#Bjorn lothbrok fanfic

[gratelove]

Stay This Time

Bjorn Lothbrok x Reader

Separated by fate but reunited by fire, a childhood bond between Bjorn Lothbrok and a fierce shieldmaiden reignites into a passion as untamed as the storm that brews between you. Bound by choice, not need, you demand your own legacy — but Bjorn vows to stay, not to claim you, but to stand beside you as your equal.

Warnings:p in v, fluff

The clash of steel filled the air, ringing out against the chatter of onlookers. You were locked in a heated practice fight, your breath coming in short, determined bursts as you sparred against one of Kattegat’s men. He was twice your size, but that only drove you to push harder, your movements swift and precise.

With a final twist of your wrist, you swept his legs out from under him and planted your foot on his chest. The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter, and you allowed yourself a proud grin.

From across the training field, a familiar pair of piercing blue eyes watched, filled with curiosity. Bjorn Lothbrok had returned to Kattegat, and though he looked different—stronger, broader, with the air of a man who had seen battles—you recognized him immediately. He was no longer the boy you had once called your best friend, but a warrior who carried himself with a quiet confidence.

Bjorn’s gaze lingered on you, a spark of recognition dawning on his face. It had been years since he left with his mother, and yet here you were, standing tall and fierce before him. His brow furrowed slightly, as if he were piecing together a puzzle.

Suddenly, arms wrapped around your neck and a deep laugh erupted in your ear, breaking your locked gaze. The arms of Rune, your long time friend and recent sexual companion. He left a sloppy kiss on your cheek and you laughed, grabbing his forearm with your small hands. He began to drag you away, but not before you got one last glance at Bjorn, who was still watching you.

_

Later that evening, Kattegat was alive with celebration. The great hall was filled with laughter, the smell of roasting meat, and the clinking of cups. You felt a strange excitement coursing through you, knowing Bjorn was somewhere in the crowd. You stood away from the crowd, leaning against a pillar.

As you sipped from your horn of ale, a voice spoke close to your ear. “I thought I recognized that fierce look on the training field,” Bjorn said, his tone laced with amusement. “You always had the same look on your face when we fight as kids.” The voice made its way to stand directly in front of you.

“If I remember right, I always kicked your ass too.” He laughed, only a few inches away from you. You leaned your head against the wood pillar, tilting it up to meet his gaze. He stood several inches above you, and was definitely not the boy you remembered him to be. He was all muscle, scars, and tattoos now. A true Viking male.

“It was only because I let you win.” You let out a breathy laugh, rolling your eyes.

“Is that what you tell yourself to help you sleep at night? Can’t help being beat by a girl?” His index finger found one of the curls of your hair, playing with it. You breath hitched at his touch.

“Not much of a girl anymore. You’re a woman now.” You raised an eyebrow, trying your hardest to not let him see he’s affecting you.

“Yes, as you are now a man,” you say as your eyes travel down his body, then back up to his eyes. A playful smirk finds his lips as his hand travels down to grab yours.

“Will you dance with me? Or will your boyfriend be angry?” You furrow your brows at his accusation.

“What makes you think I have a boyfriend?”

“I saw that boy you were with earlier.” Your eyes widen in realizing you laugh.

“Rune? He is not my boyfriend. I am no man’s. I belong to no one.” Bjorn smiles and pulls your hand so your flush against him.

“How does such a beautiful woman not have a boyfriend.” He tilted his head in question.

“Because, I will never be known as someone’s wife. I will be known as a shield maiden. People will know my name, not because of who my husband is, but for the person I decided to be.” An expression flashed on Bjorn’s face, one of appreciation. One of respect.

“Good, then you will dance with me.” His gaze was intense on you, his eyes sharp and playful.

“I never said yes.” You squinted at him.

“Come on,” he said, his voice rough with amusement. “Or have you grown too proud to dance with an old friend?”

“Proud,” you shot back. “If anyone’s proud, it’s you.”

He laughed, his grip firm as he tugged you into the swirling crowd of bodies. People moved aside, giving him space as he pulled you in front of him, his hands sliding to your waist with the confidence of someone who never asked permission. You stared up at him, your breath caught in your chest as the world around you blurred into flickering lights and music.

“Show me, then,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart pound harder than the drums. “Show me if you’re still as wild as you used to be.”

You tilted your head, arching a brow, unwilling to back down. “You’ll have to keep up, Bjorn.”

He grinned, his hands gripping your hips with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. The music shifted to a deeper, headier rhythm, the steady thump of the drums echoing through your veins. You moved together, your bodies falling into sync as if no time had passed at all.

The air grew thicker with every beat, every sway of your hips. His eyes stayed on you, watching every movement like a predator stalking prey. You matched his energy, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, knowing exactly what you were doing. His grip tightened in response, his fingers pressing into your sides as his gaze flickered down to where your bodies were almost—but not quite—touching.

“Still think you can handle me, Lothbrok,” you teased, breathless from the thrill of it all.

His eyes snapped back to yours, sharp as a blade’s edge. “I don’t think,” he said, his voice low, rough, and far too close to your ear. “I know.”

Heat spread through you like wildfire. His hands slid up your sides, his fingertips tracing slow, deliberate paths, sending sparks along your skin. The space between you disappeared as he leaned in, his lips so close to your ear you could feel the brush of them when he spoke.

“You’ve grown dangerous,” he murmured, his voice dark and smooth as honeyed mead.

Your heart thundered in your chest, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter. Instead, you spun in his grasp, your back pressed against his chest now, your head tilted just enough to catch the sharp smirk on his face.

“Careful, Bjorn,” you said over your shoulder, your voice a little too breathless for your liking. “You might not be able to handle me after all.”

His breath was hot against your neck as his fingers splayed wide over your stomach, pulling you flush against him. “Try me,” he growled, his voice rough with something far more dangerous than playfulness.

The crowd around you blurred into shadows and firelight. It was just you and him, the rhythm of the music a steady pulse between your bodies. Every movement was deliberate, every roll of your hips matched by his. It wasn’t just dancing anymore — it was a challenge, a battle of control, of tension, and neither of you was willing to surrender.

Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps as you tilted your head back against his shoulder, the warmth of him seeping into your skin. His hands stayed firm, guiding you in a way that felt more like claiming. He wasn’t just following the music — he was commanding it.

“You know how many times I thought about you while I was gone,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. His hands moved from your hips, running up the small of your waist. You spun back around before he had the chance to move further.

“I always knew you had a crush on me,” you teased, as you tangled your hands in his short blonde hair.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, and suddenly his mouth was on yours. The kiss was nothing short of wildfire — fierce, consuming, and utterly unstoppable. His lips were rough but sure, moving against yours like he had been waiting for this moment for far too long. Your breath hitched as you gripped his shoulders, your fingers digging into the leather of his tunic. He pulled you in tighter, crushing you against him as if he could fuse you together.

The crowd around you barely existed now. There was only him — his warmth, his strength, the taste of him on your tongue like honeyed mead and salt. His hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip just enough to make you gasp. He took advantage of it, his tongue sliding against yours with a slow, deliberate intensity that made your knees weaken.

But you weren’t about to be undone by him.

Your hands moved to his jaw, your fingers tracing the sharp edges of his beard, then fisting in his hair as you tilted his head back, taking control of the kiss. He groaned, low and deep, a sound that rumbled through his chest. His arms wrapped fully around your waist, his grip unrelenting, as if he was afraid you might slip away.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together. His eyes were still on yours, wild and unyielding, his lips swollen from the kiss. You were sure you looked just as wrecked.

“Still think I can’t handle you?” he murmured, his voice rougher now, like it had been dragged over stone.

“Not bad,” you admitted, a slow grin tugging at your lips. “But you’re not the only one who’s learned a few things.”

His laugh was deep and raw, the kind that made your chest tighten in the most infuriating way. His gaze dipped down to your lips again, and he leaned in, his voice nothing more than a husky whisper. “Then show me.”

Your heart pounded so hard it echoed in your ears. For a moment, you glanced around at the hall — the firelight, the laughter, the crowd still dancing and drinking. None of it mattered. Not anymore. The only thing that mattered was the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palm, the unspoken challenge in his eyes, and the heat that had coiled low in your belly, too strong to ignore.

“Follow me,” you said, your voice low but certain.

His eyes flashed with something wild and untamed. Without hesitation, his hand slid down to grip yours, his fingers lacing with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. He let you lead him, weaving through the crowd.

The cool night air hit your face as you stepped outside, but it did nothing to cool the fire burning under your skin. His fingers stayed locked with yours, his grip firm but never controlling. You led him through the winding paths of Kattegat, past dimly lit streets and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore.

Your home wasn’t far, but the walk felt longer with him so close behind you, his eyes boring into your back. Every step felt like an eternity, every brush of his fingers a spark against your skin. When you finally reached the door, you glanced over your shoulder, catching the way he was looking at you — his eyes half-lidded, his breathing uneven, like a wolf that had just found its prey.

“Are you going to stand there staring,” you teased, reaching for the latch, “or are you coming in?”

The words barely left your mouth before his hands were on you again, spinning you around and pressing you back against the door. His mouth was on yours before you could finish drawing breath, his kiss searing, desperate, and all-consuming. You fumbled with the latch, both of you too caught up in the pull of each other to care. The door gave way behind you, and you stumbled inside, still tangled in each other’s arms.

He kicked the door shut behind him, his hands already moving over your back, your waist, pulling you against him. His fingers traced the curve of your spine, pressing you closer until you could feel every inch of him, hard and unyielding. Your fingers worked at the laces of his tunic, tugging them free with urgency, and he let out a sharp breath against your lips, his forehead resting against yours for just a moment.

“You’re impatient,” he murmured, his voice thick with that familiar cocky edge.

“Don’t pretend you’re any better,” you shot back, pulling the leather from his shoulders.

His grin was wicked and full of promise. “Fair point.”

He pushed you gently, guiding you backward until your back hit the wall. His lips were on your neck now, slow and deliberate, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your jaw. Your head tipped back, a gasp escaping your lips as your hands found his bare chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle. Every scar you touched was a story he’d never have to tell, and you found yourself memorizing each one.

His lips returned to yours, his kiss more focused now — no longer a clash of wills, but something deeper, something hotter. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and his groan reverberated against your lips.

“Tell me to stop,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice so low and raw it sent a shiver down your spine. “Tell me now, and I will.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. They were dark, wild, but there was something steady there too — a flicker of restraint, a promise to pull back if you asked. But you didn’t want him to pull back. Not tonight.

“Don’t stop,” you said, your voice steady, your gaze unwavering.

His eyes searched yours for half a heartbeat, then something inside him snapped. His hands were on you again, rough but never careless, lifting you with ease. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you further inside, his lips never leaving yours. Your back hit the fur covered bed and Bjorn quickly reconnected your lips.

Bjorn’s hands were everywhere — rough, warm, and possessive as they roamed the curves of your body. The air in your home was thick with the scent of pinewood, firelight flickering against the walls, but none of it mattered. The only thing you could focus on was him — the weight of him above you, the feel of his body pressed so tightly against yours it was hard to tell where you ended and he began.

His mouth was on yours again, hungrier than before. His kisses were fire and steel, each one hot enough to sear away every rational thought. His beard was rough against your skin, but you didn’t care. If anything, you welcomed the sensation — the way it grounded you in the wild, electric storm of him. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just hard enough to draw a low, guttural groan from his chest.

“Still think you’re in control?” he rasped, his lips brushing against the hollow of your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

“Don’t mistake patience for surrender,” you shot back, breathless but still defiant. Your legs tightened around his waist, locking him in place. “If I wanted to stop you, Bjorn, you’d already be on your back.”

That earned you a sharp, wicked grin. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in just hard enough to make your heart race faster. “Is that right?” he muttered against your collarbone, his voice rough like the scrape of stone on steel. He nipped at your skin, drawing a gasp from you, and then soothed the spot with his tongue, slow and deliberate. “I’d like to see you try.”

“You will,” you promised, tilting his head up so his eyes met yours, fierce and unyielding. “But not tonight.”

His breath caught, his grin faltering for half a heartbeat before it returned, sharper now, more dangerous. “Then I’ll take what you give me,” he said, his eyes locked on yours with a heat that threatened to consume you both. “But know this — I’m not gentle.”

“Good,” you said, your lips brushing against his. “I don’t want gentle.”

The moment you said it, he surged forward, capturing your mouth with a kiss so fierce it left you breathless. There was no more teasing now, no more restraint. His hands were on your waist, pulling you closer, his body pressed so tightly against yours it felt like he was trying to carve himself into your bones. The heat between you was unbearable, every brush of his skin against yours sending sparks down your spine.

You fought back, of course. Your hands explored his chest, nails raking lightly down his skin, tracing old scars and new ones alike. His muscles tensed under your touch, and you felt his sharp inhale, his body shuddering slightly under the weight of your touch.

His hands found the hem of your tunic, sliding under to rest against the bare skin of your waist. The warmth of his palms sent a shiver down your spine, and you arched into him, your breath catching as his thumbs stroked slow, lazy circles against your skin.

“You’re quiet now,” he teased, his breath hot against your ear. “Where’s all that clever talk from before?”

“Careful, Bjorn,” you warned, turning your head just enough so your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “You might regret what you’re asking for. Most men don’t want a woman who dominates them.”

He growled, the sound raw and primal, vibrating low in his chest. His eyes met yours again, his pupils blown wide with something wild and untamed. “I want all of it,” he said, his voice low and dark as a storm on the horizon. “Every part.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding so hard it echoed in your ears. You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, he was on his back, his eyes wide with shock before a grin broke across his face. You were straddling him, your hands on his chest, pinning him down with a grin that matched his own.

His laughter was sharp and wild, his eyes bright with pride and something else — something hotter. “There she is,” he said, his voice full of approval, his hands gripping your hips with bruising strength. “That’s the girl I remember.”

“She’s still here,” you said, leaning down so your face was just inches from his.

“And by the gods, how I’ve missed her.” His eyes darkened, his grin fading into something more serious, more dangerous. His hand moved from your hip to the back of your neck, pulling you down into another kiss, this one slower, deeper, like he was no longer rushing to win. No, this wasn’t about victory anymore — it was about savoring every second, every taste, every inch of you.

His hands roamed your back, your sides, gripping, holding, claiming. You felt his heart pounding under your palm, wild and fast, just like your own. The steady thrum of it matched yours beat for beat, as if the two of you were caught in the same storm.

“Say it,” he muttered against your lips, his voice hoarse with need. “Say you missed me.”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, those blue eyes that had haunted your dreams for years. “I missed you,” you admitted, breathless but unashamed. “More than you’ll ever know.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, something softened in his gaze. His hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek with a tenderness you hadn’t expected. “I missed you too,” he said, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. “More than I should have.”

For a heartbeat, the world slowed. The only sound was the distant crackle of the fire, the only light the flicker of its glow. His eyes searched yours, his gaze raw and open in a way you hadn’t seen before. The weight of it settled deep in your chest, warm and aching all at once.

But then the storm returned.

His lips were on yours, fiercer than before, his hands pulling you down against him like he never wanted to let go. Your hands were in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. He flipped you again, his body pressing you into the bed, his weight a welcome, grounding presence.

There were no more words after that, just the sound of your breaths mingling, the scrape of rough hands on soft skin, and the steady, unrelenting crash of two people who had been apart for far too long. It was wild. It was reckless. And it was everything you had been waiting for.

Your fingers clawed at his back, your legs tangled with his as the heat between you grew unbearable. Every touch was fire, every kiss a clash of wills. You lost track of time, of space, of anything but him. His name was a whisper on your lips, and yours was a growl on his.

He quickly undid the ties of his pants, pulling them down. You did the same to yours, neither of you seemingly able to move fast enough. He grabbed your hands, pinning them above your head. He buried himself in you and you let out a cry of pleasure. He was true to his word. He was not gentle. His thrusts were fast and rough, and you basked in the immense pleasure of him pounding into you. Your head fell against the pillow, your eyes rolling back. He was hitting you deeper and deeper with each thrust.

You met his gaze and he was a thing of beauty. His blonde hair clung to his forehead and his piercing blue eyes drank in your appearance. His muscles tightened under his scarred and tattooed skin as he relished in the pleasure of his cock inside you. If you could see this for the rest of your life you may die happy, you thought to yourself.

With your legs wrapped around his waist, you used your strength to flip yourselves over, once again. You were now on top, palms flat against his muscles pecks. You pushed into them, using them as leverage to grind on him. You moved your hips back and forth, watching as his mouth fell open in pleasure. His hands squeezed your waist, pushing you back and forth with more speed. Your head fell back as you began to bounce up and down on his length. You let out a loud moan at his deep he was entering you.

His hands clasped your breasts as you bounced faster and faster. He let out an animalistic groan and you matched it with your own moans. You could feel the pressure building in your lower stomach. You were so close to the edge.

“Bjorn,” you moaned his name, earning a moan from him. Your movements became sloppier as you reached the edge. You finally tipped over the edge, a wave of ecstasy washing over you.

You kept up your movements until Bjorn hit his climax. You felt him spill into you and you let out one last moan, before falling next to him on the bed. He wrapped his arm around your naked body, pulling you into him.

When it was over, you lay tangled together, your breath still coming in shallow gasps, the heat of his body a steady, grounding presence against yours. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your arm, his head resting against your shoulder as he lay beside you.

Silence hung between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that comes after a storm, calm and steady, like the world had finally decided to give you peace.

“You’ll stay this time,” you said softly, turning to face him.

His eyes met yours, steady and sure. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m done running,” he said, his voice firm with resolve. “I have nothing to run from anymore.”

Your eyes searched his, looking for doubt but finding none. You nodded, your heart a steady thrum of warmth and certainty. “Good,” you murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Because I won’t let you leave again.”

He didn’t answer at first. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you wondered if he would say something reckless, something that would make you shove him right back out the door.

But then he smirked, his thumb brushing slow circles over your skin. “I thought you didn’t want a man tying you down,” he said softly, his voice teasing but not cruel. “Didn’t you say you didn’t need a husband or a man to be remembered?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you tilted your head toward him, letting your fingers trace the edge of his jaw. His beard was rough beneath your fingertips, but his eyes were soft now, softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I don’t,” you replied simply, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I don’t need a man to carve my name into the sagas.”

His grin widened, slow and wolfish, but he didn’t interrupt.

“But,” you continued, your voice strong and clear, “if I choose to have one at my side, he’ll be there because I want him to be. Not because I need him. And not because he defines me.”

His grin faded, replaced by something deeper. His eyes, sharp as they were, held something raw and unguarded now. His fingers squeezed your hip, his grip firm but not possessive. “You are an exceptional woman. I never wish to change you. I never wish to define you. I will stay,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on yours like he was making a vow before the gods themselves. “I will stay because I want to stand beside you. It would be an honor to be know as yours.” His voice lowered into something rougher, more honest. “If you’ll have me.”

You blinked slowly, the weight of his words settling into your chest like a steady, thrumming beat. It wasn’t possession. It wasn’t control. It was choice. And that made all the difference.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his, your eyes closing as the warmth of him surrounded you. Your voice was soft but steady when you replied, “Then stay, Bjorn Lothbrok. Stay and see if you can keep up.”

His sharp inhale was followed by a low chuckle, his breath warm against your lips. “I’d like to see you try and leave me behind,” he murmured, his voice filled with a challenge you both knew would never truly be tested.

You tilted your head, brushing your lips against his, slow and deliberate. “I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to.”

[eu-nicola]

first love

summary: you always hated Ragnar until you realized that that hatred was not hatred but love

warnings: age-gap, infidelity, pregnancy

word counter: 9363

author's note: english is not my first language, inspired by something old that I also wrote

You had known Ragnar Lothbrok for as long as you could remember, and you had always known that his place in your life was not that of a stranger. He had been a part of your world even before you came into it.

Your father always spoke of Ragnar as if he were a son. When you were younger, you sat on your father’s knee as he told stories of Ragnar’s bravery and cunning, of how, as a mere boy, he had shown intelligence that few men possessed. You listened, but those words never filled you with pride. It wasn’t admiration you felt for him. It was jealousy. Jealousy of how your parents looked at him, jealousy of how your father laughed with him, a truer sound than the one you managed to coax out of him.

Ragnar wasn’t just bigger than you in age; he was bigger in every other way. He had always been that way. In your family’s eyes, he was more than an older brother. He was the perfect son they had never had before you.

You clearly remember the first time you realized how deep your connection to your father was. You were about six years old, running through the field near your house, chasing butterflies as your bare feet sank into the damp grass. When you came home, sweaty and leafy, you saw him there at the table next to your father. Your heads leaned forward, talking quietly as if they shared a secret that would never include you. Your small hands balled into fists, and you stood in the doorway, feeling like a stranger in your own home. 

“What are you doing standing there?” he had asked you, with an easy smile that lit up everyone’s eyes but your own. 

“I don’t like the way you talk to my father,” you told him with childlike sincerity that knew no filters. 

He laughed, a sound he had always hated because it was loud, as if the entire world could hear how much he enjoyed life. "And why not, little one? Is it yours and not mine?"

Your father laughed too, but you didn't. You looked down and crossed your arms, muttering something that even you didn't quite understand. At that moment, Ragnar had looked at you like someone would look at a child who barely understands the world, and that only increased your childish rage.

Over time, things didn't improve. Ragnar grew into a strong, cunning, and charismatic man. His exploits began to resonate beyond the borders of your small world, and while others celebrated him, you still felt overshadowed by his presence.

Sometimes, you tried to reason with yourself. It wasn't Ragnar's fault that your father adored him so much. It wasn't his fault that others looked at him with admiration. But those thoughts didn't ease the weight in your chest every time his name came up in family conversations, as if everything revolved around him.

There were days when you wished he would go away. That his ship would not return from the sea, that his laughter would stop filling the rooms, that his stories would become a thing of the past. And yet, there was a part of you that couldn’t deny that you were watching him intently. Like a wolf on the prowl, you memorized his every gesture, every word he said. 

One day, when you were ten, things reached their breaking point. Ragnar had returned from a long journey, and your father threw a banquet in his honor. The entire village gathered at your house, singing, drinking, and celebrating his return. You were at the back, in the darkest corner of the hall, watching as Ragnar moved through the crowd with the ease of someone who knew he belonged.

When you finally crossed paths with him, he gave you an amused look. “Why are you always so serious when you see me?”

“I’m not serious. I just don’t like you,” you blurted out without thinking.

He laughed, but it wasn’t as loud this time. There was something else in his expression, something you hadn’t seen before: curiosity. “Do you not like me because I’ve always been here, or because you think I don’t pay attention to you?”

The question left you silent, because you didn’t know how to respond. Ragnar always found a way to disarm you, even when you didn’t want to admit it.

“Maybe it’s not you who hates me,” he finally said, leaning in to look you in the eyes. “Maybe it’s you who doesn’t want to share your place in this world with me.”

Those words stuck in your mind, though at the time you didn’t know what to do with them. Because, as much as you hated to admit it, maybe he was right.

Over the years, you left behind the childish games and tantrums, but Ragnar remained a constant in your life. You no longer openly hated him, but you didn't seek him out either. You avoided him, always hiding behind the responsibilities of the house or the social gatherings that you so detested. But even from a distance, you felt his presence like a shadow that stretched over you, a force that you couldn't ignore. 

It was around your thirteenth birthday that you began to understand something that you didn't want to accept. Ragnar had returned from another of his trips, this time with the triumphant air of a man who had achieved something great. His face was covered in dust and sun, his eyes shining with that fire that seemed to ignite everyone around him. He entered your home as if he owned the place, with that laugh of his that always managed to put everyone in a good mood. Everyone except you, or at least that's what you forced yourself to believe. 

You watched him from the table, hidden behind a curtain of your hair, while he spoke to your father. Ragnar had this ability to capture everyone’s attention, as if words were something created just for him. He was charismatic, strong, and self-assured, and for the first time you noticed something that left you frozen: you didn’t look at him the way you look at a brother. 

The thought hit you like a bolt of lightning. All that time, all that anger you’d felt towards him, all the arguments and resentment, it hadn’t been because you wanted him to go away. You hadn’t hated Ragnar because he was your father’s favorite, or because he made you feel small next to him. You’d hated him because you liked him. 

The realization stunned you. You’d heard other girls in the village talk about what it was like to be attracted to a man, about how their hearts beat faster and their stomachs filled with nerves when they were around someone they liked. You’d always thought those things were ridiculous, that love was something you didn’t need or want. But now, you felt that same uneasiness in your chest whenever Ragnar was around. 

That night, you couldn't sleep. Images of him filled your mind: his laugh, the way his hair fell across his forehead, how his gaze seemed to pierce you every time it met yours. You felt caught between the desire to push him out of your life and the inability to imagine a world without him. 

The following days you tried harder than ever to avoid him. If you saw him coming, you would veer off on another path. If your father mentioned his name, you would quickly change the subject. But Ragnar didn't seem willing to ignore you. Every chance he got, he would look for you with his eyes, with that crooked smile that seemed to know more than he was willing to say. 

Some time later Ragnar had returned from the north with more than just stories of his travels. He returned with a woman at his side: Lagertha. The first time you saw her, you understood why he had chosen her. She was beautiful, with such a strong and determined presence that she seemed to fill the room without needing to say a word. She was not a simple peasant or any woman. She was a warrior, a shieldmaiden, someone worthy of accompanying a man like him.

And you hated her.

It wasn't because she was evil or cruel, because she wasn't. Lagertha, with her open smile and direct gaze, tried from the beginning to win your sympathy, but you refused point-blank. Every kind word she spoke to you crashed against the wall you had raised between you. You didn't want her friendship. You wanted nothing from her.

But what really tore you apart was Ragnar. He seemed different with Lagertha at his side, as if his world had become complete in a way you had never seen before. When he looked at her, there was something in his eyes that made you grit your teeth: affection. It wasn't the camaraderie she shared with your father or the teasing affection she sometimes gave you. It was something deeper, more real.

At first, you tried to ignore what you felt. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that what Ragnar did with his life wasn’t your problem. But the more time passed, the harder it was to contain the rage that was building up inside you.

You became a walking storm. Your words became sharper, your gestures more abrupt. Everything you did was tinged with an anger that you couldn’t explain to others, not even to yourself. When you crossed paths with Ragnar, you barely looked at him. And if he tried to talk to you, your answers were cold and distant.

“What’s wrong?” he asked you one day, after you completely ignored him during a conversation at the family table.

“What would happen to me?” you replied without looking at him, focusing on breaking off a piece of bread as if it were the most important thing in the world.

Ragnar wasn’t stupid. You knew that. He had always been shrewd, able to read people with an ease that was disturbing. But this time, he didn’t seem to quite understand you. He frowned, leaning towards you a little. “You’ve been in a bad mood since I got back. Is it because of Lagertha?”

The sound of her name on his lips made your stomach twist. You forced yourself to remain calm, though. You looked up, staring at him with a hardness you didn’t know you possessed. “So what if she is? I don’t like her. Is that enough for you?”

Ragnar arched an eyebrow, surprised by your bluntness. “She hasn’t done anything to you. Why does she bother you so much?”

“Because I do,” you snapped, bolting up from the table. “Because I didn’t have to bring her here, or marry her.”

He stared at you, and for a moment you thought he was going to insist. But instead, he leaned back against the back of his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t understand why this matters so much to you.”

“And you don’t need to understand it,” you blurted out before exiting the room, leaving your anger and unfinished words behind you.

After that, you avoided any prolonged interaction with him. If he was in a room, you found an excuse to leave. If he spoke to you, you responded in monosyllables or ignored him completely. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he affected you.

But there were times when you couldn’t help but see him, like when he walked beside Lagertha through the fields, his laughter mingling with hers as if they were the only ones who mattered in the world. On those occasions, you felt something inside you break a little more.

When you turned sixteen, the day was a cold, grey sky, as if even the gods shared the melancholy you felt inside. The village was busier than ever; Ragnar and Lagertha had just had their son, Bjorn, a little boy who had already stolen everyone's hearts with his loud cry and inquisitive look.

You received the news while helping your mother in the kitchen. A neighbor came in excitedly, her beaming smile lighting up the room. “A son has been born to Ragnar! A strong, healthy boy. They have named him Bjorn.”

You stood still for a moment, your hands still covered in flour. The air seemed to grow heavy, as if every word of that woman crushed you. Bjorn. Ragnar had a son.

You knew this moment would come. It was natural for a man like him to build a family, for his life to be filled with new bonds and responsibilities. But that certainty didn’t make it hurt any less.

That night, as the village celebrated the birth of the little boy, you stepped away from the crowd. Chants and laughter filled the air, but you couldn’t bear to be there, watching Ragnar and Lagertha receive everyone’s congratulations. Instead, you sat alone on the riverbank, watching the current carry away the fallen leaves.

It was then, in the pale moonlight, that something inside you changed. For years you had carried an unrequited love, a weight that had filled you with rage, sadness, and frustration. But now, thinking of Bjorn and the future Ragnar was building, you realized it was time to let it go.

It wasn't easy. It was like ripping out a part of yourself, a part that had been with you for as long as you could remember. But you knew you could no longer live trapped in that cycle of emotions. Ragnar wasn't yours, and he never would be. And that was okay.

You decided that if you wanted to find your place in the world, you had to free yourself from that weight. So you let it go, like the leaves falling into the river, allowing the current to carry them away to a place you couldn't follow.

Letting it go didn't mean forgetting it, though. Ragnar was still a part of your life, as he always had been. But now you saw him differently. He was no longer the man you wanted, but someone you had learned to respect from a distance.

He was still there when you needed him, though those occasions were becoming less frequent. You were no longer a child, and the world did not revolve around him as you had once felt it did. You were a woman now, and you were determined to forge your own path.

One afternoon, while you were working in the fields, Ragnar approached you. He was carrying Bjorn in his arms, and the boy looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and adoration that made you smile despite everything.

“Aren’t you coming to see the little one?” he asked you, with that smile of his that still managed to disarm you, although in a different way now.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead and walked towards them. Bjorn stared at you with his big blue eyes, so similar to his father’s. He extended a small hand towards you, and you couldn’t help but gently take it between your fingers.

“He’s strong,” you said, more to yourself than to Ragnar.

“Like his mother,” he replied with a soft laugh.

You looked at him, feeling a calmness you hadn’t known before. “And like his father.”

Ragnar watched you for a moment, as if trying to decipher something in your expression. But he didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

That was the last time you allowed the ghosts of your past love to visit you. From then on, you focused on yourself, on your own goals and dreams. Ragnar was still a part of your life, but no longer the axis of your thoughts.

A year later when you turned seventeen, your world began to expand in ways you had never imagined. Ragnar, always restless, had begun to embark on more frequent trips, exploring new lands and discovering unknown horizons. It was on one of those days, while he was planning his next expedition, that you decided to accompany him. It wasn’t something you thought about much; you simply felt it. You wanted something more, something far from the confines of the village you had called home all your life.

“Are you sure you want to come?” Ragnar asked you when you proposed, with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile. “The sea is not as kind as it seems.”

“As kind as you, I suppose,” you replied with a spark of humor that made him laugh. “I don’t mind. I want to go.”

And so it was that you found yourself on the ship, surrounded by men weathered by wind and water, the smell of salt filling your senses. At first, you didn’t know what to expect. The constant movement of the waves was disconcerting, and the sound of the wood creaking beneath your feet made you feel small and insignificant. But as the days passed, you began to understand why Ragnar loved these voyages so much. 

There was a freedom at sea that couldn’t be found anywhere else. There were no village expectations, no inquisitive glances, no questions about your future. On the ship, you were simply you, facing a world that stretched beyond the horizon. 

Ragnar taught you to navigate by the stars, pointing out constellations you’d never noticed before. “Look there,” he said one night, as the sky spread out like a black blanket studded with diamonds. “Those take us north.”

“And those others,” you added, pointing to a group of stars that seemed especially bright to you, “where do they take us?”

He looked at you with a calm smile. “Wherever you want to go.”

It was in those moments, amidst the vastness of the ocean, that you began to understand something about yourself. You had spent years feeling trapped, first by your emotions towards Ragnar, then by the weight of your own expectations. But here, far away from everything, you realized that freedom was not something anyone could give you; it was something you had to claim for yourself.

When you reached land, every place you discovered filled you with wonder. The villages you visited, the new faces, the unfamiliar languages… everything was a reminder of how big the world was and how small you were within it. But that smallness did not intimidate you. On the contrary, it inspired you.

Ragnar seemed to notice the change in you. Although he did not say it openly, his gestures made it clear. When she watched you interact with the villagers or explore the markets with eyes full of curiosity, there was something in her expression that almost seemed like… pride.

When you returned from travels, there was always a mix of relief and melancholy. Returning meant safety, the warmth of home, but also the return to routines and inevitable questions.

Lagertha, who you had learned to get along with better, always greeted you with a smile and a question she couldn’t seem to avoid: “Well? When are you going to marry one of the men?”

That question always made you feel uncomfortable. You knew it was common for you to be engaged at your age, but the thought of tying yourself down to someone had never been appealing to you. Not after everything you had felt for Ragnar. Not after having tasted the freedom that travel offered you.

“I haven’t found anyone worth it yet,” you always answered with a noncommittal smile, trying to downplay it.

Lagertha would often laugh at your answer, though she would insist. “You are beautiful and strong. There is no shortage of men in this village who would want you as a wife.”

You would simply shrug and change the subject. Although you could now see that Lagertha was not your enemy, you could not confess the truth to her either. You could not tell her that deep down, there was still a part of you that could not imagine being with anyone but Ragnar, though you knew that dream would never come true.

It was not long before you were once again embarking on another journey with Ragnar. This time, the destination was beyond anything you had ever imagined. There was talk of faraway lands, with riches and wonders that few had ever seen. The preparations were long and meticulous; the journey would be longer and more dangerous, but the excitement in the air was palpable.

“Are you sure you want to come?” Ragnar asked for the umpteenth time, as he adjusted the oars on the boat.

“What kind of question is that?” you replied with a defiant smile. “Of course I’m going.”

Ragnar nodded, though his eyes reflected more than just acceptance. It was a mix of pride and concern, but you didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

The first leg of the journey was exciting, as always. The wind filled the sails and the horizon stretched out before you like an endless promise. But as the days passed, the conditions began to change. The waters grew colder, the air heavier, and your strength began to fail.

At first it was a simple malaise that you tried to ignore. A slight fever, some weakness. But soon it became impossible to hide. Your body was exhausted, and every movement cost you more effort than you wanted to admit. Ragnar was the first to notice.

“You look pale,” he commented one night as you stood by the fire, trying to warm up from the cold sea.

“I’m fine,” you lied, your tone firmer than you felt.

But the next day, when you tried to get up to help row, your legs wouldn't respond. Ragnar caught up with you before you could fall to the ground.

"Enough!" he said, his tone so authoritative it brooked no reply. "You're not well. You need to rest."

You were placed on a makeshift bed inside the ship, and though you resisted at first, your body soon gave out. The fever rose, and the weakness became unbearable. You could barely open your eyes, and when you did, everything seemed to spin around you.

Ragnar remained by your side from that moment on, like a constant shadow. He barely ate or slept, always attentive to any change in your condition. His face, normally full of confidence and energy, was now marked with worry.

In the moments when you were conscious, you could hear Ragnar speaking softly. You couldn't always understand what he said, but his words were often directed at you.

“This is my fault,” he muttered one night, as he changed the damp cloth on your forehead. “I shouldn’t have let you come. I was selfish to think you could handle this. I always wanted you around… but I should never have put you in danger.”

You wanted to respond, to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that this trip had been your decision, but the words wouldn't come out. All you could do was weakly squeeze his hand when he took it, a gesture that seemed to give him minimal comfort.

Your illness lasted for weeks in those distant lands, an unknown place where every dawn seemed just as uncertain. No one knew exactly what had caused you such extreme weakness: the change in climate, the different food, or simply the exhaustion of the journey. The days passed in a mix of hope and worry, and although the others continued with their tasks of exploration and looting, Ragnar did not leave your side.

The fever slowly subsided, and your strength began to return. At first, getting out of bed was a triumph, a small step towards normality. But as the weeks turned into a month and a half, you found yourself trapped in a state of endless recovery. Ragnar did not let you do absolutely anything, which at first you were grateful for, but soon began to drive you crazy.

“You’re not ready yet,” Ragnar insisted every time you tried to get up to do more than walk a few steps.

“I’m better,” you protested one day, crossing your arms in frustration. “I can carry something, help around camp, train even.”

“No, you can’t,” he replied, his tone firm enough to shut down the conversation before it even began. “I don’t want to see you lifting anything heavier than that plate of food.”

The concern on his face was evident, and though you understood where he was coming from, you couldn’t help but feel annoyed. You weren’t used to someone limiting you like that, least of all Ragnar.

“You’re worse than any disease,” you murmured, your tone more playful than angry.

Ragnar smiled slightly, but didn’t relent. “You can hate me all you want, but you’re staying here. I’m not going to risk you relapsing.”

With Ragnar acting as a relentless guardian, your world shrank to the walls of the house where you were staying. It was a simple building, with wooden walls and a roof that barely protected you from the icy wind. Although you were grateful to have a place to shelter, the stillness made you feel useless.

You did small tasks: cleaning utensils, mending the clothes of the men traveling with you, and even cooking when you were allowed. But none of that filled the void you felt from not being able to participate in training or scouting. The lack of action weighed on you like an invisible burden, and though you tried to hide it, it was clear that you were not satisfied. 

Sometimes, as you worked in silence, you felt Ragnar's eyes on you. When you faced him, he would simply smile and look away, as if he wanted to reassure you that everything was okay. But that only made you more upset. 

There were days when you felt like a burden. Seeing the others return to camp with stories of what they had seen and done while you had barely stepped out into the yard was a constant reminder of what you had lost. You didn't want to admit it, but you felt weak, and that was something you had never handled well. 

Ragnar seemed to sense your emotions even when you said nothing. “Why are you so quiet?” he asked you one night, as you ate dinner in silence.

“I’m thinking,” you replied, not wanting to go into details.

“Thinking about what?”

You paused, unsure if you wanted to tell him the truth. Finally, you decided to be honest. “About how useless I feel here. Everyone is out there, exploring, fighting… and I’m here, mending clothes.”

Ragnar set his bowl aside and looked you straight in the eyes. “That doesn’t make you useless. You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s all that matters now.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you replied, your tone bordering on resentment. “You’re out there, being who you are. I’m stuck here, being… nothing.”

Ragnar sighed, as if he understood your frustration more than you cared to admit. “Sometimes, surviving is the hardest thing we can do. But don’t think for a moment that you’re not important. I wouldn’t be here, wasting my time with you, if I thought that.”

His words, though well-intentioned, didn’t completely dispel your unease.

In those days you tried to convince yourself that it was all behind you. The childish love you once felt for Ragnar was a distant memory, a whim buried beneath the years of maturity and the reality of his life with Lagertha. You had spent enough time hating him, loving him, and finally letting him go, or so you told yourself. However, as the days passed in that small village, something began to change.

The way Ragnar looked at you was different. You weren’t entirely sure at first, but there was something in the intensity of his gaze, in how his eyes seemed to search yours for no apparent reason. It was like every time you moved around the house, even in the most mundane moments, he was watching, watching.

That invisible weight, that tension between the two of you that seemed to fill the air. Every time you were near him, you felt a warmth in your chest that you hadn’t experienced in a long time. You tried to ignore it, to convince yourself it was just your imagination, but it wasn’t that simple.

For his part, Ragnar was experiencing something he couldn’t explain. For years, he’d always seen you as the little girl who ran around the camp, the younger sister who looked down on him or argued with him about anything. He’d been by your side like an older brother, like a protector. But now… now he couldn’t help but see you differently.

He didn’t know when it had started exactly. Maybe it was when he realized how strong you’d been during your illness, fighting weakness with silent determination. Or maybe it was simply the fact that, by spending so much time together, he’d started to notice things he hadn’t seen before.

The way the sunlight lit up your hair as you moved near the window. The softness in your gestures as you worked on chores around the house, even if you did it in annoyance. The way your eyes sparkled when you were angry at him for not letting you do more.

Everything about you intrigued him.

One afternoon, as you stood alone in the yard trying to mend an old coat, Ragnar appeared. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat next to you, watching your fingers move with precision.

“Why are you always staring at me?” you finally asked, without looking at him.

Ragnar smiled, but didn’t answer right away. “And why are you always so attentive to what I do?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the blush that rose to your cheeks. “Because you’re impossible to ignore. You’re always there, like a shadow.”

“Maybe because I like being where you are,” he replied with a sincerity that took you by surprise.

You stopped, the thread in your hands hanging. His words weren’t brazen, but they weren’t innocent either. You looked at him, trying to read on his face if he was joking or if there was something more behind his words. What you saw in his eyes disarmed you: there was no trace of mockery, only a curiosity that seemed to dig deep inside you.

From that moment on, everything seemed to be charged with a new energy between you. Casual conversations were filled with awkward silences, as if both of you knew something was changing but neither of you wanted to admit it.

Ragnar couldn’t help but find excuses to spend time with you. He always had some reason to come over, whether it was to bring you some water, check on how you were feeling, or just sit quietly beside you. And you, despite your frustration, couldn’t help but feel more aware of his presence than ever.

One night, while the others slept, you stepped out into the courtyard to get some air. Ragnar appeared shortly after, as if he knew exactly where you were.

“You can’t sleep,” he said, more of a statement than a question.

You shook your head. “The air here is different. It’s hard to breathe sometimes.”

He nodded, coming close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body in the cold night. “Do you regret coming?”

“No,” you answered quickly, looking up at the stars. “Despite everything… I don’t regret it.”

Ragnar was silent for a moment, before saying, “Me neither.”

You turned to look at him, searching for some meaning in his words. But before you could ask, he had already looked away, as if he was afraid to say anything more.

The day after the conversation in the courtyard, you decided that you couldn't allow what you felt for Ragnar to take shape. If you allowed those feelings to grow, you would lose control over yourself, over your life, over your ability to decide. And worst of all, you would lose Ragnar in a way you didn't want to even imagine. So, for three whole days, you avoided him. 

You didn't look him in the eye more than necessary, you kept yourself busy with tasks that took you away from him, and you always looked for excuses not to be around. Every time Ragnar showed up at camp, you somehow slipped out of his reach, seeking to avoid the tension you knew existed between the two of you. 

But despite all your efforts, you couldn't deny that every time Ragnar looked at you, there was something in his eyes that overwhelmed you. The tension grew like a storm about to break. You knew he felt the same way too, and even though you tried not to admit it, the emotions were eating you up from the inside.

On the fourth day, confrontation was inevitable. Ragnar found you in the small tent where you were busy organizing the equipment. He closed the entrance behind him with a soft knock, and stared at you silently, knowing you had been avoiding him.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he said, his voice low and calm, as always, but this time with something more. An urgency.

You stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as he came closer, closing the distance between you. “Stop running away from what’s happening between us.”

You breathed quickened at the closeness, at the certainty in his voice. You knew he was just as caught up in this game as you were. But you couldn’t let this be real. You shouldn’t.

“You’re right,” you murmured, looking away. “But we can’t…”

“We can’t keep ignoring what we feel, can we?” Ragnar interrupted, leaning slightly towards you, searching your eyes.

The space between you shrank to inches, the electricity in the air palpable. You could hear your own heartbeat quickening, the heat of his body overwhelming you. And before you could stop him, Ragnar raised a hand and gently touched your cheek.

The contact ignited a spark that ran through your entire body. You couldn’t resist it any longer. Without thinking, you launched yourself at him, your lips meeting his in a fiery kiss. It was as if all the time of tension, of repressed desires, exploded in that single moment.

Ragnar responded immediately, his hands moving up your back, pulling you closer to him. Your hands tangled in his hair, as the kiss deepened, moving from something passionate to something more urgent, more desperate.

“I love you… I always have,” you managed to whisper between the kisses, unable to keep quiet what you had held in for so long. The words came out of you with the same intensity you had repressed those feelings with for years.

Ragnar didn't respond. He looked into your eyes, as if he wanted to make sure you had really said it. But he didn't say anything, he just kissed you again, harder, as if the answer was in the act, not the words.

The intensity of that kiss didn't go away. Instead, it intensified as his hands moved with an urgency you had never seen in him. There were no more barriers, only the desire to explore what had been dormant between you.

Ragnar took you firmly, guiding you towards the bed with gentle but determined movements. You didn't say anything, because you knew you didn't need to. Everything that had been left unsaid between the two of you was now expressed in a much more intimate and direct way.

That night, was the first time you spent in his bed. And he was the first man you had ever been with. You felt it in every touch, in every caress, in the way he knew you and wanted you with an intensity you had never experienced before. At that moment, Ragnar was not only the man you had secretly desired, but the only one you wanted to share your body and soul with.

When you finally rested, breathing intertwined, you said nothing. There was no need. There was no turning back, no way to deny what had grown between you and finally unleashed.

The night stretched between you like a blanket of calm after the storm. The two of you lay together, the softness of your breaths intertwined in the stillness of the bed. Despite the intensity of what had happened, something in your chest was still churning.

Ragnar, lying next to you, watched you with an intensity that overwhelmed you. His gaze was deep, as if he were trying to decipher something that had been hidden for a long time. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low, but with an unmistakable weight.

“You love me… Why didn’t you tell me before?”

The question left you speechless for a moment. You turned to look at him, and although his face was serene, his eyes reflected a mix of surprise and something else, something that seemed to be a request for explanations.

You knew you couldn’t hide it anymore, but how to respond? How to explain all the suffering and anguish you had felt loving someone who seemed unattainable?

“I didn’t say it because I knew you would never love me back,” you replied, your voice cracking, the pain of all those years of silence making a dent in your tone. “And besides… you have a family. Lagertha… your son…”

Ragnar looked at you in silence for a moment, as if he was processing your words. The seconds seemed eternal as his gaze softened, as if he too understood the weight of what you had just said.

“Don’t think about it,” he finally said, his tone filled with a firmness that left no room for doubt. “Let’s not think about what we can’t change.”

Before you could respond, Ragnar kissed you again. A deep kiss. In that kiss there was no room for doubt or fear.

The nights that followed were like a dream from which you didn’t want to wake up. Every night you spent in his bed, every night Ragnar adored you with an intensity that made you feel like you were the only woman in the world. In his eyes, you looked more beautiful than ever, and every word that came out of his mouth, every touch his hands offered, enveloped you in a feeling of ecstasy you had never known.

He treated you with a tenderness and fervor that overflowed from what you had imagined in your most secret dreams. His caresses were soft, but his kisses were ardent, as if he wanted to erase all the distance that had existed between you during all those years. You felt that you were finally seen, that Ragnar saw you, not as the girl who was once part of his life, but as the woman you were now. And, for the first time, you did not care what the future might bring.

However, that peace you had found in his closeness, that security that Ragnar seemed to give you, was shaken when the time of staying in distant lands came to an end. The journey home was long, tense, and for the first time, uncertainty settled over you.

Every day that passed, the question hung in the air, even if neither of you said it out loud: what will happen when we get home? You knew Ragnar had a family, and even though he told you not to think about it, you couldn't help it. Lagertha, his son and the one on the way, his life... it was all there, waiting for them. And what was left for you? What was left for what you had shared? The distance between the realities you faced became more and more evident as the journey progressed.

Despite everything, hope was still alive in your heart. Despite the doubts that haunted you, the constant question about what would happen when you returned home. 

Ragnar didn't talk much during the trip, and perhaps, in part, neither did you. You both knew there was something that needed to be resolved, something that couldn't be left hanging in the air. 

The wind blew hard, the waves of the sea crashed against the rocks, but as you approached the familiar shores, the weight of the unknown seemed to increase. You didn't know what you would do when you set foot in your home, nor how you would react to seeing Lagertha, nor what Ragnar would think of everything that had happened. 

Returning home was a heartbreaking contrast to the intense emotions of the trip. As soon as you arrived, the usual routine seemed to take its place as if time in distant lands had not happened. Lagertha had given birth to a girl while you were away, and Ragnar's joy for his new daughter filled the air. 

You stood by, watching from a distance. You went back home to your parents, trying to put a physical and emotional barrier between you and Ragnar. You thought that distance might help you forget, that staying away from him, from his family, might ease the weight of what you shared. 

You didn’t visit his home, not even when your parents mentioned his name. You tried to distract yourself with your own tasks, with the life you’d put on hold while you traveled. But, despite all your attempts, you couldn’t get him out of your mind. Every corner of your memory seemed to be permeated with his voice, his touch, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered. 

And then, as if fate wanted to mock you, he appeared. Ragnar arrived at your house without warning, his laughter echoing from the living room as he spoke to your parents. You heard his voice before you saw him, and something inside you tensed. You knew you couldn't avoid him forever, but that encounter took you by surprise.

You decided to stay in your room, taking refuge in the distance you could still maintain. You figured that if you didn’t see him, it would be easier to ignore the reality of his presence, easier to remind yourself that you couldn’t keep feeding what you felt. 

But Ragnar wasn’t one to be ignored easily. As night fell and the house fell silent, you knew something was about to change. You felt his presence before he knocked on your door, before he peeked into the room with that look that always managed to disarm you. 

“Are you going to hide from me all night?” he asked quietly, closing the door behind him before you could answer. 

“I’m not hiding,” you replied, even though you both knew it was a lie. You didn’t look up from your hands, afraid that if you did, all the control you’d tried to build would crumble in an instant. 

Ragnar didn’t say anything. He walked over to where you were sitting and, with a calmness only he could project, knelt in front of you. His eyes searched yours, and when you finally looked at him, you felt all the weight of your will evaporate.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction.

“And yet, here I am,” he replied with a smile that only made things more complicated.

You didn’t know how it happened, but before you could stop him, his lips were on yours. It was a slow kiss, filled with an intensity you hadn’t forgotten. Everything you had tried to bury, all the distance you had tried to impose, crumbled in that instant.

“Ragnar…” you tried to speak, but he shook his head, silencing you with another kiss.

That night, you had him in your bed, and the weight of the forbidden made every moment even more intense. You tried to keep quiet, afraid someone might hear, but Ragnar seemed to be in no hurry, taking his time exploring every corner of your skin as if he wanted to memorize you.

Every caress, every whisper in your ear, made the outside world disappear. For a few hours, there were no wives or children, no families or responsibilities, just the two of you in that room, sharing something that couldn't be explained with words.

When the heat of the moment was behind you, your body intertwined with his. The silence in the room was deep, broken only by the sound of your breathing calming down. Ragnar wrapped one arm around you, pulling you towards him, while his other hand gently rested on your bare belly.

He began to trace slow, abstract movements on your stomach with the tips of his fingers, almost absentmindedly, as if his mind was somewhere else. You could feel the weight of his thoughts, though you couldn't guess what was going through his head.

“Once,” he began in a low, contemplative tone, “a witch told me I would have many children. More than I could count.”

His words, spoken with a mix of seriousness and curiosity, struck something deep within you. Even though he didn’t seem aware of the impact they might have, you felt a pang of sadness creep into your chest. You didn’t know exactly why; perhaps because those words were a reminder of the life he led, a life that didn’t include a future with you.

You swallowed, trying to contain the lump that formed in your throat, but it was useless. A silent tear rolled down your cheek, followed by another. You tried to turn your face away, you didn't want him to see you like that, you didn't want him to know how much those words had touched a wound you tried to ignore.

“What's wrong?” Ragnar asked, noticing your silence and the trembling in your breathing. He sat up slightly, turning to you with a worried expression. “Did I say something that hurt you?”

You shook your head, but your lips trembled. “It's not that... I just... I don't know.” The words escaped you; you couldn't explain this whirlwind of emotions that invaded you.

Ragnar took your face with both hands, wiping the tears with his thumb while looking at you with an intensity that disarmed you. “I didn't mean to make you feel bad. Never.”

His eyes, as blue as the clear sky, reflected a sincerity that hurt you even more. You wanted to tell him how you felt, but how to put into words something so complex? How to explain that it wasn’t his fault, but the weight of everything you shared, of everything that couldn’t be?

“I’m fine,” you finally managed to say, though your voice was a broken whisper. “I just… sometimes wonder how I fit into your life. Or if I do.”

Ragnar watched you in silence for a moment, and then pulled you into his chest, enveloping you in a warm, protective embrace. “Don’t think about it now,” he said softly, his voice echoing in his chest against your ear. “What we have here, now… that’s what matters. I don’t want you to cry for me. I don’t want this to hurt you.”

You clung to him, letting his warmth comfort you, though the questions in your mind remained unanswered. His words were a temporary balm, but they couldn’t undo the truth of the situation. Yet, at that moment, you decided to allow yourself to believe him, if only for that night. Because when you were in his arms, the world seemed a little less complicated, and that was enough to keep you going.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of emotions for you. You had tried to get back to the routine, to the normality that you so wanted to get back, but something inside you had changed. It wasn't just the guilt or the love you still felt for Ragnar, it was something deeper, something you hadn't faced until you started to notice the first signs.

At first, you ignored it. The constant tiredness, the nausea that hit you without warning, it could all be attributed to the wear and tear of the trip, or the stress you had accumulated. But you couldn't deny the truth for long. With each passing day, the signs became clearer, until you finally accepted what your body was trying to tell you: you were pregnant.

The revelation was a shock that left you breathless. You sat on the edge of your bed, trembling hands holding your belly as reality sank in. The life you carried inside was too big a secret to share, a secret that could change everything.

You couldn't tell your parents. Their disappointment would be an unbearable weight, and the scandal that could be unleashed if anyone else found out was something you weren't willing to face. You couldn't tell Ragnar either. He had a family. The last thing you wanted was to further complicate their life, or yours.

So you decided to keep it to yourself. He was yours, and yours alone.

Days turned into weeks, and you learned to hide the signs. When you felt sick, you found an excuse to get away. When tiredness got the better of you, you made sure no one noticed. But keeping the secret wasn't easy, especially when Ragnar was around.

There was something in his gaze that seemed to pierce through you, as if he could see past your attempts to hide the truth. Even though he didn't say anything, you knew he suspected something was bothering you. His questions were subtle, but constant, and every time you evaded them you felt the tension between you grow.

At night, when you lay alone, the weight of your decision crushed you. You wondered if you had done the right thing, if keeping the secret was really the best option. But every time you thought about what could happen if the truth came out, you convinced yourself that you had no other choice.

It was madness, a storm you couldn't control, but you had no choice but to face it alone.

The days continued to pass with a tension that seemed to cut off your air. Every glance from your parents, every conversation with Ragnar, was like walking on brittle ice. You knew you couldn't stay much longer. Not because you didn't want to, but because every moment prolonged the risk of your secret being discovered, and that wasn't something you could allow.

You hadn’t made the decision lightly. For days, you’d been turning it over in your mind, searching for options, wondering if there was any way to stay, to keep what you carried inside you safe without destroying everything else. But every path you imagined led to the same place: to chaos, to pain, and to a scandal that would affect not only you, but everyone around you.

You couldn’t allow that. And so, one night, as you sat alone in your room, you decided you had to leave.

The conversation with your parents was one of the hardest things you’d ever faced. You sat with them at the family table, your hands clenched in your lap to hide the shaking.

“I need to go,” you finally said, breaking the silence that seemed to weigh like a slab in the air.

Your parents looked at each other, confused. It was your mother who spoke first. “Leave? Where?”

“Away,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I need some time to myself, to find my own way. I’ve been feeling… trapped.”

It wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Your parents seemed to hesitate, exchanging glances that clearly argued your request without the need for words.

“Does this have anything to do with Ragnar?” your father finally asked, his tone sterner.

Just hearing his name made your heart stop for a moment. But you shook your head. “No. This is something of mine, something I need to do.”

Your mother tried to convince you to stay. She told you about how dangerous it was to travel alone, how you’d always had a safe home with them. But you had already made up your mind. You listened to her in silence, letting her words flow over you like water over rock. When she was done, you simply repeated, “I have to.”

“If Ragnar knows you’re leaving…” your father began, but you cut him off with a gesture.

“He mustn’t know. I beg you. If he asks, tell him I left because I needed some space, but don’t tell him anything else.”

Your mother looked at you with concern, while your father frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the request. But eventually, they nodded. You gave them no other options.

You had planned everything in secret. You knew where you would go: a small settlement far from Kattegat, isolated enough to avoid questions. You had packed the few things you needed into a sack and prepared a horse to set out at dawn.

The night before your departure was the longest of your life. You were alone in your room, watching the shadows move on the walls as a storm of emotions raged within you. There was pain, sure, pain so deep it seemed to cut your soul in two. But there was also a strange sense of relief, as if you had finally taken control of your destiny.

You didn’t sleep that night. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, you got up, got dressed, and grabbed your things. Your parents bid you farewell in silence, though your mother couldn’t help but hug you tightly before you mounted your horse.

“Be careful,” she told you with tears in her eyes.

“I will be,” you promised, though you weren’t sure it was true.

As you left Kattegat behind you, you felt an emptiness in your chest that threatened to devour you. Each step of the horse seemed to take you further away from everything you knew, from everyone you loved, but also closer to a future that was now yours alone.

You knew this path would be difficult. You knew you would be alone, and that there would be times when you would question whether you had made the right decision. But you also knew you had no other choice. You had to protect your son, even if it meant sacrificing everything else.

As the landscape changed around you, you held on to that thought. Because while the pain of leaving Ragnar and your family was unbearable, it was also a reminder of how strong you were. And that no matter what, you would find a way to move forward.

[beyralxoxo]

{Crimson War: Valhalla-Ivar The Boneless}

{Chapter 2}

SUMMARY: Yggdrasil meets with Bjorn, Ubbe and Hvtiserk to discuss the gods forsaken proposal, after a time...she agrees to it. Ivar's time and mind is focused on trying to forget everything about the situation but Ragnar does not make it easy as he sends all of his sons...but not Ivar to meet Yggdrasil.

WORD COUNT: 3,3 K

WARNINGS: swearing-Lagertha and Ragnar are still married-Aethelstan lives still-Gyda lives-Ivar is a silly goose-mention of unaliving someone

The rhythmic scrape of steel against whetstone filled the chamber yet again, punctuated by the occasional growl of frustration. Ivar leaned over his workbench, the muscles in his jaw tight enough to crack bone. Each drag of the blade across the stone was sharper, angrier than the last, as though he were imagining Ragnar’s face beneath it.

The door swung open without warning. Ragnar strode in, unbothered by the scathing glare that immediately burned into him. Ivar didn’t even bother to look up fully.

“If this is about the proposal,” Ivar snarled, his voice cutting through the air like a whip, “I swear to the gods, Father, I will bury this knife. In the table. Or in you. Depends on how much you piss me off.”

Ragnar smirked, leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed. “Is that how you greet your father? I raised you better than this, boy.”

“You raised me to survive, not to suffer idiots,” Ivar shot back, slamming the knife down with a force that made the table creak. He finally turned, his cold blue eyes blazing. “So unless you want me to start sharpening this knife on something else, get to the point. And don’t waste my time.”

Ragnar shrugged, his calm demeanor only fueling Ivar’s irritation. “Oh, no point, really. Just watching. Making sure my favorite son isn’t sulking himself into oblivion.”

“I’m not sulking!” Ivar’s voice ricocheted off the stone walls. “I don’t care about the proposal, or about her, or about whatever stupid plan you think this will accomplish!”

“Oh, you don’t care?” Ragnar asked, raising a brow. “That’s funny. Because this,” he gestured at the knife, “this looks an awful lot like sulking. And sharpening your blade into nothing won’t fix it.”

Ivar clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. “What part of ‘I don’t care’ do you not understand? Let her rot in Geiranger. Let her choke on her own pride. I don’t give a damn.”

Ragnar chuckled, shaking his head. “Is that so? Because you’ve mentioned her at least three times since I came here. For someone who doesn’t care, you’re awfully passionate about it.”

Ivar’s hand twitched toward the knife. Ragnar, unfazed, straightened up and made his way to the door. “Well, no need to worry. Bjorn, Ubbe, and Hvitserk are already on their way. You can sit here, brood, and miss all the fun.”

“What?” Ivar’s voice dropped dangerously low, a storm brewing in his tone. “You sent them to her?”

Ragnar paused at the door, throwing a grin over his shoulder. “Why not? They’re more charming than you are. Probably less likely to stab her.”

Ivar grabbed the knife and hurled it with a roar. It buried itself in the wood inches from Ragnar’s head. Ragnar didn’t even flinch, his laughter trailing behind him as he disappeared down the hall.

Ragnar stepped out of Ivar’s chambers, the faint echo of his son’s rage still resonating in his ears. The knife embedded in the wall had been a particularly fine touch, he thought with a smirk. It was Ivar’s way of saying he cared, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself.

In the dimly lit corridor, Ragnar was greeted by his daughter, Gyda, standing with her arms crossed and a skeptical expression on her face. Her blonde hair was neatly braided, and her eyes carried the sharp, observant glint she had inherited from him.

“How did it go?” she asked, her tone equal parts curious and concerned.

Ragnar tilted his head, his infamous half-smile spreading across his face. “Very well.”

Gyda raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Very well? I heard shouting from halfway across the hall, Father. You call that ‘very well’?”

Ragnar chuckled, scratching his beard thoughtfully. “Ah, but shouting is Ivar’s way of showing affection. If he hadn’t thrown a knife, I’d be worried.”

Gyda rolled her eyes, stepping closer. “You’re playing with fire. He’s furious about the proposal, and sending Bjorn and the others to Geiranger hasn’t exactly helped.”

“That’s the point,” Ragnar said simply, his tone maddeningly calm.

Gyda folded her arms tighter, her frown deepening. “The point is to make him angrier?”

Ragnar shrugged. “The point is to make him feel something. Anger, jealousy, frustration—call it what you will. He cares more than he wants to admit, and that’s what matters.”

Gyda studied him for a moment, then sighed. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re too serious,” Ragnar replied, his grin widening. “But that’s why you and Ivar get along so well.”

Gyda shook her head, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “And what if this all blows up in your face? What if he refuses?”

“He won’t,” Ragnar said confidently.

“And what makes you so sure?” she pressed, her voice tinged with exasperation.

“Because he’s my son,” Ragnar said, his tone turning serious for a moment. “And because, whether he admits it or not, he doesn’t want to be alone. None of us do, not really.”

Gyda looked away, her expression softening. Ragnar placed a hand on her shoulder, his gaze warm but firm.

“Trust me, Gyda. This will work.”

She sighed again but nodded. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Ragnar said, smirking as he began walking away.

“Except when you’re wrong,” Gyda called after him, a hint of mischief in her tone.

Ragnar laughed, his voice echoing down the corridor. “That’s the spirit!”

Geiranger

Yggdrasil stormed through her chambers, her boots pounding against the stone floor. The letter from Ragnar sat on the table, taunting her. Her mismatched eyes burned with barely-contained rage.

Andora, leaning against the doorframe with her usual infuriating smirk, watched her sister’s tirade with amusement. “If pacing was a skill, you’d be the best warrior in Geiranger by now.”

“Don’t start, Andora,” Yggdrasil snapped, jabbing a finger in her sister’s direction. “Ragnar Lothbrok is a manipulative, self-righteous bastard, and I’m this close—this close—to sending his precious letter back with a flaming arrow.”

Andora shrugged, unfazed. “Go ahead. I’m sure he’d admire your boldness. He’d probably frame the ashes.”

Varun, seated quietly in the corner with her arms crossed, finally spoke, her voice low but firm. “What does he want, Yggdrasil? You’ve been cursing his name for an hour, but you haven’t told us what he actually said.”

Yggdrasil snatched the letter off the table and waved it in front of them like it was venomous. “What does he want? Oh, nothing much. Just to send his sons here to ‘discuss the proposal.’ Because apparently, my life isn’t chaotic enough.”

“His sons?” Andora raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. “Well, isn’t that generous of him? The full parade of idiots.”

Varun tilted her head. “You’ve always said they’re like brothers to you.”

“Brothers don’t arrive under the pretense of shoving you into a marriage you don’t want,” Yggdrasil shot back. “This isn’t a family reunion; it’s a raid!”

Andora plucked the letter from her sister’s hand, skimming it with exaggerated flair. “‘Your boldness is admired.’” She snorted. “Oh, Ragnar, you sweet-talking old wolf. Flattery and manipulation in the same breath.”

Yggdrasil threw her hands up. “Admired! He admires me so much he’s decided to ruin my life. That’s his idea of affection.”

Varun, ever the pragmatist, leaned forward. “Are you going to let them in when they arrive? Or are you planning to set the gates on fire?”

“Let them in?” Yggdrasil scoffed. “I should make them sleep with the livestock. But knowing Hvitserk, he’d probably enjoy it.”

Andora burst out laughing. “Gods, I missed this. You ranting about Ragnar and his sons is better than any feast.”

Yggdrasil glared at her, though a small smile tugged at her lips despite her rage. “Laugh all you want, Andora. But mark my words: if they so much as look at me the wrong way, I’ll send them back to Kattegat in pieces.”

Varun stood, placing a steady hand on Yggdrasil’s shoulder. “You’ll deal with it, Yggdrasil. You always do.”

Yggdrasil sighed, her fury softening just a fraction. “I’ll deal with it, all right. But if Ragnar thinks this is over, he’s got another thing coming.”

Andora smirked, tossing the letter back onto the table. “Careful, sister. If you’re too bold, Ragnar might send Ivar next.”

The room fell silent, Yggdrasil’s glare darkening. Andora raised her hands in mock surrender.

“Joking. Gods, you’re touchy.”

“Out,” Yggdrasil muttered, waving them both toward the door. “Before I decide to take my anger out on you instead.”

As her sisters left, laughter still lingering in the air, Yggdrasil sat down heavily, staring at the cursed letter once more. Ragnar’s sons were coming, and with them, a storm she wasn’t sure she could weather.

Three days have passed…

The halls of Geiranger were eerily quiet, save for the faint echoes of hurried footsteps and whispered exchanges. A letter had arrived—sealed with the wolf insignia of Kattegat. It bore the unmistakable weight of Ragnar Lothbrok’s words. The contents were no mystery to Yggdrasil; she had expected as much. Yet, expectation had done little to dull her anger.

Yggdrasil paced in the grand hall, her movements restless, her dark braid whipping with every turn. Her mismatched eyes—one as icy blue as a winter sky, the other as green and fierce as the untamed forest—burned with frustration. She gritted her teeth, muttering curses under her breath. Hosting Ragnar’s sons? She would rather deal with a pack of hungry wolves.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of horses. A scout rushed into the hall, bowing his head.

“My Lady, the sons of Ragnar approach.”

Yggdrasil let out a sharp breath, rolling her eyes to the heavens as if asking the gods for strength. “Wonderful,” she muttered dryly. “The parade of fools has arrived.”

Moments later, the doors to the hall creaked open, and in strode Bjorn Ironside, Ubbe, and Hvitserk. Their presence commanded attention—towering men, each bearing the unmistakable charisma of their father. Bjorn, the eldest, had a quiet, steady confidence about him. Ubbe wore his usual half-smirk, a glint of mischief in his eyes. And Hvitserk? He looked like he was already planning his next inappropriate comment.

“Well, if it isn’t my dearest brothers,” Yggdrasil greeted them, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Come to bless my halls with your wisdom and charm, have you?”

“Careful, little sister,” Bjorn said, his deep voice calm yet firm. “Insults won’t make this easier for either of us.”

“Easier?” Yggdrasil shot back, crossing her arms. “Having you three under my roof is about as easy as swimming in full armor.”

Hvitserk chuckled, leaning casually against a pillar. “Oh, don’t be so sour, Yggdrasil. We’re here to discuss your... future.” His grin widened. “Besides, I missed your lovely personality. So warm. So inviting.”

“I’ll invite my sword to meet your neck if you don’t shut up, Hvitserk,” Yggdrasil snapped, though a faint smirk tugged at her lips despite herself. She turned to Bjorn. “Let’s not waste time. What does your father want now?”

Bjorn sighed, exchanging a glance with Ubbe. “You know why we’re here, Yggdrasil. Ragnar’s proposal still stands. He sent us to ensure you give it proper thought.”

“Proper thought?” Yggdrasil laughed bitterly. “I’ve given it all the thought it deserves. None.”

Ubbe stepped forward, his expression softer. “Yggdrasil, we’re not here to fight you. You know what this proposal means. It’s not just about you and Ivar. It’s about protection. About unity.”

“Unity?” she repeated, her voice rising. “You mean Ragnar wants to use me as a pawn to keep Geiranger loyal to Kattegat. Don’t dress it up as something noble, Ubbe.”

“That’s not true,” Bjorn interjected. “Our father cares for you, Yggdrasil. This isn’t just strategy. He knows what your presence in Kattegat would mean for you. Safety. A future.”

“Safety?” Yggdrasil scoffed, stepping closer to Bjorn. “Do you think I’m afraid? Do you think I need Ivar to protect me? I’ve survived worse than him.”

Hvitserk, ever the instigator, chimed in with a sly grin. “Survived, sure. But have you ever tried living, Yggdrasil? Might be nice to stop glaring at the world.”

“Careful, Hvitserk,” she warned, her tone like a blade. “Your charm doesn’t work on me.”

Ubbe raised his hands, trying to diffuse the tension. “Yggdrasil, no one’s forcing you. But you owe it to yourself to at least to speak to him.”

She fell silent, her gaze hard as steel as she studied her brothers. Deep down, she knew they weren’t her enemies. They were her family, in their infuriating, maddening way. But the thought of Ivar—angry, cruel, unpredictable Ivar—made her stomach churn.

Finally, she let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. I’ll speak to him. But if this goes as badly as I expect, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Bjorn nodded, relief evident in his eyes. “That’s all we ask.”

As the brothers turned to leave, Hvitserk paused by the door, throwing her a mischievous grin. “Don’t worry, little sister. If you decide to kill Ivar, we’ll help you hide the body.”

Yggdrasil couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her lips. “Get out, Hvitserk, before I make good on that promise.”

When they were gone, Yggdrasil sank into a chair, her mind racing. She hated the situation, hated being cornered like this. But a small, nagging voice in the back of her mind whispered that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t only about politics. Ragnar’s letter had spoken of protection, of family. Perhaps, against her better judgment, she would find something worth considering.

For now, she would prepare to face Ivar. If he thought he could intimidate her, he had another thing coming.

Kattegat

The great hall of Kattegat thrummed with its usual lively chaos. Warriors sharpened axes at the long tables, their laughter and boasts filling the air, while servants darted around carrying tankards of mead and trays of roasted meats. The hearthfire at the center of the room danced with a warmth that didn’t quite reach everyone present.

Ragnar lounged on his high seat, one leg hooked over the armrest, idly twirling his tankard of mead. He looked every bit the lazy jarl—until you caught the glint in his eye, a glint that promised mischief. Lagertha sat beside him, her elegance and composure starkly contrasting Ragnar’s rakish sprawl.

At a table nearby, Gyda sat with Athelstan, who was softly murmuring a prayer under his breath, as if he could feel a storm brewing. Gyda leaned over, her voice low. “Athelstan, you know praying won’t stop it, right?”

“It’s not for them,” he replied, shaking his head solemnly. “It’s for me. So I don’t run when the knives come out.”

The doors to the hall groaned open, and in strode Bjorn, Ubbe, and Hvitserk. They looked more like men who had just pulled off an elaborate prank than emissaries returning from an important mission. Hvitserk, true to form, made his presence known with a dramatic flourish.

“We’re back!” he boomed, shrugging off his cloak and tossing it at a passing servant.

Ragnar perked up instantly, leaning forward with a predatory grin. “And? What news do you bring from Geiranger?”

Bjorn stepped forward, exuding his usual quiet confidence. “She’s coming.”

The hall froze. Conversations halted, mugs paused mid-air, and even the crackling hearth seemed to quiet in the sudden tension.

From the far end of the room came a sharp metallic clang.

Ivar had dropped the knife he’d been sharpening.

“She’s what?” he snapped, his voice dripping venom.

“Coming here,” Ubbe said, his tone maddeningly casual as he leaned against a pillar. “To Kattegat. To talk.”

“Who the fuck decided that was a good idea?” Ivar growled, his blue eyes narrowing dangerously.

Hvitserk, ever the instigator, grinned as he sidled up to Ivar. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe Ragnar, considering he sent us to invite her.”

Ivar’s face twisted into a snarl. “Don’t push me, Hvitserk. I swear to the gods, I’ll—”

“What? Stab me?” Hvitserk teased, raising his eyebrows mockingly. “Might as well, since I’m already dead inside.”

Ragnar’s booming laughter erupted from the high seat, cutting through the tension like a blade. He slapped his thigh, leaning back with abandon. “Oh, this is better than I thought! Look at you, Ivar! You’re about to explode like a barrel of fish left in the sun!”

Ivar rounded on Ragnar, his voice rising. “This isn’t funny!”

Ragnar only laughed harder, wiping at his eyes. “Not funny? You look like a child who’s just been told to share his favorite toy!”

Athelstan groaned softly from the table, burying his face in his hands. “Ragnar, you’re not helping.”

“Oh, come on, Aethelstan,” Ragnar said, grinning wickedly. “You can’t deny it’s entertaining. Look at him!” He pointed at Ivar, who was now gripping the arms of his chair so tightly it seemed the wood might splinter.

Gyda stood, placing a calming hand on Ivar’s shoulder. “Little brother, this doesn’t have to be a battle. Yggdrasil isn’t coming to fight you.”

“She might,” Hvitserk muttered under his breath, earning a quick elbow from Ubbe.

Gyda shot Hvitserk a glare but softened her tone as she turned back to Ivar. “She just wants to talk. That’s all.”

“Talk?” Ivar spat, his voice thick with disbelief. “What in the nine realms is there to talk about? She’s probably scheming—”

“She’s bold,” Lagertha interjected, her voice thoughtful and firm. “Coming here to face this head-on. It takes courage.”

“And a lot of guts,” Ubbe added, smirking. “She didn’t even flinch when we mentioned you, Ivar.”

Ivar’s head snapped toward Ubbe, his expression lethal. “What the fuck did you tell her about me?”

“Nothing too bad,” Ubbe said innocently, though his smirk widened. “Just that you’ve been sharpening knives and sulking since you heard about the proposal.”

“Fucking traitors,” Ivar snarled, glaring at his brothers with enough fury to set them alight.

“Calm down,” Bjorn said dryly, though his lips twitched in amusement. “or you’ll visit Valhalla before she even gets here.”

Athelstan, sensing the mounting chaos, cleared his throat nervously. “Perhaps we should focus on ensuring this... meeting doesn’t turn into a bloodbath.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Hvitserk quipped, earning another booming laugh from Ragnar.

“I don’t care why she’s coming,” Ivar shouted, rising a bit from his chair. His voice cracked with unfiltered rage, though there was a flicker of something else—something closer to fear—in his eyes. “If she thinks she can walk into Kattegat and—”

“And what?” Ragnar cut him off, his tone suddenly sharp. The laughter was gone, replaced with a quiet intensity that silenced the entire hall. “What will you do, Ivar? Throw one of your tantrums and hope she runs? Scream and wave your knives like a child who’s had his toy taken away?”

Ivar’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“Exactly,” Ragnar said, leaning forward, his voice low and cutting. “You’ll do nothing. Because you don’t hate her, Ivar. You’re just afraid.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the fire seemed to hold its breath.

Lagertha, ever the voice of reason, placed a firm hand on Ragnar’s shoulder. “Enough,” she said quietly. “Let him think on it. We’ll see how he feels when she arrives.”

Ragnar leaned back with a sigh, though the amusement flickered back into his eyes. “Fair enough.”

Bjorn, Ubbe, and Hvitserk exchanged conspiratorial grins as they moved to the table.

“Five silver coins says Ivar loses it the second she steps into the hall,” Hvitserk whispered.

“Make it ten,” Ubbe replied, smirking.

“Both of you, stop,” Gyda scolded, though a smile tugged at her lips.

Ragnar, watching the scene unfold, grinned as he raised his tankard. “This is going to be the best show Kattegat has seen in years.”

Lagertha rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite hide her smile. “You’re impossible.”

“True,” Ragnar said, taking a swig of mead. “But you love me for it.”

@ellijg @istorkyou @nukyster-blog

[irmawrites]

Requests are open!

I've been in a bit of a writing slump lately, but I'd like to get back into it. So I've decided to open up my requests to more fandoms and characters! In addition to House of the Dragon, you can send me ideas for The Last Kingdom and Vikings. I would love to write for the following characters:

House of the Dragon : Aegon Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Gwayne Hightower, Otto Hightower, Ser Criston Cole, Cregan Stark, Jacaerys Velaryon, Ulf the White, Davos Blackwood and Martyn Reyne. 

The Last Kingdom : Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric, Sigtryggr, and Rognvaldr. 

Vikings : Ivar, Hvitserk, Ubbe, Bjorn, King Harald Finehair, and Ragnar. 

I'm happy to write SFW as well as NSFW, but of course I reserve the right to refuse a request if it contains anything illegal (although I do write Targaryen incest in the HotD universe) or that I'm uncomfortable with.

Don't be shy, ask away <3

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Call Forth Love - Chapter 18

Here it is, friends! The promised update! A massive thank you to everyone who replied to my prior post. You guys are truly the best and y'all give me the desire to finish this story.

I'll confess, this chapter is short (by my standards). I also feel like its not up to my usual quality of writing, so please give me some grace as I step back into the world of writing and remembering how to use words.

Lastly, if I missed anyone who wants to be added to the new tag list, please let me know!

Words: 3900

Warnings: Violence (both graphic and implied), swearing, Ivar still struggles with feelings

Series Masterlist

The day of reckoning had come. 

A red sun rose that morning. The locals glanced nervously at the sky and muttered under their breath at the strange sight. But Ivar knew what it meant. A blessing on this day from the old gods. 

Everything had fallen into place far more easily than he anticipated, a blessing indeed. The manipulation, the lies shared to convince the traitors to meet with him, feigned ignorance to soothe any worry of their deceptive being known. It all dripped from his lips like poisoned honey, until it was too late. Until the door was shut and a gun was pointed at their heads. Then he dropped the façade and allowed his guile to show. Only then were the traitors introduced to the truth of their failed scheme….and become close acquaintances with his knives. 

It was a day for justice.

A day for vengeance. 

And Ivar relished every moment. 

*****

Amidst the dim light leaking through the few windows into the basement, the stench of dry, stale air, piss and blood permeated. 

Two men knelt on the concrete ground before their executioner. Naked, with their clothing scattered beneath them, cut from their bodies with artful precision. Arms outstretched as in the worship, yet thick rope bound them to this position. Not as devout petitioners, but as those in bondage without even a god able to save them. 

For Armageddon had arrived, led by a blue-eyed devil with a malicious smile and blood dripping from his knives. 

Studying the one still conscious, he casually wiped the traitor's blood from his knife with a clean rag, for he refused to miss a single moment of pain or despair that was to come. 

The trial of judgment had not truly begun yet. This was only the first act. 

A vibration from his phone drew his attention away momentarily as he checked the text. A smirk adorned his face as he replaced the phone in his pocket and returned his gaze to the one before him. 

"They are here." Ivar stated, "should I wake your friend? He's been unconscious for some time now."

The traitor remained silent, his eyes staring at the gray floor, even as blood slid down his skin like raindrops. His chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, almost as if in meditation. But Ivar knew better. The man was waiting. Biding his time. Enduring the pain until the others came.

Unfortunately for him, no amount of waiting would save him from what was to come. 

Ivar glanced over to the other man on the left. Before he had even been restrained, the man had pissed himself and was begging for mercy, crying out and spewing secrets and half-truths in the futile hope for forgiveness. At the first pass of knives over his flushed skin, he fainted. 

Fucking pathetic. 

At Ivar's command, buckets of cold water had been tossed on the sniveling coward to awaken him. He would not get away from his prescribed torment. Not that easily. Twice the man fainted while receiving his medicine. And twice Ivar had him painfully revived. This third time, Ivar allowed him longer in his brief respite. But no longer. 

The day of vengeance had arrived for those who betrayed the Lothbroks, and Ivar would see they were conscious for every moment of it. 

"Wake him up." 

At Ivar's command, his white-haired driver picked up the bucket at his feet and tossed it on the unconscious man. 

The man sputtered and gagged, returning to the land of the living and the land of his torment. Immediately he began whimpering, as if that could save him. As if anything could save him now. 

The echo of footfalls on the wooden staircase sounded in the basement. 

Ivar's smile widened as he met the pained but calm eyes of the traitor kneeling before him. "Better start fucking begging for forgiveness."

Ragnar came around the corner, followed by Lagertha and Bjorn. A gasp filled the air once they came into sight. A sound of recognition. A sound of disbelief. 

“Please! I'm sorry! He made me do it!” The coward began sobbing, his whole naked body shuddering at the strength of his cries and voice. “Please! I didn't–”

“Silence!” Ragnar roared, drawing close, eyeing both men. A predator inspecting the prey. His bright eyes glared at both men, focusing most of his anger on the one known to him. “You thought you could betray me?” He crouched before them, studying them, reading them. A devilish grin grew on his lips after a moment. “How'd that go?” 

He chuckled darkly as he stepped to the side, already knowing the outcome but here to watch the show. With a quick glance to the side, he gave permission for another to step forward and to hear the case. 

The coward continued to whimper but wisely made no move to steak. A pity really, Ivar was hoping to cut out his tongue. 

"Kalf?" Lagertha asked, coming closer. The initial look of shock faded away, leaving behind confusion and anger. A deadly combination. 

"Lagertha, there's been a misunder-" Kalf started to say but cried out in pain after Ivar hit him on the side of his head with his wolf's head cane. 

Ivar returned the cane to his side, leaning back in his plastic chair casually. "Tsk tsk. You do not speak unless spoken to." He shifted his gaze to his father's first wife. “All the evidence is on the table over there.” 

Lagertha followed the nod of Ivar's head, looking towards a table pressed against the wall. On it were stacks of papers, all the threads from the web of betrayal, cut and laid out to prove his betrayal. Every string, every conversation, every transaction, every knot in the thread. The damning evidence Ivar had been gathering for months. All there in black and white. 

With a resigned sigh, Lagertha glanced down to Ivar. “I believe you.”

Ivar nodded silently, shifting the cane from his left hand to his right, still encased in the damn cast. He had never liked Lagertha and she had never liked him. They tolerated one another but that was the extent, prefering to avoid one another's company in casual or public settings. Except when it came to business. There was an unspoken respect they harbored for one another in this one regard; and for her to take Ivar's word alone on this matter, furthered his respect for her. 

He did notice that Bjorn walked over and started leafing through the papers. Maybe his eldest brother was finally learning to use his half-wit brain. 

The fierce businesswoman moved to stand in front of her lover, seemingly uncaring of the splatters of blood and shredded clothing under her heeled boots. “Why?”

He opened his mouth, eyes full of hurt and hope, but before any sounds escaped, she cut him off. 

“Do not lie to me, Kalf.” She practically snarled, a she-wolf rising in fury, with no sight of a heartbroken lover. 

He gazed at her, tone beseeching. “I did it for us.”

Her hand moved so fast that even Ivar did not catch it until the loud sound of a smack echoed in the basement, followed by Kalf's grunt as his head jerked to the side. 

“If you did it for us, you would have included me in your schemes.”

Kalf worked his jaw before returning his gaze to his lover. “I planned on it, but–” 

Another smack reverberated in the air. 

“Try again.” Lagertha spat out. 

Ivar could see it. The moment Kalf's pretense swiftly crumbled. His face hardened, eyes switching from a hopeful innocence to angry slits. His body tensed as if preparing to fight back, to finally show some spine and no longer take the abuse. 

“I knew we could run the organization better. Make more money and be unstoppable. But I knew…I fucking knew you'd never leave Ragnar. You'd never leave his side because you'll always be his side bitch. So I did what I had to.” Kalf grinned but there was no humor. Blood darkened his teeth, giving him a monstrous look. “Does that make you feel better, baby? I'd have given you everything but you'll always run back to Ragnar. You never stopped loving him, you just got better at hiding it. What a fucking waste. I would have made you a queen!” 

Lagertha yanked out a pistol from the holster on her thigh and aimed it at Kalf's head. Hand steady. Lips in a thin line. Eyes focused on him. A she-wolf ready for the kill. 

Kalf chuckled darkly. “You won't do it, my love. You don't like getting your hands dirty.”

Ivar waited to see the outcome. Ragnar already commanded that Lagertha was to choose Kalf's fate. A fucking waste in Ivar's opinion but he relented. Hopefully he would be given the other one, an example needed to be made. Although the other man was only the accountant to scrub the books and try to hide the betrayal, not the mastermind that Kalf was, he was still involved. That was enough to earn his death. Preferably at Ivar's hands. 

But Kalf's death would be decided by Lagertha. 

Ragnar and Bjorn watched from the sidelines, witnesses to the impending justice against their organization and family. Holding a paper in each hand, fury coated Bjorn's face, understanding of the undermining that had been allowed to run rampant for too long, especially by one he trusted. With arms crossed and an impassive expression, Ragnar watched on. When Ivar caught his eye, he received a nod but returned his gaze to the show, waiting for his ex wife to make a decision. All the papers and what they represented were already reviewed by Ragnar as Ivar discovered the treachery.  

After a long tense moment, a gun shot rang out. Almost deafening in the small basement. Yet no one flinched. The sound as familiar as birdsong for those still breathing. 

Surprise and pleasure flooded through Ivar as the coward's head lolled loosely, brains blown out and splattered on the wall and floor. Payment for his crime painted for all to see.

Kalf jerked his head to look at his accomplice and then back to his lover, confusion and shock in the lines of his face.  

“You shouldn't have dragged Philippe into your mess.” Lagertha calmly said, replacing her pistol at her thigh. “Ivar, he's all yours. Do with him what you want.” She took a step back. “Good bye, Kalf.” Then with the poise of a queen, she turned on her heel and headed back up the stairs, washing her hands of her former lover and his demise. 

In the next moment, a hand landed on Ivar's shoulder. “Good work.” His father commended. He gave him one more fatherly pat before following Lagertha up the stairs. 

Ivar grimaced as he knew his father was following his first wife to help her blow off some steam. Something that happened but no one spoke of. 

A different set of footsteps came to his other side. As Ivar looked up at his eldest brother, a grimace on his own face at his parents, echoed Ivar's own sentiments. With a shake of his head, Bjorn looked down at Kalf who had gone suspiciously silent and still. 

“I thought she would shoot you…guess she thought that was too fucking easy for you.”

Kalf spat out a bloody mess towards Bjorn's leather shoes, eyes blazing and fresh blood trickled down his chin. 

“Have fun with that one.” Bjorn said. “And try to keep your cast clean. Fuck, you'll never get all that blood out.”

“I'll get a new fucking one. Fucking hell.”

“Fine.” Bjorn crossed his arms over his broad chest. “What are you going to do with him?”

Ivar shrugged, examining the man like a piece of marble waiting to be sculpted. “Cut off each of his own fingers and make him eat them?”

“That's disgusting.” Bjorn shuddered. “Don't take too long. We need you in Spain. We got a call on the way here.”

“What happened?” 

“I'll fill you in after your fun, but it sounds like you'll be there a few days.”

“Okay.”

The eldest Lothbrok son opened his mouth for a moment, then stopped to lick his lips before starting quietly again. “Have you…have you heard from her yet?”

There was only one her that Bjorn could possibly be referring to and it made Ivar's blood boil even as his heart shattered. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Ivar seethed, fingering the head of his cane, wondering how much trouble he would get in if he broke Bjorn's shins by striking him.

As if sensing the impending violence, Bjorn backed away. “Call me when you're done here.”

Ivar grunted, still beyond pissed his brother would bring her up right now. 

“You know…my mom mentioned that Kalf had an almost irrational fear of fire.” 

At Bjorn's lazy comment, Kalf's head lifted to stare at Ivar, face blanched and eyes wide with panic. 

A truly ferocious grin appeared on the youngest Lothbrok's face at the pure terror radiating from the man before him. Even when his flesh had been pierced with Ivar's knives, beaten with Ivar's cane, the man had endured without fear. Oh, but the sweet scent of terror that radiated off him now…

Ivar barely heard Bjorn's retreating footsteps up the stairs. He turned to look at his driver, his long white hair tied back, highlighting his cruel scar on the side of his face. 

“Toss me your lighter.”

Pleas for mercy tainted the air, but not for long.

*********

As he stepped out of the elevator, it took all of his mental capability to keep his feet moving purposefully and his gait steady. His eyes were gritty and dry from lack of sleep, his body threatened to revolt against his restless mind and collapse in desperate need of rest. He refused to acknowledge it, propelling himself forward. After this one last meeting, he would allow himself to give in and seek the rest his body so desperately needed. 

Ignoring those scurrying around, he passed the several offices on the top floor of Ragnarssons Trading. The scowl he wore must have been fearsome for how quickly it made those plebeians scatter out of his way. Wise on their part. He was in no mood for empathy or kindness, traits he was not commonly known for anyway. He just wanted to fucking sleep. The temptation to stab anyone who tried to stop him was exceptionally high. 

“You live!” 

“Fuck off.” Ivar grumbled, more out of habit than true ill intent. Well, if he tried to stop him, there may be some violence. 

Falling into step with him, Hvitserk looked smart in his gray suit, a clear contrast from Ivar's own rumpled jeans with t-shirt and leather jacket. “How was Spain? No, wait, you were just in Morocco. Or was it Turkey again?” 

“India.”

“Hmm…What I heard, you've spent more time in dungeons and airplanes than in a bed. Those bags under your eyes make you look like a zombie. Ah hell, when did you last sleep?”

Ivar grunted, annoyed with his brother's ceaseless chatter and the reminder of his lack of self-care. “Father in his office?”

“I think so. I was about to go for a late lunch. Want me to wait for you?”

“No, I'd probably fall asleep before the food came.”

Hvitserk chuckled but did not dispute the claim. 

The pair arrived at the door for Ragnar's office. With a quick knock on the wood and a following ‘enter’, Hvitserk opened the door for them. 

Ragnar sat at his large desk, an organized chaos to all the things upon it. Scattered papers and files resided in piles, along with a cheap, tourist paper map of Stockholm spread out and a bronzed human skull which Ragnar refused to admit if it was real or not. Ivar had always bet it was real. 

Torstein also occupied the room, standing behind the desk beside Ragnar, pointing at the laptop screen open in front of them. They must have been continuing speaking of logistics for a particular expansion of goods into Stockholm. 

At their entrance, Ragnar kept his gaze on the screen while addressing him. “I thought you were coming in tomorrow?”

“I can just as easily report today.” Ivar ungraciously plopped into one of the leather chairs in front of Ragnar's desk. He winced at the impact and the sharp pain shooting down his legs. With more care, he set his right hand, still in the cast, on the arm rest. 

At Ivar's audible pained inhale, Ragnar aimed his piercing gaze at his youngest son. “You look like shit.”

Ivar snorted. “The devil doesn't sleep and neither do I.”

That made Ragnar smirk and Torstein chuckle. From the other seat beside him, Ivar could feel Hvitserk's eye roll. Everyone knew that Ivar had been running himself ragged, anything to keep himself busy, which usually involved his face glued to a computer or phone screen or blood on his hands. Ever since Kalf's fall from grace and his fiery demise, Ivar had been cauterizing the wound left in the company…and reminding people what happened when they placed themselves on the Lothbrok's bad side. 

“Suit yourself. Tor, finish this and I'll make a phone call–” Ragnar spoke to his friend but Ivar tuned him out. 

He closed his eyes, dropping his chin to his chest as he waited. His father was not wrong. He felt like shit. Then again, he had felt like shit for the past three weeks now, ever since Kari had told him she needed space. So he focused on what he could do for the family business. Anything to distract himself from what his heart yearned for. During this time, he learned it was easier to feel physically shitty and move on. It was much harder to ignore and move on when his heart was fractured and bleeding her name. 

Eyes closed, his mind began to drift lazily like an autumn leaf, thoughts moving at a sluggish pace due to his exhaustion. He had tried to sleep in his car on the way here from the airport but sleep eluded him- still too wound up from the flight, too many cigarettes and too much caffeine. The trifecta of sleep deprivation. He never slept on planes, even on private planes, he could never relax enough. Especially when they flew over open water. 

A buzzing from his pocket jerked him out of his almost meditative state. Without opening his eyes, he dug around in his pocket and pulled his personal phone out. Only a few people had his private number, preferring to direct most of his calls to his work phone, which lay silent in his other pocket. 

“‘eah?” He mumbled amidst a sudden yawn. 

A hesitant but professional male voice spoke. “Mr Lothbrok?” 

“Huh?”

“Is this–ah, is this Ivar Lothbrok?”

His brain awoke on full alert at the implementation that a stranger had his personal number. “Who the fuck are you?” Those sluggish thoughts went into overdrive, trying to recognize the voice or how this fucker got a hold of his number. 

“I'm Nurse Olsen, calling from the General Hospital. A patient we have gave us your name and number as an emergency contact. My apologies for bothering you, we just needed to verify. Do you know a Kari Larsen?”

What racing thoughts died a spectacular death by crashing into a wall of shock and disbelief. 

Someone was calling him about Kari. 

As an emergency contact. 

From a hospital. 

Where she is a patient. 

A PATIENT!

In a strange form of whiplash, his brain went from a screeching halt in shock to overdrive of all the reasons she could possibly be in the hospital, each scenario worse than its predecessor. “Is she hurt?” He wheezed out, as his heart and lungs threatened to be strangled with the sudden fear that exploded within him. 

“Sir, I'm not allowed to discuss patients’ wellbeings over the phone–”

“IS SHE HURT?!” He screamed, the building panic in his chest rising higher and higher, suffocating him. 

His mind easily conjured her laying in a hospital bed, nurses and doctors swarming her like parasites, sticking tubes in her, cleaning up her precious blood, all in an attempt to save her. She laid there unconscious to her precarious position. Or maybe she was screaming for him. That was how they got his number. She needed him as she lay dying. 

He drew a ragged breath but it failed to relieve the painful pressure in his chest. Gods, if she died….he promised. He promised to take care of her. 

A new level of loathing sunk its claws into him, a demon from the darkest pits burrowed into his mind, taunting, tormenting. 

He had promised. 

And he failed. 

Again. 

“Mr Lothbrok, are you able to come to the hospital?” The nurse sighed before speaking again. 

“Yes.” He croaked out. 

“Excellent, what you can do is park–”

But the nurse's explanation was cut off as Ivar ended the call. 

Ivar stumbled to his feet, grabbing the edge of the desk to steady himself. The floor beneath him shifted and rolled like waves. Or maybe it was the demon cackling in his ears, messing with his equilibrium. Spots danced in his vision but he ignored them, pushing past. He had to get to her. He had to see her. Was his heart even beating anymore? His chest burned, each breath a struggle to take. As he tried to slip his phone back into his pocket, he realized his hands were shaking. Or was it his whole body?  

What exhaustion previously had taken root was brutally ripped out and replaced with a buzzing, paralyzing panic. 

“Ivar? What happened?” Hvitserk's voice broke through. His hands grabbed his younger brother's shoulders, saving him from falling in his unstable haste to move. “Ivar?!”

“I–I have to go to the hospital.” Tears welled in his eyes, that terror and panic finally having risen to his mind, strangling his rationality, constricting his thoughts until all he could think of was Kari and he failed. 

“What happened? Oh shit. Is…was that about Kari?” Hvitserk's eyes widened in horror. 

“She's there.” Ivar gasped, weakly pushing his brother aside, hands still shaking. ”She's there right now. I have to go– fuck, I've got to see her.” 

Stumbling, forcing himself faster than his crippled legs would allow, to escape the way his chest was collapsing even as he fought for breath, fought for each step. He had to see her. There was no other option. 

She had to be okay. His kitten. He refused. He fucking refused to believe she was dying, even as his mind continued to create horrific scenes. 

This was not how he wanted to be reunited with her. 

Hvitserk grabbed his arm, steadying his erratic pace. “I'm coming with you.”

Gratitude swelled within Ivar but the panic clogging his throat refused to let the words pass. 

The two rushed into the hallway, as fast as Ivar's crippled legs would allow. Hvitserk already had his phone out, calling Ivar's driver to have his car ready at the front for them. At the pounding footfalls behind them, Ivar glanced over his shoulder to see Ragnar following like an intimidating guardian angel. 

Ragnar snarked. “Hurry your ass up or I'll carry you on my back like when you were a boy.”

“You're too fragile, old man.” Ivar managed to retort. 

“Shut the fuck up, you little asshole, and let's go get your girl.”

As the three of them hurried out of the building, the same thought swirled like a growing storm in his mind. 

Hold on, Kari, I'm coming. Just please hold on. 

Tag List:

@southernbe @tessakate @ivarlover @nothingtolosebutweight @beautifulweaselplaidsalad @noway4u @cdauni @istorkyou @ringpopdust @lotr-got

[dreamonseems]

Líf

First raid

- Story eight of Líf series of one-shot stories about Ubbe, his reader wife, and their children. Every story will be different but within the same universe. Nothing will be in order, just random stories about their lives.

⚠️ Warning: Smut in this chapter!

- Ok I made up a place called Raven United so any race reading this can Imagine being the reader.

Summary: You go on your first raid. There's some trouble, but Ubbe is always there to protect you.

As the Viking army sailed towards their target, Y/N felt a surge of adrenaline rush through her veins. She watched as Ubbe and his brothers prepared for battle, their faces stern and focused. Ragnar stood beside them, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger.

When they finally arrived at their destination, she jumped off the boat, sword in hand. She followed Ubbe and the others, her heart pounding. They charged forward, their battle cries ringing through the air.

At first, she felt overwhelmed by the chaos of battle. She saw men fall around her, heard the clang of swords and shields, and smelled the blood and sweat of their comrades. But as the battle raged on, She found herself falling into a rhythm, moving with the others, defending herself, and attacking their enemies.

They fought bravely, taking down several of the enemy soldiers with their swords. She felt a sense of pride and accomplishment as she fought alongside Ubbe, knowing that she was proving herself as a worthy shieldmaiden.

After the battle was won, she felt a sense of exhilaration and relief. She had survived her first raid, and she knew that she had proven herself to Ubbe and the others. She felt more confident in her ability as a warrior and knew that she had a bright future ahead of her as a shieldmaiden.

After the successful raid, the warriors were in high spirits and celebrated around the fire with meat and mead. Ubbe was caught up in the moment and was laughing and drinking with his brothers, while Y/N sat a little way off, lost in her thoughts.

Suddenly, a warrior from their army approached her and started to flirt with her. At first, she politely declined his advances, but he became increasingly forceful and wouldn't take no for an answer. She tried to leave, but the warrior grabbed her arm and struck her across the face.

The sound of the slap echoed across the camp, drawing the attention of the other warriors, including Ubbe. He rushed over to her, his eyes blazing with fury.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ubbe growled, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The warrior, who was still holding onto Y/N, sneered at Ubbe. "Just having a bit of fun with the new girl. What's it to you?"

"She's my wife," Ubbe said through gritted teeth. "And I won't tolerate anyone treating her like that."

The warrior laughed. "Your wife? She's just a slave you bought."

Without hesitation, he drew his sword and charged at the warrior, engaging him in a fierce battle.

The fight was short-lived as Ubbe was an experienced warrior, and the offending warrior was quickly overpowered. In a swift move, Ubbe dealt the fatal blow, ending the warrior's life. Y/N, shaken but unharmed, watched on as her husband defended her honor.

As they entered the tent, Ubbe noticed how shaken Y/N was. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and her hands were shaking. He sat her down on their bedroll and knelt in front of her.

"Shh, shh," he said softly. "It's okay. You're safe now." Ubbe held her close, stroking her hair as she wept

She clung to him, her tears wetting his shirt. "I just feel so overwhelmed," she admitted. "Everything that happened today, and that warrior... I don't know if I can handle this."

Ubbe tightened his hold on her. "You're stronger than you think," he said. "You proved that today. You fought bravely, and you defended yourself when that man tried to hurt you. You're a shieldmaiden now, my love. You're one of us."

She sniffled, looking up at him. "But what if I'm not good enough?" she asked. "What if you realize that and leave me?"

Ubbe's eyes softened. "I will never leave you, my love," he said firmly. "You're my wife, and I love you. You're the most important person in my life, and I would do anything for you. Please don't ever doubt that."

Her eyes met his, searching for any sign of falsehood. But all she found was love and sincerity. Slowly, she began to relax in his embrace, feeling safe and protected.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I just... I get scared sometimes. It's a lot to take in."

Ubbe kissed her forehead. "I know. But we're in this together, my love. Whatever happens, we'll face it together."

Ubbe's lips met Y/N's. She felt a rush of warmth spread throughout her body. She could taste the mead on his breath as he kissed her with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. His hands were tender as they cupped her face, and she felt his fingers gently stroking her hair.

She wrapped her arms around Ubbe's neck, deepening the kiss. She could feel his muscles tensing as he held her closer, as if afraid to let her go. The world around them faded away as they lost themselves in the moment, lost in the passion that burned between them.

Finally, Ubbe broke the kiss, looking into her eyes with a mix of desire and affection. "I love you," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. "I will always love you."

smiled, her eyes shining with tears. "I love you," she said, her voice filled with sincerity.

Ubbe's hands roamed freely over her back, pulling her even closer to him as he deepened the kiss.

Their tongues danced together in a fiery tango, exploring each other's mouths as they lost themselves in the moment. She could feel her heart racing, her body trembling with anticipation as Ubbe's hands traced down her spine, sending shivers of pleasure through her entire body.

Their kiss grew more passionate, Ubbe's grip on her tightened. She surrendered herself completely to him, letting him take control as she felt herself slipping into a deep state of arousal.

Without breaking the kiss, Ubbe began to remove her clothing, one piece at a time, revealing her supple skin to the firelight. She felt her body heat up with desire, wanting nothing more than to feel his touch on her bare skin. She returned the favor, helping Ubbe out of his clothes until they were both naked and exposed to each other's eyes.

Their lips never once parted, as they explored each other's bodies with hungry eyes and eager hands.

"I'm going to show you how much I love you," Ubbe whispered in her ear as his fingers began to work on her core. She moaned in pleasure, her body responding to his touch. "Please, Ubbe," she whimpered, unable to hold back her desire any longer.

She could feel herself getting wetter and wetter with each passing moment, her body craving more of Ubbe's touch. She moaned loudly, her hands gripping tightly onto his muscular shoulders as he continued to work his magic.

Finally, when he could tell she was ready, he removed his fingers and positioned himself above her. "Are you ready?" he asked, looking deeply into her eyes. She nodded, a look of anticipation and longing on her face. With a deep breath, he slowly entered her, filling her completely with his hard, throbbing member.

gasped in pleasure, her body arching up to meet his as he began to move in a slow, rhythmic motion. She could feel every inch of him inside of her, and she loved it.

She moaned as Ubbe continued to move inside her with increasing speed and intensity. She couldn't believe how much she loved this man and how much he loved her, She felt safe and protected in his arms, and the pleasure he was giving her was beyond anything she had ever experienced before.

As Ubbe's grip tightened around her, she felt a surge of arousal coursing through her body. she moaned, her fingers digging into his skin as she held on tight. "More."

Ubbe's smirk grew wider as he heard her words. He growled, his pace quickening. "Look at you, Wife taking me so well, so deep."

She couldn't speak, lost in the pleasure that was consuming her entire being. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge, and she knew that Ubbe was right there with her. They moved together in perfect harmony, their bodies in sync as they reached the peak of pleasure together.

[mommytauriel]

+ · 。~ OC chart for Thyra

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

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

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

[ryuzakemo128]

Vikings Writing Prompts

Trigger Warning:

Mention of Death, fighting, miscarriages, suicide.

If anything mentioned above triggers you. Please remove yourself and continue with your day. Your mental health is just as important as your physical health. Vice versa, as the mind can affect the body in equal measure.

Prompts for either imagines, headcanons, one-shots, anything you possibly desire. As long as it is clearly stated as to what character you want it written for. Otherwise I will not be able to satisfy the particular itch you might or might not want itched and scratched.

Characters from the Vikings Show that I am willing to write for as follows:

Male Characters

Rollo Lothbrok

Ívar Ragnarsson

Björn Ragnarsson

Ubbe Ragnarsson

Athelstan

Hálfdanr Hálfdansson

Haraldr Hálfdansson

Female Characters:

Lagertha Lothbrok

Aslaug Sigurdsdottir

Personal Note: I would also preface that I will not write things that trigger me. Things like Cheating and Affairs. At least not in incredible detail as it will harm and hurt my mental health in the long run. And if you respect my mental health, you will respect my personal boundaries as well.

If you would like to peruse my previous works in the past feel free to do so. I will not prevent nor shame those who would want to read them.

Here is a link to two masterlists that contain them.

Masterlist 01 / Masterlist 02

Prompts

Listed below are prompts to choose from if you want to make a specific request for a specific character. First list being SFW and the second one being NSFW underneath the cut.

SFW - Dialogue Prompts

"Whatever souls are made of, yours and mine are the same. As much you might dispute that fact."

"You could just tell me things instead of insinuating them. Communication is important."

"Let me eat my feelings in peace and quiet. Otherwise we are going to have many, many, many problems."

"I know I can't go I'm the one getting nearly all the time."

"I don't trust anyone who would place value of one child above another. Regardless of what someone else may or may not have said."

"For a mother you play favourites quite a bit."

"Depends on what you consider to be fair."

"Aim better! Stop trying to hit me and hit me!"

"You are not my problem. You are theirs. I plan to keep it that way. So neither begging nor pleading to me will not work."

Canon Character x OC/ Reader - Dialogue Prompts

"I am well enough to fight. I am well enough to move around do things myself. Do not coddle me as I were a child and I will not do the same to you."

"I was in exile, I did not abandon anybody, least of all my brother."

"I don't ask for your understanding, I don't ask for your trust either and quite frankly I do not want either one from you."

NSFW - Dialogue Prompts

[TBD]

Vikings Headcanons - Link

Food for the heart and soul - Halfdan the Black x Female Reader - Link

Tarnished and Unveiled Intentions - Bjorn Ironside x reader - Link

Life After Death - Bjorn Ironside x female reader - Link

[witchezandwonderz]

Imagineeeee I’m still so ill… anyways tho, back to work Monday so I need to force myself to be better.

Aethelstan fic update in next few days and also going to try and write a tlk/vikings imagine- message/request if you want anything specific <3

[bluemargotrobbie]

CHARACTER & ACTRESS | FANFIC EDIT| LIZ 💞🫶😍

La belleza de Elizabeth se ve muy bien plasmada por la actriz elegida Bridget Reagan.

Belleza que hizo que el vikingo Ragnar Lothbrock cayera rendido a sus pies, que Bjorn Ironside se enamorará perdidamente y que otros hombres deslumbrarán su belleza.

📚: 𝙈𝘼𝙎 𝘼𝙇𝙇𝘼 𝘿𝙀𝙇 𝘿𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙊 (publicado)

🖋: Sol_Andersen93 (wattpad)

🌎: vikings

💌: Ragnar Lothbrock & Bjorn Ironside

👤: Elizabeth

[imeanwhynotbruv]

The Lothbrok wildlings

Vikings and Wolves

<my game of thrones / Vikings crossover Fic on ao3>

Decided to do a bit of a visual thing to see what the family look like in the early chapters, so I found pictures as close to the age of the characters in the Fic, tho some are different.

• • •

Fic ages (beginning)

Bjorn : 14

Ubbe : 10

Hvitserk : 8

Sigurd : 7

Ivar : 6

(Were adapted to fit the story)

• • •

Most of the clothes fit pretty well, tho because they’ve just crossed the wall they’d all still be in their fur coats & their hair styles would be a bit different ( Eg Lagertha would put up Sigurd and Ivar’s hair in something simple)

• • •

I’ve taken some liberties with how they interact with each other to make them a close family unit,

like now Sigurd and Ivar actually like each other, but still bicker.

Ivar is still ruthless and dangerous, but in a slightly more controlled way? If that makes sense?

Without giving away too much, Sigurd and Ivar are totally mamas boys with Lagertha

Ubbe follows Bjorn like a duckling and Bjorn actually likes it (tho he’ll still mess around and act grumpy cuz he’s a kid)

Hvitserk tends to swap what parent he’s following but does go with Ragnar more often.

Hvitserk is a scared little kid a lot but also doesn’t have a filter, he’s just one of those brutally honest children (he still become a viscous warrior when he grows up)

Bjorn is insanely protective of his younger brothers, living over the wall was never easy and he wants to keep the safe, especially after Gyda died

Lothbrok wildings

Slight differences between the Vikings and the wildlings

They are technically a type of wildling as that’s what anyone beyond the wall would call them, but to other wildlings and to themselves they are considered Vikings

They still have the same beliefs as Vikings

The Vikings are still dangerous warriors who (because of multiple generations) have adapted to be able to withstand the cold better than others

The Vikings live in Kattegat and are almost entirely self sufficient, but they do interact with other wildlings for trading purposes

Vikings don’t trust Crows and have only had very few interactions that didn’t end in death

The Vikings still speak Norse as there used to be more of them, but over time they spread out and joined other clans, so it’s only the true Vikings (like the lothbroks) that speak Norse as their first language and lots of the other wildling languages second, few of them speak common tongue like Ragnar who learned it when he was younger

That’s about it for now 😅 because I don’t want to accidentally give things away, but yeah now you get get a better idea of what the boys look like.

[thewackyrandomwriter]

go and check this write out! :D

The Girl With Fire In Her Veins

Here is little sneak peak of a story I’m working on. I’ve had it stuck in my head for like a year or so and I’m finally putting it out there. 

Summery: Rowena MacLeod’s life came crashing down around her when she was 17. For eight years, she is forced to fight her way through the Saxon’s challenges until the Vikings show up. 

I was 17 when my family and I were traveling across the country of England with just our packs and caravan. My mother, Ada, and father, Fergus, had decided to travel after my brother, Callan, was born and we did. We traveled from our home in Scotland and over into Norway and Denmark, making our way into Germany and into Frankia before eventually getting to southern England.

Eventually we were going to be making our way back into Scotland but at the time we didn’t know that Scots was in a feud with England. By the time we reached Northumbria, we had barely been bothered since we usually kept off the main roads. I was the only one that could speak Saxon along with our home language of Gaelic, with Norse, French and German.

When we reached Northumbria when I was 17, our family had expanded with mother giving birth to another boy, Kian, and then a girl, Mollie. Father could speak basic English and some words in Norse. Callan could speak French while my younger siblings were still developing with Gaelic.  

After about a week of traveling, we were confronted by a group of King Aella’s soldiers. They were questioning my father on why were on the King’s land. That we were unwelcomed. We had no clue that England was in a feud with Scots (Gaelic speakers) at this point in time. My father didn’t understand and wanted me to translate but the soldiers were getting aggressive and would not let me speak.  

It happened so quick.

The soldier ran my father through with his sword.  

I was stunned and almost couldn’t move as I watched my father fall the ground.  

The sound of my mother and siblings screaming snapped me out of my thoughts. Clenching my jaw, I rushed forward towards the men that were reaching for my mother and siblings. I went for the smallest man, taking his wrist that was reaching for his sword and twisting it while my free hand simultaneously reached for his sword to pull it from his sheath. I twisted myself under his arm to put him an uncomfortable situation to put the sword through his armpit.  

Two of the soldiers that had stood next to him had frozen in shock at the fact that I had downed one of the soldiers. I took the opportunity to slice at the one on the right, twisting as I swung. Blood poured from his neck and splattered onto my neck, face and chest.  

My mother took the distraction and ushered my siblings into the caravan and then stood behind it.  

I quickly turned to the other soldier, standing sideways as I bent back as he tried to stab me. I quickly swung the sword into the opening he gave me as he stumbled. I cut his side and then when he fell to his knees, I positioned myself behind him to grip his chin and taking the sword to his neck and slicing it.  

I locked eyes with the man that killed my father as I glared at the twinkle that gleamed in his eye.  Two more of the soldiers rushed forward and they stupidly both swung at my head, making me duck down and I lunged forward to slice both tendons at the back of the knees.  

One of them dropped one of their swords and I quickly picked it up. Twirling the swords in my hands so that I was holding them backwards I thrust the swords back, stabbing the soldiers in their necks.  

Pulling them out, I kept my breathing even, but I could feel the blood in my veins on fire as my energy kept up with my movements. I twirled the swords in my hands so that they were facing the right direction. I kept my eyes on the other soldiers in front of me. There were about eight more and I knew that the gods were not in my favor today, but I was not dying without a fight.  

The biggest soldier along with two more came forward and the big one swung hard.  

I jumped to the side to avoid the hit and then parried the soldier to his left.  

Eventually, I was grappled by the big one and his arms were wrapped around my arms and waist, crushing me and making me drop the swords.  

I was cursing him in Gaelic and English as I thrashed around in his hold before Mother’s yell caused my head to snap over.  

The leader had grabbed mother’s hair and had forced her to her knees and then put a dagger at her throat.  

Mother locked eyes with me. Both of us had tears trailing down our cheeks before her resolve hardened and she gritted her teeth.  

“Fear cuts deeper than swords.” She spoke to me in Gaelic. A saying we learned in Germany.  

Clenching her jaw, she closed her eyes just before the man sliced her throat.  

She gargled as he threw her to the ground while locking eyes with me.  

The sounds of my siblings’ sobs along with any other sounds slowly disappeared from my senses as the only thing I felt was anger and devastation at this man killing both of my parents.  

My face scrunched up in pain and anguish before I screamed loud and then leaned forward as much as I could before knocking my head back into the head of the man holding me, I could hear a crunch of his nose breaking and he let me go as he reached up to his broken nose.

Diving for the sword at the ground, I was barely able to grab it before a boot covered the metal of the sword.  

Quickly looking up, the lead man looked down at me before he punched me in the face. Falling back, I was disoriented, and the taste of copper filled my mouth. Looking up, my eyes focused while blinking very slowly at the silhouette of the leader standing over me.  

I felt him grab at my tunic and him pulling me to sit up before he punched me again… Knocking me unconscious.  

[eu-nicola]

first love part 2

summary: you always hated Ragnar until you realized that that hatred was not hatred but love

warnings: age-gap, infidelity

word counter: 6437

author's note: english is not my first language, inspired by something old that I also wrote, penultimate part

tags: @abelhudaz @gigo-gatinha @ameliahaa @silverwingxox @kcd15 @zoexme

The journey had been long and exhausting. The days spent on horseback had worn down your body and spirit, but you couldn’t allow yourself to stop. You knew that the farther you were from Kattegat, the safer you would be. Now, with the settlement in sight, a mix of relief and fear washed over you.  

The place was small, barely a dozen wooden houses with thatched roofs, scattered irregularly around a gently flowing river. The sound of the water, the scent of the pines, and the distant birdsong offered a peace you hadn’t felt in weeks. It was a secluded corner of the world, far from prying eyes and rumors. Here, no one knew you. Here, you could start anew.  

As you reached the edge of the settlement, a group of children playing with improvised bows stopped to look at you. Their laughter ceased, and their wide, curious eyes examined you as if you were an apparition. An older woman appeared behind them, drying her hands on an apron. Her gray hair was tied in a messy bun, and her face was marked by deep wrinkles.  

“Who are you, and what do you want here?” she asked in a rough but not hostile voice.  

“My name is…” You hesitated for a moment. Should you give your real name? You decided to keep things simple. “I’m a traveler. I’m looking for a place to stay.”  

The woman scrutinized you, as if assessing whether you were a threat. Finally, she nodded. “We don’t have much here, but we also don’t turn away those who need help. Come, we’ll speak with the settlement’s leader.”  

She led you to a cabin larger than the others, situated near the river. There you met Eirik, the leader of the small group living in the settlement. He was a robust man with a thick beard and eyes that seemed to read everything you were trying to hide. However, he didn’t ask unnecessary questions. After hearing you explain that you needed a place to stay, he simply nodded.  

“There’s an abandoned cabin on the edge of the settlement,” he said. “It’s not in the best condition, but if you can work to fix it up, it’s yours. In return, we expect you to help out however you can. Everyone here contributes.”  

You accepted with gratitude, relieved by the lack of interrogation. That same afternoon, you were taken to the cabin that would be your home.  

The cabin was in ruins. The roof had holes that let sunlight through, and the door barely hung on one of its hinges. The interior was filled with dust and cobwebs, but you didn’t care. To you, it was a refuge.  

With the help of a woman named Astrid, you began cleaning the place. She was a kind woman with calloused hands and a warm smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix it. All of us here have been through hard times. This place is a fresh start for many,” she told you as she energetically swept the floor.  

Little by little, the cabin started to take shape. A man named Gunnar, who was a carpenter, helped you repair the roof and door, while other women brought you blankets and some basic utensils. Although you felt uneasy about the kindness of others, you accepted their help. You had no other choice.  

The following days were a whirlwind of activity. You joined the women in daily tasks: gathering berries, tending to animals, and maintaining the homes. Though your farming skills were limited, you quickly learned. Astrid became a sort of mentor, teaching you how to identify useful plants in the forest and prepare meals with the few resources they had.  

At night, the settlement gathered around a central bonfire. You listened to the elders’ stories of times past, battles fought, and loves lost. Though you tried to keep to yourself, you sometimes felt the curious gazes of others. You knew they were intrigued by you, by your story, but you appreciated that they respected your silence.  

Over time, you began to feel like part of the place. Not as someone who belonged there, but as someone who had found a space to breathe.  

However, the nights were difficult. When you were alone in the cabin, the silence enveloped you like a heavy cloak. You found yourself instinctively touching your belly, dreaming of the future you had imagined for your child. The solitude was a constant reminder of what you had left behind: your home, your parents, and Ragnar.  

You wondered if he was looking for you, if he suspected why you had left. Sometimes, a sharp pain struck you when you remembered his smile, his laughter, and the weight of his gaze that always seemed to see beyond your words. But you shook off those thoughts. Ragnar belonged to another life, one you had left behind to protect what you carried within.  

Meanwhile, in Kattegat, Ragnar paced back and forth in the main hall of his house, his jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists. Weeks had passed since he returned to Kattegat and discovered you were gone. No one had given him a clear explanation. No one could or would tell him why you had left everything behind.  

Your parents had been his first stop, of course. When he asked them directly, your mother avoided his gaze, and your father, rigid as a wall, only gave him vague answers.  

“She needed space,” your father had said tensely. “She left to find her own path.”  

Ragnar was not a man easily deceived. His blue eyes gleamed with suspicion as he watched them both. “Where did she go? Tell me the truth.”  

“We don’t even know,” your mother replied, and for the first time in that conversation, Ragnar saw some truth in her words. She seemed worried, even fearful, as she spoke.  

“How is that possible? She’s your daughter,” he retorted, his voice filled with frustration.  

“The only thing we know,” your father interjected, “is that she asked us not to tell anyone anything. Not even you.”  

That confession hit Ragnar like a hammer. Had you specifically asked to keep him in the dark? Why? The thought that you had deliberately excluded him from your life left him cold. However, he refused to believe that was the whole truth.  

As time passed, his obsession only grew. Ragnar spent every spare moment wondering what he had done to make you leave. Images of your last encounters replayed in his mind: your evasive answers, the glances you avoided, your evident exhaustion.  

“What are you hiding from me?” he muttered to himself at night, as anger and frustration built in his chest.  

He sought answers elsewhere. He questioned merchants and travelers who came to Kattegat, describing you in precise detail: your hair, your smile, even the way you walked. But no one knew anything.  

His behavior began to affect everyone around him. Lagertha watched him silently, noticing how his attention drifted further away. One night, she finally confronted him.  

“Ragnar, what’s happening to you?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of him. “You seem more concerned about a woman who’s no longer here than about your own family.”  

“You don’t understand,” he replied, his tone harsh enough to surprise Lagertha. “She left without saying anything. Something’s not right. I need to know what happened.”  

“Why do you care so much? She has her own life. Are you so dissatisfied here that you’re looking for something else elsewhere?”  

Lagertha’s words were cutting, and Ragnar knew she was partly right. But he couldn’t explain the depth of what he felt because even he didn’t fully understand it. Something about your departure unsettled him, something he couldn’t ignore.  

The days turned into weeks, and Ragnar’s frustration grew. Though he continued to fulfill his duties as a leader, there was a shadow on his face he couldn’t hide. At night, when the rest of Kattegat slept, Ragnar sat by the fire, staring at the flames and remembering every detail of you.  

Your laughter. The way you tilted your head when lost in thought. The times your eyes sparkled in a way that seemed to challenge the entire world.  

But he also remembered the signs he had ignored: the times you avoided looking at him directly, the moments when it seemed like you wanted to say something but stopped at the last moment. Had you been planning your departure all along?  

“It can’t be,” he murmured to himself. “She wouldn’t have left like that.”  

One day, after another failed attempt to get answers from your parents, Ragnar made a decision. If he couldn’t find you in Kattegat, he would have to look beyond its borders.  

He spoke to some of his trusted men, explaining that he needed to go on a journey. Though he didn’t share all the details, his determination was clear. Lagertha watched from a distance as he prepared to leave, her eyes full of disapproval.  

“How long will these useless searches take?” she asked, confronting him before he left. “You have responsibilities here, Ragnar. A family. If you keep acting as if none of this matters, you’ll end up losing everything.”  

Ragnar looked at her but didn’t respond. He knew her words carried weight, but he couldn’t stay. Something inside him wouldn’t let him.

And so, with the sound of horse hooves echoing against the ground, Ragnar left Kattegat, determined to find you, no matter how long it took or how far you were.  

Months had passed since your arrival, and although you had adapted to the routine of the place, exhaustion weighed on your body. The pregnancy made the days heavier, slower, but you couldn’t allow yourself to rest. You needed to prove you were useful, that you deserved a place in this remote corner of the world.  

That morning, as always, you got up early. The air was cold, and a thin layer of frost covered the grass. You felt slightly dizzy but ignored it. You had learned to hide any sign of weakness; after all, no one could suspect what you carried within.  

The work in the fields was arduous. The tools were rudimentary, and the soil seemed to resist every effort. But you had grown accustomed to this type of struggle: one not against others but against your own limitations.  

You were gathering roots when it happened. As you bent down, you lost your balance. Perhaps it was exhaustion or a lack of attention, but you tripped over a hidden stone and fell to your knees. The impact was brutal, sending sharp pain through your abdomen. You stayed still for a moment, trying to catch your breath as the world spun around you.  

“Are you all right?” Astrid’s voice reached you like a distant echo. She helped you to your feet, her eyes filled with concern.  

“Yes, I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a smile. But the cold sweat running down your back betrayed the truth.  

That night, the pain intensified. A persistent stabbing sensation in your abdomen forced you to double over, but still, you didn’t ask for help. The fear of your secret being discovered was greater than your fear of the pain.  

However, when the fever began to take hold of your body, you could no longer hide it. Astrid, who had noticed your pallor during the day, was the first to enter your cabin. Seeing your condition, she ran to fetch Sigrid, the settlement’s healer.  

Sigrid was an imposing woman, with steady hands and an expression that left no room for doubt. When she arrived, she found you trembling in your bed, your breathing shallow, and your cheeks burning with fever. Without saying a word, she began examining your body, her fingers searching for signs to confirm what you already feared.  

“How long have you been like this?” she asked, her tone stern.  

“I don’t know,” you murmured, unable to meet her eyes.  

Sigrid frowned and placed a hand on your abdomen. Her gaze darkened. “You’re young, but your body is weak. And this…” Her words trailed off, but her expression said it all.  

For two days, you fought the fever, drifting in and out of consciousness. You heard fragments of conversations around you: Astrid’s worried voice, Sigrid’s firm instructions. You felt the weight of cold compresses on your forehead and the bitter taste of the herbs they forced you to drink.  

But everything changed on the second night. The pain became unbearable, a fire that seemed to consume you from within. You tried to scream, but your voice came out as a choked whimper. Sigrid stayed by your side the entire time, her steady hands holding you as your body struggled against something it could no longer sustain.  

When it was over, the room fell silent. A heavy silence, laden with sorrow. Sigrid wiped her hands with a cloth and looked at you with an expression that was half compassion, half resignation.  

“I’m sorry,” she said simply.  

You didn’t need further explanations. You had lost it.  

The physical pain was intense, but the emotional pain was unbearable. For days, you could barely move. You spent hours lying in your bed, staring at the cabin’s ceiling as a sense of emptiness consumed you.  

You had made so many decisions thinking of protecting your child, and now everything seemed pointless. You had lost everything: your home, your family, Ragnar… and now your baby.  

Astrid became your only company. She brought you food and water, though you barely ate. “You need to take care of yourself,” she would say, but her words felt hollow. What was the point of taking care of yourself when there was nothing left to fight for?  

At night, silence was both your solace and your greatest torment. You closed your eyes and saw your baby’s face, even though you had never met them. You wondered if they would have had Ragnar’s eyes or your smile. But those dreams always shattered under the weight of reality.  

As the weeks passed, the settlement returned to its routine, but you felt disconnected. The laughter of children tore at your soul, and every time you saw a mother with her child, a pang of pain shot through your chest.  

Astrid, who had proven to be more than a friend, forced you to get up one day. “You can’t stay here forever,” she said, with a harshness you didn’t expect. “The world doesn’t stop for our pain. You have to move forward.”  

Although you resisted at first, you knew she was right. You couldn’t stay in the cabin forever, trapped in your grief. So, little by little, you returned to working in the fields, though every step was a reminder of what you had lost.  

Still, something inside you had changed. A part of you had died along with your child, and you knew you would never be the same again.  

Meanwhile, the sound of Ragnar’s horse hooves echoed across the rocky terrain as he approached another settlement, his face hardened by a mixture of hope and frustration. He had spent months traveling roads, speaking to merchants, explorers, and villagers. Each time he heard a rumor, no matter how vague, he followed it.  

This time was no different. A merchant who had passed through a remote settlement mentioned seeing a woman matching the description Ragnar had repeated countless times: dark hair, a sad look, a strange determination in her movements. It wasn’t a certainty, but Ragnar couldn’t afford to ignore it.  

The journey to the settlement was long, and Ragnar undertook it alone. His men had grown tired of the fruitless searches, and Lagertha no longer hid her disapproval. Yet he couldn’t give up. There was something about your absence that tormented him, a void no battle or conquest could fill.

When Ragnar arrived at the settlement, his eyes scanned quickly, searching among the passing faces. It was a small place, similar to many others he had visited: humble cabins, cultivated fields, and inhabitants working silently.  

He spent hours observing, speaking to locals, and trying to remain calm. At first, no one seemed to know anything. Most of the villagers looked at him cautiously, as if suspicious of his presence. But when he mentioned a woman who had arrived alone, an old woman working near the river lifted her gaze.  

“There is a woman,” she said in a hoarse voice. “She arrived a few months ago. She doesn’t talk much and works hard, but she always seems… lost.”  

Ragnar felt a spark of hope surge through him. “Where is she?” he asked, trying to control the urgency in his voice.  

The old woman shook her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in weeks. They say she got sick. Perhaps she left, or…” Her voice trailed off, as if unwilling to finish the sentence.  

Ragnar felt the ground shift beneath his feet. Could it be true? Were you sick? Had you died? The thought struck him harder than he expected.  

Not finding you at the settlement was a harsh blow. Ragnar had arrived there hoping to see you, even if only from afar, to confirm you were all right. Instead, all he found were more questions.  

The journey back to Kattegat was somber. Ragnar couldn’t help but wonder if he should abandon his search. He had spent months following a trail that seemed to vanish into thin air. Yet the thought of giving up filled him with an unbearable emptiness.  

When he returned home, Lagertha was waiting at the entrance, arms crossed. Her expression was serious, but there was a flicker of concern in her eyes.  

“Well?” she asked, her voice sharp.  

“She wasn’t there,” Ragnar replied, removing his cloak and dropping his bag to the floor.  

“How much longer will you keep this up?” Lagertha demanded, stepping closer to him. “People are starting to talk. They see you more obsessed with a woman who isn’t here than with your own family.”  

Ragnar looked at her with an intensity that made her pause. “You don’t understand, Lagertha. I can’t ignore this. She… I can’t explain it, but I feel something isn’t right. Something happened.”  

“And perhaps you’ll never know,” she replied, her tone softening. “Perhaps it’s time to leave the past behind and look ahead.”  

But Ragnar couldn’t. Though he didn’t tell Lagertha, something else haunted him: the sense that you had left to protect something, to hide something important. And until he had answers, he couldn’t let it go.  

His search didn’t end, just as your search for peace hadn’t either.  

Though the wounds still hurt both physical and emotional you knew you couldn’t let them consume you forever. You had spent months buried in your grief, refusing to look toward the future, but something within you a spark of life still clinging to the present urged you to rise from the bed.  

Your body was weaker than before. The fever and the loss had left their mark, but they had also taught you to value what you still had: the chance to move forward.  

Astrid was the first to notice the change in you. “I’m glad to see you on your feet,” she said one morning as you shared breakfast. Her warm smile reminded you that, although you had lost so much, there were still people who cared about you.  

The settlement was small, but its inhabitants were hardworking and supportive. A family that raised goats and sheep, the Ingvarssons, offered you work in exchange for food and a bit more stability. At first, you hesitated. The pain remained a constant weight, and you worried you wouldn’t meet their expectations. But you accepted, knowing you couldn’t rely on others forever.

The first days were tough. The work with the animals was exhausting, and many nights you came home with your hands full of scratches and your muscles tense. But there was something comforting in the routine: feeding the goats, caring for the newborn lambs, feeling the warmth of the animals as you helped them thrive.

“You’re good with them,” Ingrid, the matriarch of the family, said while watching you clean the stable. Her words surprised you. You had spent so much time feeling useless, as if everything you tried ended in failure, that hearing a compliment left you speechless.

“Thank you,” you finally replied, feeling a strange warmth in your chest.

Over time, you started to integrate more into the settlement. The neighbors stopped seeing you as a stranger and began greeting you as you passed by. They invited you to small gatherings, where they shared stories and songs around the fire. Though at first, you felt out of place, you soon realized that you enjoyed those nights, the laughter, and the company.

Astrid was always by your side, making sure you didn’t feel alone. There was something about her presence that gave you strength, as if she knew exactly when you needed a push or a moment of silence.

However, despite the new beginnings, you couldn’t stop thinking about what you had lost. On quiet nights, when the settlement slept and the only sound was the murmur of the nearby river, you allowed yourself to remember.

You had kept a small baby garment that you had secretly sewn during the first months of your pregnancy. It was a small wool vest, simple but made with love. You kept it hidden in a corner of your cabin, wrapped in a clean cloth.

Every time you took it out, you held it between your hands as if it were the only bridge to the child you never got to know. You couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of it. It was your only tangible connection to the life you had lost, a reminder of what could have been.

There were nights when you found yourself whispering to the air, as if the spirit of your baby could hear you. “I’m sorry,” you said, the words filled with guilt and sadness. “I wanted to protect you, but I failed.”

Despite your efforts to leave the past behind, Ragnar kept appearing in your thoughts. You wondered where he was, if he still thought about you or if he had already forgotten you. You had decided to leave to protect yourself and the baby, but sometimes you wondered if you had made a mistake by not trusting him.

There were moments when you wished he were with you, that he would hug you and tell you that everything would be okay. But you knew those thoughts were pointless. Ragnar had his own life, his own family, and you were no longer a part of it.

The months passed, and with them came a sense of stability. Though the wounds would never completely disappear, you learned to find comfort in the small things: the aroma of freshly baked bread, the laughter of the children in the settlement, the satisfaction of a job well done.

You had become an important part of the community. The Ingvarsson family spoke of you as if you were part of their family, and the other inhabitants of the settlement came to you whenever they needed help with something. You had built a new life, one that, though not perfect, gave you some peace.

However, every time you held the small wool vest between your hands, you felt that a part of you was still waiting. Waiting for something you didn’t even know how to describe.

And though you tried not to think about it, you knew your story with Ragnar was not over. The thread that connected you both was still there, tight and silent, waiting for the right moment to stretch again.

Days later, the day had begun like any other in the settlement. The fresh air filled your lungs as you worked in the fields, your hands accustomed to the weight of the tools and the constant rhythm of the work. The sun was high in the sky, and though sweat beaded on your forehead, you felt at peace. You had learned to find comfort in the routine, in the simplicity of the life you had built.

However, that peace was shattered the moment a figure appeared on the horizon.

At first, you didn’t pay much attention. It was common for solitary travelers to pass through the settlement, looking for provisions or a place to rest. But as the figure drew closer, something in you began to tense. There was something familiar in their walk, in the way they held their head high and their shoulders firm.

When you finally looked up to observe them more closely, your heart seemed to stop.

It was him.

Ragnar walked toward you with a determined step, his face marked by time and an endless search. Though years had passed, you recognized him instantly. His eyes were still the same: intense, filled with a mixture of determination and emotions you couldn’t decipher.

You dropped the tool you had in your hands, unable to move. Everything you had worked to bury the pain, the guilt, the love you still harbored deep in your heart surfaced all at once, hitting you like a furious wave.

Ragnar stopped a few meters away from you, his gaze fixed on yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy, laden with unsaid emotions.

“Why?” was the first thing he said, his voice low but filled with reproach.

You didn’t need him to explain what he meant. You knew.

“Ragnar…” you whispered, but you couldn’t say more. The words seemed to stick in your throat.

“No,” he interrupted, taking a step toward you. “Don’t say my name as if that could fix anything. I searched for you. For years, I searched for you.”

His tone was rough, and you could see the mix of pain and anger in his eyes. “Do you know how much time I’ve spent wondering why you left? Why you didn’t say anything? Didn’t I deserve to know?”

His words pierced you, but they also sparked something inside you. All the pain and guilt you had silently carried for so long began to transform into anger.

“And what did you want me to say, Ragnar?” you snapped, your voice trembling with emotion. “That I was pregnant with your child while you had your wife and your perfect life in Kattegat? That I was terrified of what others would say, of what my parents would think? What would have changed if you had known?”

“Everything,” he replied without hesitation.

His words took your breath away for a moment, but you refused to let him disarm you.

“That’s not true,” you said, crossing your arms. “You would have gone on with your life, and I would have been a burden. The only thing I did was protect myself and… and the baby.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Ragnar furrowed his brow, as if processing what you had said. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you saw something beyond the anger: pain.

“Where is it?” he asked finally, his voice barely a whisper.

Your heart broke upon hearing that question. You looked down, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t know,” you murmured. “I lost it.”

Ragnar seemed to stagger, as if your words were a physical blow. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, there was something broken in his expression.

“You didn’t tell me anything,” he repeated, his voice barely contained. “You stole the chance for me to know, to be there. You took away the chance for me to be its father.”

His words hit you hard, but you couldn’t let him blame you for everything. “And what would your presence have done, Ragnar? Would it have prevented it from dying? Would it have changed what happened?”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, his voice softer but still full of reproach. “But I would have been with you. You shouldn’t have gone through this alone.”

Ragnar’s words left you speechless. A part of you knew he was right, but another part was too hurt, too tired to admit it. You had done what you thought was necessary to protect yourself, to protect the baby, and though you knew it hadn’t been perfect, it was the best you could do at that moment.

“Ragnar, I… I can’t do this,” you said finally, your voice breaking. “I’ve spent years trying to rebuild my life. I can’t dig all of this up again.”

Ragnar looked at you with an intensity that made you feel naked, exposed. “I’m not here to destroy what you’ve built,” he said finally, his tone softer. “But I can’t ignore what happened, and I can’t ignore you. You… you still mean something to me.”

His words left a lump in your throat. You had waited so long to hear them, but now that you did, you didn’t know how to feel.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of emotions. Ragnar didn’t leave, and you didn’t know how to deal with his presence. Everything you had worked to forget seemed to return with force, threatening to break down the barriers you had built around your heart.

Despite everything, you knew this encounter was only the beginning. Ragnar wasn’t someone who gave up easily, and now that he had found you, he wouldn’t leave without answers.

As the sun began to set on the horizon, you felt a mix of fear and hope. The past had returned, and though you didn’t know how to face what was to come, a part of you knew this encounter would change your life forever.

The days following the reunion with Ragnar were a whirlwind of emotions and conflicts. His presence in the settlement shook your entire world, disturbing the balance you had worked so hard to build. Although you tried to stay firm in your decision to stay, Ragnar kept insisting that you return with him to Kattegat.

Ragnar was not a man who easily accepted a 'no.' Every conversation between the two of them turned into an intense argument, full of emotions and reproaches.

“You don't understand what you're asking,” you said one night, as the light from the fireplace illuminated the small space of your cabin. “I’ve worked for years to find peace here. I can’t go back and face everything I left behind.”

“And you think I found peace without you?” he replied, his voice low but filled with intensity. “I didn’t ask you to leave, I didn’t ask you to exclude me from your life. I don’t understand why you prefer to live among strangers rather than with the people who love you.”

“The people who love me?,” you repeated, incredulous. “Are you talking about you? About your parents? About Lagertha? How do you think my life would have been there? Always pointed at, always a secret.”

Ragnar clenched his lips, his eyes fixed on yours. “I don’t want you to be a secret,” he said finally, and his words took your breath away.

But you couldn’t let yourself be carried away by them. You couldn’t forget what you had gone through, or all that you had sacrificed.

Despite your constant refusals, Ragnar kept insisting. Not just for you, but because he wanted you to say goodbye to your parents. “You owe them that,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument.

He was right, though it was hard to admit. You had left your parents without clear explanations, forcing them to carry the burden of your disappearance. You had avoided thinking about how they must have felt, but now that Ragnar brought it up, the guilt began to weigh heavily on you.

Finally, after days of arguments, you agreed to go with him to Kattegat. “Just to say goodbye,” you clarified, looking at him firmly. “This doesn’t mean I’m staying.”

Ragnar nodded but said no more. You knew this was just the first step for him.

The journey to Kattegat was long and silent. You traveled together, but barely spoke. Ragnar seemed focused, his thoughts hidden behind a mask of seriousness. As for you, you felt a constant knot in your stomach. Each step toward Kattegat felt like a weight pressing harder and harder on you.

When you finally arrived, the settlement seemed the same as always. The wooden houses, the docks, the bustle of the people; everything was intact, as if time had not passed. But for you, everything felt different. You had changed, and this place no longer felt like home.

The tension became evident as soon as Ragnar took you to his house. Lagertha was there, and her expression upon seeing you was anything but welcoming.

“What is she doing here?,” she asked, giving Ragnar a cold look.

“She’s come to say goodbye to her family,” he replied calmly, as though his tone could placate the evident hostility in the room.

Lagertha studied you closely, her blue eyes analyzing every detail of your face. “And why does she need your company for that?.”

You didn’t want to cause more problems than there already were. “Lagertha,” you began, trying to sound conciliatory, “I’m not here to stay. I just came to close a chapter of my life.”

“A chapter Ragnar seems too eager to dig up,” she retorted, her tone sharp.

Ragnar intervened before the argument could escalate. “This isn’t about you or me. This is about her and what she needs to do.”

Though his words seemed reasonable, they did little to calm things down. Lagertha remained silent, but you could feel the tension in her posture, in the way she avoided looking at you.

Seeing your parents was an emotional blow you hadn’t expected. Your mother hugged you tightly, tears running down her cheeks as she repeated your name as if she couldn’t believe you were there. Your father, more reserved, simply took you by the shoulders and nodded, his eyes shining with restrained emotion.

“We thought we would never see you again,” your mother said through her sobs. “Why did you leave without telling us where you were going?.”

You had no answer for them. All you could do was apologize, promising that it hadn’t been due to a lack of love.

The conversation was long and difficult. Your parents wanted you to stay, but you remained firm in your decision to return to the settlement. “This is no longer my home,” you told them, though the words broke your heart.

While you stayed in Kattegat, even if only for a short time, the tension between you, Ragnar, and Lagertha only grew. Ragnar tried to keep the peace, but his constant efforts to talk to you did not go unnoticed by Lagertha, who became colder with each passing day.

One night, Lagertha confronted Ragnar privately, but the walls weren’t thick enough to silence their words. “Why do you keep insisting on this?,” she asked, her voice full of anger. “What do you hope to achieve by bringing her here?.”

“I don’t hope to achieve anything,” Ragnar replied, though his tone betrayed the truth. “I’m just trying to fix what was broken.”

“You can’t fix everything, Ragnar,”

she shot back. “And if you keep trying, you’ll only break more.”

The time you spent in Kattegat was brief but intense. Although you managed to say goodbye to your parents and some of the people you had left behind, you couldn’t ignore the tension your presence created. Ragnar continued insisting that you stay, but you were determined to return to the settlement.

“This is not my place,” you told him one night, as you both stood in silence near the harbor. “You have your life here, and I have mine there.”

“It’s not that simple,” he replied, but he didn’t try to convince you anymore.

The days you spent in Kattegat after your arrival were filled with tension, and although you had planned to return to the settlement soon, Ragnar had other plans for you. It was on a quiet afternoon, while walking alone near the docks, that he approached you with a proposal that would change the course of everything: he wanted you to accompany him on his next journey.

“What do you say?,” he asked, with that mix of seriousness and enthusiasm that so characterized him. His eyes shone with an intensity that made it hard to look away.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” you replied, crossing your arms. “I’ve only been here a few days. Going with you would complicate things even more.”

“What things?,” he asked, smiling slightly. “Lagertha? Me? Don’t worry about that. She understands that this journey is important.”

You knew that wasn’t entirely true. Lagertha wasn’t someone who accepted things easily, especially when it came to you. Still, there was something in the proposal that attracted you. You missed the feeling of traveling, of exploring new horizons, of losing yourself in unfamiliar landscapes. As much as you had built a peaceful life in the settlement, a part of you still longed for that freedom.

“Why do you want me to go?,” you finally asked, eyeing him warily.

Ragnar remained silent for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “Because I think you need this as much as I do,” he said sincerely. “And because I want you to be with me.”

His words were simple, but they struck something within you. Although you knew accepting it would bring consequences, you couldn’t resist.

“Fine,” you agreed with a sigh. “But if this goes wrong, it’ll be your fault.”

He smiled, satisfied with your answer. “We’ll see about that.”

[entitled-fangirl]

Masterlist <3

Game of Thrones masterlist

Vikings

Ragnar Lothbrok

#drew drools over ragnar lothbrok

Patiently wait.

Bjorn Ironside

#drew drools over bjorn ironside

New.

One and the same.

My strong girl.

Batman

Bruce Wayne

(I don't own this photo btw :))

#drew drools over bruce wayne

Billionaire Brucie.

Jason Todd

(I don't own this photo btw :) )

#drew drools over jason todd

Bike problems.

Apologies.

The trail.

Sleep.

Kill 'em.

Dead batteries.

Little deer.

Dumb football game.

Bridgerton

Benedict Bridgerton

A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

One happy marriage.

Saltburn

Felix Catton

He would burn the world for her.

I love hearing about your day. SMUT

The cold ground provided no comfort.

Sweet little nothings.

So guilty.

Breakfast is ready.

It's like heaven. SMUT

Anything for you, beautiful girl. SMUT

The Last of Us

Joel Miller

A civilized meal.

Never been more thankful.

They're not gonna hit you.

Her saving grace.

Sweet mama.

Miller baby.

Two idiots in love. Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 (Finished series)

Mandalorian

Din D'jarin

His perfect little Cyar'ika.

You've made me worry.

Such a pretty sight.

I know you made her your riduur.

Good Omens

Crowley

He may always be a demon, but she still loves him.

Is that a spot?

Hannibal NBC

Hannibal x reader x Will

I see the way you look at her, William.

His carefully crafted web.

A predicament.

Terms of Endearment (drabble).

Will Graham

No Pajama Party for you, Mr. Graham.

Fishing 101.

Their safe hold.

So scared but so happy.

Xmen

Charles Xavier

Of course, my love.

Polar

Duncan Visla

Four days of hell.

Midsommar

Pelle

That's a love rune. Casts a love spell.

Little bird.

Adjustment.

Twilight

Jasper Hale

Are you scared of me, Princess?

Sparring.

Marcus Volturi

The Best Thing for Marcus.

Caius Volturi

The human did interrupt.

Sherlock BBC

Jim Moriarty

A deer in the headlights.

Harry Potter Universe

Barty Crouch Jr.

His betrothed. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

I hope I do.

Severus Snape

The astronomy professor.

Remus Lupin

Our needs. SMUT

James Potter

Feeling unwell.

OC stories:

Harry Potter universe:

The misaligned stars.

Remus Lupin x OC x (past)Regulus Black

Summary: The golden trio knocks on the door of someone who can help them with the Slytherin locket.

.............……………….

Who I'm accepting requests for

More about my page!

My backup account: @poetic-endeavor 

Fanfic count: 75

[undiscovered-horizon]

Imagine Bjorn overhearing you sing one night. Your voice has been haunting him ever since; the melody stuck in his brain at all times. It seems as though he cannot get you out of his head.

Most Vikings had passed out from their binge drinking, some of them still at the tables, others lying on the ground.

Bjorn couldn’t sleep. Thoughts of the Mediterranean and his father made a noisy ruckus in his head. Also, thoughts and memories of Rollo seemed to flood his mind.

Bjorn Ironside was deeply worried.

His enormous figure stopped somewhere next to the pier. He sat on the cold sand and locked his blue eyes on the neverending vast sea. Waves crashed against the shore gently, as if they didn’t want to anger the prince. Absentmindedly he started to turn and rub a pebble his fingers stumbled upon.

A light voice was captured by his ears. At first, he didn’t pay much attention to it, but the melody got slightly louder and he could make out what the song was about.

Wind sways moths as they fly,

All the wolves are fast asleep,

And only you are still awake, my love,

You fear witches and ghosts and wraiths of the night.

That little doll right by your heart,

It’s fast asleep, trembling slightly

There will come a man so rough,

With a heart so cold that aches for gold,

Just as swiftly will he leave,

And leave you alone in your sorrowed sleep.

Birds turn silent in the dark

Cattle sleeps when the dusk is nigh

And only you are still awake, my love

You fear witches and ghosts and wraiths of the night.

The song seemed to be just these few lines, as they repeated over and over again. It was a lullaby Bjorn has never heard before, the melody so new to him he couldn’t possibly recreate it if he wanted to. Lyrics of the song felt heavy on his heart as if they foretold impending doom. Nevertheless, he had found odd comfort in that hidden dread: nature did not care about it and the singer tried to convince him he shouldn't either.

He just sat there, listening to the repeating song. The voice that kept on singing was definitely female, a light sound with a vibrant accent. There was something entirely haunting about the song and its singer, and that something had a strong grip on Bjorn's thoughts. Although the evening hasn't ended yet, he already knew that song will stick to him for long weeks. And if that should become true, there was little else Bjorn could think about: after his return, he has to meet the owner of that haunting voice.

But for now, he just listened. The sand on the beach was starting to become cold as the moon reached its peak in the black sky. The waves kept on crashing against the shore, sometimes drowning out single words or syllables sung by the unknown woman. And although his heart was heavy with worry, the unsettling lyrics, oddly, brought him comfort, as if whoever the song belonged to, wanted to tell him to be still, to clear his thoughts and leave the heaviness of his heart behind.

Author's note: The song is a more literal translation of The Witcher's Lullaby of woe (translated from polish original).

[dreamonseems]

Líf

Confessions

- Story seven of Líf series of one-shot stories, about Ubbe, his reader wife, and their children. Every story will be different but within the same universe. Nothing will be in order just random stories about their lives.

- Ok I made up a place called Raven United so any race reading this can Imagine being the reader.

Summary: Ubbe tells Y/N how he feels about her and they run away and get married.

Despite Aslaug's disapproval, Ubbe couldn't help but feel drawn to Y/N's beauty and spirit. As he watched Y/N he saw the potential for something more in her, something beyond just a simple slave.

One day, as they were alone in the fields, Ubbe confessed his feelings to Y/N. Out of nowhere, Ubbe had turned to her and said, "I have something to tell you. I think I'm in love with you. I know we're from different worlds, but I can't help how I feel."

She was hesitant at first, knowing the consequences of being involved with a Viking prince, but she couldn't deny the spark between them.

Their secret love affair soon came to the attention of Aslaug, who was furious. She had a heated argument with Ubbe, telling him that his duty was to marry a Viking woman and continue the Lothbrok dynasty. Ubbe, however, was firm in his decision to pursue his love for Y/N, even if it meant going against his mother's wishes.

But Aslaug was determined to put an end to Ubbe's relationship with Y/N and secure a powerful alliance for the Lothbrok dynasty. She arranged a feast for a noble family that had a daughter of marrying age, hoping that this would distract him from his infatuation with Y/N.

Y/N was forced to serve at the feast. She watched from a distance as Ubbe and the girl talked and laughed, her heart heavy with sadness. But Ubbe couldn't stop thinking about Y/N and how much he loved her, even though their relationship was forbidden by his mother.

When the feast was over, Ubbe found Y/N in her quarters and declared his love for her once again. Y/N reciprocated with tears of joy, knowing that she couldn't live without him.

Aslaug was furious to see that her plan didn't work. She forbade them from seeing each other and threatened Y/N with punishment if she didn't comply. Their argument escalated, with both of them refusing to back down. Aslaug threatened to disown him, but Ubbe was willing to risk everything for Y/N.

Ubbe was able to convince his father, King Ragnar, to grant Y/N's freedom from slavery. Despite Queen Aslaug's objections, King Ragnar saw the love between Ubbe and Y/N and believed in their right to be together.

With her newfound freedom, Y/N was able to explore the world and learn more about Viking culture. She and Ubbe fell deeper in love, but they knew that their relationship was not accepted by everyone. They longed to be free from the judgment and scrutiny of his family and society and dreamed of a life where they could be together without fear of retribution.

That's when they made the decision to run away and get married in secret, hoping that his family would eventually come to accept their love for each other.

After their secret wedding, Ubbe and Y/N spent a few blissful days together, enjoying their newfound freedom and each other's company. However, their peace was short-lived when King Ragnar, Ubbe's father, came looking for them.

At first, Ubbe was hesitant to come back, fearing that his father would disapprove of his marriage to a former slave. But after some discussion with Y/N, they both decided that it was best to face the situation head-on and confront their families together.

When they arrived back in Kattegat, they were met with a mix of emotions. Queen Aslaug was still disapproving of Y/N, but King Ragnar was more understanding and accepted Y/N as a member of their family. Ragnar was glad that his son had found happiness, but he knew that their marriage would not be accepted by everyone in their society

Despite the challenges that lay ahead, Ubbe and Y/N were grateful to have each other and to have the support of Ubbe's father. They were determined to make their marriage work and to show their true love knows no bounds.