whispered tugging on his sleeve, leaning more into Ubbes chest feeling weaker each passing second. Ubbe placed a hand on her forehead feeling her temperature, pulling her closer. She was like family for them, growing onto them each passing day. "Am I going to die, Ubbe?" Her voice was more quiet than before, not wanting Ivar to hear them. Ubbe laughed softly smiling slightly down at her. "You're not gonna die that fast, you're just getting pampered because you're Ivars fiance." Her eyes shot up to him with confusion in them. "Finace?"

"Calm down, Ivar. She's okay, you've seen people being worse than her and-" Ivar tried controlling himself. "But it's her!" Taking a deep breath he watched her and Ubbe while walking to their hide out. "This isn't some man fighting by my side." Both of them walked in silence. Hvitserk understood his brother and he understood the worry he was feeling. Ivar just wanted to lay down with her, to see that she's okay when he locks eyes with her.

"Oh dear what happened to you?" Helga quickly ran up to them, seeing the young girl in Ubbes arms before he placed her onto some fur that her and Ivar slept on. The girl smiled up weakly at them trying to sit up. "Don't you dare even think about it." Ivars voice was demanding and she knew he wanted her to lay and rest, but she didn't feel like it. So she sat up fully, keeping her eyes trained on Ivars.

A breath of relief escaped him seeing color come back to her face slowly and the spark returning to her eyes. He almost couldn't stop the smile tugging at his lips. Almost. As everyone left them alone Ivar looked down at her with anger. "What were you thinking?! I told you to stay close, to not leave my fucking side! And what did you do? You did just that! I told you to be careful! You know what?! I told you to stay in the fucking hide out! God you act like such a-" He was about to continue before seeing her small smile and the playfulness in her eyes.

"I act like what, huh?" The teasing smile made the boy weak in his knees as he tried to stay angry. "Do I act like your fiance?" A smirk played at the corner of her mouth, the pain was weaker now, she realized how dramatic she might've been earlier thinking she'd die. Ivar looked at her even more angry. "I'm going to fucking kill Ubbe." He was about to turn around and walk away before she shuffled around trying to get close to his hand. "Ivar... sit with me, my love... please?" Her eyes met his as she gave him her best doe eyes.

Cursing Ivar sat down pulling her closer. "How are you feeling, honestly?" He whispered after some time, his fingers opening her braids as gentle as possible making her lean into him. "Better... I think I was just scared...scared to not fulfill my destiny if I die." Her eyes closed leaning into his chest as he kissed her forehead softly.

„You're destiny?" His voice was filled with curiosity, filled with so much gentleness. Ivar hated screaming at her, he hated letting her feel his anger but sometimes he couldn't help it. He loved her, he was very much sure of it, but with loving there come so much other emotions that he isn't able to deal with as easily.

„My destiny to give you children, Ivar. I know it's my destiny, as it is my destiny to make sure you live without any regrets as you pass to Valhalla one day..." Her voice were spoken slowly and with lot of care. „Become my wife, my love? The thought of you dying on me today made me realize it more than before. I told Ubbe I would ask you before the fight but you were too busy fighting about coming with me. But now I know I need you by my side."

Her lips found his in an instant, ignoring some burning on her side as she kissed him with as much love and passion she can make him feel. „I would love that, Ivar... a lot..." she muttered against his lips trying not to let a girlish giggle escape her lips. He pulled her closer again kissing her deeply.

„You will be mine until we dine with the gods in Valhalla."

[infernalodie]

𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡 || 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐟𝐟

”𝘐'𝘮 𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴“

Inspo: Cigarettes After Sex - Flash

Pairing: Jarl!Natahsa Romanoff x Slave!Fem!reader

Summary: You were a girl that had been caught in a raid by Pagans, your people killed around you whilst you were taken as a slave. But that was only because the Pagans leader had something else in mind for you.

Warnings: Smut, fingering, and squirting.

Words 2297

DNI IF YOU’RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

The cold wind of the open ocean clung to your body like a pariah. It shook and cracked your mind as you tried desperately to spot something in that open ocean that might take your mind off the fate that has fallen in your path. Never once relenting to allow you some moments to close your eyes to sleep.

But even then the cold tore your mental fortitude slowly and the screams, the flames, the bodies, and the blood of your friends and acquaintances were all stuck in your mind. Meanwhile, you were hauled away with chains around your wrist and ankles as a man moved you towards the beach where boats had awaited you and many others.

See, fate was a tricky thing to distinguish at its rightful core. It’s not fate that you stepped out of your bed and stubbed your toe on a chair. Fate is when something is farther out of your control and is rather unpredictable. You have no choice in the matter. This could only be fate at its finest. Being taken as a slave, likely to be used for services for these pagans, and maybe killed after your use has been fulfilled.

Except, time and time again, you thought back to the red warrior. Hair the colour of Satan himself and such brutality only able to be put close to demonic. Yet, the moment she saw you, she let her guard down. Her eyes were wide and the fury in those green forest eyes dissipated to something softer than you would ever think capable to such animals as her people were. Never mind the fact that she had saved you from men who had intended on using you for their own pleasure.

Something about her was intriguing and you couldn’t put your finger on it. England had been raided many times the years before you were born. But you had heard stories of a woman who’d cut down dozens of men alone. Like, some ethereal being with the power of Christ on her side. And when you saw her, you found out that those rumours were nothing less than factual.

Yet, here you were. Still on this boat heading likely to hell as you desperately held the thin blanket closer around your body. Hoping to find some semblance of warmth for the journey back to pagan lands. You did not know what to expect when you arrived, but you did guess it to be hell.

“Do you need a bigger blanket, slave?”

The sudden voice, softer than the men that were on the boat, caused you to flinch in surprise. Head whipping in the direction of the one and only, Jarl Natasha. Her long red locks blew in the wind with her body engulfed in pelts from wolves with her hand gently resting on her silver hand wrapped in black thread. She was an angel walking in your grace, yet a demon in disguise.

A lump in your throat built as you swallowed it down immediately. Eyes flickering from her sword to those piercing eyes that stared at you curiously. “Yes.” Your answer was just above a whisper, barely heard above the water splashing against the hull of the boat. But she heard and you watched as she grabbed a spare blanket from a small box and handed it to you. The extra addiction of protection soothed the shuddering of your body. Able to only offer a slight nod of thanks to the woman, thinking that to be it of the interaction.

Sadly, you were mistaken since the Jarl sighed, hands grasping the hem of her own blanket that was her cloak and wrapped it around her as she sat down in front of you. Her gaze stayed transfixed on you, scanning your every movement with precision. It left you feeling self-conscious and aware of your own actions as you sat there, frozen, eyes pointed outwards.

But sometimes, you had trouble holding your tongue and you couldn’t help the slight twitch of your lips, flashing a small smile. “I thought all the stories to be fantasies,” you began. “How one woman with the hair of Satan slew a dozen men and walked away without a wound. I must’ve been blinded by the innocent mind.”

“So, you do know of me?” Natasha inquired curiously with her lips forming a smirk. One that seemed to match her attitude and position of power quite well.

You didn’t reply, leaving the woman quite disappointed as she stared intently at you. There was something that she wanted to say, you could see it in the way her lips pursed and eyes twitched. Her gaze was sharp and hard to withhold. Not only because the woman scared you, but also because she held your life in her hands. If it were true to be made a slave, she had the choice of what your jobs would be. And you couldn’t decide if that was more relieving or frightening.

“Why did you choose to fight?” Her question shocked you, honestly. Attracting your attention to her once again as your lips parted to speak. “You killed one of my men. I am just curious to know why.”

“Was it someone important to you?” The woman gave a short nod. “Now, you know how I felt watching my friends die by your hands.”

Now, that answer surprised Natasha. At first glance, you were a small woman. Your arms barely had enough muscle to them to hold a sword or axe. But you slew one of her best men with ease. There was more to you than what she was faced with, so she could only think that the Seer’s visions are coming true at this very moment.

“I think I’ll keep you for myself, Slave.”

Those had been Natasha’s parting words before she stood up and walked away. Your eyes fixated on her as you felt the bile in your stomach slowly begin to rise in your throat. Only able to guess what she had meant.

Upon your arrival, people flooded the docks and the beach to welcome the pagans home. Natasha was met with praise, her smile reaching ear to ear as she walked down the docks with the rest of her men. Throwing their arms up in celebration as people chanted her name like it were a heavenly prayer. Women looked at her like the most divine creature to walk the Earth. And you?

You were subjected to what you could only guess were insults from the foreign tongue of Vikings. Not a damn word they spoke was decipherable to your ears. But their tones were enough for you to know and realize that they did not respect you. Your mind is still stuck on the fact that their Earl would be taking you, either saving you or dooming you to a fate worse than death.

And somewhere along the way, as you and many others were forced through the muddy streets of a destination you had yet to know about, you were pulled away. Eyes flickering around a large man held the chain that connected both cuffs around your wrists. You put up no fight as he pushed open the doors to a large building.

Stepping inside, the warmth of a fire in the center of the large hall greeted you. Tables were scattered throughout with steps to the left leading to a small landing where a chair sat. A throne, perhaps?

But you couldn’t ponder any further on it when you were led straight to a room in the back of the building. Stopping short of some beads that hung in front of a doorway. Eyes focused on the muscular figure obscured as the man unlocked your chains. Taking them and leaving you to just stare at that all-too-familiar woman, who inhaled deeply. Chest rising as Natasha held her breath, making the expanse of back and muscle seem a lot larger than they were. Which only made your mouth dry up at the sinful thoughts.

“If you wish to watch, no need to hide.” Her words sent a shiver down your spine as you hesitantly pushed past the beads, greeted by the side of Natasha. Her shirts and armour had been long forgotten. Only leaving thin fabric around her breasts and trouser pants that looked rather attractive on her. Then again, you were sure anything would look good on her.

Your eyes carried across her body, your curiosity getting the best of you. Scars littered her body like freckles, their pale tone sticking out rather blatantly. Their appearance was only more known by the defined muscles they were over. She was a walking mountain that you shamefully wouldn’t mind climbing.

She slowly turned to you, face devoid of emotion as she slowly sat at the end of the bed. “Come.” It was in no way a request and thankfully you picked up on that. Taking hesitant steps towards the woman until you stood between her parted legs. “Do you know why you are here?”

“Because I’m a slave-”

“No. It is fate.”

It might’ve just been in the moment, but a laugh slipped from your lips. But when you found Natasha still staring up at you, no amount of amusement in her eyes, you felt your smile slowly drop. “What do you mean?” You asked.

“The Seer spoke of a woman that I would find on my raids in England.” Natasha’s hand brushed against your thigh. The dress you wore divided her raw touch from your trembling thighs. She looked up at you, hands moving with their own minds and lifting the fabric into clenched hands until she met your smooth skin. “I would only know by the way she murdered my friend. 9 stab wounds in the stomach.”

Her reminding words made your mind flash with the sight of her bearded friend. His stomach pooled with blood from the knife that you left lodged in his abdomen. It wasn’t a moment you were proud of thinking back to, but you might even repeat it if it meant you were able to feel the intense bliss that Natasha’s hands created for you.

Their warmth squeezes and rubs your upper thighs. Purposely allowing her thumbs to rub their ways dangerously close to your clit, but never gifting you that ethereal feeling. You had touched yourself many times in the past, but you never experienced it with a man or woman.

“Tell me that I am wrong, Y/n.” The use of your name nearly had your heart-stopping as you stared down at the woman. But she was too preoccupied with lifting your dress higher until she could place gentle kisses on your stomach. It stole the breath right from you, your hands desperately threading through the Jarl’s hair, pulling her incredibly closer.

“You are mine now, Slave.” She bent her head slightly, sticking her tongue out and jabbing your clit. Grinning when your legs buckled at the sudden stimulation, a moan ripping from your mouth.

“Please, Natasha,” you whined. “Please, I need you.”

Natasha’s lips forged a grin, looking up at you with hooded eyes lids. “I thought you would never ask, love.”

“I am sure you have another in you, my love.”

Your small frame was pressed into Natasha’s chest. Legs pulled apart and held there by Natasha’s feet that were used as dividers. Both her hands lost between the apex of legs where they moved and did things that your mind couldn’t keep up with. Only knowing that it was solving every little doubt inside your head.

“Odin brought you to me.” Her fingers slammed into you harder than before, a cry falling from your lips. Hands grasping the shield maiden’s knees. Your eyes flickered shut as her warm breath fanned your neck. Lips ever so slightly ghosting over your pulse point. “I’ll never allow anyone to come near such a gift, my love.”

Her words held some type of power over you. She said them with such confidence that you could only think of them to be true. And the way her fingers curled inside of you, her thumb rubbing your clit, it seemed like you two meeting had always been fate, as ridiculous as it sounded. But would it be so bad to believe in something?

Your mind turned blank feeling the woman’s teeth nip at the shell of your ear with her fingers scissoring your insides and curling. Leaving you crying and whimpering finger her fingers new position and fucking you mercilessly.

Any form of reluctance or hatred for the woman had been washed away in sloppy kisses and screams that she had forced from your throat. Body surrendered willingly when she had fucked you with her tongue and worshipped your skin. She treated you like a piece of biblical rejuvenation, and you loved every second of it.

With a particular thrust, Natasha’s fingers bumped a sensitive spot that left your eyes shooting open. Head thrown back into the woman’s chest as you sobbed. “Natasha!” Her thumb pressed down onto your clit, seizing its sensual rubs as her fingers continued to fuck you mercilessly.

“What, my love?” She asked softly. “I know you’re close, don’t hold back.”

With her approval, you felt your body buzz as you reached the edge, falling into the depths of bliss. Your legs shook and your back arched away from her, still feeling her fingers fuck you throughout the orgasm. Only causing your eyes to scrunch up as you screamed and felt your hips buck up. Causing a soft, yet, deep laugh to fall from Natasha’s lips.

You panted, back resting against her chest as Natasha’s lips ghosted over your ear. “You got my bed wet, baby. I wonder what else this beautiful pussy can do.”

[viking-raider]

A Witcher's Soul

Summary: When tragedy strikes, Geralt of Rivia seeks comfort in the arms of one woman.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning: PG - Abandonment Issues, Child Abandonment, Fluff Parental Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Memories, Bathing, Love Confession, Soft!Geralt, Character's Death

Inspiration: This scene from Season Three of the Witcher! 😭

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!

Geralt rode Roach hard, only deviating from his path to guide the powerful black horse around a tree or rock. He gripped the worn brown reins tightly, feeling them cut into the top of his bare hands as he urged Roach to move faster, foam already starting to gather around his bit. The Witcher's mind raced, desperately trying to push down the power of the news he received from a good friend, while trying to help someone he'd found on the job. He struggled for a few days, trying to push it down, telling himself it didn't hurt.

She had left him almost a century ago, at this point.

Witchers had no emotions, he told himself, as a means to drive them back. It didn't work however, the emotions continued to smash into him.

So, he left in the dead of night, not a word to Anika, Otto, or even Jaskier, of where he was going or why. Though, he was sure Anika would know why. Geralt covered almost a whole league by the end of morning, cutting through the forest outside of Murivel, until he reached a modest clearing and an even more modest, three-room hut constructed in the middle of it, a stone and clay well on the left side, the bucket swaying softly in the breeze.

Roach came to a hard stop, hooves cutting deep grooves in the grassy earth, with Geralt wasting no time in dismounting the stallion and stomping across the yard to the front door. His sore and broken heart rose up with hope that it would swing open and the face of the one he was seeking would appear, to greet him. But, the door didn't open to him, instead he was greeted another way.

“Geralt!” A soft and confused voice called out.

He swung around on his boot heels, his golden eyes zeroing in on you as you stood just passed the tree-line, a basket of herbs and mushrooms balanced on your hip, as you regarded the Witcher. You hadn't seen Geralt in over a year, since he decided he needed to go to Cintra to make sure Ciri was safe from the sea of black and gold he'd seen on the Amell Pass. After the Dragon Hunt. You had heard the thunder of the new Roach's hooves coming up the path to your home, while you were gathering in the forest, and came to see who it was. You were surprised to see Geralt in general, but you were worried by how rushed he seemed.

“Geralt, what's amiss?” You asked, coming to close the gap between you. “Are you well?” You inquired, seeing the unusually deep crease between his brow and across his forehead, and how his complexion was paler, almost matching his hair.

Geralt took a deep breath through his nose, lips pressed together for a moment, working up the strength to speak. “I need you.” He finally rasped, his expression breaking into something soft and vulnerable.

“You rode all the way from wherever, just for time with me?” You smirked, tisking.

“Please.” Geralt replied, reaching out to grasp your free hand and squeezing it, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, his expression breaking even more.

You frowned at him, all jest dying inside of you, seeing his wall fall before you and the pain he was being crushed underneath. “Let's go inside.” You whispered softly, tilting your head towards your door.

Nodding, Geralt reached out for your basket, but shaking your head and swatting it away gently, you pushed the front door open and put your hand on his arm, guiding him inside. You set your basket on a large table and turned towards the just as large fireplace, grabbing wood from the dog grate and tossed it in. Building it back up, sparks flying up the chimney. You moved to Geralt, who stood motionless beside the table, taking his hand and guided him over to the chair at the head of the table, gently coaxing him to sit down, then knelt before him. Grabbing the heel of his boot and his calf, you tugged the muddy, black leather off and set it underneath the table, followed by its twin. There was dust and mud covering his black clothing. You brushed your palm over his knee and thigh, casting some of it off, before standing up again and starting for the next room, only to have Geralt grasp your wrist and pull you into his lap. His arms wrapped around your shoulders as he buried his face into your chest, and breathed deep.

You frowned at him, sympathetically brushing your fingers through his hair and pulling it free of its usual tie, his white strands cascading over his shoulders. You nosed the top of his head, caressing the back of his hair and squeezing his bicep, still confused as to why he was there and what was ailing him so much.

“Geralt.” You whispered into his strands. “Tell me, what's happened?” You asked, your fingertips brushing the back of his neck. “Did you not make it to Ciri in time? Has something happened to her or Jaskier?” You inquired, licking your lips as your heart thundered against his forehead. “I noticed that isn't the Roach you had the last time you were here.” You pointed out, remembering the sweet Chestnut you used to feed and brush, when Geralt stayed with you, but now there was a sturdy black stallion standing in your dooryard.

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “No, they're both fine.” He rasped, turning his head to rest his temple against your collarbone. “As for the last Roach, she was killed by a Chernobog, a few months ago.” He added, softly.

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” You cooed, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Then, what's the matter with my Wolf?”

He was still and quiet again, for a long time, his fingers restlessly toying with the strings at the back of your bodice, before suddenly standing with you still in his arms, and turning to sit you on the chair in his place. He went out the door, rounding the house to the well and dropped the bucket to the bottom. You watched Geralt come back inside with each bucket, holding it in one hand, like it was the weight of one of his swords. Pausing in the open doorway and giving you a hard stare every time, as if he expected to find you moved off the chair or vanished completely. Only then, did he go to your large cauldron, dumping the full bucket in and returning back outside for another.

“Are you going to tell me, what's the matter, Geralt?” You asked, your concern only mounting with his bizarre behavior and irregular moodiness.

“Nothing.” He grunted harshly, setting the cauldron over the fire to boil.

“That's a lie.” You answered, just as sharply, being one of the few people on the Continent brave enough to talk back to the White Wolf in such a manner; other than Jaskier and Ciri. “You wouldn't have come from the bum fuck of Nilfgaard to see me, if something wasn't bothering you.” You insisted, glaring at his back.

Geralt ignored you, heading towards the back rooms of your home and leaving you more worried and annoyed at his behavior. He came back a few minutes later with no shirt on, and your suspicions on his task were answered. Despite what the people of the great Continent thought of Geralt of Rivia, he did not in fact like smelling of death, blood and horse. When he stopped for the winter at Kaer Morhen or with you, he bathed regularly. He just found it more a nuisance to do so while on the Trail, since the next Contract or sleeping rough would only dirty him up again.

Pulling the roiling cauldron off the fire, Geralt carried it to the large, soaking tub you boosted in your bathroom. He filled it almost to the brim, before adding in Lavender and Sage bath salts to the steaming water. A fragrant haze filled the room as he tugged his pants off and tossed them over a chair in the corner. He strode out of the bathroom, returning to you, still sitting where he'd left you. He took your hand and helped you stand, untying the strings of your bodice and tugging down your dress, so it pooled around your feet, before slipping his arm under your knees and an arm around your shoulders, scooping you up against his chest.

You sighed softly, wrapping your arms around his neck, while he carried you to the bathroom. “I missed you.” You whispered into his ear, as he stepped into the tub, lowering you both into it.

“And I, you.” Geralt replied, holding you in his lap and resting back. “Ciri and Jaskier are well, by the way.” He said, his fingertips stroking the skin of your side, beneath the water. “Ciri is being watched over by Yennefer, who's helping her try and control her magic and Jaskier was with Anika, last I left him.”

“Anika?” You frowned, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “Why is Julian with Anika? If he's well.”

Geralt's thick, scarred arms squeezed around you, almost painfully, making you squirm in his lap. “You remember my mother.” He mumbled, barely audible. “Visenna.” He said so quietly, you had to strain to hear it.

“Yes, I recall you telling me of her, a few years after we met.” You murmured, seeing the strained expression on his face. “And that you'd seen her at Sodden Hill. She healed you, after the ghoul bite.”

“I remember bits of my life with my Ma.” He rasped, his grasp on you loosening, but he still held you close to him. “She smelled like embers, from keeping our measly fires alive during the long nights.” He told you, the crease between his golden eyes slowly vanishing as he went back to that time, tapping into that abandoned little boy, he had never grown out of, but skillfully concealed from those he didn't cherish. “We were quite poor, even though she was skilled as a healer. So, she-” He paused, his voice thickening and his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

You looked up at him, seeing the redness in the whites of his eyes and the unshed tears threatening on his lashes. It frightened you to see the Witcher like this. In the fifteen years you'd known him, you'd seen him in many states, but you had never seen Geralt cry. Reaching up, you cupped his scruffy cheek in your hand and thumbed a droplet away, pressing your lips to his jawline.

“She would use her magic to create the most elaborate meals that we couldn't afford.” He continued, tilting his head into your hand. “There was—I would have done anything to make her smile. And yet,” He voice broke again, this time with more than just hurt and abandonment, but with resentment. “The day she left me, she was sick. She needed some water, so I went to get her some, and when I came back to the road...she was gone.” He croaked, pushing his jaw forward and shaking his head, trying to deny the burn of more tears.

His fingertips pressed into the skin of your side and back. “I called for her.” He said weakly, his golden eyes off in the distance. “But she was gone.” He whimpered, the tears finally winning out, dripping off his jaw and into your hair and the bath water.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead to his neck and hugging your arms around his torso. You had known Visenna had abandoned Geralt. He had told you that bluntly not long after you had met. The torture of her leaving him there, to be taken away to Kaer Morhen, where he'd suffered such agony in his transformation into a Witcher, at just five years old, coupled with the pain he never got over with his mother.

You wondered how Geralt had survived at all.

But no, Geralt was strong, even from a young age.

“She's dead.”

You pulled out of your thoughts, shocked. “She's dead?”

“She was giving aid to some villager and was mistaken as an Elf.” Geralt told you, bringing a hand out of the water to wipe it over his face. “They beat her severely and she later died, at the Temple of Mourning, where Anika was. Which is how I found out.”

“I'm so sorry, Geralt.” You cooed, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, connecting the dots to his arrival. “I hope the two of you were able to make some sort of easement between you, when you last met.”

Geralt pressed his lips together and buried his face into your hair, his throat too tight to speak in the moment. He considered how he and Visenna last met, in the forest outside of Sodden Hill, as he laid feverish and hallucinating from a Ghoul bite to the leg. After saving a poor Merchant, who was trying to bury the dead from a camp Nilfgaard had attacked. At first, she had tried to conceal her identity from him, pretending to be Renfri, Yennefer and finally, you, before he managed to discover who it really was. Triggered by her belief that, People linked by Destiny, will always find each other.

He asked her what she thought of his eyes. Demanding to know, if she knew what they did to improve a Witcher's eyes. Telling her that it didn't always work. She had begged him to stop. Calling him by his name, only for Geralt to reject her right to do so, like she had rejected him. He had begged to know if she knew how many boys actually made it through the Trials. Tears filled both of their eyes as they stared at each other in the darkness.

In the end, his Ma had left him, again, fading into the night, trying to convince him she was just a dream and he would never get the answer he wanted.

So, had he made peace with his mother abandoning him, forcing him on the Path of the Witcher?

No. Geralt decided in the end, he had not.

The only thing Geralt did know was he wanted you. You were the first person he had thought of, upon finding out about his mother's death. Wanting to feel you against him and needing the comfort only you were able to provide. You shifted out of Geralt's lap, moving around him, while reaching over the side of the tub, grabbing the small cup that sat on the foot board there. Dipping it into the water and gently pouring it over Geralt's silvery-white strands, you set aside and took up a round, solid bar of honey and chamomile scented soap, using it to work his hair into a rich lather. Geralt moaned, feeling your fingers massage his scalp, resting forward to prop his elbows on his bent knees, eyes falling shut.

“I love you.” He murmured, quietly.

You stopped, resting your hands on his broad shoulders. “You've never said that before.” You said, looking around at him, mouth softly agape.

“No?” Geralt rasped, cocking a brow over his shoulder at you.

“Not once, in all these years.” You assured him, your hand gently massaging the scarred muscle of his neck.

He turned to you, causing the cooling water to slosh over the edge. “Then, I have a great deal of making up to do.” He cooed, reaching out to cup your face in his rough palm. “Because I do. I love you. Out of everyone, besides perhaps Jaskier and Vesemir, you know me better than anyone, and no one has ever taken better care of me than you have.” He told you, his face betraying the emotions a Witcher truly had, but guarded for their most treasured person, and not those of an abandoned child, rather those of a man in love.

“I love you too, Geralt.” You assured him, turning your head to kiss his hand. “And I will always care for you, me bleidd.” You whispered, picking up the cup to continue washing his hair.