#Vikings Fanfic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gwen-novella · 2 years ago

Text

Ivar Ragnarsson - Nsfw Alphabet

Pairing: Ivar x female reader

Word count: 3.5K

Warnings: Smut (18+ !!!), it's a nsfw alphabet so expect all things sex, all kinds of kinks, no use of y/n

Summary: A nsfw alphabet for our favorite boy that's only soft for you. Can be read as part of TPAW.

Author’s note: I have reappeared from my hiatus. I decided to finally try my hand at writing fanfics again and thought I'd start off with something short and easy - ended up writing 3.5K words anyways. Mission failed successfully. Please excuse if my writing is a little rusty.

Please consider commenting or reblogging - it really makes my day!

(*) smár brandr = little blade

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Anyone that knows Ivar and has seen the two of you together will notice that he is uncharacteristically open, affectionate, and kind to you. Whenever this is pointed out to you, you always struggle to hide an amused snicker behind a bashful smile. If only they knew.

The two of you lay entangled on the bed. Your left leg is thrown over Ivars midsection and your arm traces invisible shapes on his chest. Ivar is laying on his back, his left arm lays underneath your body and is stroking up and down your back. Both of your breathing has calmed by now and with the gentle hum of satisfaction in your veins you’d be perfectly content to stay like this forever.

The almost meditative state you’re in is broken when your left hand is halted in its movements, now gently held in Ivars right. Tilting your head up to look at him, you meet Ivars gaze and the intensity in his eyes almost makes you shy away. "I treasure you, smár brandr." (*)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Ivar doesn’t give much thought to his body. For quite obvious reasons he avoids it as much as possible. He does like his hands though. He’s quite good at using them, whether that be spinning a dagger or wrapping them around your throat.

Ivar has also become more accepting of the rest of his body as your relationship progresses. How could he not, when you hold his face in your hands, your delicate fingers tracing his features, when you constantly compliment his strong arms and back and when you don’t even bat an eye at the sight of his legs.

When it comes to you, there isn’t a part of your body that Ivar doesn’t like. Though he has a strange fascination with your neck. Kissing it, biting it, but especially wrapping his hand around it. It’s not so much the choking itself that turns him on - but the trust you show him when you allow his fingers to slowly tighten around your throat.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Further elaborated under K = Kink, but Ivars favorite place to cum is deep inside you. "Where I belong", he’d once told you, caressing your lower stomach. However, when the night is still young and he plans to make the both of you cum several times, Ivar enjoys watching you swallow his cum.

Ivar’s sat, fully clothed, at the edge of his bed, his unfocused eyes gazing down at your kneeling form on the ground, your sweet lips wrapped around his cock. You’re sat between his legs, one hand stroking along the length that doesn’t fit in your mouth, the other underneath your skirt, drawing circles over your clit.

You can tell Ivar is close, his breathing labored as his cock throbs against your eager tongue. His arms move from their place at his side and you’re certain he’ll pull you off him and toss you on the bed, as he does so often, but his hands find their way into your hair, gripping tightly and aiding your movements.

"I’ll cum down your throat", he raps, sending a bolt of arousal through you, "and you won’t dare swallow until I tell you to."

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

When you and Ivar first slept together it was you who took the lead to begin with. And even though his touches became more confident and urgent throughout, they were clearly still laced with inexperience until they weren’t.

"Your eyes snap open as you feel a finger drawing circles on your clit, looking down to see Ivar has taken one of his hands off your hips and is instead circling your sensitive nub with his thumb. How he knows to do this, you do not know, but you are thankful for it, already feeling the coil in your stomach tightening."

Ivar would rather spend the rest of his days locked in a shed with an ever-singing Sigurd than admit that he knows those things because he had watched some of his brothers with Margrethe. Looking back, he is deeply embarrassed.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

None. Well, that is if you don’t count his horrid encounter with Margrethe (which you don’t). You were the first woman he ever slept with.

Don’t worry though, Ivar is very quick learner. Whether that includes learning alongside you, if you’re equally inexperienced, or learning from you, if you’re more experienced. If the latter is the case, expect your prior partners to have some less than pleasant encounters with Ivar.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

It very much depends on his mood. If he wants you to take charge: cowgirl.

He’ll either sit back against the headboard or lay down flat on his back to watch you bounce and circle your hips above him. Don’t think him to be a passive participant though. Much like his eyes, his mouth and hands won’t stop wandering. His lips find their way to your neck, leaving evidence of the nights activities on your skin for all to see, sucking and biting on your nipples until they’re sore and whispering the filthiest of commands and praises.

Every tilt of your hips grinds your clit against his pubic hair, sending sparks up your spine. So caught up in your pleasure you don’t notice Ivars hand moving until it’s slipped its way around your throat, making your eyes flutter open once more. When had they even closed?

"Look at you", Ivar groans, "riding me so well, smár brandr." Using his hand to tilt your head down to look at him, Ivar fixes you with his piercing gaze. "Mhm", he hums, "Like a goddess… or a whore." The hand around your throat tightens.

If Ivar is in the mood to watch you squirm underneath him (which is often) he’ll take you from behind, pressing you flat on your belly and draping himself along your back.

If anyone has given him reason to be possessive, or jealous, expect to wobble your way around Kattegat the next day. Instead of gripping your throat, like usual, his hand will grip your hair in a makeshift pony tail, either pressing your head into the pillow, or raising your ear to his lips, making sure to tell you who you belong to.

The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your muffled moans against the furs. Ivars hips pound into yours so deeply, you’re sure that you won’t be able to sit properly tomorrow. Suddenly your head is yanked from the pillows and you feel Ivars breath against the side of your face.

"You’re mine", he hisses. "Mine to love, mine to kiss, mine to fuck." Nibbling along your shoulder Ivar promises darkly: "Tomorrow, when you’re not able to leave this bed, I’ll kill Earl Leif… Perhaps I’ll bring him here first. Would you like that, hm? Make him watch how good only I can make you feel?"

You don’t even remember what the foreign Earl had done to anger Ivar, your brain not absorbing anything that isn’t the drag of Ivars cock along your walls.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Ivar is a very passionate lover. As such he does really immerse himself into the act. It’s not so much that you’d call him serious in those moments, it’s just that he’s so zeroed in on you - the rest of the world could burn around him for all he cares.

Sex is also a very vulnerable thing for Ivar. In your chambers, when it’s just you and him, he’s a very different man than the one most perceive him to be. Most people know not to intrude upon your little safe haven, at least if they want to keep all their limbs.

Hvitserk learned this the hard way one night when in a drunken state he mistook Ivars room for his own. He had barely stepped a foot over the threshold when a dagger had already planted itself into the wooden frame next to his head.

In the afterglow of it all Ivar is probably at his most vulnerable and most relaxed. The two of you will cuddle, talk about everything or nothing at all and sometimes that includes laughing together.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

As explained above Ivar tries to avoid thinking too much about his body. As such he doesn’t groom. His medical condition however has lead to him having impeccable personal hygiene, since his legs often need to be washed, moisturized and bandaged.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Again, Ivar is a very passionate and devoted lover. Most times this will express itself in a raw, sort of untamed way. Some may label this rough - the way his hands firmly grip your hips, the firm snap of his hips and the incessant way he kisses and bites anywhere he can reach can certainly feel like it. Everything he does though is born from love, from devotion.

Occasionally, he slows. Ivars passion become gentle and sweet, drawn out like strings of honey - seeking comfort in you.

You can feel the warmth of his release coat your walls, a pleasant hum of satisfaction in your veins, not as pulsing and exhausting as you’re used to. You make to raise yourself from Ivars cock, from his lap, to cuddle up beside him, when his hands that so softly caress your hips tighten for a split second.

"Don’t move", Ivar whispers, the first words he’s spoken since he’s entered your heat. "I want to stay like this for a while." You don’t decline.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Since Ivars relationship with sex started off the way it did, sex isn’t really about "getting off" itself. Don’t get him wrong, Ivar enjoys having sex, enjoys cumming, as much as any man. It’s just that he doesn’t crave for it, if it is not with you.

Ivar doesn’t need sex - he needs sex with you. Ivar doesn’t need release - he needs release with you. If he can’t have you he doesn’t bother.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding Kink

Ivar never thought he’d be able to have kids. He didn’t even think he’d be able to fuck. When one fateful night with you led him to discover that he could in fact please a woman, sex was the only thing on his mind. For weeks you spent every night in Ivars bed, his head in between your thighs, your mouth around his length and his cock deep in your cunt. It was a comment from one of his brothers over breakfast that planted an even deeper desire into his heart.

Ivar had teased Hvitserk for looking so tired, knowing full well his room was right next to Ivars and that Hvitserk had probably been kept awake by your squealing the night prior. It was then that Ubbe, in an attempt to prevent a fight, almost mindlessly commented: "Don’t fret Hvitserk. Not much longer and he’ll have put a babe in her belly. Then Ivars tiny room will no longer suffice and we’ll be rid of them."

Trust Kink (?)

Hear me out. Ivar’s never really had anyone he could trust completely, some he’s comfortable being vulnerable around. Likewise, he’s also never had anyone that trusted him, that willingly was vulnerable around him. And whilst it took a long time for your relationship to progress to this state, now that it has Ivar cannot get enough of it - this feeling of safety and belonging.

As such, everything that reminds him of this, anything that is proof of this precious trust is an instant turn on for him. His hand around your throat, him caging you under his body, restraining your hands above your head, cutting your clothes from your body using his dagger…

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

As explained, Ivar does not take kindly to his time with you being interrupted. Therefore his room it is.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Short answer: You. Long answer: Also you.

As explained above, once Ivar realized he could have sex, there wasn’t a lot of holding back on his side. He was insatiable. Though, the thing that gets him going more than anything else is the realization that not only could he fuck you, but you wanted him to.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Hurting you.

Anything beyond reddish handprints in the places he grabs you, love bites across your throat and chest and the wobble in your step the next morning is a hard no. Ivar cherishes the trust you two share - he’d never think of doing something to break it.

Sharing.

Even though, when possessive or jealous, Ivar sometimes talks about showing off how well he pleases you, it is all talk. He’d never consider someone intruding in such a vulnerable situation. Besides, you’re for his eyes only.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

"I can show you that there are other ways to please a woman too, if you so wish."

Ivar remembers you whispering those words against his lips the first time you were intimate together, gently reassuring him. After the first few times following that day, when his eagerness to feel your walls wrapped around his cock as fast as possible had slowly calmed from a raging fire to a steady flame, those words of yours kept echoing in his mind. You’d proposed it as an alternative, so technically there was no need for that now, but Ivars curiosity was peaked.

His breath is fanning over your lower stomach, Ivars blue eyes are looking up at you for guidance, between placing kisses on and nipping at your skin.

"You told me you’d show me. I do not know how to make you feel good like this." A breathless laugh falls from your lips. "I promise to tell you if something does not feel good."

Ivar huffs but relents nonetheless, his nips and kisses moving lower, a few of them straying to the inside of your thighs, before his tongue suddenly licks a broad stripe up your cunt. Something between a whimper and a moan tears from your throat and Ivar decides right then and there that he wants to hear that sound over and over and over again.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

As explained under I = Intimacy, Ivars love making is usually very passionate. If not fast, his thrusts will at the very least be hard and deep, hands firm on whichever part of your body he chooses to grab, his love bites just on that fine line between pleasure and pain.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He isn’t exactly opposed to the idea, it’s just that your circumstances don’t really allow for them. Between the daily bustle of Kattegat, your respective duties throughout the day and Ivars reluctance to have sex outside the safety of his chambers there aren’t really opportunities for quickies.

It’s fine by the both of you though, you prefer to take your time anyways, especially the calm and intimacy afterwards is treasured by the both of you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Ivar is ever learning, he’s willing to try most everything you’d approach him with, so long as it doesn’t fall under his hard no’s.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

In the beginning Ivar was insatiable. Once he got you into bed you could expect not to leave it or go to sleep for quite a while.

That is still the case, though the way you spend your time in bed has changed. The two of you used to go as many rounds as either of you could take until sleep took you.

As your relationship blossomed, it became less about sex itself and more about being intimately connected - whether that be foreplay, sex, or basking in the afterglow of it all. Rounds became fewer, but more drawn out. On the days Ivar seeks comfort, the intimacy of you laying on his chest afterwards, warming his cock, both of you speaking in hushed whispers have become his favorite part.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Since it’s the early 800s … there are no toys. The closest thing would be his daggers, perhaps some rope.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Ivar has no patience to actually tease you in terms of withholding his physical affections. He excels at making your squirm with his verbal teasing though.

You’re circling your hips above him, eyes screwed shut, clearly focused on chasing your release, but slightly overwhelmed by the pleasure all the same. A sudden pressure makes you moan out and look down to where Ivar has placed his hand against the little bulge in your lower stomach.

"Look at that", he grins, "Look at me all the way inside you. Such a little thing, can barely fit me." A frustrated whine bubbles up in you. Ivars face morphs into one of mock concern, "What’s the matter sweet thing?" "Please..", you whimper. "Please what, hm?"

When his question goes unanswered, the rock of your hips only growing more frantic, Ivar sits up, the sudden shift of the angle of his cock making you gasp. "Can’t even make yourself cum, is that it? Poor, dumb little thing" A quick, filthy kiss is planted on your lips, and you don’t even have the time to reciprocate before your world spins and you’re suddenly on your back.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

"I don’t growl." Ivar halfheartedly glowers down at you, you grin in return. "Oh, you definitely do."

"I do not."

Your grin grows mischievous, "Mhm, fine. I do suppose it was far more interesting how you whimpered when I li-"

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You joined Ivar in his bed every single night, following the day you first laid together. After a while your monthly bleeding made its appearance one morning. You thought this would surely put a temporary stop to your shared nights of passion, but Ivar surprised you.

As soon as you sit down on the edge of the bed you’re ambushed. Giggling you let Ivar lay you down on your back and eagerly welcome him into your arms once he dips down to kiss you.

As always the kiss deepens and your hands wander - yours to his hair, combing your fingers through his silky strands, whilst Ivars hands caress your sides. When his fingers slip under the hem of your dress, you draw back from the kiss and halt his hand on your thigh. Immediately Ivars face furrows and his hand lifts to hold the side of your face.

"My moon blood started this morning", you answer his unspoken question. Ivars eyes widen and he props himself up on his hands, lifting his hips off of yours. For a second you think he’s disgusted, but your worries disappear as soon as they come. "Oh fuck - am I hurting you, smár brandr?"

Pulling his body down onto yours again, his weight and warmth actually comforting, you shake your head. "No", you reassure him, "I’m just bloody. Some women say release eases their discomfort, but it’s not exactly… appealing to most men."

To your surprise Ivar barks out a laugh. "Some Vikings we have in Kattegat then, hm? Bothered by a little blood." Shaking his head, his hand makes his way under your dress once more.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

To quote TPAW:

"Looking down at what you have just undressed, you are surprised a second time this night. For all the burdens the Gods have made Ivar carry, they sure have blessed him with a gorgeous cock. Its head is flushed a lovely shade of red, and with a length and girth that promises a delicious stretch once inside you, it was simply perfect … and hard - very much so."

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High. That’s all I am going to say. Sometimes the gods can see it all the way from Asgard.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

You’re usually asleep before Ivar is. He very much treasures just laying with you. Tracing shapes on your back, enjoying the warmth of your body next to his and watching your pleased face lowly morph into the relaxed expression he associates with you sleeping.. this is probably the most peaceful time of his day.

Please consider commenting or reblogging - it really makes my day!

(*) smár brandr = little blade

#vikings imagine #vikings imagines #vikings fanfic #vikings fanfiction #vikings reader insert #ivar x you #ivar x y/n #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless/reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar imagine #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar ragnarsson x you #ivar oneshot #ivar the boneless #reader insert

1K notes · View notes

mrsalwayswrite · 2 months ago

Text

To Call Forth Love - Chapter 20

Happy 2025! (We're going to ignore its been ages since I've updated.)

Special shout-out to @cdauni your ask gave me the boost of confidence to write this chapter!

Words: 7700

Warnings: all the feels and mild smut

Series Masterlist

Warmth and softness surrounded her, a tonic to her weary heart. She wanted to stay here, live in the contentment and peace offered in her sleep.

Unfortunately, her bladder had other ideas.

Wakefulness slithered into her mind, nudging aside the residual sleep and dreams to coil around her mind and squeeze until her eyes popped open. With a muffled groan, Kari gave in. Her eyes slowly opened, bringing her fully into the land of the living.

The first thing she saw made her pause.

Lying within arm's reach was Ivar. Eyes closed. Long lashes dusted his cheeks. Mouth slightly parted. One hand tucked under his face and the other bridged the gap between them, as if seeking her out even in sleep. He appeared so serene in the moment, all the fury and fear wiped away, that impenetrable shield to protect himself was lowered to reveal a softness that was not witnessed during wakefulness.

Before Kari could appreciate the moment more, her bladder reminded her of its dire need.

Very slowly, she scooted off the massive bed, untangling herself from the gray sheets and blanket, planting her bare feet onto the cold, hardwood floor. A dim light came from one of the open doors in the bedroom. Trudging through her groggy memories, Kari thought it might be the bathroom, so she headed in that direction.

Thankfully, her guess was correct. Quietly closing the door, she flipped the light switch on and gasped at the magnificent bathroom.

The entire room was marble, with light gray marble walls, a matching light gray countertop, and dark gray marble flooring. A standing only, glass paneled shower was situated in the corner near the porcelain toilet. But it was the glorious bathtub that held her in its thrall. A gleaming white porcelain tub that appeared the size of a small jacuzzi. Even from where she stood in the doorway, she could see nodules in the tub where jets would come from.

At some point she was going to bask in that tub, she silently vowed to herself.

Finally emerging from her beautiful bathtub haze, she hurried to the toilet on the other side of the bathroom and did what she came there to do.

Standing at the bathroom sink, washing her hands in the warm water, her mind began to attempt to piece together the night before. She remembered the car crash, being at the hospital, and the reunion with Ivar. She could recall the drive back to the brothers’ house, cuddled against Ivar, biting back the tears and screams bubbling up in her throat.

Whilst in the hospital, the sun finally descended and now all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep. Once they arrived, Ragnar and Hvitserk practically dragged her and Ivar to the kitchen, forcing them to eat something, carrying on a conversation nearby which she did not mind, as she picked at the sausage, cheese, crackers and grapes that Ragnar had pulled together for them. If she felt tired, Ivar looked like he was already asleep as he mindlessly put pieces of food into his mouth and chewed. Since stepping out of the vehicle, his hand held hers, refusing to release her. Even now, sitting next to her on a stool, he kept his hand always on her, either slowly rubbing circles on her lower back or hand placed on her thigh. For her comfort or his own was debatable, but she would not deny how it filled her with a comforting warmth.

After they had consumed enough to satisfy Ragnar, the two were allowed to retire.

Asking politely where the spare room was she could sleep in, Kari was shocked by the loud snarl that erupted from the man beside her and his sharp comment of ‘fuck that’. She was equally startled by the muffled snorts and chuckles by the other two Lothbroks still in the kitchen.

Without a word of thanks to his brother or father, Ivar grabbed her hand and led her away. She tried to pay attention where he led her. Going down a hallway away from the kitchen, they passed several rooms. The only one with an open door that Kari could glimpse into showcased a couch and shelves of books. The library. Heat flooded her cheeks when she recalled what happened last time they were in that room together. Had it really been over a month ago?

They continued, turning the corner into a new hallway with only one door midway down.

Weak moonlight peeked through the large windows to cast the bedroom in shade and shadow. The poor light illuminated the massive bed just in front of the windows. Gently, Ivar led her there, guiding her to sit down. After she settled, he walked towards one of the two doors to the right of the bed, disappeared for a brief minute and then returned carrying something.

“Here.” He handed her what looked like a t-shirt. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

“I'm okay.”

He grunted, rubbing his temple and headed there himself.

Before she could second guess herself, she quickly changed into Ivar's t-shirt, guessing it was some sort of band shirt but unable to truly tell in the low light. She made a careful pile of her folded clothes, setting them on the nightstand next to the side of the bed. As she sat down again, her eyes roamed over the shadowy bedroom. It reminded her of a studio apartment…well perhaps a large one with the amount of floor space. To the left of the bed looked like a kitchenette, with a full fridge and a few small appliances on a countertop next to it. An impressive bookshelf stood next to a huge TV, mounted against the wall across the bed. The bed itself was easily a California king size, with a large, metal headboard, making Kari wonder if she could get lost in the enormity of it.

Before Kari could snoop more, Ivar opened the bathroom door, wearing just a pair of sweatpants. He slowly walked over to the opposite side of the bed, pain etched in every step, hand braced on whatever solid object was nearby to take some of his weight. After sitting down on the bed, he unbuckled his leg braces, the clunk of them against the nightstand as he leaned them against was loud in the silent bedroom.

Without a word, he pulled the covers down, dragging himself backwards and under the covers with a relieved sigh.

“Kari. Get in bed.” He grumbled when she apparently took too long to follow his actions.

Unable to fully suppress the small smile, she mirrored his actions, slipping under the plush covers on the opposite side of the bed from him. As soon as she settled, Ivar attacked. Using his long arms, he snagged her around the waist, causing her to squeak, and pulled her flush against him, her back to his chest, tucking his face into her hair.

“Good night, Kari.” He whispered, pressing his lips to the top of her head, a large hand splayed over her stomach.

“Sweet dreams, Ivar.” She placed her smaller hand over his, entwining their fingers.

He hummed a pleased sound in response.

In that unfamiliar bed, with all the trauma of the day, Kari expected it would take a long time to unwind and be able to sleep, to ignore the memories and the fear waiting in the shadows of her mind. Perhaps it was the exhaustion of the day and weeks leading up to it that helped her drift off into a peaceful slumber. As she lay in Ivar's arms, comforted and protected, safe in his embrace and cared for, she knew her peace was attributed to the man who looked at her like he would burn the world down to keep her warm.

Now standing at the sink, she stilled, planting her hands firmly on the countertop. The draw to turn away enticed her, to refrain from acknowledging the pain she could feel in her body. Stupid, she mentally chided herself, coward. So with a deep breath, she lifted her gaze to finally look at herself in the mirror. She was not sure what she expected to see. Logically she knew the car accident was minor compared to others, but she still expected to see…well, more. The left side of her head was tender, a dull ache radiating from it. A small band aid covered the cut on her temple, begrudgingly placed there by the discharge nurse at Ragnar's insistence. A few small scrapes were scattered across her face. Tugging on the t-shirt she wore, the hem dancing along her thighs, the blossoming bruises following the path of the seat belt were just visible. As if with the reminder, a fresh wave of pain crested over her, her body sore and ached all over like she was recovering from the flu or had worked out too hard the prior day and was now dealing with the aftermath.

Her hands began to shake as the memories awoke with the review of her injuries. Images sealed in a locked part of her mind, jostled free from the car accident. The sun shone brilliantly that day, a perfect summer's day. The screeching of tires on the pavement. The crunch of two opposing forces crashing into one another. Devastation. Blood and screams. Blue-green eyes staring into hers but unseeing. Even as she cried his name, begging him–

“KARI!”

The abrupt shout of her name startled her from the spiraling her brain attempted to drag her into, forcing her to relive unwanted memories. She dragged in a shuddering breath as the memories vanished like smoke.

Immediately, she turned and opened the bathroom door, walking back into the bedroom. Whatever her mind could possibly conjure was in no way close to the sight before her eyes.

Ivar sat up in his bed, covers pooled around his waist and bare chest on display. A sight that would have been drool-worthy normally. But not now. Not with his wide eyes, panic and terror evident in them. His chest rising and falling as if in a fight for each breath. Hands clenched the gray sheets.

As soon as the bathroom door opened, panicked eyes swept to her, those blues churning like an uneasy sea.

“Kari?” He mouthed in a near whisper.

“Yeah.” She hesitantly replied, never seeing him so distraught before. “Ivar, are you okay?”

“You're here.”

“Yeah.”

“You're here. You're here.” He stared at her, speaking as if to himself, as if reassuring himself she was not a mirage. “You didn't– you're not– ohh fuck…you're– fuck!” He scrubbed his hands over his eyes roughly, the dark cast on his right hand most likely grating against his skin.

“Ivar?” She moved a step, concern drawing her in.

His eyes raised back up to her, tears filling them, chin wobbling. He raised a hand out to her, silently beckoning her closer.

And she responded with a second thought.

Hurrying across the space, she crawled back into the bed until she was next to his trembling form. Before she could apologize or question him, Ivar did something she never thought she would ever truly see. He tucked his head into the crook of her neck and began to cry. Not soft, silent tears. Not feeble cries of sadness. No, these sounded like they came from the depths of his soul. A keening of helplessness, of despair, of brokenness. With gasping breaths, he clung to her like she was a mast on a ship rolling on stormy waves, hoping to just survive.

Her arms banded around him, holding him close, feeling each ragged attempt to fill his lungs, body shaking with the force of his cries. One hand pressed against the back of his neck to keep him from pulling away. Listening to him, hearing him bleed out his pain and sorrow, how could she turn away?

How long they stayed that way, she was unsure. At some point, tears coated her cheeks as her own swirling, chaotic emotions spilled forth. Time morphed as they gripped onto one another, a safe harbor to weather the storm, to drain the turbulent emotions hounding them for weeks.

“I thought you were gone…” He choked out once his sobs lost their sharp edges. “I thought–fuck…I can't–I...” He tried to pull away, starting to lean back. She sensed that broken barrier of his attempt to rise, to separate them, to protect himself.

And she was not having that.

Not now.

Only allowing him to sit up enough so she could cup his face, she refused to let him fully retreat from her. His vivid, blue eyes swam with residual tears, red-rimmed and huge. Yet still so beautiful.

“Ivar, it's okay. I've got you.” She cooed, brushing the tear tracks from his cheeks, praying her touch soothed the cracked and bleeding edges in his soul. “I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”

He exhaled a harsh breath as his eyes slammed shut. She could feel the fight drain from him, that need to protect himself. Once again, he gave in, surrendered to the tsunami of writhing emotions. He pressed his forehead against hers as his shoulders shook with soft sobs with the last of his tears, the purging of the final poison from the body.

“I'm sorry, Kari, I'm so fucking sorry. For everything.” The words poured forth, a dam unlocked. “I never meant— you didn't deserve that. I promised, I fucking promised! And then–” he choked on a sob, drawing it back in as his confession continued to flow freely. “I'll do anything, whatever you want. Just name it. I'll do anything. Just please…please don't leave me. I can't– I need you, I need you so much it fucking hurts. Please, let me make it up to you. Anything. Anything you want. Just don't– don't leave me alone.”

Fresh tears ran down her cheeks as she listened to his words, heard the raw pain in his voice, and was finally allowed to witness the sheer well of need and feelings he kept locked up to protect his heart. A well she had only caught glimpses of in the past, but now the gate was wide open and she was allowed to enter. To truly see and marvel at the fathomless depths of his feelings.

Ivar hissed, voice thick, as he tenderly wiped away the tears dripping off her chin. “No, no, kjære. Don't cry, not for me. I'm not worth it.”

“Of course you're worth it, you silly man!” She laugh-cried. “I care about you…so much. It's been so hard being away from you. God, I thought of you everyday. I just– I needed space but I missed you so much.”

“Kari–” he whispered.

“And even after I didn't talk to you for three weeks, you still came for me. You saved me.”

“I didn't sav–”

“You saved me!” She interrupted, tone in such a way he was unable to refuse. “I was so scared, I couldn't, I just–and then you came. And I knew I was safe. That everything would be okay cause you were there. That you wouldn't let anything bad happen to me.”

“Fuck,” his voice hard with his confession, “I'll do anything to keep you safe. I swear it. I'd die for you, Kari.”

“Ivar, no–”

“I would. I'd do anything for you to be happy, even if that isn't with– I just need you to be happy.”

“I've never been happier than when I'm with you.”

He released a shattering breath, a shiver wracking his body, as if his body fought to absorb her own confession, her own truth.

“Want to know something I learned? I think I've known it for a while but I– I was scared for it to be true?” She did not wait for his response, thumbs gently stroking his damp cheeks. “That when I think of home– it's always your face that's the first thing that comes to mind.”

He groaned, voice hitching as he spoke. “Kari, fuck, kitten, you can't- stop making me cry, fuck!”

They both chuckled wetly, foreheads pressed together, breathing in each other's presence. So longed for and finally here. Allowing their fractured, splintered hearts to begin to mend. Their touch, their words, a healing balm desperately needed.

“Kari? Can I kiss you?” Nerves and lingering fear tainted his voice as he asked. “Please?”

A million thoughts sped through her mind but only one word slipped past her guard, to touch the air and admit her need for him.

“Yes.”

Not wasting a moment, his lips brushed hers hesitantly, as if expecting her to pull away, to rescind her agreement. Once, twice, the gentlest of touches. A soft tease. A hesitant experiment. A hopeful promise.

Instead of waiting for him to take control, Kari firmly pressed her lips to his, melding their mouths together, the need for him overwhelming. Her hands tangled in his loose hair, keeping him where she wanted him. Refusing to give ground to the battle waging within him.

With the open invitation, Ivar invaded. What soft, pressing of their lips, sipping from each other's mouth, tasting what they both had desired and yearned for once again, quickly became heated. A clash of tongues and teeth. Hands tugging and roaming. A plundering. A feasting. A celebration and an apology embedded in each feverish kiss.

Under the onslaught of his affections, Kari found herself laying on her back on the bed, Ivar hovering over her like a dark guardian angel, wings of protection and adoration draped over her form.

After one more greedy kiss, Ivar leaned back, those piercing blue eyes peering down at her. “Fuck, kitten, I need you. I need– I need to know you're alright.”

“What..?” Her mind in a dizzying haze, but somehow through the fog, she knew what that typically meant. A tension replaced the languid ease, coiling in her gut as she prepared to push him away. It had not been even twenty-four hours back in his presence, she was not ready for that. She should stop th–

“I know.” He pecked her lips, silencing her worries as if sensing her insecurity. “I know you aren't – trust me, okay?”

She stared up at him, heart pounding within her chest, but unable to deny the devotion in his gaze. Somehow she knew, with every atom in her body, he would not dismiss her concern, not now. “I do. I trust you, Ivar.”

He groaned, pressing his forehead to hers. “You're too good for me.” After a moment, he sat up, hovering over her, hands gliding down to the hem of his t-shirt she wore. She tensed for a brief moment, in awe when he stopped and made eye contact, waiting for her permission.

“I trust you.” She murmured.

With that, he slid the t-shirt up her body, mindful of his cast not scratching her soft skin, and helped slip it over her head, leaving her in a purple sports bra and a black thong.

“You're beautiful.”

Tears welled back up in her eyes at the sheer adoration in his voice, the devotion in his eyes as he gazed down on her. Was this what a blind man looked like when he saw the sun or the stars for the first time? How could she not trust him? To fall a little deeper into the well of affection for him when he beheld her like that?

He gently brushed his fingers where she could feel the bruises from the seat belt begin on her shoulder. “Does this hurt?”

“Only a little.”

He hummed before tipping forward and placing a light kiss where his fingers had just touched. Instead of pulling back, his lips traveled. He placed gentle kisses along the line of bruises across her chest, only tugging her bra down slightly to kiss the space between her breasts before continuing the path downward.

Once he reached her side, he paused to meet her eyes. At that moment, she thought she could happily drown in the vastness of them, a clear sky she wanted to soar in forever.

Still gazing at her, he slid a single digit along her underwear line. “Can I?”

“Ah, s-sure.”

With tender care, he tugged her thong down her legs, making her heart race and nerves awaken with their descent, then he tossed them off over the side of the massive bed.

“Hey!” Her eyes followed their fall before snapping back to him.

“You don't need those around me.” He said cheekily, yet his gaze remained on the spot between her legs, bare for his perusal.

Nerves awoke the butterflies in her belly, making them dance and swarm. Subconsciously, she tried to shift her legs, to close them, to prevent her most intimate part from being on display.

“No.” Ivar snapped, but without heat, placing his hands on her knees to prevent her movement. He glanced up at her, watching, waiting. When she made no further movement, no denial leaving her lips, even as her throat constricted with the butterflies clambering upward, he smirked down at her like a conquering hero. “Good girl.”

Then for the second time that day, he did the unexpected.

Slowly, he slid back on the bed until he laid on his stomach, gaze never wavering from hers, keeping her restrained from moving, a prisoner to him alone.

“Ivar, what–”

But when his mouth pressed against her inner thigh, an open-mouth kiss so close to her core, her mouth snapped shut. Her eyes drifted closed as she gripped the sheet on the bed, anything to ground her from the sensation shooting through her body.

He chuckled wickedly then licked a thick, scalding line against her folds.

“Oh!” She gasped, body jolting at the new sensation, overly aware of the wetness already dampening her core.

“Gods, I've dreamt of this. So fucking good.” He murmured against her thigh before diving back in.

He teased her folds with his tongue, tasting, tormenting, driving her wild, lips occasionally moving to play and suck on her clit before returning to her core. When her legs closed against his head, it only seemed to spur him onward. Distinctly she wondered how long his tongue was as he seemed to be attempting to taste her spine through her, touching something within her that made her hips attempt to buck off the bed and infuse her moans in the air around them.

It was all she could do to remember to breathe, as he played her like an instrument he mastered. His name dripped from her lips like honey, a chanting of his name, a petition to her god. Every thought fled her body, her whole focus narrowed down to his touch, to the fire scouring her veins.

“My Kari. My kitten.” He whispered against her skin, branding her with his words, only to dive back in and feast.

She could feel that edge getting closer, that coil winding tighter and tighter within her belly, almost ready to snap, to fall into oblivion, when suddenly Ivar drew back.

“Don't you fucking leave me again.” He commanded hoarsely, biting her inner thigh, sending a wave of pained pleasure streaking through her. “Fuck, I need you, Kari.”

“Ivar, please….”

“Promise me!” He snarled, hands on her thighs, keeping her restrained, denying her the friction she so desperately sought. At her responding whine, he bit her again. “Promise me you'll stay!”

“I promise.” She sobbed, desperate for her release. Hands clawed at the sheets, the back of his head, anything to keep her from this tormenting limbo. “Please, Ivar, please!”

Then he descended, claiming her as if a man possessed, sending her soaring, seeing stars with a shriek of his name.

When she could finally open her eyes, heart still beating a rapid tempo within her chest, her gaze froze on the sight of Ivar leaning his head against her thigh, his eyes trained on her with a sweet smile on his glistening lips. Something about the curve of his mouth, the almost dazed look in his blue eyes, she realized she had never seen him look so soft, so blissful, like he had touched the stars alongside her.

Yet even in the afterglow of her orgasm, a realization of what she allowed him to do, of how she was still bare from the waist down. A flashing feeling of embarrassment and shame shot through her, but she tried to ignore it, refusing to give it the space to tear away the wonderful feeling she floated on.

“Hi.” She said, shyly.

He chuckled impishly. “That good, huh?”

Now a warmth blossomed on her cheeks. “I'm not sure I can move.”

“Mmmm…good. I don't plan on you going anywhere.” He crawled up her body, planting a smacking kiss to her lips then flopped on his back next to her. After a long, silent minute, he spoke up again, confidence wavering like candlelight in his voice. “Was it– did you like it?”

She almost laughed, turning on her side to face him. “Could you not tell? Gods, that was…”

“I've–” He huffed, running a hand through his hair as he stared up at the ceiling. “I've never gone down on anyone.”

“What?”

He started to open his mouth then snapped it shut and only shrugged, refusing to remove his gaze from the ceiling.

She leaned up slightly, just enough to fully see his face and catch his gaze. “Ivar, that was incredible. I think I'm still seeing stars.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She was charmed by his boyish pride, that twinkle in his eyes and the tilt of his lips upward, he looked so pleased with himself. “What…what about you? I mean, do you need–um…”

He laughed, carefully grabbing her hand and bringing it to his crotch. Instead of having her pull his cock out, he placed her hand on the fabric of his sweatpants. Immediately, she yanked her hand back, mouth open in shock at the large wet spot she had touched.

“What–”

“Apparently, I enjoyed it too. Fuck, I don't know the last time I cumed in my trousers. You were so fucking sexy though. Gods, I can't wait to do it again. I need to hear you moaning my name at least one more time today, preferably twice.”

“Oh my gods, Ivar! You can't-you can't say stuff like that!”

“What? That I found you moaning my name the fucking sexiest thing I've ever heard. Wait! Can you do it again and I'll make it my ringtone?”

She laughed, even as she ducked her head, pressing it to his shoulder with the wave of embarrassment crashing over her. “You wouldn't.”

His lighthearted chuckle was music to her ears. “No, those sounds are for my ears alone. I'm selfish when it comes to you. Only I get to taste you, to hear you moan, to hold you. And I won't apologize for being a fucking selfish asshole about it.”

Leaning back up on her elbow, she reached over and traced his Mjolnir necklace laying on his chest, biting her bottom lip as fresh thoughts raced across her mind.

“What?” He asked.

“I…I want us to work. I want an…I want an ‘us’. I want to be your girlfriend.” As his mouth started to open, she placed a finger over his lips. At his slow nod, she withdrew her hand and continued to trace the necklace, eyes on the swirls and markings on it. “But there's conditions. First, we need honesty between us. I know there's certain things with your work that you can't tell me about. And that's fine, I get it. But in regard to us, to our relationship, I need to trust you. You hurt me, Ivar. More than– like…ugh, it hurt. But I am trusting you won't do that again. That if something comes up and you question me and my feelings for you, that you'd come to me first instead of taking the accusation at face value. Okay?”

“I promise.” The agreement held a tone of reverence, as if vowing to her and his gods. It sent a shiver down her spine.

“Good, and one more thing.” She snapped her eyes up to bore into his. “If you ever lay your hands on me again like that, I will walk away and not come back.”

“I know, min skatt. It won't happen again.”

“I'm serious, Ivar. I won't– I can handle a lot but that…”

Somehow he seemed to understand what she meant. Tugging her hand away from the necklace, he pressed her knuckles to his lips. “I don't want you to be frightened of me. I never wanted you to be scared because of me. Others, yes. It's– it's a way to maintain control, to have others terrified of what you'll do in revenge. But not you, never you.” With his casted hand, he brought it to gently run the back of his fingers over her jaw, gazing at her in what could only be described as wonder.

She fidgeted under that look. “What?”

“You–you're too good for me.” He huffed out a chuckle. Carefully, he guided her to lay back down, both of them now laying on their sides facing one another. “I had planned to grovel for your forgiveness. I was willing to do fucking anything. Buy you whatever you want. I would even kneel to beg for your forgiveness, to beg for another chance to prove I can be better.”

“I don't need you to buy me things.”

“What can I do? How can I prove it?”

“You did already.” She whispered, losing herself in the sincerity of his voice and the pleading in his eyes. “You came for me. When I was terrified, you came. My hero.”

He laughed wetly. “My Kari, my beautiful girlfriend.” With an devious smirk, he leaned up slightly to slot his lips over hers, stealing a kiss. “Mine.” He declared before stealing another kiss. “My girlfriend.” Another kiss. “My sweet.” Another kiss. “Mine.”

She laughed, pulling away from his searching lips, to trace them with her fingers. “And you're mine. My boyfriend.”

“Fucking finally.”

“Ivar…”

He nuzzled into the crook of her neck, making her squirm, even as he snickered. “You think I was possessive before? Shit. I'm never letting you out of my fucking sight now. I'm going to keep you in my bed forever. There's no need for clothes, since I plan on having you over me…or under me as often as possible.”

She laughed, then squeaked as his hand traced up her bare thigh and grabbed an ass cheek. “Ivar!”

“I can work on my laptop. You can do your yoga next to the bed, then immediately get back in. We'll watch fucking good shows, not your romantic shit. Hvitserk will deliver us food. Hmmm…on second thought, he'll eat it. I'll pay someone to bring it in here.”

“You're being ridiculous. What about my wor– oh gods! Lydia!” She abruptly sat up, dislodging him in her frantic movement. “Oh crap! She's probably worried. I'm supposed to be at work right now! And I have my other job tonight. Oh no. Crap, crap, crap.”

“What other job?”

She scanned around, trying to remember if she had her phone. “What? Oh, I got another job in the evenings.”

“Why?”

“I…I needed it. My rent went up, so, yeah.”

“Kari,” he sighed out her name, trailing a hand down her arm, “I would have paid for your rent. All you had to do was ask.”

“I know, Ivar. I didn't want to. I can figure it out. It's fine.”

“Please, Kjære, let me help.”

Releasing a slow exhale, she shifted to look down at him. “I–I'll think about it. First I need to call Lydia. I need to tell her I'll be late.”

“You're not going in today.”

“I have too. I need the paycheck.”

He audibly growled, rising up beside her, nostrils flaring and jaw clenched. “Kari, you were in a goddamn car accident yesterday and had a concussion. You're out of your fucking mind if you think I'm going to let you go to work. And if I explain this to Lydia, I doubt she'd let you come in too.”

Kari hesitated because honestly, Ivar was right. Even after the pleasurable sensations from her orgasm, her body still felt sore and exhausted. It was that ceaseless drive to prove to herself that she could make it on her own, that she did not need anyone to take care of her. Looking at him though, with the way he seemed ready to tie her to the bed and force her to stay, she wondered if maybe this once it was okay. To lean on him for support and help in more than just friendship.

“Okay…” She caved, “I still need to call her and let her know. Do you know where my phone is?”

“Use mine.” He carefully scooted over and grabbed his from the end table, unlocking it and handing it to her. “We'll ask Hvits if they got your phone at the hospital. While you're calling, I'm going to clean up.” He placed a reassuring kiss on her forehead, a silent thank-you for her change of mind. Dragging himself back to his side of the bed, he swung his legs over the side and grabbed his leg braces, buckling them on.

Mesmerized by his movements, she could only watch his broad back, those tattoos she loved to trace on his skin, his muscular arms, which held her so tenderly, and strong hands that touched her as if she was a priceless gem. He put on the braces then pushed off the bed to walk to the closet door, slipping inside for a minute before coming out with new clothes in hand.

“See something you like?”

She startled, not realizing she was still blatantly ogling his form as he walked across the room. “Yes, I love your body.” She blushed after the words spilled out on their own conviction, as if yanked from her mind without permission.

With eyes widened momentarily, clearly stunned by her easy statement. After that split second, he stomped back over and leaned over the bed to drag her into a drugging kiss that had her gasping into his mouth and fire singing in her veins once more. “Gods, you're perfect.”

“Ivar…” she mumbled, her lips chasing his.

He chuckled, drawing back. “Make your phone call, then I'll take of you.”

She watched him walk into the bathroom and close the door before finally turning her attention to the phone.

Her conversation went as Ivar predicted. She called the main line of the yoga studio, then with Sasha answering, she got Lydia on the phone. Hearing about the accident and concussion, Lydia immediately told her to take at least the rest of the week off and to rest. Kari tried to say she did not need that much time but Lydia insisted and to call her if she needed anything.

Taking note of the morning hour, Kari realized she would have to call the clothing store later to let them know about her accident. They would not even be open for two more hours.

While talking with Lydia, Kari finally dragged herself out of the stupidly huge and comfortable bed to find her scattered clothing. Her black thong was on the ground beside the expansive bed, as if attempting to hide from her. Instead of putting on her own clothes from yesterday, she slipped back into the band t-shirt of Ivar's. In the morning light, she could see the skull on the black fabric and what must be the band's name printed over the top, she thought she recognized the name from one of Ivar's music rants. Next she wandered over to the kitchenette having spied the Keurig. A cup of hot coffee sounded delightful right now, but she became distracted by the dozens of photographs she had somehow missed last night with her initial snooping of his bedroom. She glided over barefoot to the wall of tacked pictures on a cork board almost as tall as her.

Most of the photos showcased stunning scenery, mountains seeming a favorite focal point. A handful of scattered photos were artistic shots of a gorgeous woman. Barbed wire tightened around her heart as she thought of Ivar keeping photos of a different woman, someone clearly important. At closer inspection, she realized it was actually Aslaug. With the revelation, she wanted to slap her own head at her jealousy, yet another part of her wilted at seeing another beautiful woman in Ivar's life. What was he doing with someone as mundane as her? He was in another league compared to her. She shook her head, a futile attempt to dislodge her own insecurities.

The creak of the bathroom door alerted her to Ivar's return but she continued to scan the photos, absorbed in the wanderlust they unearthed within her.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his bare chest, apparently only changing into new boxers and a pair of gray sweatpants that felt soft against the back of her legs.

“Mmmm…you look good in my shirt.”

She hummed as Ivar pushed her brunette hair over her shoulder and tucked his face into the crook of her neck. Before she became too distracted by the handsome man holding her, she gestured towards the wall before them. “What are these?”

“Pictures.”

She rolled her eyes at his deadpan tone. “I figured that, thank you. I mean, who took them? They're stunning.”

There was a long pause before he answered, voice muted as if sharing a secret. “I did.”

“Really?”

“Surprised?”

“Yeah,” she answered truthfully, “you never told me you did photography.”

He shrugged behind her. “It's not something I do as often anymore. My mother tried to have me enter some contests when I was younger but I didn't want to.”

“You would have won, without a doubt. These are fantastic. Where are they?”

“All over. Locations I've visited and some of my favorite places.” He pointed to a picture towards their right, an audible edge of excitement infused in his voice as he spoke next. “That one I took at Floki's, it's the fjords behind his house. If you look at the bottom there you can barely see where he builds his boats.” He pointed to another a little higher. “That one was from a family trip to Switzerland. My brothers tried to ski and Ubbe ended up almost breaking his arm.” Next, he pointed to one on the left, just above her eye line. “That's of my mother with the Mediterranean in the back. We took a trip, just her and I when I was nineteen and had finally had my last fucking surgery. She wanted to do something extra to celebrate. It was just us for several days…it was nice.”

She tilted her head back to kiss the underside of his jaw, wishing she could soothe the longing, the nostalgia in his voice. “Thank you for letting me see these. These are…wow, I'm in awe. They're so beautiful.”

“Hmmm…” His lips caressed her ear as he whispered, “my favorite one is my phone's background.”

She dropped her head, practically melting against him as warmth flooded her cheeks. It was hard not to notice before she made her phone call earlier. It was a photo of her from several weeks ago, one she had forgotten about. They were out to eat, one of the many restaurants Ivar wanted her to try. Her gaze was focused off screen, having been listening to a man propose several tables away. Her soft gaze translated into the picture, a joyous undertone as she watched two people's lives change due to the love they shared. Her diamond studs and simple diamond pendant necklace caught in the flickering candlelight from the table making her sparkle. After the proposal, she had caught Ivar with his phone out, but instead of confessing to snapping a picture, he teased her the rest of the night about her love of romantic shit.

He pressed a slow, syrupy kiss to the back of her neck, making her shiver under his touch. “My girlfriend.” His lips trailed to the side of her neck and up to the sensitive spot behind her ear. “My Kari.” He tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. “My beauty…mine.”

Before he could start something, she turned around in his arms, placing her arms around his neck loosely, feeling his hands settle on her hips. Silently, she scanned his face, noting the bruise-like bags under his eyes, seeing the crease in his forehead, the tension in his jaw.

“Ivar, how have you been? Really? Are you in pain?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“Ivar.”

He inhaled sharply, dropping his head to press his forehead against hers. “I don't want to talk about it. Can't we just focus on now?”

“Hvitserk told me…”

“What did that useless brother say now?” He snapped as her voice trailed off.

“Be nice.” She reprimanded without any heat. “He said you were drowning yourself in either alcohol or work. Or something like that.”

“That little shit. Can't trust him with fucking anything.” He grumbled, thumbs rubbing back and forth along the patch of skin beneath the hem of her shirt.

He did not answer right away, so she waited. She could be patient. Something she had noticed about him was his disdain for speaking about when he was in pain, physically or mentally. It would be easy to attribute that to his childhood, to the constant pain he endured, but somehow she knew it was more than that. Her hand massaged the back of his neck as she waited, almost hearing the gears turn in his mind as he debated on what to say. How much deeper to allow her into his inner world.

“Why do you want to know?”

An undercurrent of fear coated his question, that somehow she would turn his turmoil and fear against him. It fractured her heart anew for him, that it was so instinctual for him to have to protect himself, to never show any kind of weakness. That his only option was to be strong.

Instead of answering his question, she decided to share a glimpse into their time apart, hoping it would encourage him to do the same. “I thought of you everyday. Multiple times a day, if I'm being honest. I appreciated that you gave me my space, even if I hated it sometimes…but I needed it. It gave me time to realize how much better my life is with you in it. That I had already forgiven you after you ordered the food for me that next day.”

He cleared his throat before his words emerged like a confession, slow and halted. “Those first days away from you…I– fuck! I did everything possible to forget that I'd fucked everything up. That I'd lost the best thing in my life. Gods, I was so sure you'd never want to see me again, that you hated me. I even fucked some girls from a club to try and…well.”

She stiffened at his words but did not pull away, allowing him his space, allowing him to be vulnerable, even if it stung like a jellyfish's tentacles were wrapped around her body.

“I know, I know it was stupid. I don't even remember them, I was high on some strong shit to try and– I wasn't okay.” He sighed, pressing his forehead harder against hers like it would allow his words to seep into her brain, to prove his remorse. “Floki finally hit me a few times over the head, seemed to knock some sense into me. Don't tell him I said that, that damn asshole. After that, I threw myself into working. In the past week I've been mostly living in our business airplane. Gods, I'm–I'm fucking exhausted. It's a damn miracle I haven't broken anything. I feel like I've barely slept the past three weeks. And my legs…ah, fuck, they've been killing me. But I couldn't stop, I–I had to do something, keep moving, or I'd–”

She could see how hard it was for him to admit, like each word out of his mouth was a fight, a struggle to release the bonds keeping his weakness hidden and allow her to peer past the façade, to see how hard it had been the past three weeks.

“And your cast?”

“That night after you left…I broke my hand on a punching bag. Forgot to wrap it. Fucking stupid.”

“Oh, Ivar.”

“I want– even with those others at the club. They meant nothing. They are nothing! It was always you I thought of. It's always been you. Ever since that night in the club where you kissed me, it's always been you. And I promise, I'll always take care of you.” His voice caught in his throat, forcing him to swallow thickly to continue. “Please, kitten, please believe me.”

And she did. Gods forgive her but she did. It was in the way his hands clutched her hips, his anguish coloring the air around them, the way he begged for her forgiveness. He would do anything to repent for his sins, any penance she asked, he would comply.

But all she wanted was him.

“I do. I believe you.” She slid her hands down to cup his face to tilt his face to meet her gaze so he could see the honesty in her eyes. “It's been you too, since that night. I haven't even been able to look at anyone else like that. I think you've bewitched me.”

“If anyone has been bewitched, it's me. Fucking hell, got me crying and begging.” His lips grazed hers, a whisper of a kiss, a silent acknowledgement, a heartfelt promise. “Can you stay? I just want to hold you and rest and pretend the world doesn't exist. I just need you. Only you. Please?”

With her heart feeling three sizes too big for her chest, she silently guided him back to the bed and crawled in, cuddling into his warm body as he wrapped his arms around her.

For how could she refuse when he was looking at her like she was his whole world, like he would carve his own heart out and give it to her if she asked, like she was the peace in the midst of his hurricane.

Like she was his salvation.

Tag List:

@southernbe @tessakate @ivarlover @nothingtolosebutweight @beautifulweaselplaidsalad @noway4u @cdauni @istorkyou @ringpopdust @lotr-got @kaybee87 @ultralillylove

(If anyone wants to be added or removed, please let me know!)

#mz writes #mz edits #to call forth love #vikings #vikings au #vikings fanfiction #vikings fanfic #vikings ivar #ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar x oc #ivar x ofc #ivar the boneless x oc #ivar romance

65 notes · View notes

lavender-romancer · 2 years ago

Text

Winter

Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader CW: suicide mentions, conflict

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson x oc #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar ragnarsson imagine #ivar ragnarsson angst #vikings ivar #viking imagine #vikings fanfic

350 notes · View notes

woahhhgwendolyn · 9 months ago

Text

Bjorn Flirting With You Would Include...

-He can sometimes be very cheesy when it comes to flirting with you. But it is oddly adorable when he does.

-When he flirts, he likes to comment on what you look like or your personality traits.

-He sometimes does not know how to flirt with you as well. He finds it hard to be able to flirt with you.

-But he tries his best no matter what. Because he always wants to please you.

-He often loves to say to you how beautiful you look or even how good you smell.

-He loves also putting your hair behind your ears while looking deeply into your eyes.

-He definitely finds ways to be romantic while also being flirtatious with you.

71 notes · View notes

beyralxoxo · 1 month ago

Text

{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

#vikings fanfic #ivar fanfic #ivar the boneless x oc #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #vikings #ragnar lothbrok #aethelstan #lagertha #gyda #ubbe ragnarsson #hvitserk ragnarsson #bjorn ironside

14 notes · View notes

ryuzakemo128 · 1 year ago

Note

Björn Ironside x reader : "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."

Please and thank you💙

I hope you like this and fits with what you might want.

Tarnished and Unveiled Intentions

Pairing: Bjorn Ironside x reader

Genre: Angst

Requested? Yes

Prompt: "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."

Content Warning: Possible mention of death, illness, disorders and disease. If any of these topics trigger or make you feel a certain way. I urge you to click off and preserve your mental health. As it's important to care for your mental health as well as your physical health.

You were unwell, bedridden for months, your fragile body refusing to move. Refused to obey. "[Y/N]" Bjorn said, his voice both harsh and commanding. He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. It was as if he expected you to have told him about this before. As if he expected you to reveal everything to him when he wanted you to. Your lips curled into a snarl, a silent rebellion against him as your anger continued to boil beneath the surface, 'How can he assume he knows anything by demanding it when he wants it? You thought.

"I would have told you before, but I couldn't. I don't expect you to understand what I'm going through." You told him. Your voice was hoarse and strained. His entitlement, his entitled behaviour continued to annoy you. Even now.

You wanted to lash out, but your bones. Heavy as lead would not let you. You wanted to shout at him. But you couldn't find the words, they got caught on your tongue and stuck in your throat. The words between you and him remained unspoken.

His assumption that you would be fine this winter, that you would be able to go out there without any possible injury or illness. His presumption almost killed you, his presumptuous behaviour made you sick and injured. Sometimes almost dead.

His words, his tone, his expectations, his assumptions, they were all so disrespectful. He never once considered your feelings, your safety, your well-being. He treated you as if you were nothing more than a tool at his disposal, something to be taken for granted, something to be discarded when it no longer served his purpose. At least that was how you felt, and how you assumed he felt about you.

But that was not who you were. You were not just a servant or a housekeeper. You were a person with feelings, with a life of your own, with dreams and aspirations. And you deserved to be treated with respect and dignity. This relationship was a sinking ship, and you didn't want to stay on it. Not for another second, not for another day, and certainly not for the rest of your life. It was time to jump ship, to swim to safety, to find your way back to the shore where you belonged. You owed it to yourself. To your future.

"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." You said to him. A bitter taste remaining on the tip of your tongue.

He didn't protest, didn't argue and he just left you there. Alone. Both bedridden and close to death.

Link: [Divider]

Link: [Header]

Links: [Masterlist 01 / Masterlist 02]

Link: [Vikings Masterlist/ Prompt List]

#Vikings Series #vikings fanfic #vikings fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #vikings x reader #vikings imagine #vikings drabble #Bjorn Ironside x reader #Bjorn Ironside x you #vikings bjorn

57 notes · View notes

collecting-stories · 2 years ago

Text

Willow - Ivar the Boneless

Summary: Feast night in Kattegat, some pretty shameless flirting.

A/N: I haven't written vikings in forever but part of this was in my drafts from like, last year and I finally finished it this morning.

TS Anthology Masterlist | Vikings Masterlist

✰ wait for the signal and I'll meet you after dark ✰

The lanterns that lined the path from the village to the fjord were lit, glowing a warm orange beneath the ever darkening sky. There were soft sounds of a lyre playing somewhere just beyond your line of sight, settling a trance over the whole of the village as you made your way through smaller parties that gathered outside of the great hall, enchanted by the warm night. Feast nights were always your favorite, less of a formality than a festival or a celebration, you weren't so watched on a feast night as you were other times.

"Have you come to join the dancing?"

Still, there were some whose gaze you never quite seemed to escape. As you addressed the rustling of bushes near your knees, you peered down in the dim light to find Ivar, stakes dug into the ground as he frowned up at you, obviously not amused by the playful teasing.

"Perhaps someone could string me up like those nonsensical dolls they bring to market, wouldn't you enjoy that?" He retorted, thinking of the countless times he'd requested his mother have the man with the marionettes killed. Or punished violently, he wasn't picky.

You bent your knees, squatting down so your butt hovered over the grass, reaching a hand out to stroke Ivar's cheek. He leaned his face into your touch, turning his head just so to brush his lips to your open palm.

"You think I am making fun of you? You forget then, I have felt the way you move against me when we are beneath the furs on your bed my love, there is no dance I long for more." You replied.

Ivar huffed, tilting his head down just enough to nip at your exposed wrist, "now I know you are playing with me." He replied, "I should have you strung up like that marionettes."

When you smiled he couldn't deny the triumphant feeling that gripped his heart, as if some unknown force was saying 'look, you who is so plagued by hideous feelings and darkness, you have made the sun shine in the dead of night'.

"You would enjoy that." You repeated his words back to him, a statement this time and not a question.

Carefully, so that you didn't fall over completely, you stood back up, brushing your hands down the front of your clothing. Ivar watched you as the doors to the great hall sung open and more people filed out, shouting and laughing with each other. The lights inside the building and the ruckus had drawn your attention for a split second but then your gaze was back on Ivar, the soft light of the lanterns shining on his face and illuminating his blue eyes.

"Shall we take our leave?" You asked, sounding somewhat conspiratorial as you watched him.

Despite the informality of the feast, you were certain your parents would notice if you were gone for too long or if you left early. They'd been careful with you ever since you'd come of age, cautious of who took an interest in their youngest child. Though they knew better than to speak out of turn about the disabled son of Ragnar Lothbrok, you could see, and so could most everyone else, that he was not who they wanted you to spend time with. Ivar knew, certainly. He'd seen the disdainful looks but it rarely deterred him. Ivar had always been someone who got exactly what he wanted, whether through temper tantrums, deceit, manipulation, or someone's misguided pity. Still, he looked almost surprised at the suggestion, though it only showed for a split second before he was schooling his expression to a neutral one.

"I thought feast nights were your favorite? Don't you want to celebrate all who have returned from raiding?" He asked, shifting his weight so he could look up at you with more ease.

"Of course I want to," you replied, ignoring the first of his questions, "but I don't think I need anyone in there watching me celebrate your safe return."

Ivar's face flushed up to his ears and you smiled in satisfaction. "You are worse than Loki with your tricks."

"What tricks?" You asked, sitting this time, your legs crossed in front of you and knees brushing against his hands. You leaned forward, your face as close to Ivar's as you could be without touching him, "don't you want to celebrate?"

"What would your father say, hm?" Ivar hummed, secretly thrilled when your hand found its place cradling his face again, your thumb gently stroking his cheek.

"Are you really more interested in discussing my father?" You asked, "when I am famished and have been waiting since the ships first crested the horizon to feast?"

"Were you not just in the great hall?" Ivar questioned, squinting in the dim lantern light so that he could appraise your words.

"I was. You weren't though and I have been eager to sink my teeth into you," you teased, snapping playfully at him.

The flush was back on Ivar's cheeks tenfold, flustered by the very suggestion that you wanted to be with him. It wasn't the first time you and he had laid together. Thank god for that, Ivar thought briefly as you stood again, stepping off the path and back toward the bushes that Ivar had come out of before.

Your first time together had been awkward and slightly painful and he had been embarrassed for some weeks afterward that you would be hesitant to speak to him again, let alone allow him in your bed. Some goddess had blinded you with love or lust or adoration though because you seemed so taken with him from then on that you often sought him out, much to his own excitement. Ivar was just as adoring and in love as you were, if not more. While it was more than true that he got exactly what he wanted all the time, it was always better when he was wanted back.

"Are you coming?" You asked, looking over your shoulder at him.

"Yes. You'll notice it is a bit more difficult to turn around when you're unable to stand up." He grumbled, digging his stakes into the ground as he shifted himself around to follow you.

"Perhaps, but I do so enjoy watching you."

"Humorous is it?" Ivar snapped, missing the way you smiled at his sour disposition.

"Not the word I would use," you replied. "Is a snake in the grass humorous? Or is it beautiful? Dangerous? Exciting?"

"I am a snake now?"

"Oh, most assuredly my love, you are full of venom. Though, I would gladly let you bite me." You teased, watching him as he caught up with you.

"You have not let me yet," he replied, looking far more sour at that remark than at anything else you'd said all night.

"Patience."

He huffed, "I have endured a treacherous ocean, armies of men, illness, injury, near death...and you tell me to have patience?"

"Just for a simple kiss." You replied, as if it was nothing to him, "you have brought riches back with you...surely that means more than a simple kiss."

Ivar tugged your ankle as you stepped closer to him, knocking your legs out from under you and watching with satisfaction as you fell to the ground.

"Ivar!" You laughed, uninjured and no less enamored with him than you had been before. He smiled, devious grin lighting up his features in the dark as he crawled over you, staking the ground over your sleeve so that you couldn't move away from him. "What are you doing?"

"I have no patience," he replied, "I shall have my feast here."

#collecting stories imagine #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless imagines #ivar the boneless x you #ivar the boneless x y/n #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar ragnarsson imagine #ivar the boneless fanfic #ivar the boneless fic #ivar lothbrok x reader #ivar lothbrok imagine #vikings imagine #vikings fanfic #vikings fan fiction

276 notes · View notes

bilbotargaryen · 3 months ago

Text

Uppsala

Read it on AO3

Words: 8247

Summary: After nine years, the time had come for Björn to return to Uppsala, and with him he took his brothers to see the temple for the first time.

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Human and Animal Sacrifices, Blood

Note: First time Cross-Posting - Pls let me know if you want to be tagged in the future when I post Vikings-related stories. For now @errruvande come get your little treat :D

Enjoy!

Another nine years had passed. The path was to be treaded once more. Björn had organized it faithfully. All the baggage lay prepared on the back of nine horses. Only the essentials, for the gods would provide once they would arrive. The temple of Uppsala, Björn could still picture it clearly. It would be his third time to see it, but much had happened in the past few years and for the first time, he would see it without either of his parents. His father had disappeared eight years ago and his mother was busy in Hedeby, but his heart was not too heavy for he still had the boys to keep him company.

All his brothers had agreed to come. Ubbe stood ready beside him, waiting for the company to fill. Hvitserk joined them presently and tapped Ubbe on the arm. Björn excused the both of them with a nod. The path to the temple was a treacherous one. Wagons could not be used for the difficult terrain that lay between Kattegat and the holy site. The youngest of the boys, Ivar, had to be carried in a wooden chair mounted on wooden poles, but Björn had seen them carry him that way for hours and was not worried.

He waited for a few more moments before he jumping onto a platform for everyone to see him. Heads turned and voices faded as they took notice. A deep satisfaction spread through Björn and a spark of hope flared up as his eyes wandered over the heads of the gathered. Not many would tread the path today he noted and his father did not appear to be hiding among them. The spark died out.

“People of Kattegat!”, Björn shouted over the market square, “Today we have gathered here to once more walk the path and behold the holy temple of Uppsala with our very own eyes. Today and in the days to come, we will honor our gods! We will celebrate the gifts and favors they bestowed on us! May the gods protect us as we go and receive the sacrifices we bring in their name! All hail the gods!” “All hail!”, echoed the crowd. Björn counted about two dozen people before he jumped back down. He had also spotted his brothers and headed for them next: “I will have to lead the people. You will go last.” “Why?”, Ivar asked, lunging comfortably in his chair. “Because you’re not fast enough to keep up”, Björn gave him a playful slap on the cheek and went off.

“Nonsense”, Ivar huffed as they watched Björn hurry away. “Shut up, Ivar”, Sigurd stood before him next to Ubbe, each holding one of the rods. “What is it, brother?”, Ivar turned his full attention to him, “Tired already?” Neither Sigurd nor the others answered anything. Slowly, the people started to move. They formed a convoy and headed along the Main Road out of Kattegat. The boys let even the horses pass before joining the train.

Five days went by. They walked from dawn to dusk. Sometimes going straight eastward towards their destination, sometimes they had to stray to navigate terrain that was too steep for either horses or men, but they managed to never detour too far off course. Along the way other travelers joined them. Floki and Helga were the first, but they kept to themselves as they often did now. Björn led his people well and their trust in him made him proud. His brothers often fell back, but never lost the end of the train. While Ivar was in as best a mood one can be, the others struggled more and more and especially Sigurd did rarely hold back voicing his complaints. Ubbe had to remind him time and time again that it was no use. Hvitserk, carrying the back of the chair alone, had neither time nor breath to say much of anything.

Finally, just as the sun was about to set, they came to a clearing at the edge of a cliff. A huge waterfall rushed down on the opposite site of the cleft. Through countless treetops they caught the first glimpse of the golden-roofed temple of Uppsala. Björn stopped to gaze at it with reverence. It didn’t matter that he had seen it before, it will always be a sight that touches his heart. “Only a few hours now”, Björn said to the men behind him, “We won’t set up camp today before we have reached its gate!” Gladly, the men spread the word. It reached the boys before they came themselves to the edge. The sun was now almost gone but the last light of day still shimmered on the roof, making it look even more out of this world.

“It’s magic”, Ivar gasped, “The gods await us.” Sigurd snorted. Ubbe was speechless and couldn’t take his eyes off the temple. Hvitserk shifted his weight from one leg to the other, trying to get a better view. It was their first time to visit after all. As the last rays disappeared and the world was cloaked in darkness, they hurried on to catch up with the end of the train.

Two hours later, they approached the gate. All of their people had passed already and on the hills beyond countless flames flickered and danced in the darkness, lighting up the foundations of the temple which towered above them. The gate appeared to be a simple archway at first but the closer they got, and the more light fell on it, they could see intricate symbols and signs carved into the wood. Several stairs made of tree trunks marked the climb to the entrance of the temple. Out of the shadows stepped Björn: “Welcome, brothers.” His voice was low and mysterious or perhaps it only appeared so to them, for the whole place seemed that way. “Where is camp?”, asked Ubbe, but Björn didn’t answer. He tipped his head and walked away. The boys followed him without another question.

They arrived at the topmost hill where their people were just getting started on setting it up. Björn pointed to a large tent that had already been prepared. Ubbe patted Sigurd on the chest, and with a groan he took over the second pole, while the other hurried after Björn, who was already making his way down the slope to the other side of the camp. “Will you not stay with us?”, he asked him. Björn shook his head: “I will stay at the other end of camp.” “Why?”, Ubbe did not quite understand, “We appear split that way.” “No”, Björn stopped suddenly and looked at him hard, “We look united, guarding our people on both sides.” Ubbe gave it a thought, then nodded. “Rest now”, Björn ordered, “We’ll visit the temple tomorrow.” He left him standing, soon disappearing beneath the shadows of the huge trees that stretched their branches far and wide above their heads.

As Ubbe returned to their tent, he could already hear the trouble. “Have you lost your minds?”, he had raised his voice as he cast aside the fabric of the entrance. The shouting match ceased. “It’s Ivar, he wants us to carry him to the temple”, Sigurd blurted out, his head red with rage. “Ivar”, Ubbe said calmly, “We will visit the temple tomorrow. With Björn and all the others.” “But I want to see the temple now”, Ivar complained, “What did we come all this way for to now waste our time at it’s feet?” Ubbe shot a glance to Hvitserk who sat in the corner eating dry meat and rolling his eyes. “We need to rest”, Ubbe said, “We will stay here for three days! You will have more than enough time to visit the temple.” Ivar’s face hardened, spasmed in rage at his brother’s words. With a jerk he threw himself to the ground and crawled past him out of the tent. “Idiot”, Sigurd commented and shrugged as Ubbe shot him a hard look. “When do we meet?”, Hvitserk asked in between bites, “Tomorrow, I mean.” “He didn’t say”, Ubbe sighed, “At dawn, I presume.”

The night went by slowly. All about them was a din. People singing, drums being beaten, laughter, shouts and moans. But good things always had to end and so it did once again. With the first rays of the sun, Uppsala returned to it’s eerie silence.

The boys had slept soundly. None of them had had any energy or desire to take part in the festivities in the past night. This night would be different. Hvitserk was up first, jumping excitedly through the tent, before Ubbe made him head outside into the cool, thin air. He was giddy, impatient about what the day may bring. Ubbe at first wanted to get back to bed, but as he saw day breaking through the slit of the tent entrance, he decided to get dressed after all. He noted Ivar sleeping in his makeshift bed and left both him and Sigurd where they were as he headed outside.

He found Björn beside Hvitserk. “They will take and prepare the horses for tomorrow”, Björn repeated as Ubbe joined them, “And we will have to choose one of our own.” “Has it not been decided yet?”, Hvitserk was chewing another slice of dried meat. “Not yet”, Björn shook his head, “But there are volunteers.” “Nefstein and Hafgrim”, Ubbe said. “You know them?”, Björn wondered. “Only briefly”, Ubbe kicked a small rock down the slope, “They’ve talked to mother about it before we left.” Björn nodded: “We will decide later. First, we eat. Then, we visit the temple. I trust Ivar couldn’t wait?” They shrugged. Björn sighed: “I will find you when I’m ready.” Björn left them again.

Ubbe and Hvitserk watched him go, then turned to the temple. It was the biggest building they had ever seen. Six of its nine roofs surpassed the tree crowns and its peak pierced the clouds, slicing them as they rushed by over their heads. The gold flared up whenever the sun peaked through. “Maybe he’s right”, Hvitserk mumbled, “It must be magic.” Ubbe patted his younger brother on the back and as their eyes met, they shared a smile. “Maybe it is”, he said, “Let’s wake the others.”

They broke their fast with dried meat and the bread and cheese the temple had provided. Ivar was telling them of his visit last night, of the black and white priests and the tall wooden statues. Hvitserk and Ubbe listened more or less eagerly, Sigurd pretended not to hear a single word, focusing solely on his food. “Sigurd”, Ivar’s voice was sharp, “Aren’t you excited to meet our gods?” He looked at him expectantly, slowly falling into a knowing smile. “I am”, Sigurd said. “Oh, really?”, Ivar sounded genuinely surprised, “How…unexpected.” Sigurd looked to Hvitserk who looked back completely unmoved, Ubbe wasn’t even listening. He dropped his cup and left the tent upset. “Can you not leave him alone? We are here to celebrate, not to fight”, Ubbe said without looking up. “What?”, Ivar said, “It is clear for everyone to see that he would rather be anywhere else than here. Should I ignore it like you do? Like Björn does? No! I will not. It is not the way!” “We came here-“ “I do not care that we came here together”, Ivar barked, “I won’t visit the temple with faithless pretenders.” “So, you will go with Floki?”, Ubbe asked. Ivar’s answer was an icy look and him leaving the tent as well. “Leaves us”, Hvitserk commented and lifted his cup. They toasted and washed down their breakfast with a good cup of mead.

Björn, Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd headed to the temple an hour later with a few others of their people. On the porch of the marvelous building stood several of the previously described priests. They were bald and pale, clad in white robes, their faces adorned with black paint. Around some of their necks hung a black chain, presumably a sign of their standing. Everything about the temple was carved into intricate patterns of snakes or ranks. As they stepped inside they could hardly believe their eyes.

Björn left them to their own devices as he had set his mind on visiting Odin. Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd remained in the entrance for a time, taking in all the wonders they saw. The temple was completely made of wood, but gold was glittering everywhere they looked. Set into the carvings, adorning the ends of the wooden rods holding the hanging braziers and some of the ceiling shimmered through the beams, making it look like the sky itself was made of gold. In the middle of the hall stood a huge wooden figure, two others in niches next to it and a fourth was enthroned at the end. Sun beams fell through cracks and crevices and enlightened the room alongside countless candles and braziers. Even Sigurd was in awe.

Finally, they stepped forward and joined the line leading up to a singular priest, holding a bowl. With a brush he sprinkled blood onto each who stepped before him, hailing the gods and their gifts. Sigurd spotted Ivar and Floki right away and pointed it out to the others with a scowl. They shrugged.

“Hail to the Aesir and the Vanir. Hail to the gods and goddesses. Hail to Odin, Thor and Freyr. Hail to Vali, Sif and Heimdall”, he sprinkled Sigurd first, who closed his eyes before he had even dipped the brush into the blood. “Hail to Balder, Bragi and Eir. Hail to Freyja, Loki and Frigg”, Hvitserk was next, not even flinching when the blood drops hit his skin. “Hail to Njord, Ran and Tyr. Hail to Odin’s spear and Thor’s hammer. Hail to the mighty fecund earth. All hail”, Ubbe was last and blinked as he was sprinkled. “All hail”, they echoed.

Now they went further into the temple and beheld the figures. Freyr stood in the middle, by his side Freyja and Thor. The figure in the back, behind a small pond, resembled Odin. They all knew the stories, they did not need guidance to find their way. They split.

Ubbe turned to Thor, ignoring the observing eyes of Floki and Ivar who were nearby. He reached forward to touch the wooden hammer of the statue. He felt the connection immediately and breathed deeply into it. “Thor, Protector, lend me your strength to guard my family and my home, to do as I can to keep us together and out of harm’s way. I bring you many gifts and all the sacrifices I make, I make in your honor”, he whispered and looked up into the carved eyes of the figure. They remained still, unmoved by his words.

Sigurd approached the small pond. A few stones made the passage to the statue possible, but Björn had already gone that way. His eyes were closed, his forehead touched the wood as his hand pressed hard against the rough surface. “Grant me wisdom, Allfather, show me the path forward. Where do I tread, where does it lead me? Shall I remain or is it my fate to go?”, he squeezed his eyes together, “Accept the sacrifices we do in your honor, receive the blood we spill in your name!” Sigurd watched him, feeling detached. He felt a sense of familiarity, but nothing more than that. He wondered how he was supposed to feel.

Hvitserk looked up in deep veneration to the image of Freyja, he placed both his hands on her and then his forehead too: “All hail Freyja.” He breathed deeply before he whispered on: “I wish to find love in this world. A sense of belonging, a connection, a family. By the sacrifices and gifts I bestow upon you, guide my way. Grant me this wish and I shall honor and praise your name forever and ever.”

Ivar sat beside Floki, both looking up at the grim face of Thor, clutching his hammer tightly. Then Ivar’s eyes shifted and he looked up to Floki. He was deep in thought, rubbing his chin, smearing a droplet of blood all over it. “Do you think he is protecting him?” “Always”, the answer came without hesitation, “Thor looks over all of us and protects every single one of us, if they know it or not.” “Does he know when he’ll come back?” “No, no, no, no, no”, Floki giggled, then grew stern, “Only the Allfather knows that…But I know that he will. He will be back. He always is.”

The sun was at its highest point when they left the temple. They headed back to the tents for a short meal before they all met to decide on their volunteer. The four of them sat in a circle around a small fire in the midst of the tent of the boys. “Who do you think should it be?”, asked Hvitserk. “Doesn’t matter who dies”, Sigurd grumbled. “I think it does”, Björn was appalled, “It’s a great honor.” “I think it should be Hafgrim”, Ubbe said, “He’s a great warrior grown old. No means to farm, no family.” “So he wouldn’t be missed”, Sigurd mumbled. Hvitserk chuckled: “Yeah, Hafgrim would make a great sacrifice.” “I think it should be Nefstein”, Ivar attempted to hurl the entrance fabric aside but struggled until a firm hand held it for him to pass. Floki gave the group a nod, then left as soon as Ivar had gotten inside. “And why is that?”, Björn asked. “He is younger, stronger, has more to loose”, Ivar grinned, “What could be more worthy a sacrifice than such a man, huh?” His eyes found Sigurd’s once more, but beyond a scowl he refrained from comment.

They gathered in Björn’s tent for the decision. It was bigger than that of the boys’, the tent of a leader. Most people had already arrived. In front of the crowd stood two men. Björn passed in between the two of them and took a stance at the front. His brothers remained in the back of the tent.

“Hafgrim!”, the older of the two straightened up. He had Grey hair and an elaborately braided beard. His face was disfigured by a huge scar crossing over the back of his nose. He was old, but his broad shoulders told of a youth he spent proudly fighting and raiding. “Nefstein!”, the younger had brown hair, openly trailing over his shoulders. His face was fresh, only a few stubbles were to be seen. His body appeared strong, yet lithe. He too straightened up as he heard his name. “We have gathered to decide which one of you will be honored tomorrow to join our gods in feast and feats!”, Björn announced in celebration. The crowd cheered. All, except Sigurd. Björn nodded to Hafgrim.

With a booming voice he turned to face them: “I have lived a life of many deeds, good and bad, big and small. I always knew, that one day, I will offer myself to the gods and goddesses and not only see great honor in my sacrifice but also duty. I was born for this and so, allow me dear people, to die for it!” A roar sprang through the tent. He was well liked and his intentions seemed to be long known among them. Björn nodded to Nefstein.

He turned more calmly and bowed to Hafgrim as he did who mirrored the friendly gesture: “I have not come here to steal from such an honorable man without good reason. I would gladly stand back and let him take this honor, but I am not here for myself. My family has gone through a bad time. Deaths, Curses…You can all remember my dear sister Asta, a girl of thirteen, when she disappeared last summer, never to be seen again.” A low murmur rumbled through the crowd. “I do not seek your pity, nor your well wishes! All I seek is the favor of the gods. And to do so, dear people of Kattegat, I ask you to allow me to take this honor in Hafgrim’s stead. Hafgrim, I ask you to forgive me!” Silence. Björn observed the crowd closely, some faces were stern, others puzzled or concerned. Sigurd seemed heavily distraught and after a few moments of shuffling his weight from one leg to the other, he left the tent.

Then, Hafgrim closed the distance between him and Nefstein, took the other’s head into his hands and put their foreheads together. “I forgive you”, he said, “And I wish you and your family all the favor the gods can muster.” He stepped back and announced with a roar: “I withdraw my lot, for now. May my time come in nine years today!” The crowd cheered and Björn went to hug and congratulate Nefstein who stood bedazzled and couldn’t quite grasp his luck yet.

Hvitserk was the first to leave the tent. He was a bit worried about Sigurd who had been behaving strangely all day, or rather, more strangely than usual. He looked around for him but couldn’t find him anywhere. He was about to head back into the tent when he heard a noise. Then he saw the rock scuttling down the hill. He went around the tent and saw Sigurd sitting on the top of the hill beside it. As he approached, Sigurd lifted his head and seemed annoyed: “What do you want? Berate me, too?” “No”, Hvitserk shook his head and sat down next to him, “I also thought it would be Hafgrim.” “But you don’t find the choice unfair?” Hvitserk frowned and gave it a thought but shook his head: “It’s his choice.” “It’s a stupid choice”, Sigurd hissed, “It will improve nothing, only bring more misery to that family.” “You don’t know that”, Hvitserk said. “I do”, Sigurd laughed dryly and hurled another rock down the slope, “The gods have never been listening to me. Why should they listen to him?” Hvitserk shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it is his fate”, Hvitserk did not know what else to say. Sigurd snorted.

The tent began to empty. The people went back to their tents to spend time with their loved ones. Nefstein would do so for the last time. It made Sigurd feel sick. Ubbe found them quickly but turned and left them to their own. He headed back to the temple with Björn. Ivar did not even bother to look for them.

As evening approached the air was filled with song and music again. Laughter and stories and old jokes joined it and soon all were either drunk or high or both. As the sun sank and the moon rose, the people grew more excited and less burdened by thought and worry. Clothes were a rare sight to be seen around the temple of Uppsala that night.

Hvitserk spent it in the arms of two women among a group of people he had never seen before and would never see again. His cup was never empty and one of the men introduced him to a drug that increased the joys of life tenfolds. Ubbe intended to keep an eye on him, but was soon distracted himself. Sigurd played his lute until his fingers hurt, gathering a merry group of people around him wherever he went. Ivar spent the night with Floki and Helga, mesmerized by the stories they were telling in turn, watching first as the fires around them sprang to life and then as the night drew to a close.

None of them had slept, but all were ready when they were called. Björn was still drunk when he lead his people to the square, but he carried himself well and proud. The priest was already waiting for them at the table. Others of his order steamed the square with herbs that made everyone present dizzy with delight.

The priest repeated the salutation to the gods and called for them to join them. Hvitserk did not get one word, but he believed this must be what he was doing. First, nine chickens’ throats were slit, then nine sheeps’ and nine goats’, followed by nine dogs’. Next, the nine horses they brought were drained. One after the other were lead before the priest and nine times the sacrificial knife was dyed red. The blood flowed through drains to a big tub where later all guests could take their fill for their fields and hearths and homes.

Last came the human sacrifices. Nine men, some old, some young, were led forward. One after the other, they undressed and lay down on the table. No screams were heard, nor begs, nor even a whimper. All went in the honor bestowed on them. Last came Nefstein, holding his head high he bowed one last time to Hafgrim, then to Björn, then to the priest. He undressed and lay down on the bloody table. There was no hesitation, no fear, no resistance. He smiled as the priest pressed the knife to his skin.

Neither of the brothers lifted their eyes off the noble sacrifice. Even Sigurd withstood the urge to look away. It was only right to grant him this, in hopes that his family would find peace in the time to come.

The human blood had been collected separately and now, one by one, they were sprinkled once more. It was still warm as they received their blessings to a powerful chanting of the priests, accompanied by drums of different forms and sizes.

After the sacrifices were over, the day returned to a quiet mood. Everyone seemed to be deep in thought. Some more hopeful than the other.

Sigurd was back in the temple. He stood once more before the figure of Odin and after a deep breath he stepped forward over the stones to face it.

“Hail Odin”, he murmured barely audible, “I wish I could understand why you’re choosing all others over me. I wish I could understand your ways. But I have not come to ask something for myself. I’ve learned long ago, that it’s no use. You rather answer all of Ivar’s cruel demands before you listen to one of mine. But, maybe, you do hear one of another: Let Nefstein’s family prosper and flourish. He has given his all, and perhaps Asta has already done so, too. Grant them your wisdom, your strength and your protection. A great sacrifice was held in your name today…” He raised his hand and placed it on the statue, but it was cold and he felt nothing.

He repeated similar words to all other statues in the hopes that Nefstein’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. But he himself struggled to believe anything else.

Hvitserk and Ubbe were already elsewhere with their thoughts, walking among the trees towards the waterfall they had spotted the day they arrived. They could already hear it’s water masses thunder down the stony cliff into the dale below. “How close do you think we can get?”, asked Hvitserk with an excited giggle. “Avoid the wet stones and we should know”, Ubbe went ahead and pushed out of a bush to reveal the fall’s full glory. “Aaaah”, he had to scream to be heard, “It’s mighty!” “It is!”, Hvitserk leaned forward to see where the water disappeared to, Ubbe grabbed him instinctively by the shoulder and Hvitserk grabbed his wrist in turn. “It’s falling a long way!”, Hvitserk yelled, “But there is a basin a few feet below!” “We cannot reach it! It’s too steep!”, Ubbe judged and indeed, the rocks below him receded so that the edge formed an overhang. Still, his fingertips were itching for the challenge.

He crouched down to inspect the ledge further. As Hvitserk did the same he grabbed his knee: “Wait until I say so!” He found the rock to be dry and easy to grip, and the more he examined it, the more he concluded that the overhang was only short and the wall soon became a comfortable climbing angle. He took a breath and turned to descent. “Watch your feet!”, Hvitserk screamed and looked a bit worried as he watched his brother search for the right foothold. However, the worry soon turned into impatience as he saw how well his brother managed the climb. “What do you say?”, he yelled. “Wait!”, was Ubbe’s answer, but it was barely audible over the noisy waters.

Ubbe jumped the last few feet down and landed onto an almost plain platform with a small basin of water which was fed by the huge fall that not long after tumbled down further into the depths of the forest below. Ubbe didn’t even try to shout. He knew his brother was staring at him for a sign, so he simply gave it. Hvitserk did not wait another moment and got immediately to it. After he managed the overhang the climb turned into a trifle and he soon joined Ubbe beside the basin. “Care for a plunge?”, Ubbe grinned as Hvitserk did at his suggestion. They lost their clothes and carefully slipped into the pool of water, making sure to always keep to the edge were the drift was the weakest.

They did not care to speak. It was too loud for it anyways. They simply enjoyed each other’s company and the fun feeling of the water around their bodies.

They left before the sun started to set. Neither wanted to know how hard that climb was in the dark. They dressed and dried themselves as best they could and then went up once more. The overhang was vicious, but both managed. Hvitserk offered Ubbe his hand to pull him up, but was turned down as the other strained hard to pull himself over the edge back onto the plain. Hvitserk laughed heartily and gave him a pat on the chest when he finally lay safely on the grass. “You’re getting old!” “Shut your trap!”

Björn spent the afternoon with Hafgrim and some other town folk, listening to their plights and wishes. He wasn’t the King and he always made sure to stress it, but the people had nowhere else to go and no one else to address. Aslaug didn’t bother to answer anything else but crimes and his father…he had never wondered more about where he was and what he was doing than here. And others did, too. The night before he had heard many such questions. “Where’s Ragnar?” “Where is he?” “Do you think he’s dead?” “He cannot be dead, can he?” He wondered many of them himself.

He also learned more about Nefstein’s family. His mother had accompanied him here and had supported him in his choice. His father had gone mad and hurled himself into the sea this spring, two of his brothers had died from the fever last year, his sister had disappeared. Now only his mother and a son remained. The boy had ceased to speak three months ago. Björn did not know how to help them, but he promised to keep looking for Asta, however little hope remained.

After sundown the brothers met again. They ate together, as it was custom. “Where were you, Ivar?”, asked Björn, “After the sacrifice, you disappeared.” “I did”, was all Ivar said. “Were you with Floki?”, Sigurd had no patience for his nature. Ivar cackled: “Maybe. Only the gods know, Sigurd.” Hvitserk and Ubbe exchanged glances and decided mutually not to tell anyone about their adventure either.

The night passed like the other, but this time they spent half of it asleep. As they did the next day.

When they woke it was already past midday. The hills surrounding the temple were even quieter than in previous days. Around it still hung the drained bodies of the animals and further off was a pile of ashes. All that remained from the humans.

This day was a slow day. A lot of the other families were already departing and saying their farewells. The people of Kattegat were in less of a rush. Some packed, most rested in preparation for the long journey home, starting the next day. Hvitserk was already feeling quite invigorated. After he had eaten, he tried to convince Ubbe to go swimming again, but Ubbe had something else on his mind. He went to find Björn. Ivar was soon off, too. Still not revealing to anyone what he was up to.

With Ubbe gone and Björn not around at all, Sigurd and Hvitserk bent their minds on mischief and decided to find out what Ivar was up to and potentially ruining whatever it was.

They found him easily and took great care to remain undetected as they followed him. It was no surprise to either of them when Floki suddenly appeared from behind an oak tree. He was giggling as Ivar approached. Neither could understand what they were saying, but they saw how they headed off together. Hvitserk and Sigurd shared a look, a grin and made for the next cover.

Ubbe could hear Björn speaking long before he had reached his tent. He appeared to be angry. “…just now?”, he heard as he entered it. Riled up Björn turned to him and for a moment Ubbe feared he was about to get slapped, but Björn just waved him in and continued to rant. “What stopped you to come to me the moment you realized they were gone? Huh? What made you stay and wait? Did you think the goods grew legs and just ran off to return in the morning? Huh? Or did you take them? Did you hide them for yourself?”, Björn paced the room in all his agitation. “No, no, I would never, why would I deprave us all of them?” “I don’t know? You tell me! Why did you wait, Gilli? Why?” A horrible silence of suspense and anger came to be. “I was asleep”, it was as if someone shattered glass into a thousand pieces. “Asleep!?”, Björn yelled, then repeated it quietly in despair, “Asleep…” “What is missing?”, Ubbe ventured to ask. “Tell him, Gilli”, he waved for the man kneeling on the floor to speak. He turned to Ubbe: “The provisions.” “All of them?” The man nodded.

Ubbe swayed at the invisible blow, but quickly regained composure. “Since when?” “It must have happened in the night”, he said, “In the evening it was still all were it ought to be.” “Then they couldn’t have come far!”, Ubbe turned to Björn, “Let us look for it! There is no way we cannot track those thieves down.” Björn looked at him strangely, then he turned to the man who he grabbed by the collar back to his feet: “If we haven’t got him already…” “I would never steal from you, I promise! I promise!” “Keep him confined and let us look for the traces of another!”, Ubbe tried again and pulled his brother’s attention back to him. Finally, Björn nodded. “Hurry”, he said, “We cannot wait. We have to set off for Kattegat first thing in the morning.” Ubbe nodded and left the tent.

Ivar and Floki had stopped and settled down among three huge oak trees. There were stones laid out on the floor to sit on. They were talking, but neither Hvitserk nor Sigurd were close enough to hear any of what was being said. They waited until they were sure, that Ivar and Floki were deep in conversation before Hvitserk gave the nod to advance further. They ran with bent legs and backs how far they dared and hid behind a smaller tree just a few feet away from the pair.

“…will see”, Floki giggled, “The gods will provide. Or not.” Now they both laughed. “What do you think he’ll do if they don’t?”, Ivar asked, “You think we’ll still leave?” “He’ll have to”, Floki said, “Aslaug did not allow a long stay. She’s too scared for you.” Ivar scoffed: “She does not need to worry about me. I wish to stay.” “Yes, me too. But we should not outstay our welcome. The sacrifice is done, the feast is finished, all wanderers need to turn home eventually”, Floki said, “Even the Allfather.” “Even Ragnar.” “Even him.”

Sigurd nudged Hvitserk in the side who had previously attempted to look past the tree trunk. “What were they talking about?”, Sigurd whispered. “What?”, Hvitserk mumbled back. “Why do they ask if we’re leaving or not?” “I don’t know.” “They’re planning something!”, Sigurd gridded his teeth together and jumped away before Hvitserk could grab him.

Floki spotted him immediately, Ivar turned to look at him: “Brother!” “What are you two up to?”, asked Sigurd aggressively, “We’ve heard you! What are you hiding?” Unwilling, Hvitserk emerged from behind the tree as well. Floki giggled. Ivar grinned: “Wouldn’t you like to know? Why don’t you go search then?” “You will tell us now! Or we go and tell Björn!” “Then go and tell him. We have nothing to say”, Ivar shook his head and turned away from Sigurd, ignoring his presence while he and Floki shared a smile.

Sigurd growled and ran off. Hvitserk followed him.

Ubbe had looked for his brothers in their tent and around camp, but couldn’t find a sign of them. After some time, he decided to take a look on his own at the place where the supplies had been stored prior to the incident. The tent was indeed empty. They hadn’t brought much, as they knew they would have to carry everything back themselves, but enough to travel without any delay. He knelt down and examined the ground. The grass was flat were the sacks had been, but he quickly realized that the grass around the exit was disturbed. Something had been dragged through, something heavy. Or was it someone? He had seen the traces his brother left behind countless times and he thought he could read them here. But why would his brother be behind this theft? What drove him to this end? How did he manage it? Ubbe immediately guessed that it was Floki who must have helped him carry the sacks. Where did they place them?

The traces ended outside of the tent. Apparently they had at least thought about removing them there. Ubbe sighed and looked around. They had only had the afternoon to prepare and the time the guard slept. It must be hid around the temple somewhere, he figured. Just then he spotted Sigurd and Hvitserk, both hurrying down the slope. “Sigurd! Hvitserk!”, he yelled and caught their attention. They came over in confusion. Hvitserk jumped forward, pulled the tent fabric aside and gasped in horror. “I knew it!”, Sigurd shouted, “I knew it! They’re behind it! I told you!” “Floki and Ivar?”, asked Ubbe with a frown. “Yes!”, Sigurd exclaimed, “We just caught them talking about it. We should have pressed them harder, Hvitserk!” “They won’t say another word about this”, Hvitserk grumbled, “You heard them. They said the gods would provide or not.” “Of course”, Ubbe wiped his face with both his hands and sighed once more, “Can you still lead me to them? Maybe I’ll have better luck finding something out.” “I don’t think so”, Hvitserk murmured. “We should tell Björn first!”, Sigurd insisted. “No”, Ubbe declined, “He knows. We’re to fix this.” Hvitserk blew up his cheeks in despair and rested his fists on his hip. Sigurd felt pretty overwhelmed for a moment, but shook his head back to the task at hand. He nodded into the direction they had just come from and the three of them set off.

When they arrived at the stones below the oaks they found the two thieves gone. “Of course”, Sigurd kicked at a pebble and sent it flying, “Idiots!” “Hey!”, Ubbe took another look at the ground, but saw no signs, “Floki must have carried him.” Hvitserk walked past the trees and found a small path leading down a thin plain of land carved into the hillside. “They must have taken this path”, he announced, “But I still think it has no use hunting them. We should look for the supplies instead.” “And where would you look? Where would these two maniacs hide them?” “They said…what did they say?”, Ubbe had picked up a stick and played with it as he stared into the thin air, thinking. “That the gods would provide or not”, Sigurd scoffed, “They’re nuts.” “Maybe they put it into the temple somewhere? Beneath the floorboards?”, Ubbe wondered. “Is anyone else looking for them? Or is it really just us?”, Hvitserk wanted to know, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other before starting to walk in circles. “I don’t know”, Ubbe shrugged, then mumbled, spinning the stick, “The gods will provide…” “This is ridiculous!”, Sigurd walked off, leaving his brothers alone beneath the oaks.

On his way back to camp he kicked at anything that was loose on the ground. No stone or stick was safe. He was angry, already knowing that whatever would happen his brother would not be punished. “It was just a silly little game, Sigurd”, he mimicked Ivar, “You don’t need to get all upset about it, Sigurd.” He grunted as he sent a bigger stone over the logs that led up to the temple doors. The stone slid past the hanging animals, down the slope towards the pile of ash. “Idiots”, he stopped in the middle of the path to think. He sighed. There was no point in sulking, he had to help his brothers to fix this however impossible and useless it turned out to be. He headed up to the temple to speak to the priests.

None were on the porch, so he had to enter the temple once more. There stood a single priest in front of the statue of Freyr, still holding a bowl and a brush.

“Hail to the Aesir and the Vanir. Hail to the gods and goddesses. Hail-“ “Excuse me, I’m not-“, the priest rose his voice to drown out Sigurd’s and did so successfully. “To Odin, Thor and Freyr. Hail to Vali, Sif and Heimdall. Hail to Balder, Bragi and Eir. Hail to Freyja, Loki and Frigg. Hail to Njord, Ran and Tyr. Hail to Odin’s spear and Thor’s hammer. Hail to the mighty fecund earth. All hail”, Sigurd had been sprinkled with blood three times. “All hail”, he mumbled, “I just wanted to-“ “I saw you yesterday, child, and the day before”, the priest appeared to be unmoved by whatever attempt Sigurd launched to pull him off his path, “I see your struggle and your plight. Trust in the gods, trust in their judgment, they will provide.” “It’s about-“ “Go now, child, let them guide you, trust their will and their power. They will provide.” “Or not”, he murmured so quietly only he could hear it, then he walked on and examined the floor closely, testing the planks every now and then. Nothing.

When he left the temple, he ran into Ubbe and Hvitserk. “Did you find anything?”, asked Hvitserk and Sigurd shook his head. “And the priest?”, asked Ubbe. “Impossible to talk to”, Sigurd laughed hollowly, “He says the gods will provide.” The other two groaned and turned their backs on the temple. “Could it be possible that-“ “No”, Ubbe interrupted Hvitserk decisively, “I do not believe they would ever help with such a deed.” “Then where do we look for it next? It could be anywhere”, Sigurd complained and started walking down the stairs. “I wonder how long they’ll leave the animals like that”, Hvitserk asked as he followed him. Ubbe turned this way and that, wondering whether he should separate from the group, but in the end followed as well. “They’ll burn them eventually, like they did the humans…What is that?”, Ubbe started to trot as he had spotted a peculiar line on the ground, “Something rolled through here.”

He crouched down at a thin line and touched the soft, dusty material it had parted: “Ashes.” His brothers had joined him. “Must have been the rock I kicked down here earlier”, Sigurd said and spread the ashes with his foot, not quite grasping yet what his older brother meant to have discovered by it. “After the sacrifice…”, Hvitserk began, starring at the pile of ashes. “The gods will provide!”, Ubbe jumped up, then stopped himself, “No, they wouldn’t.” “Apparently they would”, Sigurd kicked at the ashes, understanding now, “And they did!” Ubbe sighed looking at the pile: “It’s certainly not big enough to hide all those sacks.” “Hail to the mighty fecund earth?”, Sigurd wondered out loud. “All hail”, Hvitserk bounced and smiled wide, slapping Ubbe on the back and ran off, “I’ll get us a shovel!”

Björn watched Hvitserk as he dug up the earth where the pile of ashes had once rested. He did not have to dig long. Soon he raised sack after sack from the depths to the surface where Ubbe and Sigurd in turn took them off him. “Where’s Ivar?”, Björn inquired calmly. “With Floki”, Ubbe said. “And where is Floki?”, Björn was annoyed by this kind of nonsense. “Only the gods know”, they picked up the giggle immediately and while Hvitserk kept digging and Ubbe and Sigurd remained standing by the hole, Björn could no longer contain his rage. He marched in the direction in which he thought he had heard it.

“Floki!”, he yelled, and sure enough, the tall, slender figure emerged from the trees. Björn threw his arms up in question. Behind Floki came crawling his youngest brother Ivar, looking up at him like a triumphant toddler. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”, he cried out. “We congratulate you”, fluted Floki, “You have proven that you are faithful after all. The gods heard you and they provided.” “So you think?”, Björn couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So he knows, brother”, Ivar lectured.

They had come face to face now and Björn did not hesitate. He slapped Floki without a warning, without even the bat of an eye, right across the face. Floki did not utter a single sound, but Ivar’s grin disappeared in an instant. Björn’s upper lip was twitching, waiting for Floki to look back up at him. When he did he only dared so for a moment. With downcast eyes and a beaten face he awaited his judgment. “This is not the end”, Björn growled, then his gaze sank to look down to Ivar, “Your mother will hear of this.” He didn’t wait for further explanations or excuses. He simply turned and left. His face was a grim sight to behold the rest of the day. A sight his brothers did not have to suffer.

After they had safely retrieved the provisions for their journey homeward, they spent the day by themselves. Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigurd wandered the forest together and sat at the edge beside the waterfall to watch the sundown when it came.

Ivar was left to his own devices, while Floki withdrew himself into the care of Helga. He visited the temple once again and sat down at the edge of Odin’s pond. He looked up to the grim figure, feeling as if it looked down upon him. The longer he looked, the angrier he got. Finally, he crawled off, and disappeared into his shared tent.

They did not speak to him. He was used to it. It has happened before, it would pass again. After they had finished eating, they soon went to bed to rest before they took on the long and strenuous journey home. Ivar went to bed with a smile. He knew mother would not punish him and if she heard of their deed, she would grant Floki nothing but praise and protection.

His smile died when he thought about how their trial had failed. Sigurd was not a true believer, he thought, gnawing the inside of his cheek, without Ubbe and Hvitserk he would never have found it. His eyes traveled into the direction where his brother must be lying. He deserved no praise, he tasted blood, only the gods deserve it, all of it! He did not sleep a second that night.

Sigurd did neither. Was it really him that found it? It can’t be true. Ubbe had spotted the traces! He just kicked a rock. The gods do not listen to him, they never do, they never did. Why now? Why here? His thoughts ran in unstoppable circles.

After a small breakfast, the boys packed up their tent while Ivar sat on his chair facing the temple, awaiting their departure. He wondered one last time at the magic of the gods that housed in their golden-roofed abode.

After simmering with anger and disappointment the day before, Björn was relieved and in a good mood that day. He met his brothers with a spring in his step only Hvitserk shared. Ubbe was also looking forward to returning home. He worried about the safety and well-being of their mother. Sigurd couldn’t wait to leave this place either.

They all had their assigned packs to carry and not long after dawn they set off into the woods. Björn led on, the people of Kattegat followed and at the rear went Ubbe, Sigurd and Hvitserk, carrying Ivar in his wooden chair. They took one last look at the temple of Uppsala, some longer some shorter. And then they set off. Home.

#vikings #vikings tv #vikings fanfiction #vikings fanfic #fanficition #fanfic #ao3 #bjorn ironside #ubbe ragnarsson #hvitserk ragnarsson #sigurd ragnarsson #sigurd snake in the eye #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #floki #uppsala #my writing #hvitserk #ubbe

16 notes · View notes

axelsagewrites · 10 months ago

Text

Where Am I?*Part Four

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

Word count: 2146

Warnings: drinking, Sigurd making a cripple joke, drunk reader

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

Part one Part two Part three

Masterlist Here

Something your arrival seemed to have distracted from was the success of the latest raid. “You’ll love it,” Hvitserk told you over breakfast. He, you had soon noticed, was the only morning person of the bunch. Ivar looked even more homicidal while Sigurd was still too asleep to piss him off. Meanwhile Ubbe was still in bed, threatening to cut off whoever’s hand tried to wake him, “We pull out all the stops. Wines, mead, ale, -“

“Is anything not alcohol related?” you joked just as Bjorn walked in. You’d honestly expected him to have breakfast with his father, but Bjorn said nothing as he took a seat beside you. You knew he was tall but him sitting shoulder to shoulder with you made you realise just how not only tall, but wide he was. The man was built like a bear.

“Hello?” Hvitserk said, waving his hand in front of your eyes, “I swear none of you appreciate the morning,” he tutted.

“Die,” Ivar grunted, earning an agreement from Sigurd. You chuckled a little at seeing them finally on the same side.

Still, you shot Hvitserk an apologetic smile. “Sorry Hvitserk I just spaced out,”

“Spaced out?” He asked, even Bjorn looking down in confusion.

“Like got distracted?”

Hvitserk nodded in understanding, but Bjorn wasn’t satisfied, his head tilting even further in confusion. “Why do you say ‘like’ all the time? You always say like at the start of everything its strange,”

“I guess it’s like,” you said, pausing to chuckle at the accident though he didn’t laugh, “I don’t know it’s just how we talk where I’m from. Like how in every conversation someone threatens someone’s life here,” you said, finally earning a crack of a smile from him, “Where I’m from that would be the weird thing,”

“It’s not as if we mean it,” Hvitserk said.

“It’s brotherly love,” You turned to look at Ivar and Sigurd who both just kind of shrugs.

“It’s something all right,” Sigurd muttered. Ivar’s glare said enough on his behalf.

You ignored them both and turned back to Hvitserk with a laugh. After all they were brothers after all. It was all just talk. Surely. “So, if I go wake Ubbe up right now he won’t actually cut off my hand?” This time they all shared a concerned look. Okay maybe not.

“Take back up with you,” Ivar said. “Just encase,”

You sighed and rolled your eyes at the dramatics of all of them “Seriously? Right come on then,” you said, nodding your head at Ivar as you stood.

For a moment you actually saw a slight look of fear wash over his face, “But I’m still eating,” he tried to weasel his way out of it making Sigurd laugh. That was until you turned to him, hands on hip and his eyes suddenly dipped to the floor and the laughing stopped.

You threw your hands up, “He cannot be that bad!” you protested as you headed to Ubbe’s room.

As you headed for the door you heard someone’s chair scrape against the floor following you. You knocked on the door before quickly pushing it open, “Rise and shine sunshine- “

A loud groan came from the lump under the furs that was presumably the grumpy Ubbe everyone had warned you about. He quickly went to sit up and you jumped back when you saw the axe in his hand. Right back into what you soon realised was Bjorn’s chest.

Realization dawned over Ubbe’s face when he saw you, “Oh,” he said, dropping the axe onto the furs, “Sorry I didn’t realise it was you,” he mumbled, collapsing back into bed.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you mumbled, stepping away from Bjorn and hoping he didn’t see the blush covering your cheeks from the previous closeness. Then they went even redder when Ubbe sat up in bed and you realised he had nothing on. “I’m just gonna,” you span around, trying to leave, before almost smacking right back into Bjorn’s chest. You almost gulped before looking up at him, “Sorry,” you mumbled, rushing out past him, not noticing the smirk on Bjorn’s face or the way Ubbe laughed at your antics.

Ivar had finished eating by the time you’d returned, and you very quickly insisted on him showing you the market like he’d promised last night. He almost jumped at the chance and debated flinging his knife into Sigurd’s chest when he insisted on joining you both. However, you weren’t out for long before Aslaug sent a thrall to fetch you.

Aslaug had arranged for you to receive another dress for tonight’s festivities since “our guests represent our honour,” and you weren’t going to turn down the clean clothes.

The boys had gone out to do some training leaving you to get ready. You debated doing some makeup, you did have a couple items in your bag after all. “What is that?” Aslaug asked as she and a woman you recognised as Helga walked into the room. You’d been sat at a table in the middle of the house to utilise the little light inside and hadn’t heard them walk in, “Its eyeliner,” you said, showing them the black on your eyes, “Like how you use charcoal on yours,”

“Can I watch?” Helga asked, excitement written on her face as she sat across from you, “What’s this?” she asked, picking up the liquid blush, “It’s so bright!”

“It’s blush,” you laughed, “It’s for your cheeks,”

Aslaug sat next to her, eyeing over the cosmetics, “Like berries?”

“Kind of?” you said, gently taking it out of Helga’s hand so you could put it on to show them,

“See?” you asked patting it in, “Same sort of thing but this lasts a bit longer,”

“Can we try some?” Helga asked and even Aslaug looked interested at the idea. For the next while you helped them apply some moisturiser and blush to ease them into it. you were honestly scared to show them your eyeshadow pallet considering how Helga reacted to a pink blush.

then it was your turn. Apparently, the hair problem was long overdue. Helga was gentle when she brushed but you winced as Aslaug took over the intricate braids. “Do all girls fuss where you’re from?”

By the time she was done however you had to admit it looked beautiful. “You almost look like one of us,” there was almost fondness in Aslaug smile.

Helga looked up with a large grin, “You’ll get used to the pain. You looked wonderful though,”

Walking into the bustling hall by Aslaug’s side was both comforting and terrifying. On one hand it meant no one would question you but on the other, everyone was staring. When the boys finally returned Hvitserk was the first to greet you and you happily accepted the ale he offered.

You were sat at a table with the five of them, Hvitserk and Ivar on either side of you, and Bjorn, Ubbe, and Sigurd across from you. However, something the group were quickly realising was their tolerance to ale was far higher than yours. “Do you not drink where you’re from?” Ubbe teased as your cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

“We do! I swear I’m not a lightweight. This stuffs just strong!” you laughed.

Apparently, the laugh was infectious as soon they were all giggly. All but Bjorn but for once there was a permanent smile on his face, “What’s a lightweight?” Bjorn asked.

“Someone who can’t hold their alcohol,” you told him, very matter of factly making them all laugh at your drunken confidence, “You lot wouldn’t last one second on a night out at my campus. I’m talking tequila shots, body shots, Jello shots,” you began to drunkenly list off as the boys tilted their heads in amused confusion.

“What’s a shot?” Hvitserk asked making you face palm.

“Oh, I have so much to teach you,”

Unfortunately, while the boys were great company and had adjusted well to you being in their groups your presence seemed to disrupt everyone else. It was Hvitserk who first noticed everyone staring at you, but you were too tipsy too care. However, as Ivar and Ubbe drank more both began to glare at the men whose eyes stayed too long.

Despite all the boys warning you about Ivar’s temper they all seemed to ignore Ubbe’s even when he insisted on you all leaving because a drunken Viking tried to hit on you. You however were happy enough to follow them all the edge of the lake and sit on the cold sand with a flask of ale being passed around.

As you were all walking down to the lake Hvitserk, and Sigurd were in a heated debate over which slave girl was hotter while Ubbe carried a giggling Ivar on his back. somehow, you’d ended up at the back of the pack, stumbling down the hill beside Bjorn.

“Woah,” he gasped, grabbing your waist before you could stumble and fall over a tree branch. “Steady,”

“Careful Bjorn,” you grinned up at him, holding onto the arm he offered you so you wouldn’t risk falling again, “Someone might think we’re friends,” you teased.

A smirk quickly showed on his face, a teasing light in his eyes, “Oh? Are we not friends already? I am wounded,”

“Friends don’t try kill their friends,” you pouted but you weren’t able to keep the charade up for long before grinning again like a Cheshire cat.

Bjorn just rolled his eyes with a smile however, “We weren’t friends then. We are now,”

“So, you won’t try kill me again?”

Another eye roll, “I won’t try kill you, no,” he said, shaking his head as he helped you to where the rest of the group had begun to sit.

“Pinky promise?” you asked, pulling out of his grip and extending his arm.

His eyes narrowed, head tilting, “What’s a pinkie promise?”

“Its where,” you said, stepping closer to grab his hand, “You lock pinkies,” you said wrapping yours around his, not noticing the smile on his face, “And promise something. And if you break it, I get to break your pinkie,”

“So, an oath?”

“An oath with a threat,”

“Of breaking a finger?”

“Pinkie specifically but yes,” you grinned, “So do you promise?”

“I promise,”

“Good,” you grinned, pulling your pinkie away from his grip before turning to join the group. You plopped down on the ground next to Ivar who was staring off into the sea, “Hi,” you grinned.

Ivar turned to you, laughing when he saw the wide grin on your cheeks, “Hello,” you could hear a slight drunken slur in his words. “Want some?” he asked, passing you, his ale.

You gladly accepted it, taking a drink of the alcohol you first hated but soon grew to love, “Thanks. You’re always so sweet to me,” you smiled before taking a drink, missing the way Ivar’s cheeks went red at your sweet words. Sigurd however didn’t want you to miss it.

“Aww look at the cripple,” he teased making Ivar scowl, “He’s blushing like a baby,”

You passed Ivar his drink back, noticing how tense his jaw was and quickly checking to see how close he was to his axe. After all you didn’t need to be here when the fall out happened, “Why do you care so much Sigurd?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

Everyone’s eyes seemingly went wide, shocked that your bubbly attitude had so quickly dropped. “you don’t get it,” he tried to brush off, “you’re not from here,”

“Then explain it to me,” you said, sitting up straight, “Explain what’s so funny about Ivar’s legs. Ill wait,”

“Well its just,” he tried to stutter earning a snigger from Hvitserk, “I don’t know it just is. Why do you care?”

You were honestly a bit hurt by that, “because he’s, my friend?” you said it like a question because the answer seemed so obvious.

“Okay well I’m sorry,” Sigurd shrugged, his eyes focused on the ground.

Luckily the night quickly moved on from the brief ugly confrontation however Ivar couldn’t get the reaction out of his mind. He was so used to fighting his own battles that he never even expected someone else to back him up, let alone speak up before him. Despite his bruised ego Sigurd thankfully stayed civil for the rest of the night.

A few hours passed before you all decided to walk home. You were in a world of your own at this point, your eyes fixed on how bright the night sky was with stars with no city skyline or factory gases to ruin your view. You didn’t even notice the stares from the boys or hear Hvitserk and Ubbe talk about how you stood up to Sigurd. For the first time this week you didn’t have a care in the world.

Part five

Taglist Sign Up Here

General taglist: @strvngestark @headinfantasy @meg-ro @427120lxld @obx-josie18 @ravenmoore14 @tessakate @justtilly @jjkjbhj @clairacassidy @valeskafics @perla434 @selenestar78 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @urfavnoirette @randomstory56 @qardasngan @https-luvvia @im-the-fucking-lunar-prince @bryandechartisasmolbean @glorywielder101 @tiinkerbell @the-holy-pigeon @andreaxxx44

493 notes · View notes

vikingsmasterlist · 5 months ago

Text

Autumn (Ivar.OFC)

The Favorite

The Reckoning

Unwarranted Advice

Prideful Adoration

Inguz

#vikings fanfic #ivar the boneless fanfic #vikings #ivar the boneless fic #ivar the boneless #vikings fanfiction #vikings fic #ivar the boneless fanfiction

17 notes · View notes

doctorwhoandfairytaillover · 11 months ago

Text

Sigurd Ending: Vikings - Una Flor

Summary: For some, it takes just a bit of bravery to find the one that will dance alongside you.

Pairing: Sigurd x Reader (romantic)

A/N: Took me forever and a day, but that should be it! Sigurd was the final Ragnarsson for Una Flor and as bittersweet as it is, I'm glad that I finish with him.

Una Flor Series Masterlist

----------------------

Music had always been a part of his life. It thrummed through his veins and sang in his souls in a way that it could never be expressed through simple words. It was just something that ingrained itself into his life, and despite the mocking words of his brothers, it would never be something that he could see himself leave behind.

But it made him all the more grateful that music was a part of his life, because how else would he be able to have such an amazing view of the light of his life dancing to her hearts content to the beat of the music that he made. His love and three tiny loves were dancing joyfully in tune to the rhythm, along with an additional little love that clumsily clapped as he sat beside him.

The two had married swiftly after the night that Sigurd had confessed to (Y/N), as the red - haired brother had no intention of letting his brothers think that they had a chance of changing her mind after she had accepted his sweet starry night confession. They spent a few years of being happily married before the couple decided that they wanted to expand their family. They would go on to have their three lovely daughters; Calliope the eldest, followed by Erato, and then Thalia. The girls were near identical copies of their mother but with their father’s eyes.

Both Sigurd and (Y/N) had thought their little family was complete after the births of their three girls, but it wasn’t long before they were blessed with their only son Canto. A happy and chubby little baby boy that loved to clap along to music to the best of his abilities and has his mother’s eyes and father’s features.

"Come on Papa, join us!" Said Calliope with a giggle, the girls held on to each other as they danced in their small circle.

(Y/N) left the girls dancing and quickly scooped up Canto into her arms, bringing adorable squeals from the baby boy as he cuddled into his mother.

“Mi amor, leave your instrument and join us!”

He wasn’t much of a dancer, rarely joining in during his youth because he never had anyone that would be willing to dance alongside him, often being second choice over one of his brothers. Sigurd didn’t think himself to be the most handsome, most intelligent, the wittiest, or the strongest of his brothers.

But although he would never say it, he thought that perhaps he was the bravest of his brothers. He was brave enough to be himself despite the years of mockery that he wasn’t man enough. He was brave enough to let himself be vulnerable and he was brave enough to confess his heart to his muse.

Now he would forever have someone to share his music with and someone to hold his hand to dance alongside.

#x reader #x reader insert #vikings fanfic #vikings x reader #una flor series #una flor #sigurd snake in the eye x reader #sigurd imagine #sigurd ragnarsson x reader #sigurd x reader

69 notes · View notes

nothingtolosebutweight · 3 months ago

Text

To Be Forsaken, Yet to Love

Pairing: Heahmund x Ivar Words: ~9400 [AO3] Warnings: Soft Smut,. Soft Ivar, BJ, Mention of Blood Summary: Ivar and Heahmund’s stolen moments of intimacy come to an abrupt and violent end when their supposedly secure space is breached. With their bond laid bare and tensions running high, they are forced to confront not only the intruder but the fragile reality of their forbidden relationship. Note: It's my response to a request I got a while back that got me writing again. As so often, it got a bit out of hand, but I hope the anon who sent it likes it :D

Ivar turned lazily onto his side and pulled the thick blanket closer against his naked chest, snuggeling deeper into the comforting warmth. The room was pleasantly cool, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the cold would creep into his bones if he didn’t shield himself from it. The result would be days of immense pain. Something he didn't want to deal with just because of a little carelessness.

As soon as he was comfortable, his eyes slid over to Heahmund, his normally preferred source of warmth. The former bishop, a native Englishman, stood not far from him, leaning slightly over a table they were using for their strategic planning. Spread before him was a rough outline of southern England, an area they were determined to get their hands on, as it would be an excellent base for further expansion and, with it, Viking supremacy.

From his position, Ivar could see that Heahmund was still naked. That his beloved had probably seen no point in putting his clothes back on when he had gotten out of bed not so long ago, knowing full well that he would not keep them on for long, made Ivar's lips curl into a dreamy smile. He loved the fact that the Englishman seemed to have no shame when it came to his body. In his eyes, that was an admirable quality.

He also could see that Heahmund was holding one of the miniature battle figures in his hand, momentarily indecisive on where best to place it. Their tactical debates were often heated, each of them staunch in their approach and Ivar was quietly looking forward to dissecting his beloved’s plans later, but now was not the time for that.

They had already fought and won numerous battles on English soil, their reputation spreading terror to distant monasteries and fortified castles long before their arrival, making it all the easier to occupy new territories. No English force had yet managed to halt their advance, thanks largely to Ivar’s shrewd strategies, skillfully supported by Heahmund. His brothers, Hvitserk and Ubbe, fought beside him as extensions of his will—Ubbe, steady and skilled with the sword, respected among their warriors for keeping the unruly horde in line; Hvitserk, fierce with the axe, whose fearlessness stirred courage among the men. Together, the three formed a united force, bound by blood and purpose, with the English warrior as the perfect complement. Once a prisoner, the former bishop had proven himself in every battle as both a strategist and a fierce warrior, earning his place among them by consolidating their forces with his sharp mind and loyalty.

Currently, Hvitserk, Ubbe, and most of their warriors were out scouting, so Ivar, Heahmund, and a small group of other Vikings were left by themselves in their temporary fortress. Normally, Ivar would have joined the exploration, but too many days had passed without the chance to be alone, undisturbed, with his favorite warrior. Although their current shelter was spacious, offering ample room for the brothers and warriors to avoid each other when necessary, there was always the risk of someone walking in at the wrong moment, always the risk that the wrong pair of eyes would see something that should not be seen by others.

This time, Ivar had excused his reluctance to join the others with his aching legs - a fact he normally hated, but which he liked to use to his advantage whenever it suited him. As for Heahmund, his decision to stay behind had probably attracted no attention as well; his role as Ivar's fiercely loyal bodyguard was undisputed. At least, both men hoped that their warriors believed this to be the main reason.

With the fortress nearly deserted and only the two of them left in Ivar's section of the main building, they had already seized the rare chance to satisfy their growing hunger for each other. The intimacy they had shared still lingered in the air, a faint sweetness clinging to the memory of their reunion. Though the storm of longing within Ivar had momentarily quieted, it still burned beneath the surface, far from extinguished.

For now, however, Ivar was content simply to watch his lover, his body still heavy with pleasant fatigue from the previous exertions. He observed as Heahmund took another miniature figurine into his hand, studying it with quiet intensity before placing it thoughtfully someplace on the table. The soft light streaming through the window traced the contours of Heahmund’s bare form. Ivar’s eyes drifted over Heahmund’s thighs, tracing the lines of muscle with a blend of melancholy and wistful admiration. He let his eyes wander higher, lingering on the pale curve of Heahmund’s backside, which stood out starkly against his otherwise more sun-kissed skin. A grin played at Ivar’s lips as he allowed himself this quiet indulgence.

Heahmund’s movements were fluid and captivating, each gesture revealing the strength that lay beneath his skin. The muscles in his arms flexed and rippled with every subtle motion, drawing Ivar’s gaze like a moth to a flame. Scars traced the lines of his body, remnants of battles fought and won, each mark a testament to his resilience and valor. A particularly prominent scar ran across his left shoulder, a constant reminder of a fierce clash with an enemy that had come perilously close to ending his life. Now, it only served to enhance the rugged beauty of his physique, a presence that radiated a kind of strength that was both intimidating and intoxicating. As Heahmund leaned further over the table to study something that Ivar couldn't see from his position, light and shadow met in another mesmerizing dance on his back. The soft morning light caressed every curve of the warrior's muscles, following the lines of his shoulders down to his well-defined back. Even the small dimples on his lower back seemed to invite the light’s touch, as if compelled to follow each seductive outline.

Ivar moistened his lips, could almost taste the familiar flavor of Heahmund's skin, feel its warmth on his lips as the spark of admiration mingled with a hint of insatiable desire. Those dimples in particular held a certain pull. Two small spots he loved to press his lips against, knowing the effect they had on his beloved. Each gentle kiss there would send a tremor through Heahmund’s body, making him shudder and even whimper softly, a sound Ivar relished and couldn’t get enough of. It was a contrast that he found utterly fascinating: that his fierce and unbreakable warrior, so strong and unyielding in battle, could melt so completely under the simplest, tenderest touches. The way Heahmund, who could command armies and withstand pain, would yield to his gentleness gave Ivar a special form of satisfaction—a kind of power he craved to hold. The strength he saw in Heahmund made his moments of vulnerability all the more precious, a private surrender that only Ivar knew. Heahmund was his favorite plaything, his body a territory that Ivar never grew tired of exploring, always eager to discover another hidden treasure, marked by the sweetest moans.

In the silence that lingered in the room, a thought drifted back into Ivar’s mind, one that had first come to him the night before. His gaze wandered briefly to the opposite wall, where three paintings hung in ornate frames. Yet it was only a fleeting distraction; his eyes soon found their way back to Heahmund, magnetically drawn.

"Your painters here in England are wasting their time and resources," Ivar murmured, his voice rough from the prolonged silence, breaking the stillness without offering any further explanation. He let the words hang, a quiet provocation. His eyes rested steady on Heahmund, waiting to see if he would take the bait.

Heahmund stirred, almost imperceptibly, as the unexpected sound of Ivar’s voice pulled him out of his focus. He hesitated, though, not responding right away. Instead, he completed the placement of a horse figure near the mountain ridge on the map, his fingers lingering deliberately over it. His hand drifted to his beard, rubbing it thoughtfully as he cast a final, scrutinizing look over his arrangement, buying himself time and perhaps quietly teasing the young Viking by delaying his response. When he finally turned to face Ivar, he caught the familiar smirk and the glint in those sharp eyes -clear signs that Ivar was baiting him, eager to spark one of their playful arguments. Heahmund could feel his own smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, ready to rise to the challenge.

"And what exactly does that mean?" he asked, turning to place another figure on the map, pretending to be not that interested in Ivar's answer.

"The paintings are dull," Ivar replied, knowing full well that his answer would not grant satisfaction.

Heahmund paused in his movement, his expression hardening slightly. He felt a flicker of anger, although he knew full well that his beloved was only teasing him. Nevertheless, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the criticism had struck a nerve. Although he knew exactly which paintings Ivar meant, he turned, following the boy’s gaze toward the wall where the contested works hung. These weren’t just any paintings; they depicted Christian scenes -saints and biblical figures- vividly rendered in detail. Heahmund had admired them in silence ever since he had first entered Ivar’s room, captivated by their depth and craftsmanship. As a (somewhat) devout Christian, the sight of such sacred imagery stirred him deeply, and Ivar's mockery felt like a personal affront. He had never cared much for luxury, yet these paintings; opulent & intricate, held a power over him that he couldn’t fully explain.

"It doesn’t surprise me that you don’t understand art," Heahmund muttered under his breath. He made an effort to keep his tone calm, not allowing his irritation to show. "You are indeed a heathen, through and through." With a light push off the table, he walked toward the wall where the contested paintings hung, feeling Ivar’s watchful gaze on him. As he reached the first painting, Heahmund paused, his gaze falling on the delicate image with quiet reverence, his fingers brushing the air as though he could trace the delicate brushstrokes. "This painting here shows the Virgin Mary, mother of Jesus."

"Ahh, of course, the virgin again, who bore a child," Ivar interjected, voice thick with mockery.

"Yes, the woman who bestowed a miracle upon humankind," Heahmund replied, doing his best to ignore the ridicule in Ivar’s tone. He drew in a steadying breath, pausing for a moment as he considered how best to introduce the next painting without giving Ivar more ammunition to mock. "And here, you see—"

"Shh," Ivar cut in, tone as dismissive as ever when they spoke about Christianity. "I don’t care about your boring saints. They’re dull, and so are the paintings. If you ask me, it’s all a waste of materials."

"But no one is asking you, my little Viking." Heahmund retorted, drawing in another calming breath to steady himself.

"A pity, really. I have far better ideas." Ivar’s smile, initially playful and full of amusement at their banter, shifted into something darker, a predatory gleam settling in his eyes as his gaze dropped, fixating on his lover’s naked front.

"Oh? What would that be? Paintings full of blood and gore? Paintings of your false Gods?" Heahmund was well aware of Ivar’s hungry gaze, and though a heat stirred within him in response, he didn't feel shame, knowing exactly that Ivar liked what he presented so freely to him.

"That would be my second choice."

"What would be the first one then? Tell me, I'm intrigued."

"My first would be that they should do portrait after portrait of—" Ivar’s voice softened to a murmur. His eyes detached themselves from Heahmund's crotch, roaming slowly upwards, tracing every curve and line, until he finally met Heahmund’s steady gaze and amused smile. Admiration flickered in his eyes, and he wet his lips again, savoring the vision before him. "-You," he finished at last. "Just as you are right now. Perfection ." His voice was almost dreamlike as he imagined how those paintings might capture this proud warrior in front of him in all his untamed beauty. With a subtle gesture, he extended his hand, silently beckoning his beloved to come closer.

A chuckle escaped Heahmund, revealing a touch of bashful embarrassment. While he was well aware of how highly Ivar thought of him, he still found it difficult to accept such unreserved praise. It was both flattering and, in a way, almost absurd to him, knowing how differently he saw himself compared to the pedestal his beloved placed him on. "I'm not sure many would share your opinion on that matter," he replied, a faint smile still lingering, deepening the lines at the corners of his eyes. The warmth in Ivar's words, paired with the intensity of his gaze, created a seductive pull Heahmund couldn’t resist. Instinctively, he felt the pull to step forward, to close the distance between them. Yet, despite the growing urge, he held his ground, allowing the tension to simmer, denying Ivar the satisfaction of immediate compliance.

"The people who can’t see how perfect you are, those are the ones you truly can call heathens." Ivar’s words were still playful, but there was a certain sincerity behind them. He gestured toward the empty space next to him on the bed, repeating his silent invitation with another subtle yet firm motion, urging Heahmund to finally come closer.

Still conquered with fluster, Heahmund softly shook his head, his features growing more serious. "I’m no more than a simple warrior, Ivar," he said, his voice soft and humbled. "I’ve seen what’s on these walls, seen the divine paintings of others, extraordinary personalities. But I am far from perfect, not worthy of such a canvas." He deliberately ignored the new invitation, his gaze firmly set ahead, as if he had not noticed the motion at all.

With a sweeping, almost impatient motion of his hand, Ivar seemed to physically brush Heahmund's words out of the air, as if determined to erase them. He couldn’t accept that Heahmund couldn’t see his worth, his perfection - not to mention the fact that he hadn’t obeyed his wish immediately, which only added to Ivar’s growing impatience. "Come here. Now," he commanded now, his voice still calm but laced with unmistakable authority.

Heahmund, however, remained unmoved, one eyebrow raising as he held Ivar’s gaze, the earlier warmth in his expression now shifting into a playful smirk. "Be a bit more polite," he replied, his tone light with teasing defiance, "and I might consider it."

A flicker of annoyance crossed Ivar’s face, his jaw clenching as a familiar frustration tightened in his chest. He could almost feel the old sting of past dismissals - the bruised pride from moments when his men had dared to question him. Though he knew Heahmund’s resistance wasn’t true defiance, only part of their playful bickering, that reflexive irritation rose, echoing those past moments when his authority had been tested. But as quickly as it surfaced, he forced the feeling away, knowing it had no place here. He let his expression soften into a sly grin, shifting into a more upright position as his hand came to rest theatrically over his heart, the movement letting the blanket slip from his shoulders to reveal more of his bare chest. A detail he knew Heahmund wouldn’t miss.

"My most honorable warrior bishop," he began, voice dripping with sarcasm. "How could I dare ask for anything without first acknowledging your unparalleled greatness?" He punctuated his words with exaggerated hand gestures, his smile barely contained. "You, the second-best warrior of all time, whose skill and strength are only overshadowed by the gods themselves. May I humbly request that you grace me with your presence?"

A soft chuckle filled the room, a sound shared between them as Ivar ended his playful performance, the sound a welcome relief from the burdens of their world. Moments like this, filled with teasing and flirtation, were rare treasures for them. Away from prying eyes and heavy responsibilities, they allowed themselves to savor the lightness of each other’s company, a fleeting escape they both deeply cherished.

Heahmund smirked, amusement lacing his short reply, ‘You may ’ as he strode toward the bed with deliberate grace, closing the distance in a few strides. Leaning down, he brought a hand to Ivar’s jaw, his palm gliding over his cheek before his fingers traced a light, deliberate path to his ear. The touch was a blend of tenderness and quiet dominance, a clear statement that he claimed control. Their lips met softly, the kiss charged yet unhurried, neither of them willing to delay the connection they both craved any longer.

Ivar’s hands immediately found their place on Heahmund’s back, pulling him in closer, his fingertips skimming the warm skin of his neck.

Heahmund could feel the pull of the embrace, the way the arms tightened around him, urging him down into the softness of the bed and closer to the warmth of his beloved’s inviting body. The warm, musky sweetness lingering on Ivar’s skin enveloped him, carrying traces of their shared intimacy, pulling him deeper into the desire to conquer him once more. He felt the urge to give in completely, to surrender to his instincts, but he held back just enough to maintain his balance, mindful not to put any of his weight on Ivar’s legs. Gently, he lowered himself, his lips still grazing Ivar’s, savoring the taste of his soft lips as they parted, inviting him to explore further. He deepened the kiss and opened his mouth wider to let their tongues meet in a sinful play.

The warmth of their breaths mingled, and Ivar let a soft sigh slip from his lips, catching the gentle smile that played on Heahmund’s face and mirroring it instinctively. Happiness had once been a concept he’d openly scorned, a fool’s dream, an illusion for the weak, or a crutch for those desperate to escape life’s hardness. He’d sneered at it, taking pride in his strength to live without such trivial feelings. Perhaps, deep down, he’d simply protected himself, unable to imagine ever finding a reason for real joy in a life marked by endless struggle. But here, in moments like this, he felt happiness stir deeply in his chest, simmering and insistent and so powerful, he felt he was about to burst if he didn’t let his felt joy out in a smile or a quiet confession meant only for the ears of his most beloved warrior.

"You’ve captured my heart, Heahmund. Left me defenseless," Ivar whispered as they parted briefly for air, his voice soft and steady, his eyes slowly opening. He sought the stormy silver of Heahmund’s gaze, always deeper and more intense in moments like these. That look, so charged with desire, was irresistible to Ivar, not just because of its raw intensity, but because of what it stirred within him. To be seen like this, wanted so fiercely by someone like Heahmund, filled him with a confidence that made him feel invincible.

But Heahmund kept his eyes closed, savoring the intimacy, reluctant to break the spell. He knew if he would open them, he’d be lost in the endless, stormy blues. Slowly, he shifted his hand from Ivar’s cheek, trailing it gently until it rested over his heart. His fingers lingered, feeling the steady pulse beneath the skin. "Then let it be my duty to guard it. For all eternity," he murmured, his lips brushing against Ivar’s ear, leaving a trail of soft kisses before returning to reclaim the sweetness of his beloved's lips, swallowing the sweet sound Ivar made in response.

Just now, feeling the warmth of Ivar’s body against him, Heahmund recognized the chill of his own skin and instinctively leaned deeper into Ivar’s embrace, fingers fumbling with the edge of the blanket to slip under it as well. Mindful of Ivar’s fragile legs, he gently ended their kiss and shifted to settle beside him. Draping an arm protectively around the young Viking’s chest, he pulled Ivar into his embrace, spooning him with a tenderness that spoke of quiet devotion. He pressed a trail of soft kisses to Ivar’s forehead and cheek, propping himself on one elbow for better reach.

A faint shiver passed through Ivar at the initial coolness of Heahmund’s touch, but it quickly dissolved as he softened into the strong arms that held him with unspoken promises of safety and love. Ivar turned slightly to glance back, a small, contented smile tugging at his lips. He loved being showered with such affection, every tender gesture felt like a balm to that quiet, yearning part of him that had rarely known care beyond his mother’s loving touch and gaze. In Heahmund’s arms, he felt truly cherished.

That Ivar was touch-starved was something Heahmund had realized quite early. So, whenever the circumstances allowed it, he tried his best to offer the kind of comfort Ivar seemed to crave but rarely asked for. He took his time, placing soft, lingering kisses along Ivar’s forehead, cheek, and neck. His fingertips gently traced the contours of Ivar’s chest, feeling the strength beneath the smooth skin. A question that had crossed his mind earlier, one he had held back, resurfaced, almost forgotten but too tempting to leave unasked. He leaned closer, nudging his nose against Ivar’s ear, his breath warm against the sensitive skin.

"So—who exactly is the first-best warrior?"

A soft chuckle escaped Ivar, amused by Heahmund’s curiosity. Before his answer, he stole himself a quick kiss. "My father," he then began, his voice rich with admiration, and a flicker of pride lighting his eyes. "Ragnar. He was - is the greatest of all warriors."

Heahmund’s brow lifted in surprise. He had expected a boastful ‘myself’, but was surprised by the sincerity of the reply. Being wise enough not to prick in such a delicate matter, he merely nodded in understanding, though his mind wandered for a moment. The way Ivar idolized Ragnar, and the way he seemed to transfer the same idea of perfection onto him, stoked the embers of sadness within him. He wondered if the absence of Ivar's father had left a void so deep that even now Ivar clung fiercely to anyone who showed him even a small measure of care, clinging to them so that the void was filled, not hurting anymore. There was this little spark of fear in Heahmund that Ivar was placing more value on these bonds than they perhaps deserved, and that he was blinding himself to any flaws that might weaken their value. Sometimes, he even couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt, fearing he might be taking advantage of that need, unknowingly exploiting the child within Ivar who simply wanted to be seen, craving genuine affection and recognition.

Deep in thought, Heahmund’s fingers brushed reverently over the cherished body beneath him, savoring every inch of skin his touch could claim. He began by tracing soft circles over Ivar's shoulder, the gentle yet intentional movements radiating a quiet devotion, before letting his fingers drift downwards, following the delicate line of Ivar's spine as if it mapped out a path meant only for him. The slight tremble, the soft sighs that escaped Ivar's lips, and the way he moved under his touch spoke to him, causing the heat to build up in his crotch in response. With a gentle, encouraging pressure on Ivar's shoulder, he conveyed a wordless request, and Ivar responded instinctively, shifting onto his stomach, quickly rearranging his legs as well. Heahmund’s warm lips lingered in the curve of Ivar’s neck, alternating between soft kisses, tender nips, and a teasing tongue that seemed to trace a melody on his skin. Each stroke of his tongue sketched a note, and Ivar’s low, breathless moans brought that music to life, filling the room with the sound of their shared devotion.

It wasn't that Heahmund didn't love Ivar; in fact, it was precisely his love that made him question if, unknowingly, he was taking advantage of him. He harbored deep feelings for the young Viking, savoring their moments together more than he would have thought, back when their bond had first formed, always finding ways and excuses to be at Ivar’s side. These feelings had brought a richness to his life, filled him with something he had never known before, but which felt wonderful to Heahmund. His heart brimmed with fierce affection, an unrelenting desire to fulfill Ivar’s every wish and, most of all, to protect him and the bond they shared. There was no doubt in him that he would fight to defend what they shared until his last breath. Yet, in his quieter moments, he couldn’t help but wonder if Ivar's professed love was really the result of his free will or if it came from a place marked by the lingering wounds of loss and rejection.

Determined to silence these creeping thoughts, Heahmund refocused on the present, responding to each of Ivar’s sounds with a soft, approving hum and a series of kisses that grew bolder with every eager movement from Ivar, each press of lips against heated skin met with growing urgency. His fingers paused at the base of Ivar's spine and lingered in a delicate, rhythmic dance, as if he would paint his own masterpiece there. Each tender touch elicited blissful, rewarding sighs that grew into a moan as Heahmund's middle finger slid further down, between the plump buttocks where he felt the remnants of their last shared passion at his fingertip.

The thought of their last encounter made his lips twist into a wicked grin. A spark shot through Heahmund, causing him to instinctively press his hips closer against Ivar's back, eliciting another shaky moan from his lover - guttural and laced with desire. Heahmund's voice grumbled in soft approval, a low, contented hum that he murmured against the damp skin in front of him. Just the feel of his cum, and the knowledge that Ivar was still marked as his in some way, was enough to make his growing arousal harden even more. He slid his finger deeper, drawing slow, deliberate circles with his fingertip, smearing the sinful wetness around Ivar's entrance, making good use of it in anticipation of what was to come.

Ivar's brief tensing did not go unnoticed, and Heahmund paused for a heartbeat, but quickly realized that it was not caused by physical discomfort, but rather a flare of shyness, as Ivar was still insecure about being touched in such an intimate place.

"You can trust me," Heahmund murmured softly, his voice a low reassurance. He paused a moment longer, leaning slightly forward to catch a glimpse of Ivar’s face, wanting to be certain his instincts were right. His assumption was confirmed when he saw the softness in Ivar’s features and was met with a reassuring smile. Satisfied, Heahmund lowered his head again, pressing a kiss to Ivar's shoulder before letting his lips trail downward, following the line of his spine again. "Just as I place my trust in you," he added, his words meant as a promise, reminding them both of the mutual exchange. His lips halted at the tailbone, where he began to place tender pecks around the area.

The skin across his entire body began to tingle, and Ivar could almost feel the tiny hairs rising where Heahmund’s lips had made contact. He sighed in pure pleasure, soaking in the sweet tenderness being offered to him. His hand instinctively reached behind, searching for the back of Heahmund's head. When his fingers brushed through the dark strands, he gently tangled them, tugging lightly as he urged him closer. "I love it when you thrust in me," he said, grinning widely, making an effort to pronounce it as clearly as possible, determined to get the pun across.

Ivar could sense the warm breath brushing against his lower back as Heahmund laughed at his response. A moment later, the finger that had just been teasing him was pushed into him, instantly wiping the grin from his face and replacing it with an expression of pure desire. Ivar inhaled shakily, letting the breath out in a deep, drawn-out moan as he pressed himself closer, his grip tightening in the dark hair.

Heahmund shoved his finger deeper, brushing in fluid motions against the inner walls, satisfied with how this little act already caused Ivar to lose his mind. Carefully, he took some skin between his teeth and nibbled on it before moving on to sucking, leaving a reddish mark. Immediately afterwards, he ran his thumb reverently over the spot, pulling his finger almost completely out of Ivar before pushing it back in, eliciting another delighted sound. With small biting movements, he made his way to Ivar's side, hovering over him and causing the blanket to slide down a little.

The cool breeze that immediately enveloped his body was a relief to the young Viking, whose skin had begun to glisten with sweat as the heat beneath the blanket had grown nearly unbearable, suffocating. With a swift movement, Ivar pushed the fabric down further, freeing both himself and Heahmund, who seemed to be in just as much of a hurry to be freed, taking it into his own hands to remove it completely by pushing it aside.

"Turn around," Heahmund whispered, his lips gently brushing over Ivar's hip. He waited for Ivar's unquestioning obedience, guiding him with a gentle hand as his lips caressed each new piece of accessible skin. To assist with Ivar’s unresponsive legs -a privilege he’d long since earned- Heahmund withdrew his finger and placed both hands carefully on Ivar's thighs. With the utmost care, he positioned them so they lay comfortably parted, giving him the access he needed and craved. After ensuring Ivar was comfortable, Heahmund leaned over him, capturing his lips in a brief, tender kiss - a quiet reward for his beloved’s trust and also for his willing surrender.

Heahmund let his gaze wander appreciatively over Ivar’s form, pausing at the sight of his flaccid cock resting against his belly. The contrast to his own arousal, hard and throbbing, was unmistakable, and he couldn’t help but recall how, in their earlier moments of intimacy, the sight might have stirred doubts within him. Doubts about his skill, about his capacity to truly bring his lover satisfaction. But he understood now, more clearly than ever, that this was simply how Ivar’s body was, a physical reality that had nothing to do with his enjoyment. The shiny drops of pleasure that had gathered at Ivar’s tip told their own truth, a quiet testament to his ability to get aroused nonetheless. It was more than enough to silence any remaining doubts, to urge Heahmund onward with confidence.

An unspoken urgency passed between them, a shared understanding that needed no words. Ivar’s hand found its way to the back of Heahmund’s head, fingers threading through his hair with firm insistence, guiding him lower. Heahmund complied with a quiet smile, shifting himself comfortably alongside Ivar’s hip and with seamless ease he slipped his middle finger back inside Ivar's body, soon joined by his index finger, moving them both with a careful, practiced rhythm.

Once more, Heahmund found a perfect canvas in Ivar’s lower belly, and every kiss and brushstroke of his lips added to the intimate portrait he was painting there. He traced his way over the warm skin, kissing, licking, biting in places, satisfied with each shiver and quiet sigh that followed. He lowered his head and kissed the path he had already traveled, his mouth moving purposefully towards Ivar's length. Heahmund's lips hovered just above it, his breath warm on the sensitive skin, before he finally closed the distance. His tongue reached out to capture the salty beads that had gathered at the tip, savoring both the taste and the soft, shaky breath he drew from Ivar's lips. His fingers pressed deeper, and the rhythm of his movements became more and more synchronized with the reactions he received as a reward.

In an agonizingly slow movement, Heahmund ran his tongue over Ivar's shaft, applying pressure to it before closing his lips completely around the flaccid cock, taking it deep into his mouth. He moved slowly at first, savoring the taste, feeling every subtle tremor in Ivar's body as he intensified his actions. Heahmund basked in the sounds, which increasingly turned into lustful whimpers, each sound shooting directly into his own arousal, almost creating a painful hardness. With every breath Ivar drew, Heahmund swallowed the newly released salty drops, his fingers never leaving, working in perfect harmony with the gentle movements of his mouth, coaxing his beloved closer to the edge.

☆~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~☆

They were both lost in the moment, the world outside seeming distant and irrelevant. In the warmth and comfort of the room, they felt safe, hidden away—free from the possibility of intrusion. The knowledge that the scouts were still out, and that no one would dare enter Ivar’s private quarters without warning, allowed them to forget all precautions and vigilance.

The steady footsteps that approached their protected space went unnoticed. Normally so alert, so attuned to every sound, neither of them could pull their focus away from the intimate connection they were sharing. They didn’t even realize that the steps had stopped -right in front of their door.

With a sudden, loud crash, their last shield of protection burst open.

Ivar’s heart skipped a beat as the door flew wide, the intrusion hitting him like a sharp slap to his senses. His body froze, every muscle stiffened in disbelief as a wave of shock and confusion surged through him. His breath caught in his chest, and for a moment, everything seemed to blur, his mind scrambling to catch up with the harsh reality of the situation. Thoughts swirled in his mind, a thousand different questions and fears, but none of them seemed to settle. The intimate world they had been lost in shattered instantly, replaced by the raw vulnerability of exposure. The only thing clear in that frozen moment was the shadowed figure standing in the doorway, their presence like a cold gust of wind cutting through the heat of their shared moment.

Heahmund’s reaction contrasted with his own. Despite being every bit as startled, the warrior jerked back, his instincts kicking in immediately. Without hesitation, he tore himself away from his love and quickly covered him with the blanket to hide his vulnerability, knowing that Ivar did not want anyone but him and his brothers to see his legs. Heahmund’s eyes scanned the room, assessing the danger with swift efficiency, before flicking to the wall beside the bed where his sword rested. His posture stiffened, every muscle in his body coiling in preparation to fight, to kill if necessary. His focus was entirely on protecting Ivar, ensuring his safety. There was no concern for his own exposed state; the only thing that mattered now was shielding Ivar, keeping him from harm.

The intruder was equally shocked by what had unfolded before his eyes. His eyes were wide open, the disbelief in them almost palpable. His mouth stood open, but unable to form words. The shock was undeniable, but slowly his features hardened, the stunned expression melting into something colder, more distant - disgust. A mocking smile curled around his lips, his eyes narrowed in contempt. His childish, resounding giggle was the first sound to break the silence.

"Floki?" Ivar finally managed to whisper, his voice trembling, the words barely audible as doubt clouded his mind. His heart raced, his hands clutched the blanket in a desperate need to ground himself, and his breath hitched in his chest, as if uttering the name aloud might somehow make the man in the doorway vanish. His mind struggled to reconcile the figure standing before him with the man he thought he had lost forever. A year had passed since Floki had sailed away -wild, unpredictable, the father figure he had always looked up to. Ivar had watched him disappear over the horizon, certain that it would be the last time he would see his friend, his mentor. The finality of that moment had haunted him. And now, here he was, as though no time had passed at all. A flood of emotions surged through Ivar, conflicting and overwhelming.

"You know him?" Heahmund’s voice cut in, sharp and questioning, his eyes never leaving the stranger in the doorway. His posture was tense, his gaze fixed ahead, but his mind was already calculating, taking in every detail and wondering if he had met the other Viking before. His sword was already firmly in his right hand, its familiar weight activating all his warrior senses, reminding him of the necessity of defense.

Floki stood motionless, a sneer crossed his face, and his eyes darted from Ivar to Heahmund, narrowed with anger and a cold sense of betrayal. The silence in the room was heavy. He saw no reason to introduce himself, especially to a man who stood naked before him, and therefore continued to shamelessly rub the harsh truth in his face that Ivar, whom he loved like a son, seemed to have lost his mind and had gotten completely lost in the crossroads that separated right from wrong. With a derisive snort in Heahmund's direction, Floki finally turned his gaze to Ivar, looking at him with something akin to disappointment, waiting for him to speak up.

"It’s Floki…our famous boat-builder. He raised me. Left me behind after we took York," Ivar finally said as Floki made no move to introduce himself. His voice was barely above a whisper, the accusation clearly audible. He stole a glance at Heahmund, looking for some guidance, but his lover’s face was clouded with confusion and caution.

Ivar’s gaze returned to Floki, and he took a deep breath, steadying himself, letting his words sharpen as he found his footing. "Welcome back…I guess." The sarcasm in his tone was a deliberate armor, a familiar layer of deflection that slipped into place almost instinctively. Witty bravado had always been his first line of defense, a way to mask the vulnerability that churned just below the surface. His lips curled into a thin smile. Hope sprouted in him that Floki was just putting on one of his dramatic plays, that this crushing expression of disgust and disappointment was only a pretense and he was about to pull him into one of his hugs that would be bordering on bone-breaking, strong but heartfelt, as they had done so often in the past.

Despite his mask of confidence, Ivar felt his face heating up, shame burning through him under Floki’s withering gaze. The look in Floki's eyes struck him deeply and twisted what he had enjoyed only moments before into something he would now prefer to hide and undo. Nevertheless, he forced himself to hold Floki's gaze and a plea formed in his eyes. A plea for understanding, for even a shred of leniency. Floki had once been like family to him, but now the distance between them felt huge, almost unbridgeable.

Floki’s expression hardened, his lips curling into a bitter sneer. "By the gods…Ivar, what the hell are you thinking, you little fool? Or when did you stop thinking?" he spat out. His words were laced with venom. The familiar, wild intensity of the man Ivar had grown up with was unmistakable, but now it was wrapped in a coldness against himself. Something Ivar hadn’t experienced before.

Instinctively, Heahmund moved closer to the bed again to further shield Ivar, as if his presence alone could cushion the intense anger blazing in Floki's eyes. He shifted his sword to his left hand, the weaker one, and reached for his scattered clothing, hoping that he could at least put his undergarments back on while the two of them talked.

The slight movement drew Floki’s attention. His gaze dropped to the pile of armor near Heahmund’s hand, and his eyes narrowed as they lingered on the chest plate, emblazoned with a cross - a clear and defiant symbol of the so-hated foreign god. His gaze shifted to the crucifix that was lying next to the pile and his expression hardened even more, hit by memories from his time with Ragnar. Memories of Ragnar’s trials with faith, of Athelstan’s influence. Bitterness twisted his mouth into a sneer, and his mocking giggle, both sharp and scornful, cut through the silence like a blade. Quickly, he spat in the direction of Heahmund and his god, present through his symbolism, making it clear that he still held little of the Christian faith.

"You truly are Ragnar's son," Floki mocked, his gaze shifting back to Ivar. "Making the same foolish mistakes your father did, worse even." His words were dripping with contempt as he turned to face Heahmund, his hand drifting to the axe at his side, drawing it from its holster with a steady, deliberate motion before he pointed the weapon at Heahmund. "I wondered what pulled me back here after swearing I’d never return," he continued, voice cold as ice. "But it seems the gods sent me to free you from this… obstacle."

Heahmund tensed as Floki’s words sliced through the air like a challenge. He shifted his sword back into his prominent hand, raising it in defiance, ready to defend them both. But before he could move further, Ivar reached out, his hand settling on Heahmund’s back - a calming gesture, an unspoken plea for him not to strike first. The touch was subtle, but it was enough to stop Heahmund in his tracks, his grip on the sword tightening, but he held still.

"You think you’re here to ‘free’ me?" Ivar’s voice was equally cold, biting, and full of frustration. "You abandoned me after York, left me to fight my own battles. And now, after all this time, you think you can just storm in like some vengeful ghost and lecture me about what’s right?" His lips curled into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes, his words a mixture of sarcasm and an ache barely held in check. "Is this how you imagined your grand return, Floki?" His gaze intensified, eyes locking on the older man. "To come back and break me again? Robbing me of the only person who still cares for me? Who I love?" The last words left his mouth with an edge, raw emotion flickering behind the sharpness.

Floki let out a dismissive sound at the mention of love, his expression twisting in disbelief. But Ivar quickly silenced him with a raised hand, cutting off any further disrespectful words. "If that’s your intention," Ivar continued while his hand slid under his pillow, searching for the hidden dagger there. He gripped the handle tightly, the feeling of the metal against his palm was grounding him, reassuring him that the decision he had made was the right one. He would fight for his happiness, even if it meant to turn against his old friend. "...maybe you should turn around now. And then really never come back."

Floki’s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the axe as a surge of anger washed over him, but underneath that anger, uncertainty lingered. He loved Ivar like his own son—he had raised him, shaped him into a self-confident young man, a man he believed cherished the gods. The thought of seeing him fall to the wrong path, to be abandoned by the gods, lost in the same mistakes as Ragnar, twisted Floki's insides. The gods, he believed, had their reasons for pushing him toward this inevitable confrontation. With a sharp exhale, he surged forward, striking at Heahmund with a force that could have cleaved a man in two. Heahmund parried the blow effortlessly, the clash of metal ringing through the room, mixed with Ivar’s desperate scream to stop.

Heahmund quickly countered with three sharp blows, each strike deflecting Floki’s attacks with practiced precision. The power behind the exchanges sent shockwaves through the room, but both held their ground, not yielding. Floki’s rage only grew, each failed strike pushing him further, but Heahmund stood firm, his sword a solid shield against the Viking’s fury.

Ivar lunged forward, desperately trying to intervene. "Stop!" he screamed anew, his voice a mix of panic and command. He tried to stabilize himself so that he had a firm grip, but the softness of the bed didn't really give him that security. In an attempt to stop Floki without hurting him, he tried to grab his arm to hold him back, but before he could get a firm grip, Floki pushed him aside with a rough shove. Ivar staggered, falling to the side, his face contorted with frustration and anger. The moment was fleeting, but it was enough to get Heahmund's attention. His silver eyes, fixed on Ivar for a second, filled with concern, his worry for him obvious.

The short opening was exploited and with a feral grin, Floki swung his axe with deadly precision, landing a brutal blow to Heahmund’s side. The sound of metal hitting flesh echoed, followed by a harsh gasp from Heahmund. He staggered, but managed to stay on his feet, overrun by pain. His hand shot to his side, pressing hard against the wound, but blood quickly spilled between his fingers. Despite the searing pain and his body wanting to give in, he forced himself to stand as tall as he could, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, his gaze locked on Ivar, trying to stay focused even as his body trembled.

Ivar froze, his heart sinking as he watched in horror how Heahmund struggled to stay upright, blood staining his skin. In that single, harrowing moment, it felt as though his entire world was collapsing. A torrent of fear and rage surged through him, igniting into a feral, unstoppable fury. Without hesitation, he leapt from the bed like a berserker, the dagger clenched between his teeth, his focus narrowing to a single target: Floki. In a blur of motion, Ivar lunged at his former friend, his hands latching onto Floki’s ankles just as the older Viking raised his axe for another strike. With a burst of raw strength fueled by desperation, Ivar seized them, unyielding. With a sudden, vicious twist, he wrenched the ankles sharply to the side, his whole body throwing strength into the movement. The force was enough to unbalance Floki, who toppled backward with a grunt of pain, his axe slipping from his grip. The sickening thud of Floki’s fall barely registered to Ivar. He didn’t care if he had injured the older Viking. His only thought was Heahmund, whose labored breaths and pain-contorted face carved into his heart like a blade.

"Ivar, please…please stay back!" Heahmund gritted out, still desperate to protect his love. Staggering a few steps, he pressed his back against the wall for support, his sword trembling in his grip as he braced himself for the next assault. His only thought was to protect Ivar, even as his strength waned.

But Ivar ignored the plea entirely. Instead, the implication that Heahmund didn’t see him as fit for battle ignited a fire within him, a stubborn determination to prove otherwise. With swift, almost reckless movements, he dragged himself across the cold stone floor, his unprotected legs scraping painfully over the uneven ground. He stopped in front of Heahmund and looked resolutely towards him. His trembling hands worked urgently, pressing the first piece of cloth he could grab firmly against the wound. He tried to apply enough pressure to stem the crimson flood, but it was futile. Within seconds, the fabric darkened, the red overtaking it completely. The metallic scent of blood filled his nose, a smell he once found thrilling but now felt suffocating. Fear crept into his bones, coiling tighter with every warm pulse of blood that seeped through his fingers. The thought of losing Heahmund -his source of happiness, hit him like a physical blow. The wet warmth on his hands clashed violently with the icy dread inside him, intensifying the wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm him. But he forced himself to hold steady, refusing to let go, refusing to lose what mattered most.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ivar saw Heahmund lift his sword again, the effort alone forcing another surge of blood from the wound. Panic surged in his voice as he pleaded, "Stop, Heahmund. Don’t strain yourself!" He quickly turned his head, his gaze locking on Floki, who stood dangerously close once more, silently observing the scene with an unreadable expression and his weapon raised, ready to strike again.

"Don’t you dare take this away from me!" Ivar nearly screamed, his voice thick with raw emotion. Tears, born of fear and rage, welled in his eyes but did not fall.

Floki’s expression twisted as pity crept across his face. "It’s wrong, Ivar. He defiles you, tarnishes your name in the eyes of the gods! The things you’ve allowed this weakling to do to you are abominable. You cannot lay with another man!" The frustration at Ivar’s blindness to this truth was etched across his face until a sudden realization made him pause. His eyes widened as a new thought struck him, and he hissed, "It must be Loki trying to lead you astray! You should be smarter than to let him trick you!" His tone grew relentless, as though trying to hammer his truth into Ivar, believing that this was the right thing to do, the only way to save him.

"It’s not for you to judge. If you kill him, you’ll kill me," Ivar retorted, his voice steady with stubbornness, yet trembling with a deeper pain.

Floki’s gaze softened, but only for a moment. "Ivar..." His voice was almost pleading now, as though reprimanding a son he didn’t want to see fall into despair. "The gods have always shown me what is right. And what you’re doing... it’s a curse."

Ivar took a moment to let Floki’s words sink in, perhaps giving his old mentor a fleeting hope that he had finally broken through. But as Ivar turned to Heahmund again, his heart swelled with warmth and admiration, emotions that stood steadfast despite the fear coursing through him. His gaze softened as memories surfaced, unbidden yet vivid— the tender moments, the love Heahmund had shown him, and the way this man had unlocked feelings he had never experienced before.

In stark contrast, Floki’s voice from the past echoed in his mind, recounting tales of the gods and preaching how to live a life pleasing to them. Those lessons, once a foundation of his belief, now felt distant, as though belonging to someone he no longer was. The weight of everything - Heahmund’s pain, Floki’s judgment, and his own emotions - pressed on him as he turned back to his mentor, a deep breath steadying his resolve.

Ivar’s voice was calm yet filled with unshakable conviction as he broke the tense silence. "I chose this path. If it’s the trickster’s one, then so be it. Even if the gods turn their backs on me, I’ll still have Heahmund by my side. Nothing else matters. No god, no fate, no curse can take from me what he gives me." As the last words left his lips, he felt a hand place itself on his shoulder. Although Ivar knew the touch was probably more for Heahmund's support than his own reassurance, it filled him with a new strength. This simple gesture of solidarity burned away any remaining doubt and further strengthened his resolve. He straightened his posture slightly and defiance flashed in his eyes.

Floki’s eyes narrowed, his doubt laced with frustration. "So you’d give up everything for him? For a Christian?"

"Yes." Was Ivar’s simple response.

"Do you even understand what you're doing, Ivar?" Floki’s expression hardened, his tone almost pleading now.

Ivar gave a small nod, his gaze unwavering. When he spoke again, his voice softened, but his words carried a weight that made them feel unshakable. "I understand more than you ever will, old man."

Floki shook his head, his desperation to sway Ivar rising to the surface. "You will have no god protecting you any longer if you choose this path."

"I’ve already chosen this path. The decision is made," Ivar declared and at the very same moment, Heahmund’s voice broke through, strained but resolute. "I will protect him."

Floki let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You, a dying man, speak of protection?" He gestured sharply at Heahmund’s wound, his voice dripping with disbelief. "You can’t even protect yourself, let alone him."

Ivar’s expression hardened, anger flashing in his eyes. "He is not a dying man! It’s just a scratch," he snapped, though the words felt more like an attempt to convince himself.

For a moment, Floki’s face softened again, the fire in his eyes shifting to something more complicated - regret, perhaps, or understanding- but his stubbornness remained. "You’re both fools if you believe what you’re saying."

"Then let us be foolish," Ivar shot back, his tone unwavering.

Floki’s gaze lingered, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. "Then this is the last time you’ll hear my voice, Ivar. The voice of reason! If you truly want this, I’ll leave you to it."

"Go then," Ivar said firmly without thinking twice. "Go, and let me find my own way, with Heahmund, and no one else. The gods will not decide my path. You left me once, and I survived. If you can’t accept my choice, please leave again."

Floki stared at Ivar, taking in the young man he had become. A flash of pride surged through him, followed by sadness that he wasn’t able to convince him from the right thing. Before he turned and stormed out of the room, he shot one last look at Heahmund, his eyes conveying the message that he should do his best to keep his promise.

With each step that faded into a distant echo, his heart throbbed with pain. For a brief instant, he allowed himself to feel the full force of his loss. The man who had once been like a second father to him was gone, again. It was a wound that cut deeply, reopening scars he thought had long since hardened. Yet, as much as it hurt, he knew this was inevitable. Their paths had diverged irreparably, and while he clung to the hope that Floki’s love for him would never truly fade, he also understood that his own choices had set them apart. This was his decision now, and he would carve his future with his own hands.

Shaking off his sorrow, Ivar pushed himself back into motion, the ache in his brittle legs a dull reminder of his frailty. The cold, hard floor had left them numb, but he ignored the discomfort, his focus solely on Heahmund. With painstaking effort, he supported his lover as best he could, crawling alongside him while he leaned heavily on his sword, his steps faltering under the weight of his injury, every breath a struggle.

Once they reached the bed, Ivar guided Heahmund down with gentle insistence, his hands trembling but steady enough to help him settle. The sight of the crimson stain spreading across Heahmund's side still frightened him, but he clung to his previous saying that it was just a scratch. They would maybe laugh about it in later times.

With care and urgency, he set to tending the wound, his hands working quickly despite their trembling. His thoughts swirled with the ache of loss and the fear of losing more, but as he glanced up at Heahmund -his anchor, his hope, his future- he found strength in the love reflected back at him.

He had lost one piece of his heart tonight, but he silently vowed that he would not lose another. No matter the cost, he would protect the happiness he still had. The gods, fate, and curses be damned. He would hold onto this love with everything he had.

#heavar #ivar x heahmund #heahmund x ivar #vikings #ivar the boneless #vikings fanfic #vikings fanfiction #bishop heahmund #my stuff #my writing

13 notes · View notes

mrsalwayswrite · 1 year ago

Text

To Call Forth Love - Chapter 19

An update in less than a month? What is this?

This is the long anticipated update and I'm so excited to share it with you. Please let me know what you guys think!

Words: 5500

Warnings: All the feels! brief violence, language, just grab some tissues.

Series Masterlist

Ivar loathed all hospitals with an unholy passion. Far too much of his childhood was spent surrounded by sterile white walls and people in scrubs giving him pitying looks that boiled his blood. He hated the continuous beeping sounds, that unnatural sterile scent, even the loud-ass flooring that made each step sound like a heavy weight being dropped. He despised everything about hospitals.

But none of that crossed his mind as he stormed into the main lobby of one with the force of an unrelenting tornado.

He slammed his hand down on the counter, feeling his bones rattle and threaten to break but he ignored the pain. He already had one hand in a cast, why not the other?

“Where is Kari Larsen?” He demanded of the two nurses behind the counter.

Neither nurse berated him of how he cut in line, bypassing the four other people, to demand their attention. A fucking miracle. As he stood there, waves of anger and desperation crashing over him, he wondered if they could see it and it kept their mouths shut. Was it so obvious how his edges were fraying? How what sanity he possessed was beginning to crumble until he knew - he could see - that Kari was alive.

One of them glanced over his shoulder, at his father and brother flanking him, and waved him closer. “Give me a moment and I'll check.”

The desire to scream at her to ‘hurry the fuck up’, ‘didn't she know who he was’, and how he wanted to ‘burn this entire building to the ground’ stung the back of his throat. But none of that passed his lips. For immobilizing terror gripped at his heart with claws sunk in deep, making that blackened organ threaten to stutter to a stop. How his lungs ached as if petrifying within his chest causing each breath to be a struggle to take in.

He had promised her.

He fucking PROMISED!

Uncaring of his hardened reputation, of never showing pain, he dropped his head in his hands, the cast rubbing against his cheek. He tried to take a deep breath, but the panic and self-loathing continued to crush his chest like a Medieval torture device. He just needed to know…he needed to see her.

Please…

The nurse's ‘customer' voice broke through his internal panic. “Miss Larsen is still in the emergency room but has been moved to a separate room for examination.”

Ivar moved before the nurse fully finished her sentence. Ignoring all those around him, he stormed through that hospital with only one destination in mind. At this point, he almost wished someone would try to stop him so he could hit someone, just do something instead of feeling like he was falling apart. Anger, he knew. Anger, he could work with. But not this terror, not this panic that was draining his sanity and attempting to suffocate him.

Perhaps, it was the scowl on his face that made people jump out of his way, the aura of danger that radiated off of him, or how he was flanked by his father and brother. With only a few concerned stares from nurses or those that worked there, he guessed they recognized him and his family. He had visited this godforsaken place enough times. Besides, he was a Lothbrok.

And Lothbroks owned this city.

Hvitserk raced ahead to open the doors leading into the emergency area, separate from the main hospital. They passed through without incident, into the chaos and mayhem. Sounds of a baby screaming, raised voices, the tang of blood and antiseptic cleaner, it all assaulted his senses but it barely phased him. There was only one thing he cared about right now.

Marching up to the large desk, he stopped, glaring at the first nurse he came across. Her gray hair was tied back in a bun, with a ‘don't give a fuck anymore’ look as she typed away on the computer.

Too bad she had met her match today.

“Kari Larsen. Where is she?” He gritted through his teeth.

The older nurse sighed, looking up at him. “Young man, you need to wait–”

“WHERE IS SHE??!”

Silence echoed in the room. The sudden lack of sound felt like a black hole that suddenly exploded to destroy them all. All eyes turned to the trio at the front desk.

His father put a hand on Ivar's shoulder as he stepped up beside him. Most likely intervening before Ivar jumped over the counter and repeatedly stabbed the ugly bitch with that damn pen she kept clicking.

“We received a call from this hospital that Kari Larsen was here. We've come to check on her and I am personally paying for any treatment she receives while here.”

“Fine. Your name, sir?”

“Ragnar Lothbrok.” He smirked lazily. “My information is on file. Send the bill to Mr Weber, the CFO. He knows how to contact me with any further questions.”

The five other nurses behind the desk all stared, one or two having paled at the name of Lothbrok spoken. The older nurse before them began to stutter out a response, her eyes having widened and mouth dropped open, like an wrinkly goldfish.

“Now, you will answer my son's question.” His father's voice hardened in displeasure. “In which room is Kari Larsen?”

“I…um…” One of the nurses stumbled out, clasping a blue patient folder to her chest like it was some shield to protect her from the Lothbrok's wrath. “I brought her for a CT scan…just…fifteen minutes ago, maybe.”

“Excellent, now–” Ragnar started to say but a rasped cry yanked the youngest Lothbrok's attention away.

“Ivar!”

He spun on his heel, facing the hallway just behind him and slightly to his right. All his fear, panic, anger, self-loathing- it all bubbled up to spectacularly erupt as he heard that voice call his name. Her voice! A voice even after three weeks without hearing its sound, he immediately knew. The voice his soul cried out for.

And there she was.

Beautiful…

Perfect…

….with dried blood on the side of her head and splattered on her sweater.

“Kari!” As quickly as his crippled legs could go, he bolted towards her.

At his responding cry, she broke away from the nurse walking next to her. The damn nurse tried to grab her, but Kari shook her hand off and began running.

Running to him!

With tears running down her cheeks.

She slammed into him, almost knocking them over with her momentum. Ivar stumbled back a couple steps, barely catching his footing, but he did not care. She was in his arms. Where she should be. Where she was meant to be. Finally.

As soon as she was enclosed in his arms, face pressed against his chest and hands fisting the front of his shirt, she began sobbing earnestly. He tightened his arms around her, drawing her as physically possible against himself as her whole body shook with each ragged sob.

Hearing her, he wished he could carve his chest open and allow her to crawl in. Fuck, he would do anything to take her pain, to have her even closer, to prove he was never letting her go again.

That he would always protect her.

“I've got you, Kari. I'm here.” The words flowed from him like an anguished prayer. “I'm here, sweet Kari. I'm not going anywhere.”

The scent of blood clung to her but he ignored it for the moment. She was here in his arms. Alive and well.

That was all that mattered.

He could have stood there for all eternity, the world continuing to spin and empires rising and falling without an ounce of care from him. None of it mattered. Three weeks he had been in turmoil and despair, waiting, wondering, hoping for a sign from her. Anything to prove she still cared about him, still wanted him. That he had not completely fucked up the best thing in his life with a stupid mistake. He planned on planting roots right here on the dirty hospital floor for as long as Kari needed him. The fucking nurses and other patients could move around his crippled ass.

His father had other plans though.

A tap on his shoulder had Ivar looking up into his father's face, a subtle look of relief there. “There's a room for her. Let's move her there.”

He gave a brief nod. With the movement, he became aware of the moisture on his face. When had he started crying? He had been so absorbed in finally - finally! - seeing his kitten, in holding her and providing any kind of comfort she needed, he had not realized his own roiling emotions had exploded out in tears of relief and gratitude, that he was practically bleeding out his stress and harbored despair. And for one of the first times in his life, he did not care if others saw his tears.

Somehow he coaxed Kari along as he followed his father. A strange dance as they moved since she seemed to have no inclination of letting him go. Not that he objected in any way. It was in moments like this he cursed his legs, for if he was whole-bodied he could have picked Kari up and carried her. Instead, with an arm tight around her shoulders and her pressed against his side, refusing to release her vice-like grip on his shirt, they slowly moved.

The ‘room’ they were directed to was just a curtained off section with a single bed, single chair and some monitors pressed against the wall behind the bed. Similar to the many other sectioned off ‘rooms’ of patients waiting to be moved on or sent home.

Carefully, Ivar maneuvered Kari and himself to sit on the hospital bed. She curled against him, her ear against his heart and one hand toying with his Mjölnir necklace. His arm wrapped around her, pulling her against him. His other hand's fingers were intertwined with hers in his lap.

Like sentinels, his father sat in the chair, sharp gaze shifting from the closed curtain to his youngest son, while his brother took up position next to their father, arms crossed over his chest. The two began whispering but Ivar only briefly noted their presence.

His attention was drawn to Kari as she whispered something.

“What was that, kattungen?”

“You came.” She breathed, her voice raspy and shaky as if holding back more tears. “I gave them your number. I–I wasn't sure if you'd come. I just...I was scared and wanted you.”

How was it possible with such a simple statement, it completely disarmed him. His heart lurched at hearing the undercurrent of fear in her voice, sounding like a child admitting they were scared of the dark. What was worse, what broke his heart, was her fear that he would not come. That he would abandon her.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head in a slow syrup-like kiss, hoping his actions and words would penetrate through her worry. “I'll always come for you.”

“Please don't leave.”

He tipped his head up for a moment, a useless act to try and stop the fresh wave of tears from flowing freely down his cheeks. “I promise.” His voice broke as he answered. “I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave you.”

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” She sobbed out, clinging to him even tighter if possible.

“Shhh…it's okay. Let's focus on getting you out of here, okay?”

She nodded, a faint thing, but he felt it for how tightly she was pressed against him.

A couple minutes later, a doctor stepped behind the curtain, joining the crowded space. He paused a moment, seeing to register the group along with his patient. He cleared his throat loudly before glancing down at the folder in hand.

“Good day, I'm Doctor Schultz, the attending doctor here today. Miss Larsen?” The doctor paused, eyes focused on his patient.

When she did not respond, Ivar squeezed her hand. “It's okay, søte Kari, I'm here.”

“Yes, doctor?” She quietly, hesitantly, said.

“How are you feeling?”

With that fucking stupid question, Ivar wanted to punch the absolute, incompetent asshole of a doctor but settled for glaring at him over Kari's head.

“I've been better.” She replied.

The doctor smiled. “I'm sure. The good news is your scans came back clean. You do not appear to have any cranial or brain damage more than a concussion.” He hesitated, as if rolling around a question in his mind before carefully allowing it out. “Is there anywhere else that hurts? My understanding is the paramedics said you were initially screaming when they arrived on scene.”

“Doctor, can you explain what occurred? We were not told about the incident beyond the fact that she was being attended to at this hospital.” Ragnar broke in, his voice broking no argument that his question would be answered first.

“Of course. Miss Larsen and a companion were involved in a car accident. It appears another driver was not paying attention and drove through a red light, impacting their vehicle.”

A car accident.

A goddamn car accident.

Inhaling sharply, Ivar felt the air stick to his lungs like glue. Mentally he thanked the gods, Fate and anyone listening for keeping Kari safe. The outcome could have been very different.

“Is Erik okay?” The quiet query came from beside Ivar.

“I'm not supposed to speak of other patients,” the doctor said but his face softened as he looked at Kari, “but I just saw him and he sustained more injuries than you. He likely will be walking out of here later today.”

“Erik?” Ivar asked his kitten.

“My neighbor. He was driving us to the grocery store.”

Erik. Fucking Erik. Ivar did not like the overly friendly neighbor, the twat was trying to encroach on HIS territory. Now hearing this, he hated the man even more. The accident may not have been entirely his fault, but Kari was injured and traumatized while in his presence. That was unforgivable.

“Miss Larsen, is there anywhere that hurts? You were fairly nonverbal when you arrived.”

“My…my shoulder…and my neck.”

“May I take a look?”

Ivar loathed to separate from her, but he removed his arm from behind her so the doctor would examine her. Damn, if he was going to move though. Plus with the way Kari did not release his hand, he doubted she wanted him further away.

The doctor opened his mouth, but at the look that promised death on Ivar's face, he wisely did not ask Ivar to move.

“Hmm.” The doctor hummed as he looked at Kari's neck and ran a hand along the slender column. Gently, he tugged the neckline of her sweater to see better after touching it and asking if his touch caused pain.

Ivar gritted his teeth, as he glared with disdain at the invasive doctor. He was ready to intervene any moment the doctor went too far in his opinion but a purposeful squeeze from Kari's hand brought him back down. To distract them both, he brought their entwined fingers to his mouth. Teasingly, he kissed each of her knuckles as he held eye contact and gave a cheeky wink. His heart soared as a faint blush warmed her cheeks and a small, shy smile turned the corners of her lips up.

“Well, Miss Larsen,” the doctor stepped back and scribbled on his chart, “I do not see anything too concerning. I suspect the pain is from whiplash and the seat belt tightening. I can already see some bruising beginning on your shoulder, which may worsen. Unless the pain dramatically increases, you will be fine. You will be sore for a few days. My suggestion is to take some over the counter pain meds and rest for the next several days. If the pain worsens, either in your body or your head, come back to the ER. Any increasing headaches, double vision, spots in your vision, fainting, anything along those lines, please return and we will check on your concussion again. Before I release you, do you have anywhere to stay that someone can watch over you?”

“She's staying with me.”

Both the doctor's and Kari's gazes swung back to him but he only stared resolute at the man that needed to hurry the fuck up.

“Alright…Miss, are you agreeable to that?”

She nodded silently.

“Good. One final question, the paramedics were quite concerned about your hysterics. They made note that you only seemed to calm once they helped you out of the vehicle and even then you were silent and unresponsive for a period of time. Do you remember any of this?”

“Yes.” She croaked out, a violent shiver shaking her fragile form.

“Can you explain what happened?”

“Is this fucking necessary?” Ivar seethed, curling his arm protectively around her and tugging her back into his side.

“I would like to follow through with–”

Ragnar stood up, blue eyes hard as ice as he stared down the doctor. “Thank you for your time and follow through. If you can finalize the release paperwork, we will be on our way and allow you to move on with your many other patients.”

Bewildered gaze swinging to every person in the room, as if silently questioning Ragnar's subtle rebuke, the doctor sharply exhaled and stepped back to the closed curtain. “I will send a nurse in to provide the paperwork.”

With that the intrusive doctor swung open the curtain and strutted away.

Once out of sight, Ivar mumbled, “thought he'd never fucking shut up.”

“Be nice.” Kari murmured without any heat in it, more as if it was a reflex.

Ragnar stepped around the bed and began rustling through the small rolling cart beside the bed. He came back around with an antiseptic wipe. Ivar watched as his father ripped it open and then delicately wiped away the lingering blood on her temple and ear, with far more physical tenderness than he had ever shown his sons. Kari hissed at the initial contact but did not pull away, closing her eyes and slowly taking deep breaths.

Once cleaned to his satisfaction, Ragnar tossed the wipe into the nearby bin. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair as if steeling himself for something. Ivar glanced over at his brother, who just shrugged, his own gaze focused on their father.

Ragnar crouched down, bringing himself eye level with Kari instead of standing over her like he had done. “Kari, do you want to leave?” He asked softly.

What kind of dumbass question was that? Ivar opened his mouth to intervene but a cutting look from Ragnar had him almost biting through his tongue to keep quiet.

“Yes.” She rasped back.

“Mmm…” Ragnar nodded. “I need you to look at me, yeah? Good girl. Will you be comfortable riding in a car after this?”

Kari tensed and Ivar wanted to bash his own head against the nearest wall. Of fucking course! Why had he not thought of that yet?

“I–I don't know…I'm sorry.”

“No, Kari. Don't be sorry.” Ivar pressed his forehead to her uninjured temple. “We'll figure something out. It's not your fault.”

Ragnar spoke again, all soft edges and thoughtfulness. “Driving Ivar's car back would be the easiest and fastest. If you are uncomfortable with that, we can find an alternative mode of transportation or we can ask a nurse to mildly sedate you.”

With a tremor in her voice, she stated, “I can try. I think I can do it. Just…could you maybe drive slow?”

Ivar smiled as he pressed a kiss to her temple, a silent encouragement, astounded by her quiet bravery.

“I'm certain we can manage that.” Ragnar grunted, amusement in the quirk of his lips. “One last question.”

She nodded hesitantly.

“I need to know, if while we are driving, will you start screaming?”

This time she answered shakily. “No.”

“Do you recall why you were screaming at the accident?”

“Father.” Ivar growled, disliking this turn of questioning.

“I need to know for our safety.” He returned his sharp gaze back to Kari, but did soften his voice.“Do you remember?”

“Memories.”

“Memories?” Ragnar repeated.

She hummed.

“Were you in a car accident recently?”

“No…”

“That's enough.” Ivar snarled, tugging her closer into his side, as her quivering began anew. Whether it was those memories or fear that caused her bodily reaction, he refused to let his father bully her into an answer. He had promised to protect her…even if it was from his father's interrogation.

Icy blue eyes shifted from his youngest to the trembling, young woman in his arms before nodding and rising back to his feet. “I'll be back.” He swept out of the small room, the curtain fluttering closed behind him.

“I'm sorry.” She whispered, just before pressing a hand to her mouth and releasing a shaky sob.

Ivar held her close, sheltering her from her own turbulent emotions, as she tucked her face against him. Careful not to disturb her more, he wiped away the residue of tears from his cheeks with his right hand, mindful of his cast.

At the feeling of being watched, he met his brother's eyes from across the small closet of a curtained room. His favorite brother had always been an open book, easy to read his emotions. Even now, the relief and concern for Kari was evident in his eyes. Without a word, he nodded slowly and deliberately toward the woman in his arms. Ivar nodded in reply. A silent conversation but Ivar knew what it meant.

Whatever you need. I'll be there.

Several minutes later, when Kari's quiet sobs transitioned to sniffles, a nurse arrived with a clipboard and release papers. She nervously asked the two men in the room to step outside so she could ask Kari some questions privately. Ivar's hackles immediately rose, a scathing retort on his tongue ready to unleash on the nurse but a squeeze of his hand made the words fade away.

“I'm okay.” Those blue-green eyes held his, even though red rimmed and watery, he still thought they were one of his most favorite sights. “It'll only be a minute.”

“I'll be just on the other side of the curtain.” He promised, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. “Call out if you need me, kattungen.”

The subtle blush that arose on her cheeks drew a wicked smile to his lips. Before he could swoop in and kiss her, making them both forget the outside world, Kari lightly pushed on his chest.

“Go.”

“As my priestess commands.”

Her quiet laughter followed him out of the room, lightening his darkened heart like an eternal candle. Hvitserk closed the curtain behind them, taking up a position mirroring his own, standing guard in front of the room.

Other patients and nurses moved about the long hallway, some staring at the two brothers, but they were mostly ignored, the chaos and mayhem of the emergency room taking precedence.

Ivar closed his eyes, rubbing a hand along his forehead to try and encourage the brewing headache to fuck off.

“How are you holding up?”

He did not even open his eyes as he heard his brother's question. The exhaustion he had been fighting, dulled by the adrenaline from the phone call and finding Kari, now hit him like a semi truck. At this rate, it was debatable if he would actually be able to fall asleep or his body would crash into a coma, forcing him to rest. He just needed to get Kari to his house. If he could get the two of them there, then they could both rest and recover….and he could beg for her to never leave him again.

He released a long sigh. “I need a cigarette.”

“Want to step out? I'll stay with Kari.”

For a second, he considered it but ultimately shook his head. “I'm not leaving her.”

“What's your plan now? Sounds like you offered for her to stay with us.”

“Yeah. That a fucking problem?”

Hvitserk nudged him with his elbow. “You know it's not. Just…make sure that is what SHE wants.”

“I know.” Ivar ran his hand over his head. “I need her close by. After this…I need to know she's okay.”

“Well, with the way she wouldn't let you go, I think the feeling is mutual.”

Ivar chuckled quietly, warmth flooding his entire body at the reminder. He thought that perhaps she had forgiven him and they could move forward after this. Whatever that looked like, he would take. As long as she was by his side, he did not care what title it held. He just needed her. She was his morning sunrise, the stars in his night sky. Without her, his world was dark and filled with pain and anger.

A new set of footsteps coming down the hallway had the brothers looking up. At the face that came into view, Ivar's fatigue drained away again. Fury pulsated like a second heartbeat in his chest, shooting its tendrils throughout his body like a living organism.

Without a second thought, his feet moved.

The nurse walking with the man seemed to take note of Ivar first and her face paled. She halted, eyes darting around as if searching for help, for someone to intervene. It was only then her patient took notice.

But it was too late. It was time to pass the man's sentence and in this case, Ivar was judge, jury and executioner.

He stormed up to the man, with rage a phantom above him and vengeance nipping at his heels. “You stay the fuck away from Kari. This is your fucking fault she's here!”

“No, the other driver–” Erik tried to defend himself but Ivar was beyond caring about excuses.

Ivar shoved him. Hard.

Erik stumbled back and fell on his ass, unable to fully stop his fall with his right arm in the sling. A pained hiss slipped from his lips as his body jolted at hitting the floor.

“Sir, you can't–” the nurse tried to step in but Ivar pointedly ignored her, his full attention at the man sprawled at his feet.

“I don't give a fuck! You stay the fuck away from her!”

He took a step back, his eyes, cold as stone, stared the man down as if daring him to say anything. He could see the scattering of cuts on Erik's face and body, most likely from the airbag, the arm sling, and the wrap around his knee. None of it phased the Lothbrok. He did not give a flying fuck about him or his injuries. Under Erik's watch, Kari had gotten hurt. Something that would NEVER happen again.

Satisfied he had gotten his point across, Ivar turned to head back to his brother when he heard the resentful mutter behind his back.

“Psycho asshole.”

He could feel the insult sink in and flow through every part of his body. His concern had been for Kari, with keeping her safe. But now, with that one utterance…the idiot had made this personal.

Before Erik blinked, Ivar had whipped around and grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt. He hauled him up roughly to stare into his face. The youngest Lothbrok reveled in the shock and fear that coated the blond's face. People always forgot that he spent a good portion of his life crawling around when his legs were unusable due to surgeries or pain, which built up his upper body strength. Even now, he still enjoyed working out his upper body, being as strong as possible, proving he was more than his useless legs.

“You want to say that to my face, you little fucker?” He sneered. “Huh?”

“IVAR!”

At the shout of his name, he looked over his shoulder. Hvitserk stood beside Kari, the latter with a hand over her mouth and beseeching eyes wide. A few paces in front of them stood his father, the one who called his name, poised ready to intervene and yank his son away.

Without remorse, Ivar roughly let go of Erik. “Stay away from her, or I won't be so nice next time.” With the threat looming above them, he turned and headed back to his family…

…Back to his kitten and hopefully away from this fucking awful place.

“Kari, you don't have to go with him!”

Ivar froze. Again.

“I–I can drive you home. I'll be discharged soon if you'll just…wait.”

The entire hall waited with baited breath. Only the sounds of the machines beeping could be heard.

Yet his whole world had narrowed down to Kari. His eyes zeroed in on her, waiting, watching, for a sign, a subtle hint, instruction on what to do next. Did he go to her? Or was she terrified of him once again? Should he turn around and rip that little fucker's spine out of his body? As these questions whirled about like a chaotic storm, his feet remained firmly planted.

Until her.

Like a sunbeam breaking through the darkest storm, that was his Kari.

His light. His life.

With his name on her lips but no sound uttered, she held out her hand for him. Those stunning eyes focused on him, calling, summoning, drawing him in.

And like a moth to the flame, he followed. But instead of death being at the source of light for him, there was the brightest joy and affection, belonging and loyalty.

He reached out, taking her hand as he got closer and drew her back to his side. He planted a brief kiss on the top of her head. “Let's go home, kattungen.”

Neither Ivar nor Kari looked back at Erik.

They followed Hvitserk and Ragnar out to Ivar's car. Ragnar drove with his son in the passenger seat, and Ivar and Kari in the back. Kari was still tucked in his side, head on his shoulder and holding hands.

As the vehicle pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, her body began to subtly shake. Ivar tugged her onto his lap and began softly speaking, trying to soothe her in his native tongue. Like a child, she tucked her face into his neck as if to hide from the world. Her hand gripped his with a death grip, but he paid no mind, encouraging and comforting however he could.

About halfway through the drive, Kari finally spoke, her trembling having subsided. “Why do you have a cast?”

He glanced down at the damn thing laying across her thighs. “Broke my hand.”

“How?”

“Boxing.”

“Hmmm…did you win?”

He snorted, glancing at her, meeting her face with a small smile. “I always win.”

“Uh huh. Sure you do.” She rasped out, her voice sounding a little stronger but still rough.

“Are you teasing me right now?”

She mock-gasped. “No one would dare tease you.”

He squeezed the top of her knee, making her squirm and squeak. “And you remember that.”

The conversation died out; silence reigned for a while. Ivar rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand as he rested his head on top of hers with eyes closed. Exhaustion crept back in once again, tugging his eyelids shut and numbing his mind. All he wanted to do was crawl into his bed, with Kari joining him, and lock his bedroom door so no one could bother them for at least three days. Maybe a week.

“Oh no!” Kari gasped, abruptly sitting upright.

Her sudden startle, sent a shockwave through him. He bolted upright, mind racing. “What?”

“All my groceries. They were in the back of Erik's car. I don't– I don't have money to buy more.”

He chuckled, tugging her back to lean against him. He could not believe she would panic over such a small thing. “Don't worry about it. I've got it.”

“But, that's not–”

“Kari,” he interrupted her, grabbing her chin and forcing her eyes to meet his. “I'll take care of it. Understand?”

“Yes.”

She answered correctly but he could see - could sense - her hesitation, that wavering confidence. Something he needed to alleviate.

He released her chin to tenderly caress her cheek before guiding her forehead to press against his. “I'll take care of you.” He repeated, hoping his words would sink into her mind and plant there, for he meant every one. “Whatever you need. Groceries. New clothes. A car. I'll get it, you just tell me. Okay?”

“You don't have to. It's not–”

“I want to.” He interrupted. “I want to take care of you. Don't you understand. I…I failed you but that won't happen again. Please, kitten. Please, just let me do this.”

Time paused as he waited for her reply, for her agreement, for a sign. Anything! Forehead still pressed to his, she slowly breathed. Panic might have crept in to discourage him if he had not been able to feel her hand playing with his hair at the nape of his neck. She was still so relaxed, so trusting, in his lap. He knew all he had to do was wait.

And so he waited for her.

Like he promised he would.

Finally, she quietly sighed out her response before slipping back against his chest and cuddling close. “Thank you, Ivar.”

A wave of gratitude and affection filled his soul. A dopey grin on his face, he tugged her closer and laid his head back on hers.

“Anything for you, Kari.”

Tag List:

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

#to call forth love #vikings #vikings fanfiction #vikings fanfic #vikings au #vikings ivar #ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar x oc #ivar x ofc #ragnar #vikings ragnar #hvitserk vikings #hvitserk lothbrok #mz writes

65 notes · View notes