#ivar mood

[flare-queen]

Ivar the Boneless Vampire Moodboard attempt.

[nothingtolosebutweight]

| Title: Little Goatie | Pairing: Ivar x Heahmund | Words: ~2000 🙈 [AO3] |Summary: Heahmund has a present for Ivar that he considers very questionable at first. Only when he takes a closer look at it does it bore deeply into his heart. | Warnings: None - It's just fluff with a bit of humor. | Notes: My participation for the Norse Tales for Winter Challenge:) It is dedicated to @vaire-gwir. I hope this little story will serve you as a plushie on your long journey home. One day we'll find you a real one that's squishy enough! Until then, we have to go on many more adventures together ♥.

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The apartment door was pushed open with a swing and fell noisily back into the lock. Shoes were carelessly brushed off the feet and left on the spot in the hallway. The jacket along with the scarf followed next. They landed on one of the dressers on the way to the living room. The coat rack didn't get any attention. Ivar was in a hurry. He had no time for neatness - never, actually.

The steady sound of his crutch hitting the floor echoed through the hallway as he walked toward the first room to his right. In the doorway to the living room, Ivar stopped for a moment, peeked in, and let his gaze wander searchingly across the room. He didn't find what he was looking for, but something else made him pause for a moment, confused. With a shake of his head, he averted his gaze, as he had another matter on his mind at the moment.

"Heahmund, you still there?" he finally shouted through the apartment, hopes high that he hadn't come back too late.

"I'm in the kitchen, love," came the prompt reply, and Ivar exhaled in relief. He immediately turned and made his way into the room where his lover sat at the counter, a steaming cup and his laptop in front of him.

"Let me guess, hot milk with a hint of cinnamon?" Ivar asked without hiding his disgust at the content of the cup as he bridged the distance and came to a stop next to Heahmund.

"Yes, of course. It calms my nerves best before a trip," Heahmund said as he typed three last words in his mail before pressing the send button and finally closing his laptop completely. When Ivar was next to him, he immediately put his arm around his beloved's waist and pulled him closer.

Ivar bent down a little, at first wanting only to press his lips against his boyfriend’s temple, but Heahmund stood up and gave him a tender kiss as a welcome instead. Immediately after the kiss, Ivar wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, which made Heahmund laugh out loud. Knowing how much Ivar hated milk, he didn't take offense, but went straight for another kiss, this time on the cheek.

"I have to leave in a few minutes, unfortunately. But I'm happy you made it home in time for some goodbye kisses." Heahmund already disliked being away from Ivar for a few days, but his job, which he also liked a lot, forced him to take business trips now and then. Now, once again, he had to travel to another country for eight days straight without Ivar being able to accompany him.

"Some torture, you mean?" Ivar said with a grin, before leaning forward again, surrendering to his fate with a spark of love in his eyes. He leaned his crutch against the counter and wrapped both arms around Heahmund's neck. Their lips touched only feather-lightly, caressing each other in delicate nudges. They lingered like that for a while, enjoying their togetherness, before Heahmund broke away with a sigh and briefly stood tall to plant a kiss on Ivar's forehead.

"I should get going." Heahmund drank the last bit out of his cup and went with it to the sink to clean it directly and then dry it and put it back into the kitchen cupboard. Ivar watched the scene with a grin, but refrained from commenting.

With the laptop under his arm, Heahmund made his way to the living room, but stopped in the hallway, his eyes darting alternately to Ivar's jacket and shoes.

"Are you serious, my love? How many times..." Heahmund turned to Ivar, but was stopped mid-sentence as a finger settled on his lips.

"Shh. Save your energy. I was in a hurry. Does that count as an excuse?" 

"Actually...not, no. It would have taken you just two seconds…" Heahmund handed Ivar his laptop to hold it for a moment while he took care of what he perceived as chaos in the hallway, neatly setting Ivar's shoes aside and hanging his jacket on one of the designated hooks, scarf included.

"I can't believe it," he muttered, snapping his fingers against Ivar's temple, who had the audacity to just stand by and grin, leaning on his crutch. "You're like a savage..."

"I know," was the simple reply, which earned him an additional slap on the butt as Ivar turned around to continue his way to the living room. Once there, he placed the laptop on top of Heahmund's suitcase, knowing that he shouldn't even try to pack it himself. His boyfriend had a very precise system, which he would only destroy if he would try to help. 

With one finger Ivar pointed to the coffee table. "Why is there a goat plushie on the table?" he asked, the confusion about the little thing evident in his voice.

Heahmund turned his head to look at the little fellow and a smile appeared on his face. "I saw it at the mall and it reminded me of you...of us in a way."

The look on Ivar's face only became more confused due to this explanation. "Why is that?"

"Goats are just as stubborn as you are," Heahmund began his explanation as he tapped his index finger against Ivar's temple. "They're strong-headed, always on the go to bash each other's heads in."

"And that reminded you of me?" 

"Absolutely!"

Ivar rolled his eyes, but grinned back at Heahmund. He knew there was a pinch of truth in it. He could be damn stubborn and often got into heated arguments faster than he himself would have liked.

"And what about the us part?"

"It's more of a 'me' thing. The noise the goats make always sounds to me like they're complaining a lot..."

"Oh yes, that suits you perfectly," Ivar interrupted Heahmund directly, who in the meantime had stowed his laptop into his bag and now turned back to Ivar and headed towards him.

"See, that's why this little fellow represents us perfectly." Heahmund positioned himself behind Ivar and wrapped his arms around him, letting his chin rest on his shoulder.

"But for what reason did you bring it home? You could have brought me a real present instead. I wouldn’t have mind to get something useful." Neither of them were collectors of stuffed animals, which is why Ivar's confusion hadn't completely faded. He leaned against Heahmund, putting his hands over those of his beloved.

"It's useful!" came Heahmund to the goat's rescue. "If you miss me, you can cuddle with it," he continued and kissed Ivar on the neck shortly after, which made him shiver pleasantly.

"Why should I miss you, huh? With your constant complaining about household stuff and neatness, you're miserable to be around. You just said it yourself." He turned his head to face his beloved, his eyes and voice full of mischief.

"Because I keep you warm at night," Heahmund said with a smile and poked Ivar in the side, making him squeal.

"So I can set this thing on fire then?" This suggestion brought him another poke in the side before he laughed out and Heahmund lured him into another kiss.

With a heavy heart, Heahmund packed up the last of the odds and ends and left the apartment less than ten minutes later. Not without many more brief kisses and Ivar's promise that he wouldn't do any harm to the goat.

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Two hours later, Ivar had made himself comfortable on the couch. Cookies and tea next to him, a series on the TV, which he followed halfway attentively. The other half of his attention was on his cell phone. He was scrolling through apps at random and waiting impatiently for Heahmund to send him a message that he had arrived at his destination in one piece.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the goat plushie staring at him the whole time. Shaking his head, because he still couldn't believe that Heahmund had spent his money on such nonsense, he turned his eyes toward it.  

Half an hour later he got up to warm himself some food in the microwave. On his way back he stopped by the plushie to grab it, carrying it with him back to the couch. As he looked at it more closely, thoughtfully touching and tossing it from side to side, he noticed that there seemed to be a pushable button in each of the hooves. Curious, he got to the bottom of the matter and found a switch hidden in the belly, which he switched to on.

Immediately after pressing the front left hoof, Heahmund's voice rang out.

"Don't forget to wash the dishes, love. Things don't get cleaned up on their own." 

After a brief moment of puzzlement, Ivar began to laugh and he looked with amusement in his eyes at the little goat, which returned the stare with its lifeless beady eyes. He could clearly hear the grin that Heahmund must have had on his face during the recording, and it was beginning to rub off on him.

"What an idiot," he spoke to himself, inwardly filled with love for the man who always managed to get into his heart and to make him soft.

Curious, he pressed the next hoof.

"Don't get crumbs all over the couch, and if you do, there's an invention called a vacuum cleaner. You don't need a driver's license to operate this one."  

Again, Ivar let out a laugh, before he looked down, caught. With a quick flick of his wrist, he swept the already scattered crumbs of the cookies on the blanket to the floor. At best, these would disappear into the long fluff of the carpet, never to be seen again, without him actually having to do any housework.

With a big smile on his face, Ivar pressed the next of the two remaining ones.

"I love you just the way you are my messy little slob..." For a short moment Ivar thought that the message was already over, because he heard nothing more, until Heahmund eventually continued. "But please keep the chaos at bay anyway. I'd rather have my hands on you when I get back than in the cleaning bucket."

This message made his smile grow even bigger and his fantasies briefly went on a journey, coloring his cheeks a delicate red.

Without hesitation, he pushed the last remaining button and already a second later his heart warmed up and his eyes became watery. 

"Sleep well, my love. I will be here by your side, protecting you from anything that tries to haunt your dreams."

It was their good night ritual that had become a daily habit over the past few months. Not a day went by that Heahmund didn't whisper those sweet words in his ear as they lay in bed together, often in a tight embrace, all snuggled up. It had helped Ivar to get a grip on his previously frequent nightmares and moreover, to fall asleep with a feeling of security.

Still amused, and deeply touched at the same time, that Heahmund had actually taken the time to record him this kind of messages, Ivar hugged the stuffed animal tightly for a moment and buried his face in its soft fur. He felt ridiculous that he was cuddling with a plush toy, but at the same time so full of love and somehow also so close to Heahmund. He already missed him and despite the somewhat funny messages, Ivar could also feel Heahmund's love for him. It was audible to him in every little syllable and it made him replay all the messages again.

He allowed himself a brief moment to dwell in his happiness before setting the little goat beside him and reaching for his cell phone to send Heahmund his love in return.

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@youbloodymadgenius@istorkyou@ivarlover

[judemathisdaily]

The scythe weighed heavily on Jude’s hands. He breathed in, long and slow.

Just a few feet away stood Ivar. His target. The very man he would lead to death.

Day 57: happy halloween everyone !!! Here’s a Halloween fic :]

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Finnish polka" - Ivar the Boneless x Reader

SUMMARY: After helping one of the northern Jarls, the Lothbrok brothers attend a celebratory feast. There, they're faced with a tradition of warriors catching flower crowns that belong to young women. How surprised Ivar is when you almost shove your crown into his hands.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.1k

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Ivar is tired.

Of course he's glad that Jarl Thorstein came out victorious. And that his brothers are fine. Still, he feels weary as the adrenaline leaves his body. His legs start to ache. Ivar downs the rest of his mead in hopes it makes him a little more deaf to his mood.

The upbeat, bright music fills his mind like an obsessive thought. His heart beats to the rhythm tapped by the feet of dancing women. They spin, jump and run around with flower crowns sitting atop their heads. How the wreaths remain immovable, he can't quite say.

Ivar is also angry.

As the local tradition entails, when the song ends, all the dancing young maidens will throw their flower crowns to the crowd. Whoever catches it, is believed to be the girl's lover chosen by the gods. However, whether the couple indulges and trusts gods' judgement is a different story. But if the wreath falls to the floor, the girl is said to remain unmarried for the next five years.

Ivar knows the chance of him somehow catching one of those is near zero. He's sitting quite far from the dancers. Even if he did catch it, he's disillusioned about the imminent dissatisfaction of the flower crown's ownert. Not only is he disabled in a way that almost entirely excludes him from fighting but he's also infamous for his ruthless nature and vengeful heart. Hardly a man who invokes desire. Still, some naive piece of him remains hopeful that maybe he's wrong. Maybe he can be terrible and loved all the same.

He shakes those weak delusions away from himself before they sour his mood further.

His piercing eyes have been following one of the dancers for the better part of the song when he catches himself. Her movements look effortless even when the musicians pick up the tempo. Clearly, she's done this dance one too many times to have any doubts about what she's doing. Joy beams from her in a way that makes her appear almost shining. The wreath on the top of her head is mostly green with white and red flowers. It makes Ivar think of the woods surrounding Kattegat; it makes him think of home.

Ivar leans toward Oddleif, one of the Jarl's men, who's sitting next to him.

"Who is she?"

Oddleif looks at Ivar out of the corner of his eye. He scoffs, takes a large sip of his drink and only then decides to answer:

"If you're thinking of catching her flower crown, don't." His blond braids dance slightly as he shakes his head. There's a hint of laughter hiding in the back of Oddleif's throat. "Half of the surviving army wants it."

"I have no care for flowers," Ivar lies through his teeth. "They have no use. They wilt and die and soon no one remembers them. I am simply curious about her."

"Her father is the blacksmith. You might have seen him in the battle, swinging that damned sledgehammer." Ivar silently nods. He remembers that man - tall as a pine tree and wider than a stable. The blacksmith invokes respect even when he's not decimating enemies like a troll equipped with a tree trunk. "He said once that he'll let any man marry his daughter but only if he can lift an anvil. Tried it once myself. Not that I had any success as you can imagine." Oddleif laughs bitterly and continues drinking. His eyes are glued to the dancers but Ivar knows that right now, the two of them are admiring the very same girl with a flower crown like a forest.

The melody continues to quicken. Despite being out of breath, you don't want it to end. Your feet ache but they do not falter nor do they stumble. It seems that their muscles know the dance better than your mind. There are a dozen girls dancing with you but you do not see them. Not really. They appear worlds away from you and the song of bagpipes and strings.

And then appears he.

A slouched, dark figure flies before your eyes as you're doing another pirouette. The man simply sits there, in the corner, but his presence is overwhelming. Or so you think. He does nothing and yet he tears his way into your microcosm of quick footwork, turns and lively polka.

You recognize him. Of course you do. Many whispers, equally frightened and amazed, have spoken of him. You have believed in all of them until the moment you met his gaze for that split second. Right then, somewhere between blinks and breaths, you renounce every gossip you've ever heard about him. A voice in the back of your head, a trickster or an oracle, nags at you to learn the truth yourself.

When the lively, fast melody comes to a stop, you find yourself shaken awake from the thoughts about Ivar the Boneless. The end of the song seems somewhat abrupt to you as you've been letting your fantasy run wild without paying much attention to what's going on around you. Dancing the last part purely by the memory of your muscles. The moment musicians stop playing, a small crowd begins to form in front of you. Men of different class, age and ancestry reach out their hands. Each one of them is more determined than the other to catch your wreath. They start to yell something but considering that the inside of the long hall is awfully loud anyway, you can't make out any words. Reading their lips, you can only tell when they're exclaiming different variations of your name.

They're only pushing towards you, shoving each other away. You keep taking steps backwards but the distance you create with each step is quickly shortened with the men calling out to you. You knew there would be many of them in front of you but never assumed that many. Instead of somewhat flattering, the siege is terrifying and imposing.

Looking for help or advice, just something that will ease your tension, you silently look around the long hall. Your gaze falls on the same slouched, dark figure. Strange peacefulness washes over you when his eyes meet yours.

The dim candlelight seems to bend around Ivar, making his corner appear darker than anywhere else in the long hall. He's simply sitting there. Maybe he's not interested? But the way he's staring at you shows nothing if not burning curiosity. The sons of Ragnar aren't know for their patience. No, they're said to take whatever they want the moment their desire sparks. Despite that, the youngest of them, and arguably the most famous, appears to be waiting. But for what exactly?

The fresh pine needles prick your skin. You furrow your eyebrows. Your gaze falls to the wreath and then comes back to Ivar. Could it be...?

It isn't much of a throw, really. You toss the flower crown towards him without looking anywhere else but into Ivar's eyes. Without as much as blinking, he catches the wreath with ease as though he has been prepared for that. Low murmurs hit your ears but quickly the sounds of disappointment fall silent as it's made clear who caught your wreath. Despite their initial determination, the men who had been reaching out to you suddenly disperse like fog does in the early morning. They knew better than to get under the skin of a Lothbrok. Especially that one.

"I believe this belongs to you."

Ivar is holding up the wreath. Despite his words, he makes no effort to offer it back to you. His eyes are bright and glistening, the corner of his mouth is tugged ever-so-slightly upwards. He appears amused.

At first, it was nice to finally sit down after dancing for what seemed to be hours on end. But now, when you're facing the consequences of your spur-of-the-moment decision, the tension sets in once more. This time, however, it doesn't feel threatening. In turn, the nervousness is somewhat welcome like the jittery state before a surprise is revealed.

"If I wanted to keep it, I wouldn't have thrown it," you answer in a light tone.

"And why should I keep it?"

The blue eyes study you for a moment. It's a strange feeling - you can't help but think that the longer you are in Ivar's presence, talking or not, he's reading your mind and soul. He stares at you in a way that tells you he already holds all the answers but wants you to confirm them.

"It's said to bring good luck." You shrug your shoulders. "Until the wreath wilts and dies, Freya and Freyr will look after you."

Ivar looks at the flower crown again. Only now, when he's holding it, does he realize that for a flower crown, there aren't many flowers. A few sandworts and poppies, yes, but the wreath is made mostly of evergreen plants. It might take weeks until the crown wilts.

The microcosm seems closed again. Now it's not you and the bagpipes but you and him. It's strange and it's new but it's not threatening. It's not the kind of presence a man of his infamy should have. Or perhaps you've simply fallen for his honey trap.

"Why did you throw it to me?" Ivar tries to make the question seem unimportant, just curiosity brought to light. But he can't quite convince himself that he doesn't care. There's a hint of something vulnerable and genuine when the words roll off his tongue. It's easy to miss like a dandelion clock carried away by a gust of wind.

You wish you knew the answer yourself.

"I don't know really," you say honestly. "Perhaps it was one of the gods that threw the flower crown for me." You make a pause. Ivar's face is unreadable. "Or perhaps I have no interest in urgent, desperate men."

Ivar chuckles. A deep shadow is covering part of his face, making him appear kind of sinister. For a moment, you question whether he's laughing with you or at you.

"And what exactly makes you think I'm not urgent or desperate?" he continues. You notice his smile is growing wider. That glint of amusement in his blue eyes has changed in mischief. "What if I'm worse than all of them? You surely know who I am."

"Of course I do, Ivar the Boneless," you drone the words. In a barely noticeable fashion, he clenches his jaw when you say his name. It makes him feel a strange, burning sensation in his stomach but Ivar is left unsure whether he likes it or detests. "The whispers of your ruthless character are unending."

"But you're not afraid?" he asks with both disbelief and suspicion. A girl with a flower crown doesn't necessarily strike him as fearless in any way. Or this whole strange situation is a little too good, too dream-like, for him to accept it at face-value.

Ivar's smile falters when your face takes on a confident, maybe even arrogant, expression. He's taken aback.

"I'm a woman of the North," you say while leaning towards him on the table. The distance between your faces shortnes. "The only person I fear is my own reflection."

The sudden closeness makes Ivar inhale sharply. The strong smell of pine needles fills his nostrils. For a moment, his imagination runs wild but it's not his fault - he has no grasp on it:

How those big eyes glistened in the semi-dark of the long hall as you were staring at him. Your smirk, somewhat challenging and beckoning him to push on. Then, the smell of conifer that shakes all senses awake. His fantasy leaves the northern snows and travelles to forests, to him brushing pine needles from your hair and your naked, flushes skin smelling of evergreen trees.

But quickly his shaken awake, to his utmost displeasure, by you:

"Well, if you don't want it, I suppose I should take it back, no?"

Your hand unsurely reaches out for the wreath in Ivar's hand. He's quick to pull his arm back.

"It's bad luck to take back gifts," he states plainly. In an act of nonchalance, Ivar is playing with the wreath, spinning it around his finger. "I should like to keep it."

Sometimes you come back to the night you've met the infamous Viking, when you're rendered sleepless while he's calmly breathing next to you, getting the rest he desperately needs. How funny all of it seems - that a flower crown in bloodied, merciless hands could lead to having a genuine crown on your head. Maybe you were right, after all, and it really was the hand of one of the gods that threw the wreath for you.

[inexplicifics]

Milena/Lambert(/Aiden), cuddles after a bad day?

Lambert comes stomping up the stairs, glowering blackly at everyone he sees. Bad enough that one of his experiments failed so dramatically; worse that someone saw; worst of all that the people who saw were Ivar and Leocadie, the only fucking Witchers whose opinions on alchemy he actually fucking respects. The ones he wants to respect him. And he fucked up an experiment so easy a child could manage it.

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, he does know that the experiment he ruined was complex and risky enough that most master alchemists would be wary of it, but rationality is not going to win the battle against bitter humiliation any time soon.)

He slams the door to his rooms open and then stops dead as Milena startles, jerking hard enough that her needle misses the fabric in her lap and stabs her finger instead. The sudden smell of blood where there shouldn’t be any - blood and pain, Milena’s pain - is enough to make Lambert want to go fling himself off a godsdamned tower.

He’s just fucking up everything he touches today, isn’t he?

“Lambert,” Milena says, setting her sewing aside and rising hastily to her feet. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Lambert bites out, eyes fixed on the drop of crimson welling at the tip of her pale finger. “I’ll just - go -”

Milena huffs and crosses the room in a few quick strides, reaching out her uninjured hand to cup his cheek. “My love,” she says softly, “if it were nothing you would not look like a thundercloud. Are you hurt?”

“Nothing but my pride,” Lambert admits. “You’re hurt, though, dammit -”

“A pinprick only,” Milena says, and lifts her injured finger to her mouth, licking the blood away to show him that the tiny wound has healed itself already. Lambert bows his head and presses an apologetic kiss to her finger, and honey overwhelms the scent of blood.

“My love,” Milena murmurs, and her hand slides from his cheek to the back of his neck, drawing him down until she can press her lips to his. He could resist, of course - her grip isn’t hard, the pull not strong enough to move a child who didn’t care to - but he’s not going to refuse her without a damn good reason, and being in a complete snit isn’t reason enough.

“What happened?” Milena asks softly as their lips part.

“Fucked up an experiment,” Lambert admits grudgingly. “In front of Leocadie and fucking Ivar.”

“Oh no,” Milena says, wincing. “How immensely frustrating.” She kisses him again, then takes his hand and leads him over to the chairs beside the fire. “Tell me about it - or you may brood, or I will talk of other things, if those would help.”

She sits down, and Lambert glances at his own chair and then on impulse sinks instead to his knees next to her, distantly glad of the thick rug, and rests his head against her leg.

“Oh, my love,” Milena says, and then thank gods doesn’t ask any more questions, just strokes her fingers through his hair in a slow, steady rhythm that he can match his breathing to.

Lambert closes his eyes and concentrates on the smell of roses that always surrounds her, of warm bread with honey rising around them thick enough to taste. On the thick pile of the rug beneath his knees and the soft wool of her dress against his cheek, and the way her fingernails scratch gently against his scalp. On the steady beating of her heart and the easy rhythm of her breath and the soft crackling of the fire.

Slowly, his black mood drains away.

“Thanks,” he mumbles at last.

“You’re welcome, my love,” Milena murmurs.

Lambert knows he should get up, but he’s comfortable and she smells contented, so he stays where he is for just a little longer, basking in her touch and the roses and honey scent of her love.

(Or HERE on AO3!)

[disasterofastory]

Relax (Ivar x Reader)

Relax Ivar x Reader Warnings: handjob

Summary: You help your husband relax.

You don't even bother with knocking. Every nerve in your body is on edge. Your heart is in your stomach, throbbing with worry and the need to see your husband. You can feel your insides turn. The door closes shut behind you with a loud thud. The walls shake for a second at the force. Both of them jump at the loud, sudden sound. Ivar's bright blue gaze lands on you with a raised brow. The thrall's eyes are wide and panicked. The pitcher with warm water is still in her hands. A few dark strands of her hair stick to her skin because of the steam that dominates the room. The air is heavy and suffocating with it. "I will help the King with his bath." Your voice is sharp and loud. You need a few deep breaths to check your feelings and change your tone. A gentle smile spreads across your face as you step next to the thrall to take the water from her. "Go to sleep," you tell her, making sure your tone is light and much nicer than before. She doesn't deserve to be at the end of your mood even though only worry, and tiredness makes you much more snappy than usual. "We all deserve some rest after this day." "Thank you, my Queen," she says before leaving.

Your attention wanders to Ivar, who still watches you without a word. New wounds and bruises decorate his skin. His dark hair is a mess of knots and braids. "How are you?" You ask him, pouring the still-warm water into the bath. "I'm fine," he replies. "It looks worse than it feels like." Putting down the pitcher, you grab a rag to soak it in the herb-smelling water before you kneel down next to him and start to wash away the dried blood and mud off his pale skin. His muscles jerk at your gentle touch before relaxing against the bathtub. A relieved sigh leaves his lips. "Did you kill him?" You ask after a few seconds. The satisfied smirk tells you the answer even before he forms it into words. "He will never bother us again." You nod. "I was worried." You knew the battle was inevitable, but when you saw the brightness in Ivar's eyes, you couldn't help but think of the worst all day. Seeing Ivar coming back through the gates of Kattegat was such a relief you almost fell onto your knees at the view of him. "I'm fine," he hums, grabbing your hand to kiss your palm. "I will always come back to you." "You can't know that," you argue. You watch the small droplets of water running down his broad shoulders. Your lips find the fresh bruise on his shoulder blade. Your fingers run up to his hair to get rid of the ruined braids. His head falls back against your touch.

"What's wrong?" You ask him after a while, washing out the soap from his hair. Your nostrils are filled with the smell of herbs you mixed together just for him. It always calms him down and puts him in a better mood. Well, almost always. "I don't know," he replies, fidgeting. The water ripples around him with every move. "My head... There is too much thing going on in my head." A smirk pulls on your lips as you adjust yourself at his side. Your head rests on your arm on the edge of the bathtub. Your other hand plays with the surface of the water. It's still warm. "I can help, my husband," you tell him. "If you want." You don't even wait for his answer. The pleading glint in the depth of his bright blue eyes is enough for your to move your hand to his chest. Pressing your hand against his chest, you feel his heart beating for long seconds. The thuds are strong and stubborn.

He is already half-hard when you reach down in the water. Your fingers curl around his shaft easily, and you can feel him twitch in your firm hold. A trembling breath leaves Ivar's lips. A smirk pulls on yours. The curve of his cock is familiar as you run your fist up and down his length a few times before releasing him to tease him a bit. He hisses at the feeling. Your finger smooths down on the underside of his erection until you reach his balls. "Y/N!" He groans out your name. His hoarse voice goes straight to your pussy, making your thighs clench for some friction. You keep your eyes on him the whole time. You still don't understand how a vicious man like Ivar can be so beautiful. His cheeks are dark pink, almost matching the shade of his lips. "You are so pretty," you state, and Ivar smirks through the bliss. "Squeeze me, wife." A moan follows his words when you do as he says. You palm him, curling your fingers around his shaft again to pump his length firmly. Your thumb traces the head of his cock, slipping up to the small hole. The grip of Ivar's hold on the edge of the bathtub is so tight you can almost hear the wood creaking. His chest moves up and down rapidly as he gulps down the air to bring it back into several moans and groans. "Kiss me," you order him, leaning closer to him. "Kiss me, husband." He doesn't even open his eyes when he brings his lips against yours. The movement is clumsy at first, with all teeth and tongue. Ivar is so deep in his own pleasure, he doesn't fight back when you start to dominate the kiss. You lick his lips, following the soft curve of his bottom lip and tangling your tongue with his into a fierce dance. Your free hand finds the back of his head, gripping his wet hair between your fingers. His groan is muffled and vibrates in your throat. Your pussy pulses and aches, meanwhile, Ivar gets closer and closer to his orgasm. You can read him like an open book, and when you are sure he is close to the edge, you make your hand move faster on his cock while pulling on his hair at the same time. His erection jerks in your hold as he cums with several shots.

"Can you help me out?" He asks after a few minutes. His breath is still rapid. "I'm not done with you yet."

[keoni-chan]

Tia: "So...how's work? How close are you to becoming our next mayor?"

Ivar: "It's the literal worst! Mayor DeLuna is having marriage trouble, so she's been in a foul mood all summer. And Luna went on maternity leave, and had her honeymoon right after that. So all the work comes on my plate. I thought this would be a great opportunity to showcase my skills. But she doesn't even seem to notice me."

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

Guess what I bought!!

Dags för lite liveblogging av boken 👏🏼

Let’s begin!

DET STÅR I ETT GAMMALT AVTAL ATT TIDNINGEN SOM MÅNS DELAR UT SKA PUNKTLIGT VARA PÅ GREVEHOLM VARJE MORGON OCH ”ALLT VAR BETALT I FÖRSKOTT”… Staffan och Jean ba betalade allt med magiska spökkrafter

HAHAHHA NÄÄÄ

Herregud

”Så nu kan ingen i hela Sverige se på tv för att du går runt och tänker på romarriket? Bra jobbat pappa!” Killed me

Ok jag visste inte att tjuvarna kallades ”Ful-Birger” och ”Skit i förgasarn” men det gör det underhållande

Omg prinsessan Dioda har ett eget kapitel bara kallat ”D.” och man får höra hennes inre monolog…

HON ANVÄNDER SINA MAGISKA KRAFTER FÖR ATT LOCKA TILL SIG IVAR OCH ASTRID OCH FÅ DEM HYRA SLOTTET

Mmm middag i mikrovågsugn <3

”Jag har bra mörkerseende. Man får det om man äter mycket blåbär”

Ivar är mycket mer rädd än vad julkalendern får honom att verka. Han behåller masken bra.

Jag börjar mer och mer ha en headcanon att Lillan har autism

”Spöken är bara vanliga människor. Fast döda.”

Lillan är så kaotisk älskar henne

Måns tilltalas som ”tönten” när Melitta pratar med honom lmao

Älskar sättet de försvenskar engelska ord

HAHAHA JAG GLÖMDE ATT LILLAN SNOTT VOLTMETER FRÅN KEMISALEN (i julkalendern hade hennes kompis bara randomly det så jag glömde att de ändrade detta här)

Mood

”Om hon (Lillan) upptäckte något som hon blev riktigt intresserad av så glömde hon bort allt annat” 💜

Yeah! Det var nog allt för idag! Läser vidare sen!

[itsagrimm]

He Who Comes from under the Water

Chapter 6 - Safekeeping

Monster!König X she/her afab Reader

CN dead fish

Notes for better understanding at the bottom!

Beta-read by @queenquazar. She is a writer as well and does amazing work which you should definitely check out.

2,3 k words

Masterlist

The water ran playfully past your bare feet dangling in the little stream. You had taken off your shoes, sitting at the grass covered bank while watching König fish. It was shallow, but you could not bring yourself to go deeper than this. König of course did not mind the water, hip deep, and comfortably towering as he straightened victoriously like a tree surviving the flood to pass you one sorry little flapping creature after another, asking you with much elation if that sorry thing would do for lunch.

“A Pike? Yummy.”

“No, not the Rodd. Too much bone.”

“Please don’t make me eat a snail.”

“Another Pike! How did you manage to catch a second one so quickly?”

As the caught fish collected in a basket next to you, waiting to be gutted and prepared, you leaned back on your elbows. It had been a… strange morning.

König had come inside your home for breakfast, only to reveal you might die due to the dangers of being his underwater queen. His words had felt like getting pushed back into a dark pit you had barely managed to crawl out of moments ago. Every time you gathered back your strength, something happened, and you were back where you started. But unlike you, König was not as quick to give up and dragged you back up once again from the pit.

 In fact, you wondered why he had not given up on you, just leaving you to find himself a better, more suitable, queen? No, König was bent on keeping you alive, jumping up from the kitchen table declaring ‘I have an idea’ and running out, shouting for the Heron. Confused, you had stayed where you were, only for König to run back in again, lifting you up in a surprising hug accompanied with a ‘you will live, you will live’-chant. You had squeaked in surprise, and he nearly dropped you on the floor, mumbling an excuse before running out again and returning what felt like no time with a bit of fresh birch bark, asking you for a knife.

“Why?”

“It is to write a letter.”

Confused, you passed him a kitchen knife and he started scratching symbols into the soft bark with it. The little blade looked so ridiculous in his large hands, like a dainty daisy in a bear’s claw. Despite it all, you laughed. A desperate little laugh fighting its way out of your lungs.

He looked up.

“What is it, Bride?”

“Nothing. Your hands are so big and the knife so small. That is all.”

He leaned back.

“Would you prefer to write yourself with this tiny knife in your tiny human hands?”

“I can’t,” you replied shortly, still giggling. What a stupid question.

“Why? Can you only use a knife to chop fish?”

“Yes,” You dead panned and smiled softly, the easing laughter helping you with your heavy mood, “I can’t read. Women do not read or write. Don’t you know? Only men can and Ivar, the village teacher, never allowed girls, despite my brother being a student of his and practising at this table next to me. I still was never allowed to attend.”

König frowned under all the messy tangled hair.

“We should change that. Downstream in the cities, everyone knows how to read and write - man, woman or whatever you humans can be. It would be good for you to learn it - but not today. The Heron will not be able to guard you. They have to deliver this letter and hopefully give us the help we need for you to stay alive.”

He paused, his eyes shifting from the pragmatic to a soft questioning gaze.

“Would you like to spend the day with me instead, Bride? I promise, I’ll keep you as safe as the Heron.”

And that was how you ended up wandering the forest with König. Watching him search for trees to fall for the palace with his big axe, while you followed collecting berries and harvesting herbs with your little, tiny kitchen knife until you grew tired and rested at this little stream.

A little splash of water to your face made you squeal in surprise, and you opened your eyes.

König stood before you, a huge catfish under his arm struggling to get free and splashing water everywhere.

“Don’t fall asleep in the sun, Bride,” König chided softly. “You will get a headache from it. The old man complained about it all the time.”

You giggled. “Yes, grandfather liked to have naps but never chose a good spot for it.”

You got up to move into the shadows of a willow for a quick nap.

König nodded approvingly, the catfish under his arm joining in in an attempt to get free.

“Can you make a fire before you nap? It is not my strong suit and, unlike me, you don’t eat raw fish.”

Surprised you turned to König. The man who appeared to be able to do anything – scare away Ivar, summon speaking animals and swamp lights, catch fish and lift heavy wood – did not know how to make a fire.

“No fire under the water, remember?”

You paused before nodding.

That made sense.

The catfish nodded too before finally wiggling out of König’s grip and slipping back into the water.

With a curse König dived after it, leaving you to make a fire.

With practised ease you build a little pile before lighting it up and feeding it more air and dried bark until it was big enough to sustain itself.

Casually you grabbed a few sticks, sharpened them with your knife, gutted and cleared the caught fish and skewered the pike meat wrapped in some of the herbs. It would make for a great meal and you felt your body going from tired to awake enough for food and an eventual nap afterward.

König emerged from the stream and stepped on land, his unhuman appearance mostly covered by a dripping cloak except for the shimmery wet skin from the water and the sunlight.

“No catfish?”

He grumbled something in defeat before sitting down next to the fire.

“You need to teach me how to do this fire and cooking thing, Bride. Could be useful.”

“Oh yes, I will,” You promised, “Who else is supposed to make meals while I sleep?”

He chuckled.

“You humans are so delicate – always needing rest, food, shelter, air, water – but only the clear sweet waters and none of the green or salty ones. I wonder how you make it through the day laughing. Your lives are so harsh.”

“It is pretty okay being a human.” A grin spread on your face as you shrugged. “Better than coming from the water and having to munch raw catfish. Oh wait, the catfish got away. Guess you’ll go hungry, love.”

The word slipped out of you before you could think - a little treacherous word telling of little, treacherous dreams in your little, hopeful heart.

Love.

You looked down, pretending to concentrate on the fire and picked up one of the sticks to grill the fish.

“Be kind and do not let me starve, maiden.” König called out playfully and picked up one of the prepared sticks. “How do you do this?”

You showed him how to hold the fish without burning it, reminding him he had to turn it once in a while, so the fish will be cooked from all sides, and explaining how you used the herbs on the meat.

“And no bark?” König asked after your explanations.

“No bark.”

“Hmpf.

You looked up at him, his features hidden by his hair and hood. Except for his mouth with gleaming sharp teeth turned down in an unhappy frown.

Very sharp teeth.

You shivered, the reality of your fiancé’s inhumanness hitting you in the face like water from the struggling catfish desperate for life.

“Humans do not eat bark but if you like it so much, do what you want.” Your voice went thin as you spoke, a strange lump of fear and worry weighted down deep in your gut.

“Say, König,” you started. “What exactly is so dangerous about me becoming your wife?”

There, the words were out.

Hanging in the air like the skewed fish over the fire, slowly burning and sizzling away skin – painful and inevitable, unless doing something to prevent it.

König sighed.

“My brother,” he explained with a defeated tone, “Can be very pessimistic. He said I might accidentally kill you by drowning. But,” He looked at you, his eyes clear as ice piercing through any doubt. “I will not do that. I promise you are safe with me and there might be someone who can help with removing that danger. Also,” He continued as a careful, toothy smile grew on his face. “So far I have at least somewhat succeeded in keeping you safe, right? You are here and not hurt or hidden away in the house. Not saying I’ve done it perfectly but…” His voice rippled off in waves, making your eye brows narrow slightly

“It is good enough for now… right?”

You stared into the fire, thinking about König’s words. Yes, you were afraid. His otherness sometimes confusing you, or making you withdraw from him in fear. But never had he done anything to harm you.

At least not willingly.

Yes, there were accidents and mistakes. But, he tried to keep you safe and looked out for you. You could not remember anyone being so honestly interested in you and your well-being. Not the villagers who dropped you the moment you became uncomfortable for them. Not the boys you had kissed in secret, or girlfriends who had stopped visiting you when you started to cry more than you laughed from all the death and misery in your life. And certainly not your family who loved you, but kept you as their obedient child to help at home and carry any expectations they placed on you without opposition. That included your beloved grandfather who promised you to someone without asking your permission, counting on you to just follow his command. Love was complicated. You missed your family, your friends and old life. But there was bitterness thinking about them now. The old house had become as much a sanctuary as it was a prison.

Being with König was not that different: like an axe to build a new palace or yield as a weapon.

Yes, it was unfortunate how you had come to be the Bride of the King from Under the Water.

And maybe it would be your death.

But so far, your engagement has come with much more grace than you had ever known.

“Do not worry, my love,” You whispered those words with a grim dedication to all that it might include. “I know you are keeping me safe, and I trust you will continue to do so.”

The silence of your words weighed heavy as you stared into the fire without seeing the flames.

A hand touched yours and you jerked up. König had moved closer, carefully lifting your hand with the skewered fish up and away from the heat.

“I am not much of an expert on fire but this looks like you could light yourself up like that,” He declared with a soft ring as if trying not to smile. “You said it yourself - ‘turn it so it does not burn’. I would do a poor job keeping my bride safe if I let you burn your fingers now.”

You blinked in confusion, before adjusting the grip on the stick in your hand under his large right palm.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

He kept his hand around yours - warm, strong, pleasant - and you hummed in approval as his other wandered around your shoulder and pressed you closer to his side.

My bride. My bride.

That’s what he had said.

The words rang pleasantly in your ears as you nuzzled into Königs chest.

XXX

Cultural context notes:

König writes in Old Church Slavonic. Old Church Slavonic is the basis of many the Slavic languages written form. It was ‘created’ by two monks named Methodius and Cyril (That’s why the modern alphabet is now called Cyrillic) who were tasked with helping to convert the Byzantian Slavs in Moravia to Christianity. To do that they translated several religious texts, most importantly the Bible, into Old Church Slavonic which could be understood by the Slavs. Old church Slavonic is really cool and can still be understood by many modern speakers of Slavic languages despite coming from the 9th century. Also, the Polish band Batushka / БАТЮШКА sings in Old Church Slavonic if you want to know what it sounds like.

XXX

shoot me a message if you want to be tagged as well. (-:

@thesinsoflust @kdkj122920 @die-prophetin @lillianastuff @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @fatedeniedhope @queensidillasworld @agspgrwasb @silelda @unlikepoltergeist @matcha-flavored-cake @blvkwondaland @diamondnightdreamer @brooklyn-1918 @thorns-x @icepancakes

[compact-turtle]

AGGGHHHH IVAR IS BBG

Please I beg you. We need more info on him I just wanna give him a big huge hug this man has been through enough AHHHH your writing is very good

Ivar is so bbg omg!! Totally would enjoy a hug from you <3

--------

Charsima stat: Maxed out. 

-Owns a huge book of jokes. Memorizes at least half of them just so he has something to tell you. Jokes are not funny. Terribly cheesy and corny.

-Loves his comrades who are his found family deeply. He’s cultivated such a deep bond with them. 

-Perfect listener. Will sit there and listen to you tell him about all your thoughts. Also enjoy gossiping with you.

“The nurse who works second shifts tried to get with the Head surgeon. But everyone knows the Surgeon is married.” 

“That is so shady of her. Does the wife know?” 

-A secret love of Sanrio characters. (especially loves Pompompurin.) 

-Anime nerd. A huge fan of Neon Genesis Evangelion and Inuyasha. Has a small figurine of Shinji in the chair doing his iconic pose. 

-Ivar’s love language is spending time together. It doesn’t matter if it’s watching shows or going on dates. Only thing that matters is if you’re with him. 

-May or may not have a copy of your apartment key. Don’t worry though! He only has it in case you lose yours. (At least that’s what he tells himself) 

-Has also visited your apartment when you aren’t home. He’ll clean up, do dishes and organize your fridge for when come home. You don’t ever seem to notice due to how exhausted you are after work.

-He really enjoys eating whatever you make him. It could be the nastiest burnt and not seasoned food but he'd love it in the end,

-Very observant when it comes to you. He notices when your mood changes, and if something in your routine is off. Try to fix whatever the problem is. 

-Easily jealous. Doesn’t like when other men hang around you. Immediately switches his outgoing persona to asshole #1 to anyone else who’s interested in you. 

-If anyone else ever tries to harass you, Ivar will convince his boys to jump the person. He’ll corner the dude and beat them until they learn their lesson. 

-Ivar if anyone bothers you: 

[thyshadowwriter]

hiii can i req ubbe getting jealous (in a cute way) when you are giving attention to someone else? like with pouts and stuff... thank uuu ♡

A/n: Thank you! We love fluff (and a bit of jealousy) in this house Not me writing something completely different at first lol

Being married to Ubbe was like living a dream. He was absolutely gorgeous, easily the most handsome man you ever saw, but that was just a part of him; He always treated you with love and care, completely unbothered to show his affection in public and perhaps a bit too comfortable.

If you had to point out a flaw, it would be his jealousy. It was not very pronounced, but it at times showed its head, even if he was lovely about it. It puzzled the mind as to why Ubbe would think he had any reason to be jealous, but he did. You never actively tried to stoke his jealousy, but it happened nonetheless.

Kattegat was in a festive mood, summer arrived and the celebrations were at their peak. People were happy, and there was plenty to be distracted. So you left Ubbe to his brothers and their pet peeves and went to catch up with your friends, hearing their stories and gossip, not really paying attention to whatever else was going on. Normally you would talk for a while with others then go back to Ubbe, but the conversation was actually fun and being away from the Ragnarssons drama was good too.

You looked around and met with your husband's gaze. He was with his brothers, who were on their own antics, but he paid them no mind, he was interested in you and gestured for you to come over. You smiled at him, but continued where you were. You still wanted to stay with your group a while more.

A while turned into an hour and Ubbe came to you, though you didn’t see where from. For a man his size, he sure knew how to be quiet as a cat and your friends seemed as surprised and mildly scared. His presence alone silenced your friends, even though he didn’t even bother looking at them.

“Come sit with me?”

“Soon, my love. I want to talk with my friends a little longer.”

He said nothing, gave an annoyed look to your friends and walked away to his seat. 

One of your friends asked you, looking just a little paler than before:

“Does your husband not like us?”

“What? No! It’s just his brothers.”

They didn't seem very convinced, but you continued talking nonetheless. For how long you didn't know but at some point one of your friends pointed out the prince's less then entertained expression.

When you looked at Ubbe you instantly noticed his mood was sour. His head was thrown back and he was staring directly at you with tight lips and wide eyes, nursing his mug of ale but not actually drinking any of it. For such an outstanding warrior, he sure had a flair for the drama and it was clear he was not enjoying being ignored.

The only thing that made him look away with a roll of his eyes was something Ivar said to Sigurd that apparently was outrageous enough to make him drink his ale in one gulp and shut both of them up. Usually, Ubbe would be more patient with his brothers, but when he was jealous, his patience was notably short.

You excused yourself from your friends and went to your husband, who turned his full attention to you.

“Ubbe.”

He tilted his head, looking at you accusatory with those clear blue eyes that never hid what he was feeling. His lips were shut tight, he was annoyed, but it was hard to take him seriously when his annoyance made his lips unintentionally make a pout that you couldn’t help but lean down to kiss it away.

He welcomed the light kiss, but was still very much annoyed.

“You remember you have a husband.”

“Don’t be like that. I was just talking with my friends.”

“I know. For the entire day. I thought you might spend the entire night with them as well.”

“Oh, no. That I wanted to spend with you alone.”

The thought didn’t fail to better his mood, making him smile and the corner of his eyes crinkle a bit.

“Are you mad at me?” You asked him.

Ubbe, instead of answering, put his mug on the table and reached his hand to you. You took his hand and he pulled you close, for a kiss you though, but before your face could be close to his, he picked you up and sat you on his lap, holding you in place with a tight grip in one hand and taking his mug back with the other. Back to his serene expression like he made no effort at all, resting his hand on your lap.

“I can’t be mad at you. I can be mad at your friends.”

[flare-queen]

Just some Mafia AU, Queen Lagertha with her obedient hitman Ivar, sultry dangerous romance.

[witchthewriter]

𝐈𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

a/n: not with them together - separately guys, separately

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ        

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝: Your families are warring against each other. Your parents despise the other, and you’re forbidden from seeing your love. But your passion is too much to deny, so you break your family’s rules and see the man you are in love with. 

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

𝑼𝒃𝒃𝒆

・Feels guilty about going against his family’s wishes

・Wants to tell his brothers so much but he knows it will cause so much conflict

・Feels guilt but no shame

・You meet in the woods, in an old shed that has been long abandoned. 

・Both your homes are too busy and there isn’t enough privacy for you two sneak into each other’s rooms. 

・But you both use the excuse that you’re going to train 

・And no one asks hours later why you’re sweaty and out of breath 

・You talk a lot. About life, your families, the past, your childhoods - everything. The conversations go so deep that he will randomly smile at you to lighten the mood

・He’s a lot more emotionally mature than most men. Because he was forced to grow up quickly (Ragnar was away, so he was like a father to his siblings)

・Gave you a pendant to carry/wear. It’s of Mjölnir, Thor’s hammer, with Viking runes etched into the silver. 

・You love him because he makes you laugh. He understands you like no one else 

・When you have arguments with your family, you want to run to Ubbe and tell him all about it

・Ubbe gives great advice, because he’s self-aware and can shift his perspective from his own

・He has cried at night because he missed you so much. He was also confused and didn’t know how this relationship would play out. All Ubbe knew was that he loved you and his family hated yours. 

・The first person to figure it out was Sigurd, but he swore to keep it a secret. If anyone knew, especially Ivar, you would be in great danger

𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐

・Felt guilty at first, but he ignored that feeling. It was easy to do when you were in front of him.

・Feels no guilt, but does feel shame (he’s constantly fighting that feeling. Not just because of you, but because of his own choices in life)

・What is difficult for him is not showing you love in public. Having to pretend that you’re an enemy. It’s very hard. 

・In a way, Rollo feels like he needs to make a choice. Either you or his family. You haven’t told him that, or brought up any kind of notion that there needs to be a choice - well, not yet anyway. 

・But in his heart he knows. Because Rollo isn’t a man that can glue people together. He’s either all or nothing. 

・He sneaks into your room and spends hours with you. 

・You bond over feeling like outcasts, or overshadowed by a sibling/family member

・If you have a close sibling, then they find out but keep your secret

・At first Rollo was only after you because you were the enemy’s daughter/son. He knew this would cause chaos and ruin both you and your family. But he fell in love with you. 

・Ragnar knew of the ruse, but he didn’t know that Rollo’s feelings became true. 

・That the game had turned much trickier than intended 

・So now Rollo has to deceive both sides. That’s why he feels like he needs to make a choice. 

・Rollo surprises you with his knowledge about you - he remembers the important things you tell him. Like your favourite flowers, happiest childhood memories etc. 

・Gave you a dagger, so you can look after yourself when he isn’t able 

𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 🔞minors dni!

I tried to make this as gender inclusive as possible. Also, I’m serious when I say no one under the age of eighteen!

𝑼𝒃𝒃𝒆

・A caring and gentle lover. 

・He likes to relish in the feel of you, the taste and weight of you

・His favourite position is cowgirl or missionary. He likes to look into your eyes and watch your reactions. 

・Likes to cum inside you. Ubbe has a breeding kink -

・And has Mummy Issues, so he would definitely be more of a sub 

・He’s very lighthearted as well. There may be moments where he gets so turned on that his humour disappears, but that’s only sparingly. He usually has a smile on his face. 

・Doesn’t want to hurt you, but if you like it rough then you have to couch him along. 

   “Ubbe, it’s okay. I want you to pull my hair.”

“Okay but I don’t understand it.” (He says this under his breath)

・Loves to watch you undress

𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐

trigger warning ... blood play

・Sex is very hot and fast. There’s a lot of energy being shared between the two of you. Like a physical exchange of how you feel about each other 

・Heavy breathing, hard pounding and the sound of skin slapping. Once Rollo has you in his grip, you cannot think about anything else. 

・Has a size kink

・Rollo’s favourite position is doggy. Or laying completely on top of you, holding you in place while he pumps in and out of you

・He daydreams about fucking you on every surface in your home. Tables, chairs, beds, the floor. It’s what he thinks about when he pleasures himself. 

・Bites your ear when he’s inside you. Like a rabid animal, Rollo is needy and fierce

・(If you get your period) he loves fucking you. The blood turns him on, mixed with his seed ... when you’ve been away and it’s the first time you’re alone, he’ll lick the blood and cum off his fingers

Tagged: @biancathecool. 

[ragnarsonofubbe]

Ragnar Ubesson

Ragnar Ubbesson is the only son of Torvi and Ubbe and older brother of Leja and Thyra, half-brother of Guthrum, Hali and Asa, nephew of Bjorn, Hvitserk, Sigurd, Ivar, Caya and Xenia, Cousin of Illian, Marlena, Ellinor, Baldur, Cailan, Vidar, Edda, Iwan, Finan and Caye and the grandson of Ragnar Lothbrok after whom he is named and was born in Iceland, the former initial settlement, and partly raised in the golden land between his parents and Flóki before they decided to return to Kattegat and therefore very knowledgeable when it comes to countries and travel and very wise, like his mother. In Kattegat he grows up among the whole family and cares for his mother and also looks after Lagertha, with whom he has a strong bond from an early age. He is trained in battle by his father and uncles, as Ragnar has a great desire to protect his people, to honor the gods like a true Viking and to support his family in every battle. He is also encouraged by his mother, against whom he constantly fights and becomes more and more skilled in battle, more agile and tougher. Due to his curiosity and thirst for knowledge, which he inherited from his father and grandfather, he is always at his uncles' side to know what is happening in Kattegat and Norway. At an early age he is responsible for the defense of Kattegat and supports his uncles with words and deeds without ever feeling the desire for power, because like his mother himself, Ragnar is honest and loyal, neither power-hungry nor looking for reward, but serves entirely on behalf of his family, his love and loyalty to them. So he is not only responsible for defense, but also supports his uncles in battle and looks after his younger cousins, whom he always teaches and tries above all to protect. As the eldest of his cousins, he supports them with advice and action, but also feels obliged to look after them and the women of the family and always takes on the responsible role among his cousins. Despite his bold, successful battles, Ragnar is not in the mood for battles unless it concerns his family and his people, in which he fights hard and ruthlessly, but is eager to learn more knowledge, acquire land for the prosperity of the people and continue to build Kattegat and Norway, in which he is willing to support his family and his youngest cousin. For his quiet intelligence, his persuasive words and his calm, powerful manner, he was often chosen by his uncle Ivar for negotiations that Ragnar was to make on his behalf. Because nothing is more important to the young Viking than his family, whom he would defend to the death, whom he loves more and cares about their well-being than anything else. So he offers to go to Scotland with his uncle Bjorn and train new warriors for his cousins. He demands this and completes his task honorably. In order to be able to support his family, protect the women and be there for them all, he returns to his parents and the rest of the family on his uncle's advice. In addition to his calm, strong nature, his talent for negotiation and his loyalty, Ragnar is not only curious and intelligent, but also open and friendly and has a pure heart for those he loves. In battle he knows no restraint and is fearless and cold. He only wants the best for his family and the people, but is not interested in power and enjoys being free from everything. The young Viking is very popular with the female shield maidens because of his extremely charming manner. ( Vikings )

[vuldak-juneau]

@heroic-ignus Location: The journey to Hrimthur's Outpost

(tw: violence) Each step further into the wasteland was agony. The miles and days had piled up, but so too had the promises. Little aside from callouses and frost-bitten extremities had materialized as rewards. That was until the long-whispered about village materialized before their eyes.

Rest was welcomed, and the collective held breath was finally released. Hands were made busy with preparing beds for resting, hunters were dispatched to find meat, and gatherers for what other provisions there were to be found. Even Juneau, perpetually pessimistic, found her mood slightly lifted and her surly attitude a bit more welcome to chip in for the benefit of others. 

Juneau had been tasked with preparing a space for the horses, and that solitary work suited her fine. She spread the hay as evenly as she could, and perhaps fed them a bit more grain than was prudent, but they had earned it after all. Her back had begun to ache from the manual labor of refreshing the stalls and wielding the heavy pitchfork. A breathless sigh escaped her as she pulled the thick sleeve of her coat across her forehead.

And then—somehow immediately amongst the throng of refugees—she saw his face. Ivar. Whatever happened between the moment she first laid eyes on him and meeting him toe to toe was beyond her. Rage and shock had blacked out her senses, and then next thing she knew she was throttling him. 

Pitchfork in hand, she grappled him to the ground and relished in the fact that her newfound strength allowed her to best him. Juneau was determined now to demonstrate her superiority in every way, to return his favor of demonstrating how little he had needed her but sending a clear message that she needed him even less. Ivar struggled, and his panicked eyes found no reprieve or tool to aid him in his plight. Instead, he only saw the jackal’s smile materialize on Juneau’s face hovering above his own.

He was fighting as hard as he could, and the unyielding, violent urges that drove Juneau’s decision making process spurred her on. She pinned him, one foot pinning down each of his arms with her full weight. Juneau needed him to understand how futile escaping his fate would be, he would receive the same lack of mercy he showed her a month prior—none. Her breath was ragged with elated anticipation as she gripped the pitchfork in both of her hands and strained her back to lift it above her head. 

The movements were swift and secure as she brought the rusted points of the pitchfork down with the whole of her might. He screamed and the sound of it could have made her laugh. Perhaps there was a time and a place for small mercies, for rather than piercing him through the neck, she pinned him to the frozen floor of the village path between the lethal prongs of the tool and slowly lowered her face toward his. She felt her mouth opening, the flesh of her cheeks lengthening until the sinew tugged at itself to the snapping point, her gaping maw opening wider than the hinge of a human jaw would permit. The razor-sharp jowls of a wolf threatened to raze through his neck and swallow him whole, but when the beast of Juneau took in that anticipatory breath before the kill all it loosed in her was a scream.

The woman jolted upright into the frigid, dark air in a chaotic, sudden lurch. Juneau panted and clutched at herself, finding that she was still very much human in form. The flickering light of a near-dead fire reminded her that they had not arrived anywhere except another bend in the winding mountain pass, another false summit, another unkept promise of respite. She swallowed hard and pawed at her cheek finding it dry—it was too cold to allow for the materialization of tears, not that she was weak enough to cry. Not for that fucker. The beating of her heart began to right itself again, slowing back to its normal rate in increments and she glanced around hoping that her decision to sleep as far away from the others had granted her the privacy it was intended for. 

[flokivilgerdarson]

Flóki, better known as Flóki the Boatbuilder, is Ragnar's loyal friend and helped him build the ships for the crossing with his craftsmanship talent, which brought Ragnar much fame and made him famous as a boatbuilder himself. Father of his Star of the eyes, Caya Freia. Grandfather of Illian, Marlena, Ellinor and Baldur. Great grandfather of Ragnar Ivain, Lidija Marlene and Ranva Aleen. He is a true Norseman and Viking through and through, who loves nothing more than to pay homage to the gods, even the darker ones that haunt him, and is a distant descendant of the god Loki. At the beginning, Flóki lives far away from the village of Kattegat, sweats figures there, builds things, explores the forest and is known for being crazy. The shipbuilder is absolutely loyal to Ragnar and supports him wherever he can and does everything for him. He also has a close relationship with all of Ragnar's sons, whom he loves just as much as he loved Ragnar, and looks after Ragnar's sons when he turns his back on Kattegat and his sons after his last defeat and looks after them. After the death of his beloved daughter Angrboða, he and Helga find a small, abandoned bundle and take care of the little girl, whom they christen Caya Freia and who becomes their daughter. Even though Flóki is against it at first, he feels a special bond with the little girl who becomes the apple of his eye. He also has a particularly close relationship with Ivar, as he not only taught him the deep, old customs but also has a deep bond with Ragnar's youngest son, whose upbringing he helped raise. Flóki hates the Christians and their false god, whose hatred draws him closer and goes so deep and drives him, which is why he often comes into conflict with Ragnar and stands against him. He detests the Christians and was always ready to fight against them in the bloodiest battles, for Ragnar and the gods. Flóki not only seems crazy, he is not always taken seriously and likes to play pranks, but the cunning man is not to be underestimated. Nor should his cunning and tricks. Flóki often seems unpredictable, sometimes heartless and always mysterious. Because of his love for the gods, whom he always defends and fights for and always acts according to their will, he has a particularly close bond with them that cannot be broken and is loyal to them and his people as well as Ragnar's family from the bottom of his heart. But the shipbuilder, whose moods change unpredictably, is not always easy to understand. As soon as something goes wrong, he looks for the blame in others, withdraws or hides or once again begins to sink into his strong self-doubts. However, when he is faced with winning, he stops at nothing. After taking revenge for Ragnar's death and the loss of Helga, he begins to sail away and surrender himself into the hands of the gods, dejected and empty, and turns his back on Kattegat, his daughter and Ragnar's sons. After discovering Iceland, he recruits others to help him build a settlement there where they can live in peace and harmony without blood and revenge, but fails and disappears without a trace. Later, Ubbe finds him in the golden land where the wild, crazy boatbuilder had settled and they both return to Kattegat. Back to his beloved daughter and to Ragnar's sons, for whom he is always there and takes care of the family. [ • VIKINGS ]