#Vikings Fanfic

[axelsagewrites]

Where Am I?*Part Five

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

Word count:  1531

Warnings: reader learning archer, sassy bjorn, emotionally complex ivar, threats, time travel, drinking, hangover

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 Part four

Masterlist Here

Last night had been the first truly relaxing nights of your stay so far. You drank, sang guitar round a campfire on the beach, learned some Viking songs and tall tales, and now woke up with a splitting hangover. “Time to get up,” Ubbe said as he opened the door.

You just grumbled in response, pulling the covers further over your head. You heard sighing then footsteps then suddenly felt the shivering cold. Ubbe stood grinning over your, “Revenge,” he grinned down at you, offering you a hand.

“Die,” you grumbled, burying your head into the pillow.

You could hear laughter from the door, “Finally becoming one of us,” Ivar, you think, laughed.

“Or worse. she’s becoming like you,” Sigurd’s teasing led to more cursing, some thuds, and Ubbe running to split up some kind of fight as you sat up in bed. This was going to be a long day.

-

“Why do I need to learn this?” you whined as Hvitserk helped you load an arrow onto your bow.

“Well if you like to eat you need to learn how to shoot,” Ubbe said as he and Sigurd leant against a tree to watch your struggles. Ivar was sat just a few feet away on a cut down tree.

all boys were noticeably behind you as they watched the arrow sink into a tree three feet from your target. Hvitserk helped you load another arrow before making the mistake of joking to a very hungover, very fed-up woman. “How are you getting worse?”

You huffed, spinning around still holding the bow making all the boys duck. Even Hvitserk jumped away, “Watch where you point that thing!” Sigurd said, hands covering his face.

“Scared of some little girl?” Ivar laughed. Though it stopped when you turned the arrow at him. He held his hands in the air in mock defence, “I thought we were friends,”

“Don’t test me,” you grumbled, turning back to the target. “This was so much easier on the Wii,”

“What’s a Wii?” you sighed as the four asked in unison. Instead of answering you ignored them, rolling your shoulders back before taking aim again. Breathe in, breathe out, and release.

Thud. The arrow hit the edge of the target. “You’ll get there- “Ubbe tried to speak but you cut him off.

“I did it!” you almost screamed, jumping up and down. “Ha take that!” you said, thrusting the bow up like you’d won the Olympics making the boys laugh.

“Please if we were hunting not only would you scare away the deer, but you only would’ve shot his ankle,” Hvitserk said, as he pulled out another arrow for you to use.

You rolled your eyes as you loaded it yourself this time, all be it with a slight struggle without his wins, “Don’t you guys ever celebrate the small victories?”

“What’s the point of that?” Ubbe asked with all seriousness.

“For motivation? To be happy?” you said, like it was the most obvious thing as you lined up your shot. Breathe in and release. “See!” you said, the arrow now slightly closer to the centre than before, “Positive thinking gets you places,”

“Yeah, like the bottom of a pile of dead bodies,” Ivar chortled.

You turned around with a sickeningly sweet smile, “Would you like to be one of them?”

A small smirk formed on his face as the other boys laughed. You felt Hvitserk place his arm over your shoulder, “Oh you’ll fit in nicely soon enough,”

-

By the end of archery practise you were now able to hit the target each time. Not the centre but still. Progress was there. Then it was there turn to do their real practising. Watching Ivar hit the bullseye with his axe each time as he glared at Sigurd made you thankful guns weren’t invented here. You almost told them about them but even if they were nice to you, you didn’t need to give them anymore ideas.

By the time you got back to Kattegat the sun was beginning to set and dinner was nearly ready. Bjorn joined you once again. Apparently, this was unusual for the Ironborn however it was Hvitserk who told you this and you quickly learned he was a massive gossip. Not that you were complaining. However thankfully for you Ragnar and Aslaug were not joining you. Its not that you didn’t like them, but Ragnar asked you a million question while she had a way of staring through your sole.

Somehow you ended up between him and Ivar and any time someone told a story your legend you didn’t understand he was quick to whisper in your ear. “What lies are you telling her brother?” Bjorn, who was sat across from you, asked as he was telling a story of his latest travels.

“That you truly are as tough as you look,” Hvitserk smirked. Despite not having Ivar’s rage or Sigurd’s instigation, Hvitserk was clearly able to hold his own.

Bjorn hummed disapprovingly before turning back to you, “How unfortunate you travel all this way to be stuck with these fools,” he said, glancing round the table, “Not a real man among them,”

“Maybe,” you said, deciding if you were going to be surrounded by argumentative Vikings you may as well try fit in, “Or maybe we have a different definition of a real man,”

“And what would your definition be?” he asked, putting his elbows on the table, and leaning in closer.

His eyes were locked on yours, so you decided instead to let yours look him up and down before sitting back, “Why? Do you need some lessons on how to be one?”

The younger Ragnorsson’s sniggered while Ubbe watched the whole scene carefully. Your eyes stayed locked on Bjorn’s until he sat back in his chair with a smile, “There’s hope for you yet, little one,” he said before dropping the smile, “Though I don’t recommend questioning me again,” The sight made your blood run cold but you did your best to smile, bringing a cup of wine to your lips as the meal soon continued.

-

Somehow you managed to escape from the brothers while they were distracted by finding a new crate of ale. While drinking wasn’t exactly restricted in university, they drank like it was a sport and there was no way you could keep up.

Even though you now wore a Vikings dress and apron there was some things from home you couldn’t let go of; modern underwear and sleeping in a comfy t-shirt. It was the one you had arrived in though admittedly you were going to have to wash it and your other clothes soon. The issue was that meant asking one of the brothers where or how to wash it and you had no desire for them to see these items. Well not yet at least.

 When you got back to your room you slipped out the starched dress and into the soft cotton shirt and got under your furs about to sleep. Before you could however the door opened. “Ivar?”

“My brothers bore me,” he sighed as he crawled over to your bed. You pulled the furs slightly closer, realising you only had the t-shirt on as your cheeks flushed. Ivar took no notice as he pulled himself up to sit beside you, “You were the only interesting one there,”

“A little flattery goes a long way,” you said but he quirked his head at that, “It’s an expression where I’m from,”

“Is flattery not a good thing?” he asked.

You shrugged, “Depends. My professor told me flattery and insults raise the same question; what do you want? Though I think he stole that from someone,”

“Well, all I want is your company,” he answered and at rare moments when you were alone Ivar didn’t look blood thirsty and terrifying. In fact, he seemed kind of gentle as he let a small smile escape. You couldn’t help letting out a light laugh, “Though I don’t understand how someone can steal words,”

Again, you shrugged, “I guess our people just value different things,” you said as a silence washed over you both.

After a few moments Ivar broke it, “I don’t think so. I think, deep down, all we all want is to be safe,” he said it quietly, as if he was worried someone may eaves drop.

It broke your heart a little though, “I suppose but I would’ve said happy,”

“Happy is a dangerous emotion,” he said, staring off into the distance, “everyone craves it, so they chase it, but they assume there is only so much of it to go around so they steal it. I do not need to be happy. Just content,”

You weren’t sure why you grabbed his hand, but you gave it a soft squeeze. His cheeks tinged pink, but you pretended not to notice, “I think content is a different kind of happy. Maybe if we were all so content with it, we could all be happy,”

“Maybe,”

“It’s a dangerous word,” you said.

Ivar snorted, “How can a word be dangerous?”

“How can happiness be?” you shot back with a small smile.

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[writingoddess1125]

WE SEE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!

[gwen-novella]

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

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Ivar Ending: Vikings - Una Flor

Summary: It began with flowers, but it bloomed into something more

Pairing: Ivar x Reader (romantic)

A/N: It has been such a long time since I touched this series or even tried writing for fun. I feel rusty and not too confident, but it was nice to write after such a long time. A bit short, but I think it was decent.

Una Flor Series Masterlist

Ivar was seated rather comfortably on his throne, watching with keen eyes as his twin boys sparred harshly with one another; elbows into the gut and tackles into the ground as a circle of people cheered for either of the boys. It was an even match between the two, similar height, similar weight, and similar fighting prowess. The only discernible difference between them was the different shades of brown in their hair. 

It seemed that the sparring match would go on for quite some time, until the twin with lighter brown hair began to lose his footing and the other with dark hair was quick to use that moment for his advantage. 

Wrangling the other onto the ground and keeping him in a hold until the other tapped harshly to be released. The crowd cheered in delight before going back to their tables, the music started up again, and they drank from their horns of ale. 

Ivar smiled with pride and clapped slowly as his boys approached him with wide smiles. 

“What did you think, Papa?” Asked Erik the brother with lighter brown hair. 

“You both did quite well,” he said. “And I am proud that you have worked hard in your lessons, Erik and Alaric, but you will need to be more aware of your footwork. I cannot help in that, but I will bring it up to your mother for when she plans your next lesson.” 

After her first initial lessons from Bjorn, (Y/N) had continued training to become a skilled warrior and even after she married Ivar, she continued to train. She hadn't set aside her love of homemaking, but she had come to enjoy learning the new skills until eventually, the Ragnarssons all agreed that there was nothing they could teach her and it was just as well, because she had been the one to pass on their teachings to her twin boys.

“Speaking of mama, where is she? Wasn’t she beside you earlier when we started sparring earlier?” Asked Alaric, the brother with darker brown hair. 

“Behind you,” came the voice behind them. 

It was enough to startle all of them that they jumped in their place. 

“Mama! / (Y/N)!” They all cried out indignantly. 

She giggled as she handed their sons a bowl of stew each, “We will need to work on your awareness next time that we have lessons, but to answer the question, I simply stepped away to bring you food after your bout.” 

As if they were starved animals, the twins were quick to dig into their meal of a hearty stew and a fresh roll of bread. Sitting on the steps of their father's throne and gently leaning against him with care as they ate to their fill.

While the boys remained distracted, Ivar gave his wife a skeptical look.

"What else were you doing, wife?" Ivar asked. "You spent too much time to have brought the boys only a meal."

She smiled at him softly, tenderly cupping his cheek in her hand and pressing a kiss to his temple. At the same time that she placed a flower in his hair.

"Our flowers are finally in bloom, and I came to bring you the first one" she whispered.

Ivar flushed in embarrassment as he remembered his blunder all those years ago in his youth, but he was grateful for it all the same. It had started with flowers, but their love had certainly bloomed into something more.

[mrsalwayswrite]

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!)

[lavender-romancer]

Winter

Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader CW: suicide mentions, conflict

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[woahhhgwendolyn]

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.

[ryuzakemo128]

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]

[collecting-stories]

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."

[bilbotargaryen]

By your side

Words: 1593

Summary: Thora had been careful, but Ivar's madness knew no bounds, and she would no longer be idle.

Warnings: Mention of someone being burned alive, Vomiting

Note: Had an idea that needed to be written. Might elaborate one day, but for now take this little snippet of an AU.

( @errruvande tagging you because Vikings content)

A few days had passed since Hvitserk had left Kattegat to treat with King Olaf. Thora had spent them doing her usual chores. Just now she returned with her basket full of clean clothes to their home on the edge of the settlement. It hadn’t snowed for days but still the streets were white and hard to traverse. She took longer than usual and stopped as she heard a scream. It came from the woods. And she recognized the voice. It was her father.

She dropped the basket and ran towards the trees. It was as if a rope was strung around her neck. The cold air hurt her throat as she breathed through her mouth. She wanted to scream, but something inside of her made her keep quiet and crouch down.

Ivar had completely lost it since Hvitserk had left. Someone had destroyed his statue, split it in half. The following days, she had seen many people being dragged by his underlings into the Great Hall. She had never seen them again. She could hear her fastening heartbeat in her ears as she hurried from one tree to the other.

She could soon see a large fire in between the trees. The snow around it had melted away, revealing a brown carpet beneath the flames. She heard the screams again and a splashing sound. She froze. There he was. He was on his knees and two of Ivar’s men threw buckets of water on him…no…oil! She covered her mouth with both her hands to muffle her shriek. She sunk to her knees, screaming and crying. She had never felt so helpless before.

Her father was picked up by his arms and dragged towards the fire. Thora fought the urge to jump up and run, run to save him. But she knew it would be her own demise. And he knew too. He had spotted her and shook his head. The men must’ve taken it as his last try to avoid the unavoidable. They laughed as they threw him into the fire. The screams made Thora’s hands wander to her ears. She pressed her head to the ground, squeezed her eyes shut and opened her mouth as if to scream herself, but there was nothing to be heard. Her voice was gone.

When she finally opened her eyes again and removed her hands from her ears, she heard nothing. A silence she had never heard before. The day had grown late. She could hear her father talk to her, ask her to meet them after dark. She didn’t go. She didn’t wish to take any risks. She had warned them to do the same. “Hvitserk will save us all”, she had said. “Hvitserk cannot even save himself”, he had answered. She felt sick. She felt sick to not have insisted. She should have. She saw her father in the flames. She threw up.

On her way home she found the basket in the mud, the clothes half spilled on the road. She did not pick it up. Her feet carried her to the Great Hall. Like every night these days, a feast was held. To honor the god that lived among them. Thora snorted. She wished that Ivar was the one to burn. To scream in pain until his lungs gave out.

As she entered the hall the revel made her ears hurt. The smell of alcohol, smoke and meat was in the air. But Ivar wasn’t there. There on the pedestal sat only Freydis. She smiled at her. She could burn with him, was all Thora thought. But she too rose and disappeared in the back of the Hall.

Thora frowned. And an unsettling feeling spread through her stomach. She pushed past the feasting men and women and walked as close as she dared to the curtain that separated the public area from the living quarters. “Can we be sure?”, Freydis asked. “Tell her what you heard, Ove”, Ivar was furious, Thora smiled, something good must have happened. “King Olaf has taken Hvitserk prisoner”, Ove reported, “It is said that he has betrayed us. He tried to win King Olaf to his side to attack Kattegat to overthrow God Ivar.” “Enough!”, Ivar growled and continued to speak, but Thora was no longer listening. Her smile had died.

Helplessness crept in again. No, not this time. She had to do something.

Quickly she hurried away, shoving her way through the crowd until she burst through the door into the cold. She had no time to waste. Ivar would soon send for her. She had to flee while she can.

She ran to their home and packed the necessities. Some coins, some water, some dried meat. When she opened the door she saw three figures coming towards her. Maybe they’re just going for a piss, she thought, but fortunately knew better. She closed the door again and dragged the table in front of it. There was no knock. The first attempt to push the door open failed utterly, the second started to push the table away.

Thora turned and climbed through the window. Her heart had never beaten faster, she could feel sourness in the back of her throat as the terror seized her, but she clung to her wits. She looked back and was relieved to find that they must be busy with unblocking the door.

She fled around the back of the houses, aiming for the stables. She could already see them when she heard shouts behind her. She looked over her shoulder to find the three men sprinting after her. They were faster than her. She would not reach the stables. As her gaze grazed her surroundings she found what she was looking for. There stood a saddled horse.

I’m sorry, she thought as she rushed to it, I’ll return her! She loosened the knot which bound the mare to the fence, jumped onto her back and kicked her heels into her belly. The chestnut reared and was off. She managed to run the first of her pursuers over, but didn’t dare to go off course too much to hit the other two. One of them threw an axe after her, but missed her by a head. The horse was fast. Soon, they disappeared between the trees.

Thora didn’t allow herself a single break. She drove the mare through the night and the next day, always afraid of hearing hoofbeats or shouts behind her or what King Olaf might do to her Hvitserk at that moment. She felt a warm tingle in her chest and smiled as tears filled her eyes. She was proud. So proud. Her father had been wrong to doubt him. He would save them all.

She reached King Olaf’s homestead in the evening. The poor mare was drained and could barely walk when she gave her into the care of a stable boy. She herself hurried on to the Great Hall. She expected it to be filled to the brim, but as she burst through the doors, she found it empty. Almost, empty.

In the middle of a circle of candles sat a man. He was fat and old, clad in an orange robe that appeared to be without any kind of adornment. The only jewelry he wore were two golden earrings, weighting down his earlobes almost down to his shoulders. The Buddha, she thought, remembering the little figure Hvitserk had brought home one day.

“Good evening”, he said with a deep voice, “What troubles you, child?” “I’ve come from Kattegat.” “Another?” “No”, Thora shook her head, attempting to catch her breath with a gulp, “I had to flee. I am not one of his underlings.” “Well”, the Buddha was calm, not at all bothered by her words, nor by her appearance, “Neither was the other, it appears.” Was. Was… Thora sank to her knees, burying her face in her hands as she began to sob. “Don’t cry, my child”, the Buddha said, “Tell me, what brings you here?”

She rubbed over her face, then let her hands sink. And told him. All of it. Ivar playing a god. Ivar burning her family. Ivar attempting to capture her. When she finished, she saw him make a sign with his hands and noticed a movement behind her. “Don’t worry, child”, he said, “I have made my decision. All will be well.” Tears still ran down her face. Nothing will be well. She had lost everything. She might as well jump onto the pyre on her way home. What else could be her fate?

She watched the Buddha who had closed his eyes again. Inhaling and exhaling deeply with his hands folded under his big belly. It poured a strange calmness out of him. It filled the room. And washed over her. Easing the pain. Easing the weight on her heart. Maybe she could stay?

“Thora?”, her eyes widened in shock. She turned around and couldn’t believe who she saw. “Hvitserk”, she gasped, “Hvitserk!” She scrambled to her feet and they fell into each others arms. Crying together. Laughing together. Being together.

“Why are you here?”, Hvitserk finally asked her as he squeezed her tight. “I missed you”, she said, telling only half a lie, “I wanted to be by your side.” She felt him catching his breath and dug her face into the crook of his neck. Then he started laughing. Pure joy spread through her body warmed by his. And hope. Among all the pain and grief and darkness. There was hope.

[imeanyourmomsprettyhot]

I Still Hate You || Hvitserk

masterlist

I got the inspiration for this post from this prompt:

"I don't like you, I just find you hot"

════════════════════════

"I knew you'd come back," you laughed, as the tall son of Ragnar entered your room.

"Don't you conceive yourself as being something important!" He spat, as he got closer to the bed you were lying on, "I don't like you, I just find you hot."

Hvitserk pulled you on you legs closer to the edge of the bed, where he hovered on top of you. His lips met yours, and his tongue instantly entered your mouth.

You were the wife of Bjorn Ironside, which was enough reason for the other sons of Ragnar Lothbrok to hate you. But after a strange encounter with Hvitserk the other night, when your husband left with the ships, he started visiting you, even though he clearly told you it was a mistake and that it will never happen again.

He for sure didn't like you, but he liked your body. He liked how your warmth feels around his cock, and he liked the sounds you make while he fucks you.

You loved your husband, you really did. But he was never able to fully please you. Bjorn was always gentle with his women, but you found, you needed the roughness of one of your enemies, to finally cum.

Hvitserk's messy kiss lead to an end, leaving you with an all wet mouth and an even wetter spot between your legs.

He forcefully turned you around, so you were now on all fours—He never wanted to look at your face while he fucked you;he hated you too much for that.

He roughly pulled your dress up and pushed your head down in the pillow, your ass now being on full display. It didn't take long for him to get rid of his pants, and he pushed his whole length inside, a splash of pain rushing through your body.

He didn't let you adjust to his size, he immediately pounded into you in whatever paste he needed right now.

You cunt was drooling over how harsh he treated you, and through the pain, you felt pleasure. The sound of his skin slapping on yours, filled the room up completely, almost covering up your loud moans.

A hard smack landed on your ass cheek, which turned into a dark red shade. You cried out at the sudden pain, but you secretly liked it.

He thrusted into you even harder, hitting your g-spot with full force. It was painful, but it made you even needier. His hand was still hardly pressing down your head in your pillow, keeping you in place.

He smacked your, already red, cheek again, earning a whimper from you, as tears start to form in your eyes. He loved the sound of your cries. He loved seeing you in pain.

Hvitserk's growls got louder and breathier, as you noticed him being close. But he did someone unexpected. He turned you back around, one of your legs being over his shoulder.

He now could enter you deeper, putting you in even more pleasurable-pain.

He stopped pounding for a moment, before another smack hit the side of your face.

"Look at me, you whore!" He commanded, and you did as he said.

His hips started grinding again. He was looking you deeply in the eyes—They were filled with so much anger and hatred.

You had similar sex like this a few times with Bjorn, after you two fought, but it was never close to what his brother did to you.

Your mouth was wide opened, and desperate cries were coming out of it. Hvitserk was soon to cum, as his grunts got heavier, and the thrusts sloppier.

He still hasn't looked away from your eyes, his were deeply focused on yours. His breath became more and more unsteady, while your moans increased with every painful pound that shot through your core.

A few more thrusts was all he needed to release his load all over your stomach, some of it landing on your dress.

The way he treated you like a dirty slut, made you cum right after him, with a loud scream. Hvitserk was able to make you cum, even after he stopped touching you. This was what made you so attached to him.

"You fucking bitch, just look at you," he stood up, pulling his trousers on, "So fucking needy for my cock."

"Please fuck me again," you begged him, breathing heavily.

But he just laughed at you, "I still hate you, you little slut. I don't intend to make you feel good, you understand that?"

He quickly left the room, leaving you alone with the mess he made, still horny and greedily waiting for the next time he visits you.

[axelsagewrites]

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

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[nothingtolosebutweight]

Give me Love, Give me Bruises

Pairing: Heahmund & Ivar Words:~2700[AO3] Warnings: None Note: It's been a while since I last wrote something. Bear with me :) Summary: A warrior bound by faith crosses paths with a fierce Viking prince, stirring desires he never dared to acknowledge. As loyalties blur and beliefs are tested, he’s forced to confront a truth that could change him forever.

Heahmund stood in front of a makeshift mirror, his fingers ghosting over his neck and collarbone down to his chest, tracing each purple-blue mark with a solemn reverence he had once reserved only for holy relics. Each bruise felt alive beneath his touch, radiating a warmth that pulled him back to the memories that had left them there. To him, they appeared almost like a map—a landscape of moments that had changed him.

His reflection gazed back at him, shadowed eyes from a sleepless night, lips slightly parted as he drew a shaky breath; and yet he felt more whole than he had ever felt in his life. The colors blooming across his skin—deep blue, faded purple, hints of tender red—were a language written not by pain, but by passion. These marks told a story different from the scars carved by war, a story he had never thought he would live, one that left him both shaken and strangely... fulfilled.

His body had been a map of scars long before he had ever set foot on Viking soil. Each cut, each welt, each thin line had once been a testament to his faith—a warrior-priest’s hard-won display of worth. From his earliest memory, Heahmund had been taught that his flesh was a vessel for God’s will, each wound a mark of his piety and devotion. He could almost hear his father’s rough, distant voice urging him to bear pain without flinching, to accept the suffering of this world so that he might earn a place in Heaven. As a child, he had risen before dawn on his family’s meager farm, hands blistered and raw from the land, already showing his devotion to hard work and, eventually, to God. His parents, poor and God-fearing, had spoken to him of destiny, duty, and the divine path that lay before those who served without question. "Faith demands strength," they’d said, and he’d clung to that belief like a lifeline, like a fire in the cold. Through the years, that fire had only grown fiercer, driving him to forsake comfort, to wield the sword as fiercely as he wielded the Word. Every scar was a reminder that he was a warrior not only in body, but in spirit. Every healed wound, every bloodied knuckle and bruised rib, whispered the same message: You are worthy of heaven. You are worthy of Him.

But heaven had, in recent years, so often felt out of reach, despite all his sacrifices. It had been as if each scar demanded more from him, as if he could never offer enough to feel truly worthy. He had been endlessly grasping at worth, only for it to slip through his fingers like water. And so, he had fought harder, prayed with greater fervor, punishing himself for every fleeting moment of doubt. Yet, deep down, Heahmund had known himself to be a sinner, perpetually drawn to the temptations of the flesh, unable to fully suppress his desires. This inner conflict gnawed at him, convincing him that there was something fundamentally wrong with him—that he could never be worthy enough, no matter how much he strived for purity. With these doubts, fueled by his sins, new scars and markings had only added to his body, enhancing the portrait of his devotion. His flesh had become a canvas where each act of self-flagellation and every attempt to punish his inadequacies left a fresh layer of pain. He had carried the weight of this shame in silence, believing that his constant struggle was the true price of his devotion, each misstep reinforcing his belief that he was destined to fall short of heaven’s grace.

But now, that old certainty seemed like a distant dream, a truth swallowed by the earth along with his old life. These fresh marks he bore now, scattered like small, hidden treasures, were no trophies of a righteous battle. They weren’t from swords or fists, but from the lips and teeth of a young man who should have been his sworn enemy—a person who had, against all reason, become something far more than that.

Ivar.

The young Viking prince, with his sharp smile and keener wit, had broken Heahmund in ways no enemy blade had ever been able to do.

Their first meeting was not long ago and still fresh in Heahmund's mind; it had been impactful. He had heard of Ivar long before—tales whispered among the townsfolk of a son of Ragnar, feared and despised by the Saxons for his cruelty and ruthlessness. But Heahmund hadn’t paid these stories much heed; he hadn’t let himself be influenced by the rumors. To him, Ivar was simply another heathen blasphemer, another enemy to be slain for God’s glory.

But when he had finally laid eyes on Ivar, he saw something far darker than mere tales had prepared him for. Ivar sat, blood-smeared and wild, before his chariot, shouting commands in his own tongue, his laughter sharp and unhinged, echoing over the battlefield. Even his warriors kept their distance, as if wary of a beast barely restrained. For a brief moment, Heahmund himself had felt the chill of dread, the feeling that the devil himself had come to drag them all into damnation.

A few days later, he was taken as a prisoner, humiliated by being stripped of his title, his armor, and his very purpose.

At first, Ivar had been every bit the taunting captor, relentless with his mocking words, his sharp-edged laughter echoing through the cell like a taunt from the devil himself. And yet, as the days passed, Heahmund had begun to notice the subtle shifts in Ivar’s tone, the way the jeers softened, curiosity creeping into the Viking’s gaze. What had once been disdain seemed to morph into something else, something more intimate and enticing that neither of them were able to name or ignore.

Heahmund could still feel the thrill of those quiet nights in his cell, each memory lingering like a taste he couldn’t rid himself of. He remembered those moments in the dark, the brief glances they stole when neither of them was supposed to be looking. There had been a strange, subtle heat in the air, a charge that neither would acknowledge, but neither could overlook either. And there were chuckles and laughter—hesitant at first, almost reluctant, as if admitting the other capable of humor would open a door best kept shut. In those late hours, when even the guards outside had fallen silent, it felt as if the world beyond had ceased to exist. Their voices filled the empty spaces where violence and death had once reigned, each word and shared glance like a whisper of a truth too dangerous to name.

He’d told himself it was just the strange bond between captor and captive, a temporary understanding created by his isolation and forced dependence. But each dawn that broke only left him feeling hollow, the daylight a jarring reminder of the boundaries that separated them. And yet, with each passing night, he found himself pulled deeper, left with questions that gnawed at him long after the silence returned. Why did he crave the sound of Ivar’s voice, the sweetness of his laughter that seemed to reach places Heahmund thought he’d long buried? Why did each of their conversations leave him restless, his heart beating like a war drum, though there was no fight to be had?

He’d noticed the way Ivar watched him, an intensity in those sharp blue eyes that felt like a hand reaching out, testing, waiting. When Ivar finally came to him and offered neither torture nor escape, but something like companionship, he agreed without a moment's hesitation, as if something deep within him had taken over his body in that instant. In that moment, he felt no doubt, only instinct guiding him forward, as if an inner voice compelled him to respond in a way he could no longer resist. That day he had been freed from his physical prison, but inside he still felt trapped, bound by this silent, unspoken longing for Ivar's attention, which had become as real to him as a cage.

Not long after regaining his freedom, he had begun to notice the subtle, seemingly accidental touches that passed between them. A hand brushing his arm as they walked side by side, fingers lingering on his shoulder, the ghost of warmth from Ivar’s palm that never seemed to fade. Each touch felt deliberate, testing, as if both were tracing the edges of something unspoken yet undeniable.

Over and over, he told himself it was nothing, a trick of his own longing, yet every glance they shared, every brush of skin left him questioning. Was he imagining this pull between them, seeing only what he craved to believe? Or was Ivar truly reaching out, challenging the silence that had settled between them? Each touch, each lingering look, felt like a promise just on the edge of words, and he had found himself caught between hope and doubt, unsure if he dared to believe what he felt growing between them.

His doubts vanished the night Ivar made the first bold, unyielding move, crossing the delicate line between them with a kiss that felt stolen, rough, and commanding. It wasn’t tender; it wasn’t soft. It was a fierce claim, a demand that drew Heahmund back into the dynamic of captor and captive, Ivar asserting his power while masking any trace of vulnerability behind the roughness of his lips. Yet, beneath that fierce exterior, he was able to sense the hesitation woven into Ivar's forceful kiss—a struggle for control that concealed an insecurity he dared not to show.

Instead of pulling back, he had answered that roughness with a gentle warmth, pressing forward and softening the kiss, letting his own guarded tenderness speak for him. He could feel Ivar’s surprise, a brief hesitation as if bracing himself for rejection. But as his touch lingered, a new kind of understanding had settled between them. Slowly, Ivar’s grip eased, the harsh edge giving way to something more genuine, until finally, his defenses softened, and he let the command fall away, meeting him with an openness that was as fragile as it was real.

In that moment, he realized that his yearning for Ivar’s affection was more than mere desire. He had been irresistibly drawn to this young man, this fierce spirit, in a way he had been unable to comprehend until now. It clashed with everything he had ever known, forcing him to question the very foundations of his beliefs about right and wrong.

That night, Ivar had branded him in a new way that no scar could. It was the Viking prince, his Viking prince, who had marked him again and again from that day on, as if staking his claim.

Now, in the stillness of their chamber, in front of the mirror, Heahmund looked at those bruises, not as evidence of conquest but of surrender—a willing surrender that, in all honesty, still frightened him far more than any battle.

"You are mine. You belong to me, now," Ivar had whispered last night while they’d shared the bed, his voice low and fierce. Those words had done something to him, tearing down walls he hadn’t known existed, leaving him exposed and yearning. It should have felt like a betrayal—to his faith, to the path he had carved out of duty. But it hadn’t.

It had felt right.

Heahmund's fingers lingered on a particularly dark spot at the base of his throat, the pain of which blossomed into warmth under his touch. It was a fresh mark. One of many that had been inflicted on him last night. They had argued, his words sharp, layered with the fear of something he still couldn’t name. Ivar had kissed him hard, fierce and unyielding to silence him and maybe also as if to remind him that he didn’t have to carry every burden alone. That he was allowed to feel, to need, to belong to someone other than the God he had served with such devotion.

But those kisses hadn’t stopped there. Ivar’s lips had wandered, trailing along his skin, marking him with purpose. Each bruise was a testament to their connection, every kiss placed with care and intent—words of affirmation, recognition, and desire whispered softly between them. Ivar had taken his time, ensuring each mark was deliberate, each caress imbued with a promise that Heahmund was worthy of love and belonging, far beyond what he had ever imagined.

Now, in the flickering candlelight, Heahmund began to see himself anew, with a clarity he hadn’t known before. The scars he once wore with pride now seemed meaningless, each one a reminder of a life spent in pursuit of something distant and unfulfilling. He had struggled all his life to prove himself to a God he had never seen, to chase after a heaven he would never touch, and for the first time, that pursuit felt agonizingly insignificant. Heahmund realized how much of himself he’d sacrificed to a calling that had only left him empty, bound by duty yet untouched by the very warmth he really craved. 

These new bruises—Ivar’s marks—spoke of intimacy, of vulnerability, of a love he had been told was sinful but which felt more sacred than any prayer he had ever uttered. This love had already filled the void inside him, however short a time, in a way that his faith had never done.

Heahmund looked back at his reflection, swallowing hard with realization as he traced another mark at the side of his chest. He saw the map of his rebirth, with the bruises forming the constellations of a new belief that he more and more dared to acknowledge. It was a creed of self-worth, of love given freely, not earned through pain or penance.

His voice broke the silence, a whisper barely above a breath. "I am worthy," he said, testing the words as if they might shatter on his tongue. "Not for what I suffer. But for what I… feel."

A part of him still recoiled, the teachings of a lifetime wrapping like chains around his heart. But another part of him—the part that Ivar had awakened with each touch and kiss—rose to meet those doubts. He was no longer simply a warrior, no longer merely a priest; he was a man who had dared to follow his own heart, straying from the path others had carved for him.

The creak of the door stirred Heahmund from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Ivar standing in the doorway, resting heavily on his crutch. A smirk tugged at his lips as he took in the sight of Heahmund in front of the mirror. 

"Admiring my handiwork, priest?" he teased, stepping closer until the scent of him, earthy and warm, filled the space between them.

Heahmund chuckled softly. "You could say that." He reached out a hand, offering support that Ivar accepted without hesitation.

"I'm far from finished," Ivar murmured, setting his crutch aside to trail his fingers over the bruises and marks scattered across Heahmund’s skin. His touch lingered, deliberate and intimate, as if he were contemplating where to leave the next trace of his affection.

Heahmund's gaze softened as he looked into Ivar's eyes, where he detected a depth of feeling—affection and tenderness mingling with an undeniable heat. "To be your canvas," he breathed, his voice low and gravelly, "would be my greatest honor."

As he leaned in, their lips met in a kiss, soft but certain. Not for the first time in Ivar’s presence, but now even stronger than before, Heahmund felt what it truly meant to belong, to have something worth fighting for without losing oneself. From now on, he knew he was fighting for something worth his soul, but not for a God who demanded ceaseless devotion. Instead, he was giving himself to a Viking who had taken his heart and made it his own.

Heahmund surrendered, not to faith, but to love—and in that surrender, he discovered the essence of his truest self.

[hellisateenagewerewolf]

VIKINGS

SILVER BONES

Prologue

Summary

Iris is a Viking goddess, daughter of the powerful warrior-queen Lagertha and the god-like figure Ragnar. When Lagertha casts her out, fearing her daughter’s growing power and potential to surpass her, Iris is forced to grow up with her father and brothers in the harsh Viking world. As Iris matures, she becomes entangled in a complicated relationship with Ivar, her brother—one marked by growing tension, desire, and a dangerous pull of attraction.

This forbidden bond only escalates as both Iris and Ivar wrestle with their destinies and roles in their family’s legacy. However, the conflict between their parents reaches a breaking point when Lagertha, in a moment of deep betrayal, kills Ivar’s mother. This brutal act sparks an all-out war between Iris’s family and Ivar’s, plunging them into a world of violence, bloodshed, and fractured loyalties.

Amid the chaos, Iris must confront her dual heritage—caught between her divine lineage and the mortal, violent world she was born into. She grapples with her identity, torn between her love for Ivar and the loyalty to a family that once rejected her. The story weaves themes of forbidden love, betrayal, and the destructive nature of ambition, as both families clash in a bloody, inevitable conflict.

Settings : Viking Era

Warning: 18+

Theme song : Nothing Matters by The last dinner party

It was a dark cool night, everyone was sleeping peacefully. Except for one person; Lagertha . For what she didn’t know was that the gods were watching her but more importantly watching her womb for it was about to unleash complete and utter destruction upon the world.

Laying in bed Lagertha began to stir, she was dreaming, a terrible dream. She was drowning, falling deeper and deeper into the abyss of dark blue water. Her long white gown gifted to her body through her dream was swaying gracefully against the currents. Her long beautiful hair free of braids shaped around her body as if it was a crown placed upon her head. As she kept floating what she didn’t see was a long cold hand reaching deep into the water and pulling her out harshly. The sound of the water beat against her ears and the waves shook her body.

Experiencing this odd blessing of the gods Lagertha jumped out of her sleep, gasping for air, her hand clutching her chest, tears falling down her face. Quickly realizing she jumped out of her bed grabbing her cloak and placing her shoes on. Turning around behind her she started at the empty bed behind her. Tired of seeing that she was alone with no one except for this horrible excuse for a husband, but she had no baby, which she has desperately wanted since Bjorn has grown older, she closed her eyes with grief and began her journey through the storm to the all knowing , the one that knew what she would eventually unleash into the world ; The seer.

running through the village Lagertha frantically left her foot prints in the mud. she was scared, what could have the dream meant. the harsh wind and the nonstop rain drenching and whipping her every which way. Lagertha had no clue what was happening all she knew was something was gonna happen better yet someone was gonna happen, but who ?

to busy in her thoughts she didn't notice that the seer was looking for as well. he stood in the middle of the village, hood cloaked over him and the black abyss of shadows covering his face. if she didnt know of the seer she would have thought he was the gods coming to claim her life. " what is this ? do you know what it was" Lagertha frantically pushed out. of her mouth as she quickly approached the seer.

Not saying anything he just stares down at her. The two just stood there, rain pounding down on them, the lightning drowning their ears with sound. " why won't you answer me, what does it mean ?" shouted Lagertha, she was being to get fed up. The seer just tilts his head the left, " Those who fear thy they carry " softly spoke the seer as he raised his hand up to lagertha gently placing it upon her stomach " thy will be destroyed by whom thy creates, so thy must end creations for all time, or thy will grow to create with destruction "

hearing the seers word lagertha's face began to be painted In fear. scared she slaps the seers hand off her stomach" you make no sense I can't carry another, I have tried" fed up with the seer Lagertha begins to turn and walk away but not before turning to look at the seer " I should have killed you for you tell me nothing but lies and utter nonsense for you told me yourself that I can't carry another".

--- kattegat ---

Lagertha was resting in front of the fire eating for she had just finished a long travel to Kattegat to fight with Ragnar. Bjorn was still excited to be reunited with his father so he was in the house playing with is new discovered brothers. Lagertha didn't want to see the children or Aslaug for she didn't know what she would to her right now.

standing at the entrance of their hut stood Ragnar. He was staring at Lagertha, she was beautiful with her big blue eyes and her long blonde hair. but what he loved the most was how fierce she was , no one could stop Lagertha. seeing her husband at the threshold Aslaug started to feel jealous. " Ragnar, come I want to show you something" spoke Aslaug trying to find anyway to get his attention back on her. Not caring about anything in this moment but the beautiful fierce woman that was once and still is the love of his life, Ragnar quickly left the hut but not before lying to Aslaug " Im gonna go check on Bjorn" with him quickly rushing out he never noticed that bjorn was in their bedroom playing with the children.

not scared but still nervous Ragnar slowly walked up to Lagertha and sat in front of her. not saying anything he picked up a plate of food and began eating, occasionally he looked up just to make eye contact with her. Not in the mood for his games Lagertha spoke up " don't you have a wife and children to look after" she spat while tilting her head and smirked. rolling his neck Ragnar swallowed his food while setting bowl down. " Cant I see an old friend" raising his eyebrow he dared her to speak.

Tired of his shit she stood up and began walking to her tent that was kindly set up by her men. Not willing to lose the catch Ragnar began to follow her, pulling the flap to her tent open and stepping inside as if he owned the place. Lagertha unknowing began to remove her jewelry while occasionally sipping the mead on her stand. once her jewelry was off she began taking her armor off. Being as infatuated and longing as Ragnar was he stood in the shadows watching as Lagertha began undressing.

" I'm no fool Ragnar I know you are there " stopping mid way with taking her clothes off she turn around and stares directly where he stood. guilty he walked into the light his eyes holding a glimmer in it, like they were hiding something, something that hasn't been let out in years. " what are you doing in my tent, if you seek pleasure ask your wife" not liking what he heard Ragnar scuffs in dislike while rolling his eyes " Lagertha let me ask you something, have you remarried ? " caught off guard lagertha rolled her eyes " what I have done in my life is none of your business"

" uhh but see it is because you are important to me and I know even if you don't our story is not over yet" starring in disbelief and anger she quickly turn around grabbing the cup of mead and threw it at Ragnar " you have no right to say that for you slept with another" nodding Ragnar walked closer to her closing her in so she can't escape. " I know what I have done but the seer, the gods tell me you are holding something, something that must be done, something that only we as one must complete"

hearing his words lagertha snapped she picked up anything she could find and began to beat Ragnar with it . Item after item thrown just to make him feel the pain she was feeling. dodging every item Ragnar swiftly mad his way to her capturing her in his arms, flushing her body against his. They both stood there, eyes locked, breath fanning each others face. They both knew what they wanted but both struggled to make a move for one was scorned and the other was in the wrong.

but no matter how hard they fought it, it will always be just Lagertha and Ragnar, no matter how many times she was scorned and he was wrong. their blood and their bodies will always be drawn to each other for the gods knew what they were planning and what they needed to be created, and there was only two people who could create the blood of a god .

Unknowing that it was the gods that set them up they laid together that night creating the start and end to the world.

THE NEXT MORNING

The sky was gloomy, and Ragnar was still naked but not alone. His body was embraced with lagertha’s body. Both of the exhausted and sweaty from their nightly activities, just slayed there. Eyes closed and face relaxed as there bodies finally got to feel the touch of one another. But even thought Ragnar may be peaceful, the consequences definitely weren’t. For he had to face the wrath, Aslaug.

The camp was awake and everyone was wondering where Ragnar was. Ragnar was currently standing in lagertha’s tent putting his clothes back on. As he pulled his shirt on he turned his head slightly to start at lagertha.

The woman he once loved, the woman he will always love. He stared, memorizing the curve of her body, the feeling of her skin as the caressed each other. He knew what he had done and why, yes he may love aslaug but deep down he will always cherish LAGERTHA for she is the carrier of his heart .

Coming back to reality Ragnar shook his head as he rubbed his face with both hands. Turning around he hastily pulled the door open and left hoping no one saw. As he walked away one tear slightly ran down his poker face as his heart broke even more as He knew that he would never have her again.

Later that day

The fire crackled in the hearth, the warmth of the flames contrasting sharply with the coldness that had settled in Aslaug’s heart. She sat in their shared chamber, her pregnant belly swollen with the child she carried—a son, she hoped, though at this moment, it mattered little. The flickering shadows cast by the fire danced on the stone walls, but the room felt far too small, too suffocating, for the storm that raged inside her.

Aslaug had always known the complexity of Ragnar’s heart. She had accepted that he was a man of many loves, many desires—his passion was a wild, untamed force, much like the land they ruled. But she had never expected to find herself in this position—betrayed, humiliated, and utterly broken.

The door to their chamber opened slowly, the sound of the wood creaking faintly, and Ragnar entered. He looked weary, battle-worn, but there was an unmistakable glint in his eyes—satisfaction, perhaps even smugness.

He closed the door behind him and stood still for a moment, as if sensing the tension in the air. His gaze drifted to Aslaug, but she refused to meet his eyes. Instead, she stared into the fire, her hands folded over her pregnant belly.

“Aslaug,” Ragnar said softly, taking a step forward. “I’ve returned.”

“Yes, I can see that,” she replied, her voice cold, cutting through the air like a knife. “It must have been a very pleasant return, Ragnar.” Ragnar’s brow furrowed. He took another step, closer now, his hand outstretched as if to touch her, to calm her. But Aslaug recoiled, a sharp hiss escaping her lips. The hurt in her eyes was clear, but it was the fury that truly showed.

“You went to her,” Aslaug said, her voice rising, betraying the shaking rage beneath. “You spent the night with Lagertha.” The words felt like venom on her tongue, each syllable dripping with betrayal. She stood up abruptly, her hands gripping her swollen belly for support as she took a step toward him.

Ragnar opened his mouth to speak, but Aslaug silenced him with a raised hand.

“Do not try to explain,” she spat. “I have no patience for your lies, Ragnar. I know what you did.”

The truth hit her like a wave. She could feel the weight of it pressing on her chest. Lagertha. The woman who had been his first love, the one he had left behind for her—Aslaug. And yet, after everything, she was still there. Still in his heart. Still in his bed.

“How could you?” Aslaug’s voice cracked, and she fought to keep the tears at bay. “I am carrying your child, Ragnar. A son who will carry your name. And you choose her. You choose the woman who has always haunted us both.”

Ragnar stepped forward, this time reaching for her arm, his grip gentle but firm.

“Aslaug,” he said, his tone softer now. “You know how I feel about you, about this family. Lagertha… she was my past. But you, Aslaug, you are my future.”Aslaug jerked away from him, her eyes blazing with anger and hurt.

“My future?” she scoffed bitterly, tears threatening to spill over. “You slept with her. You spent the night with her, Ragnar. Tell me that was about the future. Tell me that was about us.”

Ragnar’s face twisted with guilt, and he lowered his gaze, his hands resting at his sides.“I didn’t mean for it to happen like that,” he murmured. “It was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Aslaug’s voice shook with a mixture of disbelief and fury. “Do you think I am some fool, Ragnar? Do you think I will accept that as an answer? Do you think I will allow you to walk in and out of my life, betraying me with her, like it’s nothing?”

She took a step back, her chest heaving with emotion, her pregnant belly between them like an invisible barrier.

“You say you want me to bear your child. But do you truly want me, Ragnar? Or do you want me as a possession, a way to hold onto the family you think you should have? While you play with your first love in the dark corners of our home.”

Ragnar swallowed hard, guilt and regret swirling in his chest. He had no defense. No words to fix this, not with Aslaug’s fury so raw, so painfully clear. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice rough, strained.Aslaug shook her head, her eyes flashing with something more than hurt—pride.

“Then why do you?” she whispered, the pain seeping into every syllable. “Why do you wound me with every touch, with every word? You cannot have both of us, Ragnar. Not now. Not ever again.”

There was a long, tense silence between them, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Ragnar stared at her, unable to find the words that might undo the damage he had caused.Aslaug turned away from him, her body trembling with the mix of rage, hurt, and something darker—a decision that had begun to form deep within her.

“I will bear your son,” she said coldly, her voice low. “But make no mistake, Ragnar. You will never have me again.” And with that, she turned her back on him, her hand resting against her belly as if it could shield her from the pain.

Ragnar stood there, motionless, his heart sinking with the weight of his actions. But Aslaug had already made up her mind. There would be no going back for either of them. The walls between them had already been built—high, strong, and unyielding.

And it was all his doing.

Months later

It was a cold rainy day, labor nurses were running around like chickens with their heads cut off . Each nurse was grabbing something, water, towels, sterile tools, herbs, anything they thought could help.

Everyone was freighted due to their jarl giving birth. “Aaaahhhh” yelled lagertha ,as her womb was trying to force a child out of her. A child that she was told she’ll never have. A child that will grow up to be stronger than any person ever to grace the earth. all the wet nurses finally gathered around into the room of Lagertha. placing all their equipment down the began to work. one nurse began to knot sheets on to the bed post on each side; so that Lagertha will have something to grip. the other nurse grabbed a cool cloth and began to wipe the sweat of her head.

As they were working the head nurse came in, rolling up her sleeves and pulling a stool infant pf the bed in order to help birth Lagerthas baby. " water please ", yelled the head nurse as she held her hands up to be cleaned. quickly running over one of the assistants began to quickly clean her hands.

frantic Lagertha just laid there , eyes blood shot, face covered in sweat. she was thinking why ? how did this happen to her ? why was she meant to have this baby when she couldn't have the others. she may have been confused but there was someone who new exactly what they were doing ; THE GODS .

pulling lagertha's thin white undergown up over her legs and began to measure how dilated she was. " jarl it's time for you to push , this baby wants out." hearing this the other nurses began to help adjust the jarl. Lagertha turned over on to all fours and wrapped each arm into one of the sheets knotted to the bed.

The emotion of pure pain rushed through her veins. Pushing as hard as she could lagertha screamed releasing the sound of child birth. “ jarl please you need to breathe” said the worried midwife .” Fuck off I will breathe as I please “ yelled a sweaty and frustrated lagertha.

The bed and her body soaked in sweat and child birth. Still pushing lagertha started to lose strength dropping down to rest on her elbow. Fire that's all she felt shoot through her body. From her head to her toes. " what is happening to me !!!"yelled lagertha as tears bridged her eyes. Scared to answer the midwife stayed quiet as they never seen anything like this before.

The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and the distant sound of the northern winds howling against the walls. Inside, the room was tense with the anticipation of life and death, for a child was about to be born—a child whose fate was bound to the gods themselves. upon the birthing bed, her body slick with sweat, her face contorted in pain. The iron strength she had wielded in countless battles was nowhere to be found in this moment. Instead, she was at the mercy of an ancient force—one that would either tear her apart or bring forth life into the world.

Lagertha could not focus. Not on her breath, not on the midwife’s words. All she could feel was the power, the raw, untamed force of the birth. The child inside her was not just a mortal infant—it was something more. Even in her pain, Lagertha could sense it, as if the very blood running through her veins was infused with ancient magic.

With a guttural cry, Lagertha’s body twisted, her muscles strained, and the world around her seemed to fade, leaving only the darkness and the agony. She could hear the voices of the gods in the wind, whispers of something great, something powerful. And then, the moment came.

The room was filled with the sharp, bloody scent of birth, but it was accompanied by something else—something that made the air crackle with energy. The child’s first cry was not a mere wail. It was a roar, primal and wild, like the voice of the earth itself, calling out to the heavens.

Lagertha, exhausted and trembling, opened her eyes just as the midwife placed the child in her arms. Her breath hitched as she gazed down at the infant, the glow of the fire dancing in the child’s dark, raven-black hair. The newborn’s skin, smeared with blood, seemed to shimmer faintly with an otherworldly light, a soft, ethereal glow that sent a chill down Lagertha’s spine.

The baby’s eyes, though not yet open, seemed to hold an ancient knowledge, a depth that went beyond her years. There was a fire in those eyes, a fierce light that seemed to burn from within. Lagertha’s heart skipped a beat as she realized that this child was no ordinary mortal. This was a child of destiny—a child who would walk among the gods and the warriors.

The midwife, her hands trembling as she wiped the child’s face, whispered in awe, “She is marked by the gods, Lagertha. This one will be great. The gods themselves have chosen her.”

Lagertha’s eyes filled with tears, a mixture of exhaustion and wonder. She held the child close, her breath ragged as she whispered, “Isis. Her name will be Isis.” As the fire crackled and the wind howled outside, Lagertha could feel the presence of something larger than herself—the weight of prophecy, the weight of fate. She had given birth not just to a daughter, but to a force that would shape the world. The pain, the blood, the terror—those things were nothing compared to the weight of the future.

The room seemed to darken, as though the night itself had come to claim the moment, and yet the fire blazed brightly, casting long shadows across Lagertha’s face. She looked down at her daughter, her heart filled with both awe and fear. This child was destined for greatness, for war, for the gods. And though Lagertha had borne many battles, this was the greatest of them all.

As the wind howled louder, as if in response to the birth of the child, Lagertha knew in her heart that the world would never be the same. The gods had given her a daughter—one who would grow to wield power and wrath beyond mortal understanding. And when the time came, Isis would rise like a storm, fierce and unstoppable.

The birth had been bloody. It had been painful. But it had been mystical—marked by the gods, bound by destiny.

And so, the child of the north, the daughter of Lagertha, was born.

The world had just begun to tremble.

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

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

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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. 

[mrsalwayswrite]

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.”

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