#berserking hvitserk

[dontlookintoit00]

Ivar: I'm beginning to think... maybe... I did something wrong.

Hvitserk: ...

Ivar: probably not.. but maybe

[entitled-fangirl]

My strong girl.

Bjorn Ironside x reader

Summary: After learning of his uncle's betrayal in Paris and the defeat between the towers, Bjorn comes back to their settlement- which was attacked while the men were away.

A/n: SPOILERS FROM SEASON 4!!!!

Masterlist

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She couldn’t hear anything over the sound of Bjorn screaming her name.

The settlement had been attacked while Ragnar led the second raid on Paris. 

Helga was on the brink of death, and Y/n had managed to get Ubbe and Hvitserk into the trees for safety, Yidu following behind.

Y/n stepped from the trees, a guilty and teary look in her eyes. The boys followed, running past her to their father and Ragnar embraced them with a relieved sigh.

She saw Bjorn’s entire body relax once his eyes found hers. He met her halfway, his mouth pulling up in a smile. His arms engulfed her.

“Thank the gods you are alive,” he breathed against her hair. He gave her a firm squeeze and pulled away to cup her cheeks. “Are you hurt?” His thumb rubbed a firm line across her cheekbone, trying to rub the blood off and his head dipped a bit lower in earnest. “Are you hurt?” He repeated.

“‘M fine,” she finally told him. 

“Are you?” He questioned hurriedly. He was always a worrier.

“I am,” she persisted. “What about you? You are back so soon, and all wet.”

His face hardened. “My uncle betrayed us. He’s becoming one of them. We were outwitted on our ships.” He pulled her against him by her hips. “Did you fight today?” He asked softly.

“There was no fight,” she pouted. “They slaughtered us. The children-“

“-You protected my brothers. For that, I am forever grateful.”

“I only led them away from the men.”

He took her by the jaw and spoke in a low tone. “And that was brave. Would you have died for them?”

She only stared but they both knew she would.

He ran a hand over her cheek delicately, the feeling tickling her. “I was worried.”

"I survived. Others were not so lucky."

His lips pulled taught. "It is the same for me." 

The two stood amidst the remaining smoke wafting into the air. Amidst the chaos. 

"I will kill him," Bjorn spoke, though it was not very much directed to her.

She pushed up onto her tiptoes to kiss his jaw. "Who, sweet Bjorn?"

The man had killed a bear with his bare hands. Killed a berserker. But still, he remained her 'sweet Bjorn.' And those who dared to mock it were met with the glare of said 'sweet Bjorn' who could kill without much thought.

"My uncle," he reminded her, his eyes focused on the water. With a small nip from her on his neck, he finally tilted his head down and met her lips with his.

"Oh," her small voice reconciled. "Was there no remorse?"

His brows twitched up. "I do not care if he begs, I will deliver him to death. I vow-"

"-Do not vow," she mumbled against his lips. "Do not vow things when you are upset."

He knew she was right. He was just annoyed by it in this moment. He huffed and grabbed her by the back of her neck, pulling her in for a bruising kiss.

She kissed back fervently before a small squeak came from her when she remembered something. She pulled away, only to have Bjorn follow and capture her lips again. She tried again, and Bjorn followed once again. Finally, she giggled and had to arch her back away from him to create enough distance. His hand on her neck pulled her back to him. "Bjorn," she pleaded with a laugh. 

His teeth pulled at her bottom lip before he finally rested his forehead against hers with a hinted smile of his own. "Kiss me."

"It is important. Plea-"

He kissed her again, a full fledged smile now evident as he manhandled her against him.

It became a game, running from Bjorn's persistent kisses.

Her hand snaked up to her neck and around the twine holding the ring. "B-" she tried again. "Bjorn, the ring."

That finally got his attention. He leaned away with a fallen face. His eyes slowly moved down her face to her chest where his fingers brushed the skin before holding the ring up between them. The ring. The one from the Berserker.

"What of the ring?" He asked.

"I spoke to Torvi of it." Her eyes took in each of his micro expressions. "She recognized it."

His pupils dilated at that. But he silently waited for her to speak.

"It was King Horik's. Passed down to Erlendur."

She felt Bjorn's entire body tense. He leaned in and spoke lowly Into her ear. "You are sure of this?"

"Torvi recognized it well. Here." She took it off, holding the twine out to him.

He watched the ring wave in the air, mocking him, before nodding and taking it from her. His free hand brushed her chin, "Thank you. For keeping it safe."

"When will I know of its meaning?"

He sighed and kissed her temple. "When the conflict has resolved itself."

Revenge would be had but he was much like his father. The long game was always worth the payout.

Bjorn pulled her in for a long hug, relaxing once her body rested against his. The rest could wait. For now, he had this. And he wouldn't take this for granted.

"My strong girl," he spoke in her hair. "My strong, strong girl."

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[mads-weasley]

I'll Find You

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Shieldmaiden!Reader

Masterlist

A/N: enjoy!

Summary: Hvitserk is caught between both sides in the Battle for Kattegat. Torn between the woman he loves and his brother, he must make a choice.

Word Count: 3.2k

The Battle for Kattegat, the Battle of the Ragnarssons, raged across the misty field. The metallic smell of blood and harsh sounds of battle hung in the air: the clashing of swords and axes, battle cries, and screams of the wounded.

Who knew it would come to this?

Brother turning against brother, neighbor against neighbor. (Y/n) was caught in the middle, her heart torn between both sides. At one time, she'd promised to never leave his side, but when he jumped ship, he chose to leave her...to leave the people who loved him.

She remembered how his lip twitched as he stared back toward the shore. Toward Ivar. She'd reached for his arm, already anticipating his decision, but she was too late. Her fingers barely brushed his sleeve as he moved out of her reach. That was the day everything changed.

Even now, as she fought through the crowd of warriors, she unconsciously scanned the battlefield for his figure. A cry came from her right, and she turned to see another shieldmaiden with her axe on the way down. (Y/n) managed to lift her shield just in time, and the axe hit it with a loud crack, the impact sending painful shockwaves through her arm. With a grunt, she blocked another swipe and kicked the woman in the stomach before bringing her axe down into the shieldmaiden's neck with a bloody squelch.

(Y/n) readjusted her grip on the shield, wincing. It only took a moment for her to gather herself and sprint farther into the fray. She lost herself in the battle, and each slice of her axe sent a warm spray of blood across her face, the stray strands from her braid sticking to the substance.

Amid the battle, she saw him. He was a little ways ahead of her in front of the small river that separated Ivar and the rest of their forces from the fight. He fought like he always had, without restraint. (Y/n) had always called him her berserker because he truly was, but he never would admit it liked the nickname. There seemed to be two different men inside Hvitserk: the man on the battlefield and the man he was off. The latter, a highly observant and caring man she'd come to love.

She remembered the quiet moments they'd shared in England while fighting with the Great Heathen Army to avenge his father.

"Is England what you'd thought it would be?"

His lips tilted into a small lopsided smile, and he glanced over from where he sat beside her. "Not really. You?"

"I didn't know what to think," (y/n) sighed, looking back at the small river before them. "But it is beautiful."

The steady flow of the water filled the silence, and (y/n) felt peace for the first time in months. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, basking in the gentle sunlight that cascaded from the heavens. In all their time in England, the sun was not out often.

Feeling eyes on her, she glanced over at Hvitserk. Their gazes met for a moment before he quickly turned away, his cheeks reddening.

"I am glad you came with us, (y/n)," he admitted softly, his upper lip twitching out of habit.

(Y/n) slid closer and leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. "I couldn't imagine staying in Kattegat while you were here fighting. If something happened to you, I-"

She trailed off as her throat tightened. The mere thought of his death...it was more than she could handle. Tearing his gaze away from the river, he gently cupped her cheek and turned her face toward him.

"The gods are not done with me yet, my love."

Making her way to him, (y/n) watched Hvitserk fight with the ferocity she'd seen since he first picked up a sword. The berserker in him had taken over. He effortlessly blocked the slashes of swords and axes of his enemies like it was all one big dance, and he knew the choreography.

(Y/n)'s focus was shattered when something collided with her side, sending her sprawling to the ground. Coughing, she pushed herself to her feet and turned her attention to the warrior who shed his shield in favor of dually wielding two axes. He swung one of the axes toward her head, and (y/n) barely had time to duck, feeling the blade whiz past her ear. She rolled to her feet and sidestepped the other axe aimed for her ribs.

With a grunt, she twisted her body and lifted her shield just in time to block the incoming blow. Her axe followed, and the man howled as it caught him in the arm, blood splattering across his face.

He staggered back with a snarl, but (y/n) didn’t let up. She closed the distance between them in two quick strides, knocking his remaining axe from his hand with a powerful swing, then brought her blade down on his shoulder. The man grunted in pain and dropped to his knees, unable to fight back any longer.

As he fell, (Y/n) turned, scanning the battlefield once more. Her heart skipped.

Hvitserk.

Her breath hitched as she watched him take a blow from an axe handle, sending him reeling backward and falling hard to the ground. Without hesitation, she surged forward. The world seemed to slow as she fought her way through the sea of warriors. Every instinct screamed at her to get to him, and her mind finished the sentence she hadn't dared to in England.

"If something happened to you, I...I would gladly follow you to Valhalla."

When she reached him, her legs nearly gave way. There he was, sprawling out in the dirt, his eyes wide as he gasped for air.

"Hvitserk!" she shouted, her voice cracking as she dropped to her knees beside him. She quickly turned him over, her hands shaking as she tried to pull him into a sitting position.

He continued to wheeze as he struggled to catch his breath. Hvitserk's gaze was unfocused, blinking as if he couldn’t make sense of the blurry figure in front of him.

"Breathe, Serk! Breathe!" She yelled, rubbing his cheeks gently. "Breathe!"

Little did she know he couldn't hear her. His mind replayed the events of the past year: England, jumping ship, his last conversation with Ivar.

"What do you fear most, dear brother?" Ivar asked. "The loss of thought or memory?

"My thoughts and memories seem to be the same. Every time I think, I always remember the day I jumped out of Ubbe's ship."

When I left her...it went unsaid.

Ivar shrugged, making a pushing motion with his hands. "But you didn't jump. The gods pushed you."

"Don't take it away from me," Hvitserk snarked. "I wasn't pushed. I decided to do it."

"Ah. And I think you still regret it."

Hvitserk paused, his mind wandering. "My only regret is that I don't have any children...and"

"(Y/n)?" Ivar chuckled and tilted his head, his lips quirking into a smirk. "You regret leaving her."

He did. More than anything. But he had to live with the consequences of his actions. "Yes," he said quietly, his gaze falling to the dirt.

Ivar's smirk turned sinister. "She will be there today. Are you willing to do what it takes?"

Hvitserk glanced up at him, his lip twitching as he tried to contain his anger. "What?"

"You heard me," he shrugged. "She chose her side, and you chose yours, poor Hvitserk. Will she hesitate to kill you?"

He didn't know, but Hvitserk did know that he could never raise a hand against her. If she felt differently, he would gladly let her strike him down.

The memory dissipated suddenly, and he became aware of himself once again. Something was holding his face, but the blur of his vision made it impossible to see exactly who.

Then he heard her voice. It was muffled, but unmistakably hers.

After a moment, he finally got control of his breathing and pulled sweet oxygen into his burning lungs. He blinked as his vision and hearing returned to normal. Her eyes were the first thing he saw.

(Y/n) leaned over him, her brows creased in concern as her voice became clear. "You have to get up! You're okay! You're okay!"

She glanced behind her and quickly disappeared from his view. He heard the familiar sound of clashing swords and iron meeting flesh.

'What is happening?' he thought. Then it hit him. The battle.

Hvitserk rolled over and pushed himself up, still gasping, and grabbed his sword and shield. Staggering to his feet, he found (y/n) battling one of her own warriors, who looked confused as to why she was defending the traitorous Ragnarsson. She kicked him in the chest and sent him flying to the ground with a thud. He wouldn't be a bother for a little while. Finally turning, (y/n)'s eyes met Hvitserk's, and relief flooded her body.

He was okay.

She barely had time to catch her breath before a new enemy charged toward her, forcing her to raise her shield. She blocked the blow, gritting her teeth as the impact jarred her shoulder. Hvitserk, now steady on his feet, roared and stepped forward, deflecting the warrior’s second strike with his axe.

Their eyes met again, just for a moment. The battle roared on around them, but between the chaos, it felt like the world had paused. Blood smeared both their faces, and their chests heaved with exertion, yet they stood there, staring at each other.

She still loved him. He could see it in her eyes as they looked upon him with a familiar softness.

Before either of them could say a word, another figure rushed toward (y/n), axe raised high. Hvitserk’s instincts kicked in, and without thinking, he lunged forward and knocked the assailant aside with his shield, sending the man crashing into the mud. He didn’t pause to finish the enemy off, and his attention snapped back to (y/n).

As the battle raged on, Hvitserk fought with every ounce of his strength, cutting down those who came too close to them. He knew she didn’t need saving and was capable of handling herself, but he couldn’t stop the fear that gripped him every time she was too close to death’s reach...too close to Ivar's reach.

He shoved a warrior aside with his shield just as another came for (y/n). She didn’t see him coming, but Hvitserk did, and he swung his axe in a wide arc, catching the man’s shoulder and sending him crashing to the ground.

(Y/n) glanced over her shoulder, her lips curling into something like a half-smile of thanks, but it didn’t last. She turned her attention back to the fight, but the brief moment made Hvitserk’s chest tighten. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he needed her to understand.

He was sorry, he still loved her, he still wanted a future with her...

Then, the horn sounded.

A sharp, unmistakable note. The retreat. Bjorn's forces were losing.

Ivar was winning.

But that wasn’t what shook Hvitserk to his core. It was the realization of what that meant for (y/n). If she didn’t leave now, Ivar would hunt her down the very moment the battle was over, just like he would do to Lagertha, Ubbe, Bjorn, and all the other leaders.

She wouldn’t survive.

His heart raced in his chest as he turned to her. She was scanning the battlefield, looking for her next warrior to fight, unaware of the danger closing in around her. He reached for her and grabbed her arm, his grip tightening as the horn's echo lingered in the air.

“You need to go,” he said, his voice raw.

(Y/n) shook her head in defiance. “I’m not leaving you, Hvitserk,” she replied, pulling her arm free of his grasp.

His lips pressed into a tight line, and he shook his head. “You have to. Ivar won’t let you live. He’ll come for you, for all of you.”

Hvitserk’s chest tightened. Blood smeared across her face, but the fire in her eyes was unmistakable. He knew her. He knew how stubborn and fierce she was. But he also knew what Ivar would do.

"Ivar will hunt you down. He'll kill you without hesitation. He won't care that you're..." his voice faltered. "He won't care what you mean to me."

Her eyes softened at the admission, and for a moment, the noise of the battlefield around them faded away. She reached for his cheek, brushing away the dirt and blood. “And you’ll stay with him?”

Hvitserk closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her touch. He wanted so badly to walk away with her, to take her far from this madness. But the pull of his brother, of the bond they shared...even with all the brokenness...he couldn't let it go.

“I don’t have a choice,” he admitted. “He’s my brother. If I don’t stand with him, I’ll lose more than I already have.”

(Y/n) swallowed hard, blinking away the sting of tears. “You’ll lose me, too,” she said gently.

His eyes opened, meeting hers with a conflicted gaze. “I lost you the day I jumped ship,” he murmured. “And it’s haunted me every moment since. But I have to see this through...I can’t leave him.”

A small, sad smile tugged at her lips as her hand fell from his face. She could see the pain etched into his features. “I know,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "You're being torn apart. I can see it in your eyes."

Her words broke something in him. He dropped his forehead to hers, his breath shuddering. “My love,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

(Y/n) closed her eyes, savoring the closeness she'd longed for for months. She cupped his face again with her free hand, her thumb brushing against the roughness of his cheek. “I know,” she said softly. “I know you are.”

The horn sounded again, louder this time. A reminder that their moment was slipping away.

“Stay alive, my love,” he whispered, his lips brushing her skin lightly as the words left his mouth. “Stay alive. Please.”

(Y/n) couldn't speak as emotion washed over her.

“Now go,” he repeated, pulling back just enough to look at her. “Please.”

Her lips trembled, but she nodded. “Promise me that you’ll find your way back to me someday.”

Hvitserk's lip twitched...a ghost of the smile she remembered. “I’ll find you.”

With one last lingering look, (y/n) stepped back, her hand sliding from his face. “I’ll see you again,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to fall.

Hvitserk nodded, his eyes never leaving her. “Go,” he urged.

And then, with one last look, she turned and ran. Hvitserk watched until she disappeared into the chaos, and his heart broke a little more with every step she took away from him. Only then did he turn his focus back on the battle, gripping his axe tightly. With a loud roar, he charged the nearest enemy.

The berserker was back.

6 Months Later

The battle was over. Ivar had been defeated at last.

Hvitserk stood beside Bjorn and King Herald in the square as King Olaf stood before them, a blue flag in his hand.

"Here's to the new year of all our lives, Bjorn Ironside," he announced, handing the flag to the eldest Ragnarsson.

Hvitserk couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. It was finally over. After all the time he spent with Ivar, he could finally have peace, he finally got his home back. The people of Kattegat would no longer have a cruel dictator ruling over them.

A commotion rippled through the onlookers as figures emerged from the edges of the square, and Hvitserk’s heart skipped when he saw them...Ubbe, Torvi, and…her.

(Y/n).

For a moment, Hvitserk froze. His heart thudded against his chest, and he felt an overwhelming rush of relief. There she was...alive. After everything. His breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure what to do at first. So much had happened, and in the chaos of battle and their long separation, he hadn’t allowed himself to fully imagine this moment. He watched as she took a few tentative steps forward.

Then, as if something within him finally snapped, Hvitserk took a breath, his eyes locked onto hers, and he quickly walked toward her. When they were mere feet apart, Hvitserk’s resolve faltered. He didn’t wait any longer. His arms went around her instinctively, and he lifted her off her feet.

He felt the warmth of her against him, the familiar weight of her body, and everything else fell away. For that brief moment, there was nothing but her...alive, in his arms. His breath came in a rush, his chest tight with emotion as he held her there, not caring about the stares of those around him, not caring about anything but the overwhelming sense of relief that surged through him.

"I found you," Hvitserk whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking slightly as the words escaped him. It was the promise he'd made when they'd parted on the battlefield months before.

(Y/n)’s arms wrapped around his neck and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her touch was the thing he didn’t even realize he needed. After everything he had been through, the battles, the loss, the guilt, her touch was the only thing that made everything feel still...like he could breathe again.

Slowly, he lowered her back to the ground, his hands lingering on her arms, almost afraid to let go. But she wasn’t waiting for him to speak. Her warm hands came up to his face, her fingers brushing over his bloody jaw, and she smiled softly, the tears in her eyes making his heart beat impossibly faster.

"I think I'm the one that found you," she smirked, tearily gazing up at him.

A breathy laugh left his lips as he opened his mouth to speak, but the words failed him. What could he say? Everything felt too small to capture what he was feeling in this moment.

"I—" he started, his voice low and rough. But before he could finish, he closed the space between them. His lips brushed hers softly at first, gentle and lingering. The kiss was tentative as if they were both savoring the moment, tasting the reunion. Hvitserk’s fingers lightly cupped her face, gently tracing the curve of her jaw.

When they pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers. "I love you," he murmured. "I'm never leaving you again."

(Y/n) smiled through the tears, her fingers brushing the blood on his face as she leaned in again, this time with more confidence.

"Good," she whispered against his lips.

She then fully pressed her lips to his, and this time, Hvitserk didn’t hesitate. His hands slid down her back, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. There was a heat to it now, the emotions spilling out in the press of their lips.

When they broke apart again, Hvitserk’s breath was a little uneven. His eyes locked on hers as he gently touched her cheek. "Marry me."

She nodded immediately, tugging him down towards her with a wide smile. "Yes."

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[ubbesbabymama]

Their friend is pregnant, pt. 2.

↳ Pairing. Hvitserk The Berserker, Sigurd Snake in The Eye, Ivar The Boneless.

↳ Summary. How would they react to their dear friend being pregnant. [I imagine this with them having the same kind of friendship that Ragnar had with Athelstan but with the reader].

↳ Warnings. Violence, death, abusive relationships, smut/mention of sex.

↳ Note. A second part so I could write the ones that are left because is just so much fun to write this plot.

Part one.

Hvitserk The Berserker.

He adores you, he genuinely thinks you’re the only perfect person on earth and he would do anything to protect you from anybody, even himself.

He is busy between a thrall’s legs, making everything in his power to make her scream his name, thrusting like a madman when he hears his name being called and he stops right away. That’s not the thrall’s voice.

“Hvitserk,” You sob and he can’t help but to pull out and push the woman, running to you while fixing his pants.

“Come here, come here,” He mumbles, taking you in his arms and walking to another room that doesn’t smell like sex.

He sits on the floor in front of a bonfire with you on his lap, and you move around till your legs are around him just like he is around you. You move again and he grunts.

“D-Don’t move too much,” He whispers.

“O-Oh! I’m sorry, forgive—,” You try to move but he grips your thighs. “Hvitserk.”

“Forget everything else and tell me why are you crying,” He says. “Talk to me.”

“Why do I have to talk to you while your cock is poking into my backside?” You ask him and he grunts again, this time because of your stubbornness.

“That is because I got interrupted while I was getting it down, now, talk to me or I am going to take my axe and go look for the information myself.” He threatens.

You sigh and clean your face a little before looking at him.

“I am with child.”

“That’s not true,” He chuckles and panics when your eyes start to fill with tears, and he takes your face in his hands. “Wait— no, no, no sweat heart.”

“Y-You don’t believe me either,” You sob in his hands and he shakes his head.

“I thought it was another one of your pranks, I apologize little one,” You nod, sobbing. He frowns. “Either?”

“He kicked me out of the house… literally,” You whisper, rolling your dress to show him your scratched knees, you show him your hands and they’re scratched too. “He said I cheated on him, that a whore like me could find a man to breed me really fast just so I could trap—,”

You stop talking when Hvitserk moves you around, standing up and taking you with him. He puts his hand on the small of your back to guide you out of the room and back to his room. In silence he takes off your dirty dress and tosses it to the side, he looks around for a moment and comes back with a shirt of him, he helps you put it on.

“I’m going to be right back, get under the covers,” He quietly says, you shake your head, and he sighs. “Under the covers, please.”

“You’re going to kill him.” You whisper.

“Of course, I’m going to kill him, for starters, I gave you that house, he has no right to kick you out, and second, while you’re with child?” He snorts with malice.

“Hvitserk,” He looks at you and holds your stare to let you know that he is not backing down. You nod to yourself and kiss his cheek. “I’ll wait for you awake.”

You know he is back when some thralls enter the room with the tub, he enters right behind them and you gasp, he is bathed in blood, from the hair to his boots.

“What in Odin’s green earth did you do to him?!” You ask alarmed, he shrugs and starts to take his clothes off in front of you and the thralls. “Hvitserk!”

“I tied him to a tree and started beating him,” He looks up slowly, his eyes cold. “I beat him till his last breath.”

“You’re insane,” You whisper, getting out of bed when he gets inside the tub. You start to undo his braids.

“For you, I can be worse than Ivar, you know this already.” He chants, not a single trace of regret on his face.

“Yeah well, you killed the abusive father of my child,” You roll your eyes. “So it’s safe to say that you’re now a father.”

He smirks.

“Great.”

Sigurd Snake In The Eye.

Everybody could see how much you mean to him, it was as obvious as the fact that the sun would shine every day. When it comes to you he knows no reason or shame, going as far as to beg if he needs to.

“I-I can’t find her,” He murmurs when all his brothers are gathered to hunt.

“Who?” Ubbe asks.

“What do you mean you can’t find her? It’s almost as if you live together,” Hvitserk jokes.

“I think her husband has something to do with her suddenly disappearing.” He swallows and just now everybody feels the tension in the air. “I-I need help, please.”

Suddenly Ivar starts crawling away and everybody looks at him, he stops and looks back directly at Sigurd.

“What are you doing there? We have to find her.” He grunts and in no time Sigurd is by his side.

That’s how much you mean to Sigurd, so much that even his younger brother whom he always argues about anything not dare to joke around.

And he finds you, in a small cabin deep in the woods, thanks to Hvitserk’s insight in the town he founds that your husband owns this cabin for when he goes hunting alone.

He enters the cabin and sucks a breath when he sees you in a corner hugging your legs. He takes one step and your husband comes out and pulls you by the hair, you yelp.

“If you get close I will kill them both!” He screams and Sigurd frown.

“Who’s them?” He whispers to himself, and you sob.

“You didn’t tell him? You’re carrying his child and you didn’t—,”

“Because it’s not his!” You cry, looking at Sigurd and his stare makes you stop trembling a little. You’re safe, Sigurd is here.

Suddenly an arrow enters from behind Sigurd, right on top of his head, and embedded right onto your husband’s head, him being so tall makes it easy for the archer to shoot without fearing it would hit you.

Sigurd looks behind him and nods to Ubbe, who just nods back and starts walking back with his brother, leaving him with you.

He opens his arms and watches how you run and jump on him, his arms sliding around you, one on your thigh and the other on your waist.

“I’m here now, shh…” He comforts you while walking till he leans on a wall. “Nobody can’t hurt you anymore.”

You sob on his neck and he hums.

“I’m tired,” You murmur and he nods.

He takes you back to the town and directly into his room and orders the thralls to prepare a bath for you. When everything’s ready he undresses you and lets you get inside the tub, he’s about to start looking for clothes for you but your grip on his hand stops him.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m getting in with you,” He says to calm you down and when he sees you expectant he undresses and gets inside too, behind you.

He starts to caress your belly, he supposed you haven’t seen your monthly blood and that’s why you know you’re with child since it’s not clear in your belly.

“You’re going to start living here,” He whispers in your ear. “So I can take care of you better.”

“You have obligations,” You whisper.

“And you’re the main one,” He hums. “Yes?”

“Yes.”

Ivar The Boneless.

Nobody understands how you can stand Ivar, with the man being borderline obsessed with you. The only reason why you can lay with men is that he is certain that he can’t satisfy a woman and he would rather be burned alive than disappoint you from all people, but other than that, he lets no man get close to you unless you directly tell him that you chose that man to warm your chambers, he has bodyguards for you, thralls for you, he gives you a quarter of everything he owns or gets. Even when he goes raiding everybody knows that a lot of the goods are yours and yours only. That’s how obsessed Ivar The Boneless is with you.

Of course, it’s almost impossible to hide things from him, more so with the people in town being so eager to bring him information about you just to be favored, so as soon as you’re being yelled at and tossed around by the Viking Ivar is notified.

“You think after three times you can already be with child?! Do you think I’m stupid?!” The man was yelling at you, but you weren’t backing down. No sir.

“After ONE time of laying together, I can already be with child, or do you think your seed is so weak you need more than once? even more than three? Poor you.” You mock and gasp when he pushes you, making you fall onto your backside, you whimper at the burn in your hands for breaking the fall.

“I should just kill you and that bastard right now!” He yells, and you spit on your side in response.

“Who?” You freeze, feeling chills run down your spine. That voice only means problems, and a lot of them. “Who are you going to kill? My woman?”

You feel him right beside you, leaning on his crutch. He looks down at you and nods and you nod back, slowly standing up.

“L-Lord I-Ivar,” The man stuttered.

“So? You’re going to kill my woman, you say?” Ivar says, his tone friendly but his eyes, oh those eyes.

“N-no, no my lord,” The man keeps stuttering. “It’s this woman who says she’s carrying my child.”

Ivar face snaps to the side, looking at you while anger starts to bubble in his system, a burning feeling in his chest, he squints his eyes at you and silently you start to pray to the gods for the life of the man.

“When I was hunting and you were keeping me company, that was your last month bleeding, right?” Ivar says and he’s not actually asking, he knows that information, for he’s the one you always go to when you’re in pain, but you nod anyways. “And he pushed you while you’re carrying a child?”

You nod again.

“Yes, Ivar.” The man grimaces when he hears you call Ivar by his name and without honorifics, why nobody told him he was laying with someone so important? “He did.”

Ivar’s face slowly turns to the man, and he grins.

“Now I have to decide whether you die—,”

“Ivar can I—,” You start but are interrupted.

“NO!” He snaps, pointing at you with his finger. “You do not get to save him from this, you do not get a saying this time!”

“Ivar,” Your own anger makes you grind your teeth. “Can I go home? My feet are hurting and I need to get a healer for my hands.”

He blinks and looks down at your bloody hands from the fall before, he sighs, feeling bad at the way he talked to you when you weren’t even trying to help the man.

“I’ll finish this quickly,” Ivar says and in the blink of an eye, the man is being dragged by Ivar’s men while crying and babbling apologies.

You don’t let Ivar say anything more and start walking home and when you get there you ask for a healer and after being done with your hands and a quick checkup on your overall health you ask for a hot bath.

“It’s ready, my lady,” The thrall says just in time for Ivar’s entrance, she gasps and starts to tremble.

“You can go now, don’t come back again, you may take the tub out tomorrow,” You whisper tiredly.

Ivar is covered in blood and even you get a chill run down your spine. It looks grotesque, never has he had so much blood on him from just one person, he looks demonic even.

“I’m—,” He starts but you lift your hand.

“I honestly don’t want to hear it,” You murmur, starting to get undressed.

He looks at you with attention, watching you moan when the hot water gets in contact with your skin.

“I’m sorry.” He finishes what he was saying earlier and you roll your eyes.

“I’m with child, I got pushed by the father of the child and then he got killed by you and I imagine it was in the most animalistic way you could think of,” You tell him coldly. “I’m tired, I didn’t need you snapping at me when I was the one being mistreated, you may go now if that’s going to happen again.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s all he says, he looks emotionless, his voice too. But you know that those words coming out of Ivar’s mouth is already a blessing.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I’m not leaving.” He says, crawling more closer.

“You look scary.”

“I’ll get clean after you tell me how are you,” He whispers and you sigh.

“What am I going to do now?” You whisper to him, getting close to him.

“Nothing, you don’t need to do anything,” He whispers. “Just let me take care of you. Both of you.”

“You already do that,” You smile.

He smiles and leans, giving you a soft kiss although you could tell it doesn’t mean anything more.

“Yes I do, until the gods call me to Valhalla.”

[vikingstoriesblog]

Vikings writing

who i write for

Ivar the boneless

Ragnar Lothbrok

Bjorn Ironside

Harald Finehair

Halfdan Black

Hvitserk the berserker

Rollo Lothbrok

Helga

Floki

Lagertha

Aslaug

King Ecbert

what i write

Romance

Angst

Dark

Fluff

Comedy

[honestsycrets]

A Dog No Longer I

❛ request | this is a request for hvitserk’s 5crown, um i was wondering if you could possibly write something about reader rejecting his marriage proposal considering that their relationship was strictly for sex but he fell in love, then years later he sees her married to someone else and we see a little dark!hvit or like berserker!hvitty

for hvitserks 5crown, could you maybe write something where he is fed up being the brother who hasn’t accomplished much so he challenges another earl for their kingdom and wins but instead of removing the wife he marries her himself and she is like some incredible shield maiden and she really hates him but he’s hvit is determined to win her over ? thanks lots love your writing btw like so much

❛ word count | 2043

❛ genre | action 

❛ summary | You were always meant to be his. But you never took him seriously.

❛ warnings | dueling, character death, violence, jealousy, aggression, light humiliation

He had many women but never a wife. None gave him the desire to make her his wife. Or rather, none before the shield maiden (Y/N), Berseker’s Bane. When you entered the field his men felt a sense of rejuvenation. Long were the hours upon the field pressing on to claim land in the name of his brother Ubbe. So when you appeared and shouted with the howl of a Valkyrie, calling out to Odin and Freyja, they would shout with you.  They would handle the smaller sort of warriors and you, just like his brother Bjorn Ironside, would take care of berserkers. You had a knack for it and sought them out on a bloodied field of fear induced excrement.

Come here, son of Ragnar.

For some time he wondered if the introduction of sex was his idea or hers. If the way that she wove her hips in front of a lit flame in front of Torvi’s body, climbing over her with the pure intention of driving him wild, was all an act to bring a son of Ragnar into her bed. Every moment that you rode him, driving his cum out into your fertile womb was nothing to you. This was all for a purpose. To have a child from the house of Lothbrok growing within your stomach.

Did you think this was ever more than sex for me Hvitserk?

Did you think you were actually special?

One day-- You no longer wanted him.

You could never have me. You laughed and went on about your business leaving him to his with a stomach full of his child. Years passed and Ubbe passed in battle. Torvi, as she always claimed, went down with him. In the last years that he made up for the death of Guthrum with the life of his nephews, there was a rise in your name. That was fine… good. Good until he came to Aarhus and all went to shit.

“King Hvitserk!” The man bellows. Older, but not bad looking. His hair was cropped short, shaved around the sides. Snakes wrap from one side to another. Earl Eirikr was a fine earl. His people were well loved and cared for. Trade began to flourish in Aarhus, making it one of the larger trading points in his newly acquired lands. But… there was an issue.

The woman sitting beside him as his would be queen? That was you. He can barely recognize you donning beautiful golden dangling earrings that contrasted against the passionate red that drove his hand straight to his pants as he walked in beside his nephews. The old man welcomes him forward with his other hand around your waist.

“My wife has told me much about you!”

He bet he fucking did. You wore that fine, unrepentant pride with your head raised. Obviously you were proud that you had gotten one up on a son of Ragnar. That couldn’t stand. He wouldn’t let it.

“What brings you to Aarhus?” King Eirikr asks. Hvitserk comes to a stop in front of the older king, his hand upon the pommel of his braid. Hvitserk’s nose tickles as he shifts to look at him past fluffy furs.

“You have stolen the woman I intended to make my wife. I need to spill blood.” Hvitserk says. Eirikr glances to you with his stormy grey eyes worn by bags of his stress. Reigning had aged him-- and so had you, apparently. He expects to speak and yet-- you did it for him.

“Ah.” Eirikr clears his throat turning to face you just slightly. “I did not not know you had an arrangement.”

“We didn’t. No man makes me do anything. I thought you would know that by now, Hvitserk. I suppose not, given how your brother-- dear late Ubbe always handed everything down to you.” Like a woman you egg him on. Hvitserk’s eyes keep still. The older he got, the wiser he became. He knew far more than expect that you would treat him with respect.

It’s a ploy to run him off.

“You’ve disrespected me. I challenge you to a duel.” Hvitserk folds his arms over his chest by his nephews. Gladly you step up to receive him.

“Not you.” Hvitserk holds your eyes. The heat he brings to the engagement is more than the little brat you were so used to. The pretty boy of the Ragnarssons who seemed to be more woman than man to you. His features are hardened. Once full cheeks streaked by scar and the long days of battle.

“If you are really a man, you will fight me for your wife’s hand. If you lose, I will take her and your lands.” Hvitserk says in a silken trill. At this you shove forward, huffing against his skin. The air you exhale into his face would normally have made him falter when it was you. Ubbe… and you. Nothing changes this time: if you were to say no on behalf of Eirikr, it would have been a show of weakness. After all, no man said no to a duel.

“Fine.”

Your fists clench into tight balls at your sides. If there was one thing Hvitserk knew you hated-- it was being the stereotypical woman looking for her forever man on her knees. You had rather take up his very sword and gut him like a raw fish regardless of the consequence.

“Mother? What are these men doing?”

A small figure pushes through the crowd. Young, yes, but approaching the age of manhood. These were vital years for him to learn the good art of battle, stratagem and self preservation. Hvitserk catches him within his vision-- green eye meeting green eye. No fool here would be able to tell Hvitserk Ragnarsson that this little boy was NOT his. The same willowy body, blond hair beginning to turn into his honey brown hue. You lurch out to tug the boy to your body, turning him and bringing your arms in front.

“This is your father, King Hvitserk and these are his men.”

Standing in front of him is a thin little boy. It doesn’t immediately register that this is the son you left him over at first. The same must have gone for the fine young man in front of him. What stories had you made up for why he was here?

“I don’t understand, mother. Why is he here?” The young man stands his ground in confidence that Hvitserk himself didn’t have at such a young age.

“For your mother.” Hvitserk unclips his furs and hands it off to his young nephew. He bends before his son, gliding his hand over the young boy’s arm to his shoulder.

“I’m here to take your mother as my wife.”

Never once had your son been approached by someone like that. There were shieldmaidens seeking your advice, men that congratulated his stepfather on arranging a good and fair marriage. All of these instances were blessings.

“No!”

With a whap of his fist against his cheek, Hvitserk raises away from his son. He would get used to it. Children were as fickle as women were. While he might be saying no now, he would be saying another story when his broken family was put together. The young man turns to hold you as if he could change this for an instant.

Something low in Eirikr’s stomach tells him that there was no coming out of this. For he had not the luck to fight a Ragnarsson, something that Hvitserk and all his glory did have. A man that was handed everything finally come to make something out of nothing? It would have been about time.

“Hurry up, Eirikr.” Hvitserk warms a dark, deep smile. “I can’t wait to bed my wife.”

Despite knowing better than to goad Hvitserk on, you reach out toward your husband. If another man wanted to fight for you, you wouldn’t just stand by without getting under Hvitserk’s skin. Long ago, Hvitserk used to be a man of primal things. Gluttony and pride were his chief concerns, oh but you knew, envy boiled underneath the surface.

“You can do this.” You brought your husband around, guiding his large hands around your waist. Slowly you guide Eirik into a smooth kiss, your palms against his furry beard. There’s something there beneath your rough exterior… something almost affectionate that Eirikr brings out of you. In all the time that he fucked you, he can’t recall once.

Not once that you touched him like that. Your hands never stroked the softness of his cheeks or held his jaw while you kissed him, lips and tongue all working against his own. Not during sex and especially not out of sex in the company of all these men. The normal, youthful Hvitserk would have just looked down. Look away and pretend that he was the dog that everyone on Midgard made him out to be. Even you who he thought… he truly thought he had something with. This in fact was another illusion by Loki and Hvitserk? Suddenly he was back to being that clueless dog. Not anymore.

His hand flew to his belt, clutching the grip of his sword and in one fine sweep he unsheathed it. You notice it before your husband, pulling your lips free from his just seconds too late.

“Uncle wait!”

He spins out and his blade slashes into the soft skin of your husband’s side to split his tunic open. Eirikr makes a sharp bark of pain in response, falling back toward the closest one of his men. Using the weight in his steps, Hvitserk stomps towards him without heeding anyone’s word in the matter. It’s not a fair start-- Hvitserk should have waited! The crowd begins to roar in protest.

You hold up your hand knowing that backing down would shame your husband who was… not of the same state of mind as Eirikr. For him, this was a fight. For Hvitserk, this was so much more. Everything accumulating up over the years in this one moment. In a way you thought he longed to show you the sort of man he could be.

“He is berserking.” You say from the side, reaching out toward your feisty green eyed son. Your arms tighten around him like a cage to keep him in place.

“I’ve never seen one up close!” Your young boy says as if it is a spectacle that causes you to cringe. No man should have to fight a man that bit his shield and roared with the feistiness of Nidghoggr. Eirikr darts underneath table in search for his weapon. Hvitserk follows close behind looking to devour him whole. When he finally gains ahold of a weapon, he might as well had not have had it in the first place.

Hvitserk is fast. He sweeps this way and that, weaving and ducking with every slash of the earl’s sword. Your son shouts something toward the man that raised him, pricking your ears with his words of love and encouragement. It wasn’t meant to last. Hvitserk puts all his weight into a sweep, thrusting the blade out of his hand. Hvitserk sweeps his blade up, then down his throat. It’s done.

Then, with that same hungry look, he looks to you.

The sons of Ubbe back away, your hands shake upon your little boy with every pounding step he takes. The innocent boy you once knew is now tainted by blood, splattered across his face with drips over his slender lips.

One of your hands leave your son’s chest, ignoring the stifled tears that spill down from his almond shaped eyes. Hvitserk spares the boy a look, flicking his head in the direction of his nephews. So you push him in that direction, raising your head with the same indignation as earlier. 

“You were always overly prideful.” Hvitserk husks, reaching a bloodied hand out to your chin. He tips your head up. “But not anymore, are you?” 

Before you can respond, Hvitserk ducks down to pick you up with his hands on the back of your knees. He stands with your body over his shoulder, pridefully stomping toward your room. As a shieldmaiden, it makes your teeth grind to be unable to stop him.

After all, he did win.

@igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok, @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @cbouvier23, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @end-of-night, @gruffle1, @lol-haha-joke@arses21434,  @smileyparrots, @Moosemittens13, @miss-artemis-wild, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @wonderwoman292, @wish-i-was-a-mermaid, @fangirls94, @mcuimxgine, @killerb00sdeath, @heartbeats-wildly, @boo20017, @acacheofstrange, @shaelyn102, @astoryoffireandlight, @smokealone, @shaelyn102

[ofmanderley]

IN DEPTH FANDOM QUESTIONS 

@ritual-unions-gotme asked: Top 5 favourite characters? ( early seasons ) Rollo [ 1 / 5 ]

[kikuthestrange]

I love berserk hvitserk his movement is on point. Soooo good. Ugh I'm thirsty. :3

[undiscovered-horizon]

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

Vikings preference: You get injured while they're gone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hellisateenagewerewolf]

VIKINGS

ISIS;THE SILVER BERSERKER

Hell is a woman scorned

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.

She was crazy but he made her evil

And together they made terror

Click here for series

Settings : Viking Era

Warning: 18+

Genre: Romance/Drama/Epic  

Pairings: Ivar Ragnarsson, Isis Lagerthasdottir , Hvitserk Ragnarsson  

[siriustreasure]

drabbles 001

a/n: am i reviving this blog? i guess you’ll just have to wait and see :) also if a drabble says ‘final here’ but there’s no link yet, it’s because i haven’t finished the full version yet but when i do, i shall link it <3

summary: collection one of writings that a) i never finished or b) never made it into the final piece. most of these are hvitserk x sister! reader lmao

1. another one bites the dust: final here

summary : ivar’s temper results in the death of yet another sibling.

author’s note : ended up rewriting this section, if you’d like to read the final version click here !

once they had reached a point appropriate for the beserker’s send off, not so close that the men accompanying ragnarsson could hear and not so far that the send off was premature, they stopped. the two adults let go of the girl’s hands so that they could embrace each other.

2. blessing (first draft of bundle of joy): final here

summary : hvitserk finally has what he’s always wanted, someone to love. a daughter. he thinks he has, at least.

warnings : allusion to a still-birth, mentions of pregnancy and labour, mentions of death

author’s note : ended up rewriting this, final version is here ! also if you think “father’s here” is weird ( like as opposed to “daddy’s here” ) i’m sorry, i decided to say “father’s” instead because literally nobody in vikings ever says “daddy” so 1) it wouldn’t be very in character and 2) i don’t think it’d be era appropriate :’)

hvitserk waited with baited breath. it seemed that all he’d been doing recently was waiting. unfortunately for the new father, patience did not come easily, especially not for events he was excited for, such as your birth. he’d had to wait the standard nine months, an additional two months for spontaneous labour to finally occur, thirty-six hours of labour, then the unspecified time it took for you to take your first breath. idun had already gone. as she had when hvitserk first met her, she’d left once the task at hand had been accomplished. the goddess of youth had released you from the confines of her uterus, as she had been tasked, and thus was gone. it was apparently no concern of hers whether you lived or died. in that moment, all hvitserk cared about was the cry you had yet to free. a twitch, even, if you were shy.

in the time it took for you to give a sign of life, you’d been washed thoroughly and swaddled in fur. when a wail finally did break through the air, your wail to be exact, hvitserk gently snatched you out of the midwife’s arms and held you closely to his chest. first he cried, happy tears of course, then he laughed. “i have a baby!” your cries quickly turned to coos as you were fussed over. “she needs to be fed”, said the midwife, as she came to take you away. hvitserk glared at the woman, stopping her in her tracks. he’d almost forgotten, babies had to be carried by their mothers for at least one year, sometimes up to four years depending on the reliability of food sources, so they could be fed whenever necessary, and so that any signs of disability, not present at birth, could be recognised. motherless babies, therefore, were given to another woman which meant the time they got to spend with their fathers was limited. hvitserk wouldn’t allow that to happen. he couldn’t. holding you even closer to his chest, he stumbled backwards, taking you out of the midwife’s reach. “i’ll see to it that she is fed”, he said. the midwife opened and closed her mouth, like a fish. your father’s eyes darted between her, the floor and you. “i said, i’ll see to it.” smart enough to know not to annoy a son of ragnar, especially one known as the berserker, the midwife and her assistants left. hvitserk kissed the top of your head, “father’s here little one, father’s here.”

3. no title:

summary : ubbe must explain the events after the defeat of king aelle and king ecbert to his sister.

author’s note : i stopped writing this because i remembered that lagertha already knew about sigurd’s death when ubbe returned and i know she didn’t know that ivar and hvitserk had become ubbe’s enemies until he told her but sigurd’s death was going to be the thing with the highest impact but if the reader knew what had happened it wouldn’t be as dramatic y’know? i might rewrite it so it focuses more on like the reader comforting ubbe but idk it’s 6am and i still haven’t slept yet ✌️

y/n had made sure to be in the front line of welcomers, she’d missed her brothers terribly. kattegat was more like a house than home without them. life was too quiet. lonely. although lagertha treated her fairly, almost like her own daughter, and y/n sometimes found herself wishing lagertha had been her mother instead of aslaug, their lack of shared blood made it hard for y/n to fully accept lagertha as ‘family’. if ragnar’s sons ever did split, lagertha would not hesitate to choose bjorn, even if it meant labelling y/n as an enemy. of course, ragnar’s daughter would never condemn lagertha for that choice. she’d do the same.

perhaps y/n should’ve guessed that something was wrong as early as when the boats first came into view. despite how tiny they looked, it was obvious that the number of returning boats was far less than the number that had left. perhaps she was justified in not worrying. she was waiting for the sons of ragnar, after all. what on earth could’ve happened to them?

once the faces of the returning avengers were decipherable, y/n realised that out of the five figures she’d originally identified as her brothers, four had the right hair but the wrong faces. only one had both. her face fell. surely the gods were not so greedy. people began jumping into the arms of loved ones, jostling y/n who simply looked at ubbe, like a deer in headlights. whatever had happened, was bad. he wouldn’t get off the boat, opting instead to help others who were perfectly capable of getting off themselves. he wouldn’t even look at her. “ubbe?” she finally called as a wall of water began to block her eyes. silence. “ubbe.” some progress, he’d gotten off the boat… and walked right past his sister. he was not trying to be rude, and he would later regret behaving like this, he was just overwhelmed. he’d effectively lost three brothers. scared. what if y/n wanted to leave him too? disappointed. he’d failed. upon turning, ragnarsdottir found that ubbe had gone straight to margethe. the water wall in her eyes shattered. “ubbe!” everyone was now looking between them. “what happened?”

4. no title:

author’s note : this is a bit of an ✨artistic✨ vent, it doesn’t go into too much detail about what i’m dealing with, it’s more focused on what i wish would happen / what i think would help even a bit so pls proceed with some caution if you’re not in the right state of mind for a ( smol ) vent

warnings : angst, fluff, feeling alone, feeling unloved

“hvitserk?” “y/n!” he smiled, long pause “i feel unloved… like everyone who says they love me only say that because they have to, because we’re family but… not because they actually mean it.” she mumbled, with her head down, feeling ashamed. unbeknownst to her, hvitserk had come to crouch in front of her, in part to hear better and in part to comfort her because she was obviously distressed. he didn’t respond tho which made y/n even uneasier, eventually she looked up to see hvitserk staring back at her. “i don’t mean” he hugged her.

didn’t really know how to articulate what i wanted here

“what can i do? what can all of us do?”

“i don’t know. it’s just, when i was younger, you’d all fuss over me constantly. i only started to learn how to walk because of lagertha” they all chuckled “you all said that princesses shouldn’t have to walk. now i’m older, i know i can’t expect you to carry me all the time like you used to, though i miss it terribly, but i feel like you never want to be around me… like it’s a chore. i just… i guess i want to be noticed.”

5. heart bangs:

author’s note : this is a very self indulgent piece of trash that won’t mean anything to a lot of people but its 2am and i just gave myself heart bangs ( side note : they’re so cute but kinda hard to actually curl into the heart oof ) aNyWaY this is just all my pas ( like plural of pa ) reacting to it. in exactly the same way. because i feel kind of empowered rn but i also need encouragement / validation... um yeah the idea is just imagine it being said in their voice. ok ? ok

sirius black : “i’m so proud of you.”

arthur morgan : “i’m proud o’ ya.”

howl pendragon : “i’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

hvitserk ragnarsson : “i’m so proud of you.”

6. survival of the fittest:

summary : inspired by the horse carcass scene from the revenant, as the winter sun progresses hvitserk worries his sister will not survive the cold. desperate to prove these worries wrong, hvitserk utilises a horse in a way not even ragnar had done. surely, the gods had guided them to the horse on purpose.

a/n : sorry if the horse bit lacks detail or doesn’t make much sense, i haven’t actually seen the revenant and i don’t really want to watch that scene so 🥺 i was just watching a video about method acting and the narrator mentioned this scene so yeah anyway i hope you enjoy... it? idk if ‘enjoy’ is the right word. also this is sort of linked to my ‘skogarmaor’ snippet but also not... it’s like an au i guess. idk it’s a mess ok? ok

“come on. it’s just like wearing a cloak... but bigger.”

“i can’t. i won’t.”

“hvitserk?” she whispered, eyes wide from shock

{{{ something about her throwing up }}}

her nose, her cheeks, her lips were all raw, red, ragged. they looked like they were bleeding. he blamed himself entirely. there was the obvious ‘if he hadn’t been drunk, if he’d beaten his addiction when ubbe tried to help him’ but there was also the fact that he, granted not only he, had sheltered y/n to the highest possible degree. she was hardly viking. yes she was viking by blood. yes she believed in the norse gods... but she was weak. small. delicate. a flower surrounded by thorns. a viking princess who, though she’d heavily deny it, was more akin to those in england.

he stared at her tiny face, now framed by the bear’s belly, “i’m right here. you’re ok... you’re going to be ok.” he smiled sadly, “sleep.”

7. untitled:

summary : dialogue between hvitserk and his sister after the events of the finale

“what do you want to do, hmm? do you want to go back to kattegat? do you want to find ubbe?”

“with you or without you?”

he sighed, “i’m staying here.”

“then that is what i will do. we’ve always been together, i know nothing else.”

“i jumped ship.”

“and look what happened.” she stormed out. hvitserk clenched a fist and assaulted the air. he was trying to help her.

8. untitled:

a/n : indulgent sad girl hours; father figure! teacher x daughter figure! oc

she’d had enough. all she wanted to do was give up but she couldn’t, and she didn’t know why. so, she ran. she ran through all the streets that brought her pain because those were the only places she knew to go. she ran until she couldn’t anymore. until her lungs were on fire. then, she sat on a little wall, well perhaps it was a wall once, she sat on a line of two bricks and cried her eyes out; without a care in the world for who saw. “y/n?” her attention was pulled to the main road. there, her english teacher sat in his car, at the red light. “you ok?” he asked. y/n aggressively wiped her tears away with a sleeve, before nodding, again aggressively. the man faltered, “are you sure?” y/n continued to nod, but her face grew redder and redder, until, eventually, her lips trembled and her tears flooded her face once again. the teacher glanced at his rear view mirrors, he could turn without disturbing the people behind him, so he did. into the little road in front of y/n. he parked, he got out, he approached her. “what happened?” he waited, patiently, but she didn’t respond. “it’s getting a little late, is there someone you want me to call? home, maybe?” “i don’t want to go home.” shit. “i know this is highly inappropriate but i don’t want to just leave you out here. do you want to come... do you want to come to mine?” she did. so he took her. nothing bad or inappropriate happened. he essentially babysat her. he took on the role of a father. she was his daughter.

[majesticwren]

Imagine: Hvitserk Ragnarsson is your Husband.

A/N: I personally packed and wrapped and presented this headcanon with as much fluff as I could. As requested by my lovely @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 💕 I do hope it won't disappoint (and I am sorry it took me aeons to get around and finish it............ Let's ignore that part pls 😂) I am also, kind of, thinking to accept headcanons requests, since the only one I wrote before had a bit of success......... But we'll see. Trigger-warnings: as much fluff as I can possibly produce, Hvitserk being Hvitserk, mild to a bit less mild sex references.

You are everything for Hvitserk Ragnarsson. Let's begin from there. You are the reason why he breathes, let alone his research for glory and Viking pride. Every single one of his victories, he shares with you - he wants to win for you. It can be a brawl or war.

On your wedding day, he cried a little bit for how lucky he felt, and for how pretty he thought you were, with your crown of flowers and colourful dress. He proudly wears the wedding ring that binds him to you.

For a long time, Hvitserk Ragnarrson's quest has been to understand his fate and how much he believed, and in what. Since he met you his answers were found. He worships you, his wife.

His attention is always focused on you. When you enter the same room he is in, Hvitserk struggles to fight the need to be as close to you as possible. And that is one of the only fights he can lose, which is why, in the end, you will find him by your side.

If you're caught in a public event, he will take your hand, standing proudly by your side. But he won't deny himself the right to a kiss, or more than one. He is not a shy guy, everyone knows it.

He will try to get you to leave as soon as possible to have you all to himself.

But if that doesn't convince you, then he will accept it - without giving it up entirely, not gonna lie. Though, he makes sure to let you know, whispering to your ear that: "the longer he has to long for you, the longer he will spend keeping you awake later". With a kiss on your neck and a satisfied, impatient grin.

Throughout the rest of the event, he would probably indulge in food and ale, playing with your hair or dress, cracking jokes... If there's music, you can be sure he will expect you to dance with him.

But he would not forget his promise.

As soon as he finally has you for himself, he makes sure with every part of his body and soul, to remind you you are his wife and he loves you more than life itself, more than battles, more than food.

Every minute he has to spend apart from you, he passes fantasising about how sweet it would be to be buried between your arms and legs later. And if he has to take his focus off such thoughts, because he still has important things to do sometimes, his hunger for you just grows.

He is a passionate and attentive lover. Your pleasure is his priority, always. To the point, he is willing to sacrifice his own to give you everything he can.

With every kiss, caress or thrust, he gives himself to you.

He absolutely loves to hear and feel your pleasure growing and releasing, over and over again. Your moans, you crying our loud his name when you find release, your whimpers and pleas for him to both stop and continue, your nails dug into his skin, you pulling his hair, your body arched between his arms, your brightened eyes, red cheeks, swollen and wet lips.

But if there's something that sends him feral, transforming the man into a beast, is your wetness. He craves your flavour. He craves the scent of his own skin after taking you, being branded by you.

He is a berserker but he is your berserker. So, if you might find it attractive when he loses it through training or a brawl... Just imagine what it means to have such a beast looking at your naked body, not craving blood like he would on a battlefield, but you.

You are his companion for life. If you didn't already know how to fight, he would teach you. Even if you constantly need to keep him at bay, because he struggles to be that close to you without kissing you every three seconds.

When you get to match him in a fight, he finds it so hot. (Even if he has to tone his strength down, especially at the beginning, not to hurt you. But in the end, he knows you can take it.)

He is a proud man. He would always stand behind you, or by your side. But he would watch you intensely winning your own victories, just to happily share with you the triumphs. Getting in your way only when you ask for his help, never treading on your toes.

Hvitserk trusts you completely. He knows you're his as much as he makes sure you know he is yours.

He is not a jealous being, but he will let his berserker side shown if someone either offends your honour or threatens you.

Although he is completely faithful to you. Never a single doubt about it. He does find your possible jealousy hot.

He will always bring you with him through his travels. It can be for war, to explore or to be the politician he is, exchanging alliances.

On a day to day life, he enjoys being a husband.

He loves to sleep in with you. In the morning he always finds ways to keep you in bed longer, even and especially when you have things to do - you're definitely always late.

He loves to provide for you and to keep you safe.

As much as he loves the fact that you are what keeps him safe and gives him meaning. You're his lucky charm.

He cares for your advice and opinions.

Hvitserk loves to feed you. Especially from his own hands.

And he loves when you braid his hair.

He is not the kind of man who hides his emotions. He is always pretty clear about what he wants. Which is why he has no shame in telling you he wants a child from you. Or many. Particularly, he doesn't even try to hide his breeding kink.

And when you accept to build a big family with him, Hvitserk is truly the happiest man alive.

He always thought you were his reason to live and that he would never be able to love anyone, not even Ubbe, as much as he loves you. But he was wrong.

He finds a higher form of love and happiness, to share with you, in being a father.

And you will never see him smile quite as much, as for when he enters a room and his children assault him, all at the same time, to get a hug. Ending up in Hvitserk swooping them all up between his arms and kissing all of them.

As much as you won't ever feel quite as much love bursting inside your chest as to such a scene. Just when you thought you couldn't love anything more than that - then he looks at you, grateful, in love, hungry for your affection.

So, you fall in love with each other all over again.

[therealcalicali]

Hvitserk the Berserker - Vikings

[ubbesbabymama]

Scenarios.

ㄴUbbe Ragnarsson.

—Catching his attention. 𖧷︎ ♡

You catch the prince’s attention in the less-expected moment.

ㄴ Ivar The Boneless.

—We have a problem. ♡

In where Ivar despises how much he admires you.

ㄴ Hvitserk The Berserker.

—Finally. ♡ [M]

Hvitserk is kind of in love with his brother’s slave.

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Knew Him Well

Pairing: Hvitserk x Plus-size reader

Word Count: 2664

Warnings: Sexual themes

Summary: As a goddess, you knew everything about him.

Thanks to @shannygoatgruff for beta reading. 

Beautiful moodboard by @flowers-in-your-hayr​ 

AN: So I kinda broke my writers block with this one. This was a request I wrote for the lovely @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie as promised. It’s my first time writing for Hvitserk, but it’s entirely in the point of the reader. I really hope you like it 🥺❤️

As always, I tagged those who might be interested.

...

You knew him well.

You knew of his heart's desires, his pains, his joys, his failures. You knew his likes and dislikes, what he loved and what he did not.

Hvitserk was a simple mortal. He loved apples.

When you allowed the frozen rivers and skeleton trees to burst forth again with life, apples were among the first you pushed to grow ripe.

You watched him often in his youth.

He had small chubby hands then, always reaching up towards the skies. His tiny fingers would spread in futile attempts to snatch a bright red apple that hung just a few feet above him.

Usually, there was always someone to reach one for him. Sometimes it was Siggy, pushing herself on her toes to please the little prince with the sweet fruit. Sometimes it was Floki, the gangly man easily plucking two from a branch with a smile. And sometimes it was his mother whenever she decided to pay her second son some attention, her fox-like face pinching in concentration while deciding which apple would be best to eat.

This time, no one was around to help.

He pouted, baby arms crossed over his chest in discontent.

You remembered his green eyes, bright against his dirt-covered face from a morning of mischief with his brother.

You pitied him.

A simple wave of your hand and the tree suddenly shook its branches, dancing in the gentle wind. A perfect apple landed by his small feet. It was a deep shade of red, rich like blood.

You smiled at his sudden squeals of delight.

He reached for it in glee, hands clumsily wiping the dirt away before taking a hefty bite with tiny teeth. He chewed once, then twice before his curious eyes spotted you. He took a few steps forward, searching behind the large base of the tree for your figure.

He caught sight of you. Your eyes were an impossible hue and your skin glowed brighter than the sun.

A goddess.

But you disappeared as quickly as you came, the scent of wildflowers lingering in the breeze.

He was only five, not fully capable of understanding the memory, but he'd never forgotten it. And neither did you.

...

You knew him well.

You watched him grow more curious as the seasons changed, watched how his tiny hands were finally able to firmly grip a sword without it slipping from his fingers.

He was a man now, long-limbed and broad-shouldered. His hair had grown, always neatly braided down his back by serving girls. A lopsided grin hung from his lips at any given moment, his talented fingers dancing over the smooth skin of his many conquests. But his eyes remained the same, bright green against his pale skin.

He was a man with an appetite that craved for more than apples.

He craved women.

The finest mortal women of Midgard easily caught his eye. Thick or thin, willing or not, it did not matter to him.

But it mattered to you. A goddess.

The sound of your voice commanded the earth to bloom green after a long winter, and your golden apples fed the gods their eternal youth. Power sizzled through your fingertips like blazing fire and yet you were not immune to jealousy, a fault that all the gods have endured.

Envy was unknown to you. There was no reason to be acquainted. You had everything you could want: eternal youth, immortality, power. These things had been enough.

But it was the women he bedded that had your stomach churning and your lips set in a frown. The countless women sprawled under him, legs wrapped around his hips with toes curling in the air. You'd sneer, the smallest hints of rage filling you enough to create a spark.

You wanted to strip the earth bare, strip away the beauty held by the women that he chased. But you would not punish the earth, nor the women for the faults of one man. One mortal man.

Still, you were not angry with him.

When the mortals of Kattegat congregated on festival days building altars and sacrificing their animals to appease the gods during the summer solstice, he worshipped you, pouring rich cider over your altar and muttering the words he practiced with his queen mother.

Bless our trees heavy with a sweetness that bears us through the winter cold.

You listened to his prayers, and the Autumn harvest swelled with ripened apples before Skadi laid the first frosts of winter.

You continued to watch him.

He took to journeying across foreign seas for fame, riches, and more women. He was in his prime, his features blooming with youth that would never glow the same way again.

It saddened you.

...

"You know him well." The Allfather appeared beside you, his hoarse voice erupting from deep within his chest. His black cloak billowed like thick smoke from under him.

His presence used to startle you back when you were a younger goddess, unaware of his nature. Now you've grown used to his silent footfall.

"I do." You said, your throat tightening as you watched how Hvitserk suffered. “I admire him.”

The older god regarded you for a moment before peering down towards Midgard. He watched as the young man vomited over himself, shifting quickly to huddle into a corner. His hair, damp from the harsh rains, made his eyes appear wild, like a wounded beast caught in a trap.

"Admire his weakness?" The Allfather questioned.

"His strengths." You corrected, daring to glance at the king of the gods. He raised an ancient hand to stroke down the length of his graying beard. He did not miss the harshness in your tone as hidden as it was. You were as sharp as knives.

"He is a troubled mortal," was all he said.

"Wronged by his own brothers." You reasoned. It was no wonder Hvitserk turned to wild herbs for comfort.

"Indeed." He agreed, shifting his godly gaze back to you, the blue of his eye deeper than the oceans belonging to Ràn. "I had favored his father once. Perhaps there is a reason you favor his son." He spoke as if he knew of things that you did not know of. Perhaps he did.

You remained silent, not knowing much else to say.

"You want to go to him," The king of the gods knew. "So go."

You held your basket tightly in your hands, your knuckles turning white against your golden skin from the pressure. You had wanted to go to him for so long, only allowing yourself the one encounter so many years ago. Gods did not mingle with mortals often.

But you knew Hvitserk was delirious. He would think of your presence as nothing but a hallucination. It would have to do.

The Allfather chuckled, his hand outstretched expectantly. You quickly reached into your woven basket to place a golden apple in his cold palm, watching how his large fingers curled over it. It was not for him. He was king of the gods, he did not fret over youthfulness as his wife did.

"Please send Frigg my love." The words barely left your berry-colored lips before he disappeared.

You turned back towards Midgard. Hvitserk was now asleep, limbs twitching and eyes rolling under his dark lids.

You went to him.

...

You had grown bold.

You visited him on many nights, watching him sleep. Your hand would gently caress his cheeks, smoothing down the arch of his sweaty brows as he dreamed of countless horrors. The foul murder of a woman. The burning of another.

You pitied him.

His eyes would barely open, lashes splitting apart to gaze at you. But he could not see you, not truly. Still, you would smile at him, pushing his stringy locks away from his face, and he’d fall back into a fitful slumber. You’d kiss his skin and leave by dawn, your touch remaining on his skin like a whisper once he woke.

Hvitserk had recuperated under your godly touch after a few weeks, waning himself away from the wild herbs that destroyed his body and mind.

But he no longer searched the trees for your apples, nor did he pour golden cider over your altar. He did not burn offerings in your name, nor whisper his prayers. He was lost as if caught at sea in a raging storm. He did not know his purpose, and without purpose, he would achieve nothing.

He had been a berserker once, a powerful warrior in battle. He had much to be proud of. Now he was but a mere soul wandering Midgard like a ghost.

He no longer believed.

And you pitied him once more.

…

You visited him again. It would be the last time.

"I know you well." Your voice, so simple in the realm of the gods, was like a bird song in his ears.

Hvitserk gawked at you, mouth open like a fish in a clear stream. He jumped up, feet now planted firmly over the soft grass of his favorite meadow.

He was a bit older, though not by much. His eyes were not as bright as you had known them to be, a dull green that held countless stories. He kept his hair pulled back recently, tightly bound towards his nape with a leather band. His fine tunic hid the worst of the battle scars, thin lines of healed skin barely peeking through the collar. Signs of a warrior.

You smiled, taking a step towards him. You were not wearing any shoes, your toes digging into the familiar earth. Fresh regrowth and new flowers bloomed after your every step. He noticed.

His eyes took in your bare feet, traveling up the length of your thick calves, your curvaceous hips, and your large chest until finally settling on your eyes. He swallowed. They were an impossible hue.

"Who are you?" He squinted, though he did not know whether it was from the glare of the sun or your powerfully glowing skin. "A ghost?"

A chuckle bubbled past your lips as you reached into your basket full of ripe apples. You plucked the brightest one, tossing it to him. He caught it easily.

"My name is Idun." You answered with the name mortals had given you centuries ago.

Hvitserk silently inspected the apple in his calloused hands. It was a deep shade of red, rich like blood. The fruit was fragrant and smooth to the touch, his fingers carefully grazing over the delicate red skin. His eyes went back to you.

"I remember." He finally said, eyes twinkling as they did when he was a child. Those were the eyes you knew. “I remember you.” His voice held a note of recognition, his mind searching through the memories from long ago.

The blood-red apple at his feet and the glow of your skin. The hue of your eyes and the smell of wildflowers. He remembered.

"I've watched you your whole life," You told him, your thin dress billowing with the gentle breeze, "I have shared your joys and your pains, dear Hvitserk. You are not alone." The smile that stretched the corners of your mouth was a sad one, but he did not notice. All he could see was your ethereal beauty.

His lips moved as if to speak but he found himself stunned by the goddess before him.

“I came to spend the night with you if you desire it.” You offered your hand to him and he did not hesitate in taking it.

…

His hands worshiped you.

His fingers dug into your full hips tightly, enough to leave bruises if not for your godly resilience.

You moved above him, up and down, gently then rapidly, giving him exactly what he desired. You whispered in his ear of his successes, blessing him with the fruitful future he deserved.

His lips traced heat over your skin, tongue teasing the jewels that hung from your ears. His fingers lingered in the strands of your hair, holding you flush against him.

You loved him, you realized. You had for years.

But it could never be. Dawn would come and you’d swiftly make your way back to the realm of the gods, watching him once again from afar.

It would have to be enough.

He filled you, a guttural groan escaping his throat as he held you close. Your bountiful chest molded perfectly against him as he lowered you both over the warm furs. The signs of sleep passed over his eyes and a lazy smile curled on his lips.

Dawn arrived faster than you had hoped.

You peeled away from him, setting his arm over his lean stomach. You cast him one last look, admiring how the dying fire made his skin glow like a god, before disappearing.

The sun placed itself high in the sky when his eyes opened next. He shifted, his nose picking up the scent of wildflowers. He looked over his shoulder, hoping to find you beside him but was greatly disappointed. You had left at dawn as you said you would.

The furs were cold where you once were. His fingers reached out, searching for the warmth he knew would not be there. But there was something that caught his attention.

His fingers grazed against a smooth surface, hidden under the furs. He ripped them off, his eyes settling over the golden apple you left behind.

…

The summer solstice began.

Altars were built for the gods. Animals were sacrificed and offerings burned. The air was filled with the sweet scent of worship.

You watched Hvitserk at your altar pouring rich cider over the offerings burned in your name. He whispered his prayers again with hopeful fervor.

You smiled. He believed again.

…

An older woman wept beside a funeral pyre, the body of her deceased husband igniting under the heat of violent flames. The smoke rose, swiftly taking his soul into the afterlife. His son and daughter comfort their mother, tears slipping down their cheeks.

You pitied them. Perhaps you pitied yourself, too.

“He is dead?” The Allfather asked, peering down toward Midgard. It was a useless question. He was king of the gods, he knew all. His two ravens sat obediently on each of his shoulders, beady black eyes searching down below.

“Yes.” You said, your voice monotone. “He fell in battle.”

“He was a good mortal,” The king of the gods commented, “But a mortal, nonetheless.” Mortal. You could not keep Hvitserk from aging. Your golden apples were not made for human consumption.

“Yes.” You repeated, watching how high the smoke traveled from his pyre. You could nearly touch it if you stretched your arm out toward the skies.

“Hvitserk.” You heard his wife wail. The name would be a memory now. You would remember him in his best days, when he was in the prime of his youth, green eyes bright and a grin that could conquer all of Midgard.

You had almost forgotten the Allfather was beside you, his looming presence not enough to deter your attention away from the funeral. He placed his spindly fingers on your shoulder. It was the only comfort he could give.

“He will serve me well when the time comes.” He promised. His words did not lift your spirits. He gazed back towards the grave filled with riches befitting Hvitserk’s station. “You knew him well.” He added before he disappeared, his two ravens flying off to collect more knowledge in unknown places.

You peered down below again, your eyes catching sight of a familiar glint. Buried among gold and silver trinkets was your golden apple, shining fiercely despite the overcast day.

You did not think you could cry. Nothing had ever moved you to tears before. You felt a foreign prickling behind your eyes. Tears filled to the brim until you no longer had the strength to hold them back.  

Gold ran down your cheeks in painted streaks.

You knew him well.

...

@didiintheblog @a-mess-of-fandoms @leilabeaux @shannygoatgruff @inforapound @fuchsiagrasshopper @pomegranates-and-blood  @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @grimeundglow 

@doctorwhoandfairytaillover

[honestsycrets]

Speak Carefully

Girl, DarkHvitty going berserker about other men making inappropriate comments about his wife body and lusting over her (maybe after she gives birth, like, they talking about how her boobs look bigger and used be steep and proud, and wondering how they would be now since she is breastfeeding and what the baby would do to her boobs, her ass looking wide and full, what they would do to her if they were her husband, this kind of stuff)... *swoon*

Warnings

Kind of dark Hvitty? Not too bad.

A/N: So you asked for dark!Hvitty, you got some dark Hvitty… except, its not exactly the cheery scenario I think you were hoping for. Sorry for the late post.

The gods give, the gods take away.

Wise words said at a time where Hvitserk was not ready for them. He had been away, loosening his braids in favor of a long slicked back look as he grieved bitterly. You didn’t have a hair out of place.

You were still a beautiful mess. You swept the great hall in a gorgeous aqua blue dress, strands laced tight and beautiful waterfall sleeves accentuating a whimsical appearance. Pretending that every night, you did not roll on your side to gaze at an empty bassinet. Or acting like there wasn’t a wall built up between Hvitserk and you. Hvitserk was nursing a blaring headache over a pitcher of ale, resting his head upon folded arms.

“Is he asleep?” Voices of those finishing their ale say.

“Must be. Poor fuck.” Another Viking says. “I’s not everyday a King loses a son.”

Definitely talking about him. Hvitserk’s hand still drapes over his pitcher of booze, ignoring the bread of sweet nut and fruit you attempt to lay by his head.

“Not everyday a man has a fucking kitten of Freyja in his bed either.”

Behind his arm, his eyes pop back open. The bags under his eyes puff, red eyes taking in your sight as you walk back to gingerly weave some sort of beautiful blanket. Your hips spill over the chair, long hair braided along the side and curling neatly in small little curls down to your drastically widened hips. The men chide too, clanking their cups together.

“Yeah ha.” A Viking rasps in rich little huffs. “She’s filled out real nice. Don’t think he’s been drinking her milk up either. Her breasts are looking big.”

His hand clenches tight.

“Forget the tits, that ass can barely sit on that stool. That’s the best part!”

Hvitserk watches as your head snaps in the direction of the Vikings, only to be caught by one abruptly standing by the scooting of the bench. In his view he can only see your hand coming to your breast, trying your best to ignore them but the words are just too much. Hvitserk’s fingers flicker.

“You know what I would do if she was my wife!” Says a strong voice. “Quit mopin’ like a boy, grow some balls, bend her over and fill her back up like a husband ought to. That’s what I’d do!”

The old man takes a step forward-- towards where you were clenching your tapestry beater tight in your fist. You slip off of your stool, standing and beckoning back wordlessly. The drunkard sloshes forward, as unsteady as the liquidous ale in his cup.

“Ain’t that right baby? Your husband is actin’ like a bitch. I bet if he just asked you would bend over nice and spread that fat ass out for him.”

“I…” You slide on the other side of the tapestry, fingers slipping away from the heavy frame to the space where Hvitserk kept the other weapons. Just as you grip your hand around a sword you are cut off.

The shrill yell from your husband’s lips cuts that sentence shut. If you had any articulated thoughts, you no longer do. He fists the handle of the axe, launching it from its place beside his head clearly across the room, embedding with a nasty crack and a wet spritz of blood all over the neat tapestry you work on.

You’re momentarily shocked in place, not forgetting that Hvitserk was there as he launches himself over the table, darting out toward the offending group of Vikings with the sword kept religiously at his hip. A group of unprepared older men leave no real challenge for Hvitserk, crunching his blade into the stomach of one after another, after another. Disgusting fleshy pops burst through the room as you watch behind a tapestry. Unable to look but in the same breath, unable to look away as the viscous blood coats the heavy tables.

When you finally do escape from behind the tapestry, it’s to a repetitive hack! Hack! Hack! Hvitserk bursts through the men’s throats, separating head from body in each person. Then abruptly he spins around, dropping his splattered sword with a clatter. You take a warring step back.

“Hvitserk I didn--” Before you can finish, his lips cup over your own with a bruising eagerness. Hvitserk thrusts his arm behind your shoulders, pulling you in tight. He tastes of irony blood, the sweat he shed in his assault and liquified lust that boils over. Hvitserk drops down, thrusting your skirts over your ass, then higher to strip you of the dress in front of the thralls that rush to clean up the bloody corpses.

“My husband--” You try to intervene on whatever thought that Hvitserk was having. A million like you maybe? What happened just now? With these foreign men so intent on claiming a piece of you that they would take their chances on talking to their Queen in such a way?

Hvitserk shoves you back onto a wooden table, cracking your head when you realize that Hvitserk’s normally playful eyes are limpidly dark, catching your wrists above your head. “They thought they would claim you.” He finally presses his fingers against your clit, fingers pressing down hard against your clit in an unprepared action that has your legs knocking tightly together. You squeal softly as he immediately begins to pleasure your body, smacking your moistening entrance with a blood hand.

Then Hvitserk loosens his pants, fisting his cock to press his tip against your hole. With a small barking shout, he presses in hard and deep. The pace is brutally quick, replacing his hand on your hips to drag you onto his cock like a doll. He uses you like one of his thralls, fucking himself deep with every thrust. You gasp under him for some air but none comes to you with him pounding you so richly that even the heavy table was quaking.

“Hvitserk, Hvitserk calm down.” You tug at his hands.

“They thought they would take you from me!” He shouts loud enough that the walls are nearly weeping out. You could have too, if not for your shock in his words. He had been gone. He can tell that’s what you were thinking.

You thought he no longer loved you.

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