#ivar the boneless fanfic

[multific]

The Mistress of The Devil

Ivar the Boneless x DarkWitch!Reader

Warnings: mention of witchcraft, demons

Summary: Dark clothes, dark aura and powers. Where you came from, or who you were, not even Aslaug was sure anymore. All she could recall is that she promised to wed her son to you. And now, the Devil had a wife.

"I said you will marry her and this is the last I want to hear anything from you Ivar!" hearing his mother yell, Ivar knew, he lost this battle.

He was to marry this unknown woman.

He hated the idea.

Ivar will just simply kill her, he needs no wife.

He said, but the next day, just when Kattegat woke up, there stood a woman.

She was dressed in a black, her smile was kind, too kind for someone dressed so dark.

"My name is Y/N. I came for my wedding."

Everyone was confused. Aslaug ended up showing you around and introducing you to your future husband.

Ivar Ragnarson.

A strong man with an even stronger will. His legs were the proof of it. He never backed down, not letting anything get in his way.

You liked it.

The determination. The fire.

It is just what you need in a husband.

You smiled at Ivar as you two were wed.

Now, you had him.

---

Everyone knew the name Ivar the Boneless. Everyone feared Ivar the Boneless.

The fearless Viking known for his intelligence and insanity.

But then, a whisper came with the wind.

A whisper of his wife.

A woman, explained as the Darkness herself.

The Christians referred to her as Satan's Wife. 

Would that make Ivar Satan in their logic?

Everyone wondered how could Ivar be so fearless, how could he know so much.

The answer was simple, his wife.

You, with your powers inherited throughout the generations of women in your family.

You, the dark sorceress who fell madly in love with a not so simple Viking.

It was always you.

People who survived Ivar's wrath often said it was as if he had a dark figure standing behind him. The figure was tall, and had long arms and eyes that glow red like blood.

Overexadiration, but not far from the truth.

One of your many beings. 

Sentenced to follow and help Ivar in his fights, the being didn't have a name. It was simply black and tall.

Ivar swore sometimes he could see it from the corner of his eye.

It made him recall a time when he first saw one of your... pets.

It was very late, the fire has nearly gone out, both of you sleeping under furs.

Ivar woke, his mind fuzzy with sleep when he saw someone or rather something in the corner. 

But as his eyes focused and he woke up with a start, the thing vanished.

"What is it, Ivar?" you asked, being awakened from your slumber.

"I saw someone." you looked at the corner he kept on staring at.

"I will deal with it, sleep now." you smiled at him as you stood up and walked towards the entrance of the house.

Ivar followed you, crawling as you opened the door, his words failed him.

You stood a couple steps from the door, looking towards the darkness. You turned to your left, then to your right. As if you saw someone you spoke up, just as Ivar found his way towards the doorway.

"Let him sleep! You are scaring him, I told you before." you said, to him it looked like you have gone mad, then you turned to him. "I told you before, they wouldn't hurt you, don't be afraid of them, Ivar." you said and Ivar swore he saw something move to his right. He quickly looked and saw a pair or long fingers on the wall, the... thing right around the corner, Ivar felt frozen.

Then he saw it.

The face of a being, not human. Illuminated by the light coming from the window, Ivar's pair of blues met with black eyes and skin so pale, Ivar never seen anything like it before.

"It won't hurt you." you said with a lower voice as you watched Ivar. He then looked back at you, you saw his confusion. "They won't hurt you." you said once more and this time, Ivar believed you.

But never after that night did he ever want to see any of your creatures.

---

You were a rather light sleeper. 

There were occasions when nothing could wake you, and other times where a simple movement from Ivar made you wake up. This was one of those nights.

You were awakened by his simple movement, you couldn't fall back to sleep and so, you decided to just sit by the fire and watch it and Ivar.

Ivar woke up hours later, it was still dark outside and he looked at you.

"Are your demons haunting you again, Wife?"

"Quite the opposite, My King. I'm haunting them." you smirked and Ivar moved to the edge of the bed. 

You stood up and stood still a couple steps away from him.

"What would you do for me, Ivar?" you asked and he looked into your eyes.

"I would burn the entire world. Kill every last person just to get to you. Kill every last demon just to have you with me again." you moved onto the floor, crawling over, you placed your hands on his knees.

"Would you run for me?" you watched his eyes switch. 

You offended him.

You corrected yourself.

"If I give you the ability, would you run to me, run to save me, run to kill them? Would you?"

"C-Can you?" he asked, eyes filling with hope.

And you nodded.

A simple nod.

"Will it hurt?" came his next question.

Another nod.

"It would be worth it. Standing beside you, as the proud husband I am. Run to you? Without a question." he ran his fingers through your hair.

You sealed your deal with a kiss.

---

Everyone in Kattegat woke up with a feeling of dread.

Then they all saw.

Ivar walking around like nothing happened, as if his legs always worked.

The Devil could walk.

And it terrified everyone.

They only could imagine what his enemies would think, given how his own people were terrified of him. 

His brother always knew Ivar's wife wasn't a regular woman. They had this feeling about her, as they said, there was a darkness around her.

And upon seeing their brother walk, there was no more doubt about it.

She made him walk.

So, was is actually that Ivar married the Devil? Would it actually be the Devil and her husband?

One thing was for sure, now whenever someone looked into the dark of your eyes, they could hear people crying and begging.

And just like with many names in history, yours and Ivar's were eventually melted into one.

It was no longer Ivar the Boneless and his wife.

Soon, all people remembered was the fierce Viking, Ivar the Boneless.

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~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS 

[starogeorgina]

Redemption

Warning: Swearing, oral sex

Pairing: Ivar × reader

1.02

“Once we lure them into position, I’ll give you the signal, then you’ll light the bastards up—Ivar stop,” you laugh, feeling his hands roam over your body. “I’m trying to help you plan a war.”

“I’m aware.”

“It’s difficult to concentrate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Ivar smirks, kissing your neck. He continues to squeeze at your breasts over your dress. His two favourite things were fucking and fighting, so talking battle strategies was hard for im. Ivar begins kissing your neck, leaving purple marks as a way of reminding others that you are his. “I’m not doing anything you don’t like.”

You turn your head and kiss him. Your lips linger as your mind begins to race with a thousand thoughts. It hadn’t been long since you lost your baby, and you hadn’t been intimate since.

Ivar rubs his finger along your cheek. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say, kissing him again. “I want you, Ivar. I want you to do more things I like.”

He tilts his head to the side and gives you a small smile. Ivar smooths your hair out of your face, and the gaze in his eyes somehow brought you comfort; it was as if he was looking deep into your soul and knew what you were thinking. “I will not rush you, Drifa,” he says. “But I know something we can do, something we both like.”

Seeing the mischievous look on his face, you raise your brows and ask, “What's that?”

—

Ivar smirks in amusement as the sword in your hand rests at the top of his neck. He says, “You fight dirty; I’ve taught you well.”

You toss your sword to the side, pick up two axes, and hand one to Ivar. He told you that non-Viking armies didn’t see women as much of a threat; he wanted you to prove them all wrong. Ivar took great pride in coaching you in sword fighting, throwing spears, and aiming your bow and arrow.

“Perhaps one of my brothers will spar with you later.”

You pull a face and say, “Ubbe or Hvitserk. Last time I sparred with Sigurd, your mother was mad at me for hurting him.”

With a boyish smile on his face, Ivar says, “You knocked his front tooth out; it was a wonderful thing to witness.”

You’d always hated Sigurd and the way he treated Ivar and his mother. You think back to that day and how you and Sigurd got into a fight because he kept insulting your dead parents. At first, his brothers laughed until the first blood was drawn. You feel awful thinking about Hvitserk trying to separate you and accidentally backhanding him.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice Ivar talking to you until he places his hand on your waist. “What are you thinking about?"”

“The time I burst Hvitserk lip.”

“Hvitserk adores you.” Ivar throws his axe, which hits the mark on the tree. “So do Ubbe and Bjorn. As did my mother.” Ivar takes the other axe from your hand and repeats the action, hitting the mark perfectly again. “Sigurd is scared of you because he is weak and knows he cannot compete.”

“Have I told you recently how much I love you?”

Ivar blushes. “No, but I never tire of hearing it.”

You kiss him on the cheek before going to retrieve the axes so you can continue throwing them. You continue training until the sun begins to disappear behind the clouds and the sky quickly becomes dark as the weather changes quickly.

The rainfall is heavy, causing the mud to splash up onto Ivar’s face and neck while he dragged his body along the ground as you headed home. Seeing the pain in Ivar’s face, you suggest taking shelter from the rain underneath a large tree. You sink down beside Ivar and lean your head on his shoulder.

You sit in silence until Ivar lets out a deep breath and asks, “Why doesn’t it bother you?”

“What?”

“Being married to a cripple.”

You roll your eyes. Every time Ivar felt self-consciousness, he would question why anyone loved him. His insecurity became worse when his brother told him; nobody loved him, and everyone felt sorry for him. “I’ve told you to stop listening to Sigurd.”

“It’s true, though; I am a cripple. And my weaknesses are your weaknesses.”

“Your legs aren’t a weakness, Ivar. They are your greatest strength. People will always underestimate a cripple.”

Ivar opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off with a kiss. You brush your nose against his as you straddle his lap, careful not to put too much pressure on him. The feral look in Ivar’s eyes sparks something inside you; all you wanted was for him to devour you. “You are Ivar the boneless, the strongest and most violent man I’ve ever met.”

Ivar grips your jaw with a devilish glint in his eyes. “You think I’m violent?”

“I think you're the most bloodthirsty Viking to ever exist.”

“Stand up.”

Following his order, you stand up. Seeing Ivar lower his trousers so his cock can spring free, you pull up the bottom of your dress. He grins, clasping his hands around your thighs. Ivar brings you in closer so he can put his mouth on your aching core. You let out a moan when you fell his warm tongue swipe over your folds before turning his attention to your clit.

“Mmmm.. Ivar, just like that,” you encouraged, “please don’t stop!”

He sucks and flicks his tongue on your abused clit, speeding up his actions until you cum, legs shaking around his head. When you come down from your high, you kneel down and twirl your tongue over the head of Ivar’s hard cock before taking him full into your mouth. He uses one hand to grip your hair, while Ivar uses the other to pinch your nipple, as Drool dribbles down your chin while you bob your head. Tears roll down your cheeks as you gag, feeling his cock start to jolt in your mouth. Ivar tightens his grip as spurts of hot cum shoot down your throat.

He grunts, “Swallow all of it like a good wife.”

Sitting up, you wipe the saliva away with the back of your hand. Ivar shuffles to put his cock back into his trousers. You kiss the palm of Ivar’s hand when he cups your face. “We should get back; it’s almost time for supper, and we both need to bathe.”

—

You take another mouthful of ale as your eyes jump between the brothers sitting around the table. There was a weird atmosphere, and you were trying to figure out why. Ubbe and Ivar feasted, laughed, and drank ale while Hvitserk looked nervous. He kept glancing at Sigurd, who had been smirking most of the night. When you returned, you had bathed and changed into a clean dress, while Ivar remained in the same mud-covered clothes. The only reason his hands were free from dirt was because he washed your back and hair.

Sigurd suddenly burst out laughing, gaining the attention of his brothers. “Do you all remember when Margrethe said Ivar couldn’t pleasure a woman? Well, today I found out that’s not true.”

You and Ivar look at each other and ask, “What?”

“Me and Hvitserk were coming back from a hunt and saw-”

“I did not look,” Hvitserk says quickly, not letting his brother finish his sentence. You patted the back of his hand; although he was a menace at times, Hvitserk was respectful and would never deliberately watch such a thing.

“Enough,” Ubbe says. “We will hear no more of this.”

Sigurd ignores his elder brother and continues talking. “I’m just sharing that I’m happy for Ivar. At least it can finally put the rumors of Drifa carrying another man’s child to rest.”

“It was you who told others that!”

He shrugs. “I stand corrected; I can tell others I know Ivar gets hard because I caught you with his dick in your mouth.”

Ubbe and Hvitserk stare at him, unimpressed.

Tears of embarrassment swell in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. You glance at your husband to see his reaction to his brother's taunting. Ivar peels the last bit of meat from the bones of his meal off with his teeth, then tosses the bare animal bone onto the table. “What kind of man talks about his brother's wife in that way?”

The amused smile drops from Sigurd’s face, “I’m—”

“I swear to the gods that if I ever hear you talk about my beautiful Drifa in such a way again, brother, you’ll leave me no other choice but to kill you.”

The room falls silent as Ivar’s threat lingers in the air. Sigurd looks to his brothers, but when neither of them say anything, he storms off, leaving the rest of you to enjoy the remainder of your night.

[bxwitched]

Captive - Part 4

Warnings: Explicit 18+ only, please read at your own risk. Noncon / dubcon, slavery, manipulation, sexual content, violence, descriptions of wounds and blood.

Character Pairing: King!Ivar the Boneless x Slave!Reader

Summary: You find yourself a captive of Ivar the Boneless.

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: I finally found the inspiration to continue this fic after a whole year. Comments, reblogs and likes are all appreciated! You can find my masterlist here.

You stirred as cold fingertips traced along your leg, a large callused hand smoothing shapes over soft the flesh, waking you from your dream. You kicked out at the explorative touch, making a sound of displeasure as Ivar caught your ankle in his firm grip and snickered in amusement.

"It is time to get up, Valkyrie." You groaned, burrowing your face further into the furs.

"Leave me be, King. Let me sleep." He huffed at you from his perch at the end of the bed and you gasped in surprise as he leaned forward and snatched your leg from beneath the blankets, jostling you as he hitched it over his broad shoulder. His icy eyes locked with yours as he pressed a slow kiss to the side of your knee.

You tried to ignore the heat simmering in your belly as his lips brushed against the sensitive flesh, leaving fire in their wake. His intense gaze bore down into you and flashes of the night before came rushing back; the way that Ivar had looked at you as you had taken control of him and used him for your pleasure.

You had behaved no better than a common whore, desperate for the gratification that his body could offer and you felt your cheeks heat at the memory, your stomach twisting into knots.

You leaned back on your elbows and studied Ivar, he was already dressed in his light armour; with his axe fixed to his hip, his knives stowed at his waist, and metal braces in place on his legs. You didn't have time to wonder what his plans for the day were before he brought you out of your thoughts, his breath tickling your soft skin as he spoke.

"I thought that you would be eager to see your little mouse, Valkyrie. But if you would rather remain in bed-" His voice was teasing and you bolted upright, wrenching your leg back from his grip as you looked at him with narrowed eyes, suspicious.

"You will allow it?" He nodded once, his bright eyes fixated on you.

"You have been good for me, haven't you? Torsten is waiting outside to escort you." You tried and failed to hide your excitement as you stood from the bed and rushed to get dressed. Ivar's lips tilted up at the corners and his eyes remained glued to your form as he watched you ready yourself for the day, beguiled by you.

As you walked the streets of Kattegat you had quickly learned that Torsten was not a talkative man; he was tall and well-built with short hair, shorn at the sides and a dark beard. He was more of a mountain than a man, clearly battle hardened and you had no doubts that he was one of Ivar's finest warriors. 

You travelled in silence, trying to ignore the stares of the townspeople as you passed through the busy market, some offered you looks of pity, whilst others flashed you looks of distaste. You couldn't decipher the hushed words and low whispers that were spoken, but you imagined that it was gossip of the king's newest toy, his foreign concubine. 

You wondered how many there were before you and what words were spoken of them, whether they were also from Eire or from lands further afield. 

Torsten came to a stop when you neared a large barn and gestured you in ahead of him. You entered the dimly lit space hesitantly, mindful of the other thralls as they bustled around, readying for their tasks of the day.

You eyes flitted through the crowd of women, searching for the head of golden hair when a weight suddenly barrelled into you, taking your breath and nearly knocking you backwards as a smaller figure clung tightly to your waist.

Alva sobbed against you, her tears staining the richly-dyed fabric of your dress, 'a gift' Ivar had said, 'wear it for me'.

"I thought- I though that I would never see you again-" You hushed the younger girl as she cried, hiccuping as she tried to form words between her gasped breaths and tears.

"I'm here, Alva. All is well." You rubbed her back with one hand and stroked her hair with the other as she slowly calmed and managed to steady her breathing once more.

She looked up at you with glassy eyes, deep emerald irises that she had inherited from her mother's side. 

"Come." You took her hand in yours and lead her away from the barn, down to the waterfront where it was quieter, calmer. You both walked in silence along the waters edge, taking in the warmth of the sun on your face and the sound of the waves as they lapped gently at the shore. Torsten followed behind,  giving you just enough distance to speak privately, a courtesy you hadn't expected from the warrior.

Alva sobbed against you, her tears staining the richly-dyed fabric of your dress, 'a gift' Ivar had said, 'wear it for me'.

"I thought- I though that I would never see you again-" You hushed the younger girl as she cried, trying to form words between her gasped breaths and tears.

"I'm here, Alva. All is well." You rubbed her back with one hand and stroked her hair with the other as she slowly calmed and steadied her breathing.

She looked up at you with glassy eyes, a deep, rich emerald that she had inherited from her mother's side.

"Come." You took her hand and lead her away from the barn and down to the waterfront. You both walked along the waters edge, your shoes sinking slightly into the damp sand as Torsten followed behind you at a distance, giving you enough space speak privately. It was a courtesy you hadn't expected from the warrior but appreciated immensely. 

"Where did they take you?" Your heart wrenched at the concern and fear in her shaking voice.

"They took me to the king." Alva's face paled, her eyes widening further. She looked akin to a doe in the forest, startled by a waiting hunter in the trees.

"Ivar the boneless." Her fear was evident now, her eyes moving over your body franticly. "What did he do? Did he hurt you?"

"No Alva, I'm fine." Your stomach twists at that and you let out a deep sigh, your shoulders sagging slightly. She was six summers younger than you but she was naive for her age, fragile. She wasn't hardened like you, she was innocent and she couldn't begin to understand the complexities of your situation.

She was a lamb amongst wolves and you knew that you had to do everything you could to protect her, even if it meant being the king's whore.

"King Ivar has taken me as his and so long as I am good to him, useful to him, our safety is guaranteed here. We may be thralls here but we are alive Alva, and we are protected. That is all that matters." She chewed her lip nervously and her worried gaze dropped to the floor.

"I have heard things, whispers from the other girls.." You stopped and crouched down to her level, ignoring the cold water that seeped into the hem of your gown as you searched her face with questioning eyes.

"What things?"

"They talk about the king, they say that he is a great warrior, that he is favoured by the gods and has never lost a battle. But-"

"Go on, Alva." You insisted as she shifted her weight nervously.

"They say that because of his legs, he cannot please a woman. He has hurt slave girls and threatened to kill them if they speak of it. They talk of a woman called Margarette, they say he strangled her."

Your eyes lowered to the sand and you nodded your head solemnly, you would not be surprised by such things given your experience of Ivar's volatile nature. You returned to your full height and forced a small smile, one you hoped would reassure the young girl.

"Come along, let us enjoy the water a little longer."

Torsten allowed you to spend a few hours with Alva, soaking up the warmth of the sun and the feel of the salty ocean breeze before telling you that it was time to return to the Hall.

Alva was unhappy to leave you and return to the thrall house but she finally relented when you reassured her that you'd be okay with a soft smile and promised that you would see her again soon.

You were almost back at the Hall when you heard your new moniker being called in the distance and turned to see Hvitserk making his way towards you.

"Valkyrie!" The man was completely different to Ivar, not only in his physical appearance but in his demeanour; whilst Ivar was impassive and unpredictable, Hvitserk was open and seemed to wear his emotions on his sleeve.

He grinned widely at you as he rested on the fence of the training ground, his hair mussed and cheeks red from sparring.

"I see my brother has finally let you spread your wings." You huffed at his jest and moved to rest against the fence beside him, watching as Ivar's men fought each other with vigour, the sharp clashes of steel and crashes of shields heavy in the air.

"They are fine warriors. Though not as fine as you I'm sure.." Hvitserk raised an eyebrow at your taunt, his grin widening as mischief danced behind his eyes.

"You told me that you were a fighter, Valkyrie. Perhaps I wish to see it for myself." You raised your chin slightly, your eyes narrowing in playful challenge.

"My father always believed that I possessed enough fury to rival that of a berserker, maybe we should test that." The blonde man's eyes flashed in delight and he held a hand out to you, helping you over the wooden fence and into the training arena, ignoring Torsten's protests and silencing the larger man with a raised hand.

"Hand me a sword, Ragnarsson." He passed you a short-sword, lighter than you had used before but well-balanced and finely made. Hvitserk opted for a larger sword, heavier and better matched for his larger frame.

"Don't worry, Valkyrie. I will go easy on you." You scoffed, watching as his grin widened and his eyes changed, the mossy green growing darker with his building battle-lust.

You watched his feet, anticipating his initial attack and dodged each skilful slash of his sword. You moved in time with him, keeping up with the prince despite your heavy dress weighing down your movements.

You grinned as you blocked several of the beserker's attempted hits. Hvitserk's expression was positively wild and the fight between you became more intense the more you challenged him.

He barely managed to block your attack to his torso and you grinned as he growled in irritation. You were so focused, until your name was shouted from the fence line.

Your head turned for no more than a second but it was enough time for Hvitserk to land a hit, successfully slicing a line of crimson across your forearm. You gasped as the flesh stung and you clutched at the wound as the blood began to seep from it, running down your skin and dripping into the dirt beneath your feet.

Hvitserk froze, his face dropping into one of remorse as he realised what he had done, then one of uneasiness when he noticed Ivar stalking towards you both with his men in tow. His face was stony but his sapphire eyes gave away his rage, they were practically glowing as he glared at both of you.

"What do you think you are doing, hm?" His voice was level, an unnerving contradiction to the storm brewing behind his eyes. He turned on Hvitserk then and the older Ragnarsson visibly tensed. "I suppose that this was your idea, brother?"

You were quick to speak up, stepping in front of Hvitserk to shield him from Ivar's wrath. Although he had been the one to challenge you to spar, you had been just as willing. He hadn't meant to injure you and you had enjoyed the rush of it, the freedom.

Despite being your master's kin Hvitserk had been civil to you during your time in Kattegat, amiable even. From what you had witnessed he seemed to be a decent man and you didn't feel that he deserved to be reprimanded for your poor choices.

"It's not his fault, my King. I challenged him to fight, if you are to punish anyone then it must be me."

"Is that so?" Ivar tilted his head at you with a raised brow and you nodded, his face said everything his words did not. This is not over.

He ran his tongue along the front of his teeth and nodded once, his jaw tensed.

"Very well, Torsten will take you back to our chambers." He dismissed the larger warrior with a wave of his hand and turned to face Hvitserk, fixing him with a false smile that left no room for argument. "Brother, you will go and fetch the healer. And the next time that you wish to fight? I suggest that you find a different opponent."

@wittysunflower​ @heavenly1927​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @that-virgo-witch​ @helleiaiwritting @the-king-of-kattegat-ivar @nukyster-blog @ietss @belladaises @victoria-styles

[collecting-stories]

Willow - Ivar the Boneless

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

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

TS Anthology Masterlist | Vikings Masterlist

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

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

"Have you come to join the dancing?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am a snake now?"

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

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

"Patience."

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

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

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

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

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

[vikingsmasterlist]

Autumn (Ivar.OFC)

The Favorite

The Reckoning

Unwarranted Advice

Prideful Adoration

Inguz

[its-all-or-nothing94]

Ravenblade - Part 2 // Ivar Lothbrok x OC

Summary: As Björn would like to keep an eye on his mysterious sister, she has her sights set on someone completely different, to the surprise of her brother and his.

Warnings: Language, Description of violence, light smut (implied but not fully described)

Pairing: Ivar x OC

A/N: Here is the second chapter :) Still, let me know if you wanna be on the tag list ;)

Masterlist

That evening the great sacrifice takes place, which is supposed to bring victory to the Vikings over the Saxons. Some Earl has decided to sacrifice himself for the cause, and Liv now stands beside her big brother and his brothers before the ceremony.

"You still owe me an answer," Bjorn whispers to her as they wait for Lagertha.

"I don't owe you anything," she says, continuing to look straight ahead.

"I still want to know why you're doing this and whose side you're on."

Now Liv looks at her big brother. "I am on Ragnar's side. I am doing this to avenge his death. Nothing more, nothing less."

"But why?"

"Have you seen him in the last ten years? No? Well, I have. And I have my reasons. But let my reasons be mine."

Then, as Lagertha begins to speak in the old language up front, Liv notices Björn slinking away. She doesn't care, but now she is standing next to Ivar. She looks at him briefly, and her eyes meet his. She grins briefly before turning her attention back to the front.

Lagertha is now sacrificing the Earl. Liv watches closely. It somehow fascinates her how her mother pushes the sword further and further into the man's chest.

Liv looks enthusiastically at Sven, who looks at her with a slight smirk. She feels Ivar's eyes on her. Liv likes it when a man is interested in her. It makes it all the easier to manipulate him. But with Ivar, it is something else. Somehow she feels drawn to him.

Once again, her gaze wanders to him, who is also looking at her with his deep blue eyes. A smile creeps onto her face.

When the ritual ends, Liv sees Ivar in front of the large bowl of blood. She walks up to him and stands next to him.

"May I?" she then asks, pointing to the blood. Ivar looks at her in surprise and then nods hesitantly.

Painting blood on someone is a sign of affection. Liv taps two fingers each into the blood and then looks Ivar in the eye before wiping her fingers across his face. Ivar closes his eyes briefly and then looks at her again. They maintain eye contact for a moment before Ivar dips his fingers in the blood and then does the same to Liv.

From a distance, they are watched by Björn and Ubbe. "I don't like this," murmurs Ubbe. He is not comfortable with the young warrior and does not trust her.

Björn shakes his head with his arms crossed. "She's manipulating him. That's what she's good at."

"Normally, I wouldn't have thought of Ivar as someone women so easily manipulate, but with her... I'm not so sure," the younger of the two concludes.

When everyone has retired to sleep before leaving, Liv sneaks out of the hut she and the Ravenblade have been assigned. She walks through the deserted town and creeps towards one particular hut.

Carefully she listens at the door and hears nothing. Then she opens it quietly and squeezes through a small crack. In front of her on a chair lies Hvitserk, snoring heartily. The position can't be comfortable, Liv thinks to herself and tiptoes past him. Then she stands in front of two doors. She briefly points her finger at both and then decides on the first one.

Silently she opens it, and to her luck, it is the room she was looking for. But to her surprise, he is sitting, still awake, with his back to her, and seems bent over something. Still silent, Liv closes the door again and takes a few steps toward her.

"You're quiet, but I know you're here," Ivar says suddenly, then turns to her.

She looks at him with raised eyebrows, a smug smile on her face. "But only because I wanted you to," she says, winking at him.

"What are you doing here?" he asks then.

Liv takes a few steps across the room, looking at what he owns. "Oh, I felt like company..."

Ivar follows her closely with his gaze. He can't figure her out. Liv walks up to him and stops in front of him. She leans down to him and looks him in the eye.

"Don't you want my company?" she asks directly.

"I... Uh..." he stammers briefly, which throws him off.

"I can leave as well," she says, standing up again and walking towards the door.

"No!" he says quickly. "No. Please stay."

Liv smiles at him and then walks back towards him. She pulls a chair towards her and sits in front of Ivar, so they are at eye level. She is so close to him that her knees touch his, and she has placed them to the left and right of his legs.

"Tell me something about yourself, Ivar the Boneless. That's what they call you, isn't it?"

Ivar nods, slightly befuddled, then looks away. "They do..."

"You don't like the name? I think it's a great one. Not as boring as 'the feared' or 'the cruel'.  Most of the time, they don't live up to their names anyway, but you... You're different."

Ivar looks her in the eye again and notices that Liv is getting closer to him. Suddenly she puts her lips to his, and he enjoys it briefly before pulling away from her again.

Slightly ashamed, he looks to the floor and bites his lips. "I can't..." he says, turning away from her. "If you're looking for that kind of company, I'm the wrong guy..." he continues seriously, and Liv looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

"What are you trying to say? If I want to spend time with you, I want to spend it with you, not with someone else."

Ivar looks at her again, and Liv can tell he is incredibly uncomfortable. "I can't... I can't do this. It."

Liv continues to look at him without making a face. Ivar would have expected something else. Either she would laugh at him or feel sorry for him, but nothing of the sort comes from Liv.

"Have you also been told that a deaf person cannot communicate?" she asks, and Ivar does not know what she is getting at. She takes a deep breath and then moves closer to him again. "How many times have you tried? With how many women?"

"Only with one, and it didn't work," Ivar says quietly.

Now Liv begins to laugh softly. But it's not that she's laughing at him, but rather at his pathetic attempt.

"And that already tells you it can't be done?" she asks, kneeling before him.

She starts to undo his trousers, and Ivar grabs her wrists. "What are you doing?" he asks, irritated, but she grins at him.

"I'm trying to prove you wrong." Hesitantly, Ivar lets go of Liv's wrists, and she expertly undoes his trousers.

Ivar feels the lust rising in him and his body changing. She looks him in the eyes and then begins to massage him slowly. Her movements become faster and her grip tighter, but Ivar doesn't mind. Then she winks at him and lowers her head.

It is not long before Ivar can no longer hold on. His body tenses, and he opens his mouth. He tries to stifle a moan and then looks down at Liv, who is just breaking away from him.

She straightens up again, grabs a piece of cloth lying on the table, and wipes her mouth and hands before looking at him triumphantly.

"What did I say? I guess it all comes down to technique."

With those words, she tosses the rag back on the table, winks at Ivar one last time, and then leaves the hut. Ivar looks after her in disbelief. How is he supposed to keep his hands off her now?

The following day the time has come. The enormous army leaves for England. All along the docks, people are saying goodbye to their loved ones.

Liv walks towards the dock where her boat is moored and stops as she passes her brother's ship. It is right opposite hers. Lagertha is standing there with Björn, saying goodbye to him.

"Oh, how sentimental," she says with amusement, and Lagertha looks at her. As always, Liv has uncovered her sarcastic smile.

"I just wish him good luck on his journey, and may the gods watch over him," Lagertha justifies herself. "Wouldn't you like someone to say that to you?"

"I don't need that... I know the gods are with me. I don't need someone like you to tell me that. And luck is for beginners." Liv walks over to her ship and then looks at Ivar momentarily. "Hello, Ivar," she says, winks at him, and then hops onto her boat.

"Well, folks? Are you ready?" she asks the crowd, where her people are already busy making final arrangements for departure.

"Here you are," Sven says, coming up to Liv. "Where were you tonight?" he asks more quietly, looking at her.

"Oh, here and there," she replies, and her gaze briefly wanders to Ivar, who keeps looking at her.

Sven follows her gaze and glares at Ragnar's son. "Were you with him?" he asks, following Liv across the boat.

"Even if I was, it's none of your business Sven, understand?" she says more seriously now.

She is always very relaxed with her people, but if someone tries to undermine her authority or gets too nosy, she is good at putting a stop to it. Now Liv turns to her whole troop.

"It's finally time!" she shouts, then climbs a mast. "We are travelling to England, and we will avenge the death of Ragnar Lothbrok! Until now, you have followed me, and I hope you will continue to follow me! We are the Ravenblade! Du bekar! Du bekar!" shouts Liv, and her men and women cheer.

From the other boat, Ivar watches her closely. She is a true leader, and one day, she will be his.

With anticipation, Liv waits for her cue. It is a grandiose plan; she has to admit. The first troops of the great army get ready and line up. Then it's their turn. She stands up and leads her Ravenblade up the hill as well.

The shieldmaiden lines up not far from the sons of Ragnar and grins. She loves fighting and slaughter. She turns her sword once in her hand and draws the shield closer as Ivar stops beside her in his chariot.

He looks at her briefly but then directs his gaze forward. And then Björn gives the signal. Together they run off into battle.

After the battle, Liv climbs onto the chariot with Ivar. Behind him, they have tied King Aelle, and he is now being pulled through the mud by Ivar. Liv smiles triumphantly at Ivar and then looks ahead again.

As Ivar comes to a stop, the other sons of Ragnar lift Aelle out of the mud. Ivar also turns on his buck and watches while Liv jumps from the chariot. The Boneless One watches her movements closely.

She seems to be examining where they are when Björn asks Aelle about the location of Ragnar's death. The anxious king looks at a place where Liv is already standing, and she then points to the ground with a nod. She steps on the floor with her foot and notices wood under her feet. She pushes the leaves back and forth and then looks at the king.

"Is this the place?" she asks in English. Liv has learned many different languages on her travels. The king looks at her and then nods hesitantly. "This is it," she says to Björn, and he asks his men to open the hatch.

Together they look inside. Ivar has now joined them as well.

"This is the place where our father was killed," he says, looking at his brothers.

The brothers exchange a look, and then Aelle looks at Björn. "How much gold and silver do you want to spare my life?" he asks tremblingly. "Name a price! Anything, anything you want!"

Liv laughs out loud. She bites her lip and waits anxiously for her big brother's answer. But then Ivar interferes.

"You are mistaken! Our father was worth much more than gold and silver." Then he looks to the king. "That is not the price you must pay."

The king knows fully that he is done for and begins to weep. Liv, meanwhile, looks at Ivar, who returns her gaze. Again, a nasty smile creeps onto her lips.

Then Floki grabs the king by the collar and forces him to his feet.

"I was told that your god was a builder. And you don't believe it, but so am I!"

A little later, Floki nails the king by the hands to posts so that Björn has a clear path to his back. Liv knows precisely what is coming now. She stands in front of the king and looks at him disparagingly.

Then Björn tears the king's tunic off and cuts his back open. He cries out in pain, and Liv looks briefly at her brother. When he looks at her, she raises an eyebrow, then turns around and sits down on a tree stump.

Liv watches tensely, and suddenly she notices how Ivar is next to her and creeps closer and closer to the king. Blood splatters around with every blow of Björn's axe, but Liv doesn't care. She is covered in blood anyway. She sees the fascination in Ivar's gaze and watches him momentarily.

With each successive blow, the life drains more from Aelle until the king is dead.

"I didn't think he'd last this long," Liv whispers to Ivar as she leans down to him.

Ivar looks at her briefly, and enthusiasm is reflected in his eyes. He is probably more like Liv than she thought.

The following day, the lifeless body with its open back hangs over their heads, finally wiping the blood from its face with a scrap of cloth. Ivar sits with Floki on his back, and they all look at the pathetic king.

"Come on...  Another king is waiting for us," Björn says and trudges off.

Liv looks at Sven, who is eyeing her critically. She walks towards him.

"If you have something to say, say it," she demands.

The big man looks at her momentarily but then shakes his head.

"Thought so," she says, then follows her brother.

It's beginning to get on her nerves that Sven always looks at her with that reproving look.

[nukyster-blog]

Adrift Chapter 20) Charge

.-.-.

The Morvan was a mountainous area that had a rich flora and fauna. Wild flowers bloomed, primroses, figwort, wood anemones, wild daffodils. Raspberries and strawberries were widespread. Birds found it a paradise, buzzards, hawks and falcons preyed on the much smaller sparrows, magpies and swallows. Small hunters such as foxes and badgers kept the rabbit, hare, and squirrel population under control. Deer were also frequent visitors of the beautiful area.

For the first time since Ivar had been dragged through the walls of the castle of de Haar, food was abundant. It was bittersweet, because every bite seemed to turn to ash in his mouth. 

As the last ember of the campfire diminished, he chose the solitude of the forest, crawling far away from their camp once dawn spared him enough light. 

Truth was; he could not stand to be in the presence of the maidens. It was like an avalanche; the thickness of the air as he dared to think of either one of them. It choked him as he submerged himself in his own flagellating thoughts. He had to face the fact that one maiden would never trust him again if she knew what he did with the other.  

Ivar hadn’t feared much in his life, but he’d rather drown than read this betrayal in Piglet’s dark eyes. 

“I know Utstott, I fucked up,” Ivar agreed with a deep huff as his faithful companion nipped sharp at his earlobe, digging his claws into his shoulder. The white raven hopped a little aside, agitated.

It pained Ivar to confess; but there were moments he missed being locked inside the walls of the castle of de Haar. Life had been cruel; but simple. Everything wore either the color white or black; everyone was simply the enemy. His days were mundane and well-organized; survive, endure, feed the pigs, eat as many scraps as you can. He did not need to think nor feel, simply because he lacked the strength, and hunger occupied every inch of his being, too much to care about anything or anyone else. 

Now that those cherished walls had crumbled, everything else started to grab him by the throat. There wasn’t any pain nor hunger to occupy his mind, body and soul. And in all honesty, he’d love to trade places with his former self locked inside that dingy shed; because he struggled so dearly with coming to terms with these feelings. 

“Oh Utstott, if I could trade bodies just for a day,” Ivar reminisced to the white raven and swallowed a large lump in the back of his throat as he watched the bird lift itself atop the wind and leave him all alone in his solemness. 

The guttural distraught cry of Piglet made all the hairs of his neck and arm bristle. His entire body snapped toward the sound and into fight-mode. 

Following Utstott’s rushed caws, Ivar dragged his lower body forth as fast as he could. At the camp, he spotted Valeríe huddling underneath the ox-wagon, both animals bucking and bolting at the forestline. “Where is she?!” Ivar shouted in panic, crawling agitated underneath the wagon once he did not receive an immediate answer. Dragging her palms away from her face he gave her a harsh shove. “WHERE IS SHE?!” he repeated, screaming this time as Piglet’s scream echoed through the maze of trees. “I don’t know!” Valeríe cried out, “there was a wild boar, it attacked the oxes, she tried to distract them and it went after her.” The muscles in his arms tightened and for a moment air evaporated from his lungs. A damn boar. He let go of Valeríe immediately, trudging toward the immediate danger. A damn boar, his nostrils flared and he shouted out: “PIGLET, FIND A TREE, HIDE UP HIGH!” The head of a wild boar could take up a third of its body. They were unpredictable, once they started to charge it was almost impossible to outrun them. Their razor sharp tusks could do a lot of damage, if not be lethal.

In blind panic Ivar pushed himself through bushes, crushing ferns, hitting his knees over tree roots until he finally spotted Piglet. 

Of all damn trees she could have picked she’d taken refuge into a gaunt elm tree of not even ten winters old. Screaming at the top of her lungs she only agitated the four legged furry monster, who was growling and charging the tree trunk over and over again. 

Ivar had the advantage of being on higher ground, and was given the bird's eye view of the situation. He would have had a clear shot, if he’d possessed a bow and arrow, or any other weapon. But Piglet’s distress call had casted all logic from his system and so it was time for a rash decision. 

He threw himself downhill, making as much noise as was humanly possible. Once his body rolled into view it stunned the wild boar for a mere moment. And then the animal did what Ivar hoped it would do; it focused on a new target. Him. 

The collision was so powerful it nearly knocked him out. The agitated squeals of the feral animal kept him conscious and, instinctively, he covered his face in his arms. The speed of the animal was incredible, before Ivar could brace himself for another attack the animal charged at him again. His body scraped over the uneven terrain, curling into fetal position; the third charge was the worst; the animal trampled over him. His view started to turn black and Ivar sensed that if he did not fight back the mauling would not end. 

Reacting out of sheer willpower, Ivar managed to sit up and block the forth collision by grabbing the fierce sharp tusks. The animal squealed high and in pain. Although his sight started to fail him, Ivar caught a glimpse of Piglet bracing herself atop the animal, stabbing her dagger inside the boar’s broad neck over and over again. At the sight of her, Ivar managed to draw in one long breath and steady the vigorously bucking animal. 

It was Ivar’s last image; Piglet's trembling hands, chin and lips, covered in blood before collapsing. 

.-.-.

Valeríe had seen her fair share of maladies, but the sight of the massacred boar left a bad taste in her mouth and an everlasting image for her nightmares. The unrestrained weeping from the bloody maiden would be the soundtrack of said nightmares.

Lifeless, the cripple lay on his side, the boar's tusks had ripped the skin of his face open from his lower lip, over his upper lip all the way up to his cheekbone. He must be bleeding from other places too; Valeríe had watched in horror how the wild boar’s hooves had stomped all over him. 

“Hamar, hamar!” Piglet whaled, shaking the unconscious form by the shoulders, “hamar, don’t leave me, hamar!” Quivering from head to toe, she pressed a hand to his throat, bringing her face close to his chest. 

Their eyes met and locked, it took a lot of effort for the veiled maiden to repose her venomous tone to address her.

“He’s breathing, barely, go get water, clean clothes, hurry!” Valeríe found herself reacting obediently to the barking commands of the other young woman. Once Valerie returned with the requested items, the two of them performed a small miracle; the cripple opened his eyes. He clutched his chest to gasp for air and heave, blood stained saliva drooling from his slack jaws. 

Piglet shouted at him to breathe, he gurgled up more blood, face shaking from side to side, pressing into the dry terrain while trying to inhale. But it was hard on him, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. His breathing quickened and he gasped as if he was choking on his own breath. 

‘He is’, Valeríe realized, she’d seen it happen once or twice before when customers drank themselves into near oblivion. She got down on her knees and clasped her hand over his mouth, cutting off the airflow. She had to brace her grip around his face, eyes snapping open in blind panic and head twisting and turning. 

Piglet must have known what she tried to do, because objectively it appeared she was trying to smother him. The unrelenting glare she gave to go forth told Valeríe she trusted her as far as she could throw her, but she did not stop her when she pressed both hands on the cripple’s mouth to prevent him from squirming out of her grip.

“Hamar, breath! Slow deep breath, from here” Piglet shouted, pressing her hand down below his ribs. Both flinched once the cripple let out an awful moan followed by a lot of gurgling, bloody bubbles foamed up from Valeríe hands and the gasping started all over again.

It dawned on Valeríe that she had no idea what damage might have erupted on the inside and in horror she stared at her bloody hands and her grip eased for a mere moment. 

He was fast, given he was in such a state. He gripped her palms with both his hands and started twisting them. Valeríe cried out and was about to let go, not wanting both her wrist to be broken.

“IVAR!” Piglet exclaimed at the top of her lungs and he jerked his head into her direction.

“Don’t fight, breathe, please, breathe!” She exclaimed, bracing both her palms on his temples. For a moment Valerie thought Piglet was going to kiss him, leaning in until the tips of their noses touched.

“You are viking Ivar, breathe!” She pleaded, keeping his head firmly pressed into the dirt. His grip around Valeríe’s wrists eased, his animosity of her hold evaporated and changed, instead of fighting her he clung to her, like a small child did to the skirts of his mother. He drew in a sharp breath and gasped and of all of the things she could do, Piglet started singing. 

A small shadow circled over their heads and the white raven Valeríe had seen before landed on Piglet’s shoulder cocking his head from side to side to watch the cripple slowly catch back his breath. In and exhaling through his nose his breathing went from shallow to deep, gasping every few breaths. 

The troublesome gasps eventually dissipated, but Piglet never stopped singing. Not when she rose up to fetch water and rip apart pieces of clean clothing, not when she pragmatically started to tear open his tunic to locate more damage. 

There it was again, that intimacy in their actions. Although Ivar still held Valeríe’s wrist in a dead grip his focus lay on Piglet and although his body was in pain his gaze was at ease, exhausted but relieved. 

  As Piglet tore away layers of fabric, a blotched path of hoove shaped bruises came into view. The large animal had run over his chest. 

Piglet’s song paused once she worked her way down his legs. There were two skin deep tissue lacerations on his thigh. Before more blood could flow from the wounds, Piglet pressed the clean rags over them and started bandaging them further up. 

Piglet refocused her attention back at Valeríe imposing the same utilitarian tone: “this needs stitches, I can’t do it here,” evidently asking was too much effort. Instead, Piglet nudged toward Ivar’s shoulders. 

As the pair of maidens dragged the cripple, Piglet resumed her sweet song.

.-.-.

A/N: Did I spend half a night on ‘wild boar attacks?’ You bet I did! Ok, can I just say how utterly devoted Ivar is to Piglet? It did not take him a second to throw himself into battle to keep her out of harm's way. Now can we rewind back to tv-show-Ivar? Who claimed to love a certain maiden, then beat her and eventually murder her child? Yeah, adrift-Ivar is so rocking this redemption arc. And isn’t it wonderful that it takes just about a violent death to make Piglet pick up speaking again? This maiden and her grudges…

Love to read what you think, 

Xoxox Nukyster

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane

The tagged ones:

@youbloodymadgenius

@xbellaxcarolinax

@saldelys

@shannygoatgruff

@pieces-by-me

@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa

@readsalot73

@lauraan182

@conaionaru

@sarahh-jane

@peachyboneless

@adhdnightmare

@khiraeth

@funmadnessandbadassvikings​

@ dekusdante  @neondragons7

@bitter-post-millennial​

@noway4u​

@tessakate​

[lmillay-masterlists]

Unfinished Tales

These are stories that have no ending and only a beginning.

Castle (Ivar.OFC)

Cherry Bomb (Chris Hemsworth.Liam Hemsworth.OFC)

Coffee For Your Head (Tom Holland.OFC)

Dark Habits (Sebastian Stan.OFC)

Dark Paradise (Loki.OFC)

Bad Girls (Chris Evans.OFC)

[axelsagewrites]

Where Am I?*Part Five

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

Word count:  1531

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

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

Part one Part two Part three Part four

Masterlist Here

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe,”

“It’s a dangerous word,” you said.

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

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

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[zapreportsblog]

❝army of ivarrsons❞

✭ pairing : ivar the boneless x reader

✭ fandom : vikings

✭ summary : ivar has always thought of himself to be a failure of a man, his legs did not work like an normal man, his prick did not work. The only thing he was good for was being a prince and a warrior though he wasn’t all that good at being even those in his eyes, but then along came a woman. One so pure, so beautiful she looked to be a goddess amongst men. And with those sweet words she spoke “I will bare you many sons ivar the boneless.”

✭ authors note : I have requests closed as y’all seen but it’s only temporarily, haven’t really been up to writing and seeing as how I had many ideas in mind for stories I thought fuck it let’s try again

The morning sun cast a golden glow over the great hall of Ivar's family estate, illuminating the long wooden table laden with bread, cheese, and freshly caught fish. Ivar sat at the head of the table, his older brother Sigurd to his right. As usual, Sigurd couldn't resist testing his patience.

"Good morrow, brother," Sigurd teased, a wicked glint in his eye. "Have you finally learned how to eat without spilling half your breakfast on your tunic?"

Ivar clenched his jaw, determined to keep his composure. Their sibling rivalry had existed for as long as he could remember, and it showed no signs of waning. He forced a strained smile. "I'm making progress, Sigurd, unlike some."

Before the exchange could escalate further, the heavy wooden doors of the great hall swung open with a thunderous crash. A thrall, gasping for breath and drenched in sweat, stumbled into the room. The hushed conversations ceased, and all eyes turned to the intruder.

Ivar rose from his seat, ready to reprimand the thrall for her lack of decorum, but before he could utter a word, she dropped to her knees, her head bowed low.

"Forgive me, my lords," the thrall panted, her voice trembling. "I bring urgent news."

Ivar exchanged puzzled glances with Sigurd. Urgent news was a rarity in their peaceful corner of the world. He gestured for the thrall to continue.

She raised her head, revealing wide, terrified eyes. "Freya herself has come and blessed us. She walks among us."

The words hung in the air like a spell, and a collective gasp swept through the hall. Ivar's skepticism wrestled with the growing sense of anticipation. Gods did not simply descend from the heavens to walk among mortals.

Before he could question the thrall further, the great hall erupted into chaos. The guests and servants rushed toward the entrance, shoving past each other in their eagerness to catch a glimpse of the so-called Freya. Ivar, however, moved reluctantly through the crowd, his curiosity piqued despite his reservations.

And there she stood, in the center of the throng, an ethereal vision that defied belief. Freya, if that truly was her name, had luscious hair that billowed in the wind, eyes that seemed to hold both otherworldly wisdom and untold mysteries. Her face was mature but agelessly youthful, her features mirroring the very essence of a Viking legend. It was as if the stories of the gods themselves had come to life.

The hall was filled with awe-struck whispers as people fell to their knees, proclaiming that the gods had indeed come to pay them a visit.

Amidst the reverence, Freya's gaze found Ivar's, and she offered him a serene smile. A shiver ran down his spine as their eyes locked. Something unspoken passed between them.

"We have much to talk about," she said, her voice carrying a mysterious weight that left Ivar both uneasy and captivated.

As the crowd continued to kneel and worship the divine presence before them, Ivar couldn't help but wonder what secrets this so-called Freya held and how her arrival would reshape their world.

Ivar stood alongside his older brothers, Sigurd, Hvitserk, and Ubba, each of them caught between awe and skepticism as they gazed upon the enigmatic woman who claimed to be Freya. The hall had fallen into reverent silence, save for the murmurs of those who dared to question her divine presence.

"Are you truly the goddess Freya?" Sigurd finally ventured to ask, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and curiosity.

Freya, or the woman who bore her name, smiled, but her response held an air of mystery. "My face holds many names, Freya may just be one of them."

The brothers exchanged glances, unsure of what to make of her cryptic words. It was Ubba who stepped forward, his towering frame casting a shadow over the ethereal figure before them. "Why have you come to bless us, then?" he inquired, his tone respectful but inquisitive. "If I may ask without sounding rude."

The woman, who had introduced herself as (Y/N), let out a melodic laugh that echoed through the hall. "Rude? Not at all, dear Ubba. You see, I am here for Ivar."

Ivar's heart skipped a beat as all eyes turned toward him. He had been prepared for many things this day, but not for such a direct and unsettling revelation. He struggled to find his voice. "For me?"

(Y/N) nodded, her enigmatic smile never faltering. "Yes, for you, Ivar. If you were to accept me into your home, I would bear you many healthy children."

The words hung in the air, pregnant with meaning and implications that Ivar could hardly fathom. The weight of her gaze bore down on him, as if she could see into the depths of his soul. It was a proposition unlike any other, one that would reshape not only his destiny but that of his family and people as well.

Sigurd couldn't suppress the unease that gnawed at his heart. He looked from his brothers to (Y/N), his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Why him, and not one of us?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness.

(Y/N) met Sigurd's gaze with an unwavering serenity. "You are all favored by the gods," she began, her voice carrying an air of wisdom. "But Ivar, he is favored above all. The accomplishments you will face, the children you will bear into this world—they will be great, but not as great as his."

The revelation left Sigurd and his brothers exchanging troubled glances. It was a difficult truth to accept, that their destinies were preordained and that Ivar's path would surpass theirs. But even in the midst of their uncertainty, (Y/N) offered a glimpse of hope.

Ubba, ever the one to voice the unasked questions, spoke next. "If you are truly Freya," he began cautiously, "then how come you are here with us and not your husband, the Allfather? I do not wish to be rude, but you are married to Odin, are you not? Yet you speak of carrying my brothers' children."

(Y/N) smiled, her eyes holding a mixture of fondness and sadness. "Odin and I have long since split," she explained. "But for the sake of the other gods, we remain faithful to one another—just not in the way one would think."

The brothers exchanged another set of glances, their minds trying to grasp the complexities of divine relationships and the implications of (Y/N)'s presence in their lives.

Amidst the questions and uncertainties, Ivar felt a wave of insecurity washing over him. He couldn't help but voice his doubt, his voice laden with self-deprecation. "You should choose one of my brothers or someone else," he said, his tone laced with a mix of humility and resignation. "They are able men and can do all the things a woman would need in a man. You don't deserve a cripple like me."

(Y/N) turned his head gently, making him meet her gaze once more. Her smile remained, unwavering. "But yet I chose you."

The words held a weight that Ivar struggled to comprehend. In that moment, he couldn't help but wonder if he truly understood the depths of the path that lay ahead, one where gods and mortals intertwined in ways he had never imagined.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, Ivar found himself giving in to the uncharted territory that (Y/N) had brought into his life. The same night they met, they wed an impromptu ceremony all of Kattegat’s members and held a extravagant feast of celebration.

Now, in the dimly lit chamber, amidst the cheers and laughter, the newlyweds were about to partake in the bedding ceremony. Ivar couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as he apologized, his voice tremulous. "I'm not very good at this," he admitted, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment.

(Y/N) leaned in close, her eyes holding a comforting reassurance. "You'll do just fine," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "I've seen how your first time went, my dearest ivar. It is normal to be nervous, especially when it's not the one you truly want."

Ivar felt a surge of relief wash over him. Her understanding words eased his doubts, and he let himself surrender to the passion that simmered between them.

Throughout the night, their love-making was fervent, passionate, and filled with a longing that transcended mere physical desire. The hours blurred together, and the dawn found them entwined, their bodies and souls intimately connected.

The next morning, Ivar awoke with a grin that was unusually happy for the stoic prince. Ubba, his older brother, noticed the change in his demeanor and couldn't help but inquire, "Did something happen to Sigurd, brother?" He assumed that Ivar might have witnessed their brother's misfortune or a rejection.

Ivar chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Nothing of that sort, brother."

Not long after both brothers had been joined by Floki - a member close to their family especially their father and seen as another father figure to ivar, for breakfast, the trio exchanged casual conversation, and Ivar's newfound happiness was hard to conceal. In the midst of a seemingly mundane conversation about the weather, Ivar couldn't contain himself any longer.

"I must share some news," he declared, his voice ringing with confidence. "Last night, I performed well in bed. Every round, to the very end."

Ubba, caught off guard, nearly choked on his mead. Floki raised an eyebrow, intrigued but nevertheless proud by the sudden announcement. "Is that so, Ivar?"

While Ubba struggled to contain his astonishment, he managed to offer a hearty congratulations to his brother, even if a tinge of bitterness lingered. The doubts that had plagued Ivar, the assumptions made by his brothers, had all been dispelled in the passionate hours he had shared with (Y/N).

It had been just a week since Ivar and (Y/N) had wed, but the news that swept through the village was enough to send everyone into celebration. (Y/N), still affectionately referred to as Freya by the villagers, was pregnant with the heir of Ivar, the prince of Kattegat.

Upon hearing the news, Ivar wasted no time in throwing a grand feast to celebrate this momentous occasion. The great hall was adorned with banners and torches, and the long tables were laden with the finest foods and meads. It was a joyous occasion, and the entire village turned out to celebrate the impending arrival of their future leader.

Throughout the festivities, Ivar's attentiveness to his wife was unmistakable. He was by (Y/N)'s side at every turn, anticipating her needs before she even voiced them. If she desired a drink, he would fetch it for her or have a thrall pour it with haste. When she wanted more meat, he ensured her plate was overflowing with it. And when she complained of stiffness in her shoulders and back from the long hours of celebration, he was there to ease the tension, his strong hands working wonders on her weary muscles.

Everyone could see the happiness that (Y/N) brought into Ivar's life, and it was evident in every glance, every gesture, and every tender touch between them. Despite the brevity of their marriage, their connection was undeniable, and it had only grown stronger with the promise of a child.

As the night wore on, and the revelry continued, Ivar found himself in a state of contentment he had never known before. With (Y/N) by his side and the prospect of fatherhood on the horizon, he couldn't help but look to the future with hope and excitement. The people of Kattegat watched their prince with admiration, knowing that he was not only a formidable leader but also a devoted husband, eagerly anticipating the arrival of his heir.

The months had went by swiftly and soon the long-awaited day had arrived. The air in the room was filled with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety as (Y/N) prepared to give birth to Ivar's heir. The labor had been long and exhausting, pushing (Y/N) to her limits, but she persevered with unwavering strength and determination. Ivar stood by her side, providing constant support and encouragement, never leaving her sight.

As the hours turned into eternity, the cries of pain echoed through the room. The midwife worked diligently, guiding (Y/N) through each contraction, offering words of comfort and reassurance. By her side, Ivar held her hand tightly, his eyes never leaving her face. He could see the strain etched upon her features but admired her resilience in the face of such intense pain.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the moment arrived. The cries of a newborn filled the room, and tears of relief streamed down (Y/N)'s face. Ivar's heart swelled with joy as he looked upon the tiny face of his firstborn son. The room seemed to glow with an ethereal light, as if the gods themselves had blessed this moment.

"I am truly blessed by the gods," Ivar whispered, his voice filled with awe. "For I have a wife, the fairest of them all - the goddess Freya herself - in my arms, with my firstborn son, an heir. I never thought I would find such happiness, but I am grateful that I have."

(Y/N) smiled weakly, her eyes shining with love and exhaustion. She reached out a trembling hand to touch Ivar's cheek, her touch filled with tenderness and gratitude. "And I am blessed to have you, my dearest Ivar," she whispered. "You have given me strength and love beyond measure."

In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist, overshadowed by the miracle of new life. Ivar and (Y/N) found solace in each other's arms, cherishing the precious gift they had been given.

The midwife gently placed the newborn in (Y/N)'s arms, and Ivar marveled at the sight. His heir, his legacy, lay peacefully in his mother's embrace. There was a newfound sense of purpose and responsibility that settled upon Ivar's broad shoulders.

As he looked upon his wife and son, Ivar knew that he would protect and cherish them with all his might. He, a warrior feared by many, had found his greatest joy in the form of his family. With a heart filled with love and gratitude, Ivar vowed to be the father his son deserved, and not the man his own father had been.

Six years had passed since the day Ivar and (Y/N) had wed, and in that time, Ivar had become a force to be reckoned with. At the age of twenty-four, he had accomplished more than he had ever dreamed of. He had conquered lands, brought riches to Kattegat, and solidified his reputation as a formidable leader.

But it wasn't just his conquests that defined his success; it was the growing family he had built with (Y/N) by his side. Their firstborn, Arvid, had been a source of immense pride for Ivar, carrying the weight of being the heir to the throne. Following Arvid, twin boys named Audun and Axel had joined their family.

Their blessings continued with the birth of a daughter, Astride, who brought a new kind of joy into their lives. And after Astride, more sons had followed: Ase, Bodil, Dane, Ebbe, Eir, and Inge, each one a testament to the love and connection between Ivar and (Y/N).

Now, with the passage of time, the couple found themselves on the brink of another exciting chapter in their lives. (Y/N) was expecting once more, and this time, they had received the news that they were to welcome another set of twins into their growing family.

The prospect of more children filled Ivar with a deep sense of pride and fulfillment. He had not only achieved great success in his endeavors but had also created a legacy that would continue to shape the future of Kattegat for generations to come. With (Y/N) by his side, he looked forward to the challenges and joys that lay ahead, knowing that their love and the family they had built together were the greatest treasures of all.

[starogeorgina]

Redemption

Warning: Swearing, smut, hints of violence

Pairing: Ivar × reader

1.01

“Ivar!”

“What?” He whines like a child before placing a soft kiss on your bare hip and pouting up at you, his lips still slightly red and swollen from kissing you so roughly. “I told you I wanted us to have a child of our own,” he states, pushing himself further down the bed so he can have a full view of your own puffy lips. Ivar had a fascination with watching his cum drip out of you. He would often try to push it back in with his fingers or clean you up with his tongue. “I want to see you around with my child, a creation of our love.”

“I know you do.” You let out a soft groan when his finger lightly brushes over your clit. “But I’m so sensitive, I just need a moment to…”

“You’ve spilled too much of my seed,” he says, ignoring what you previously said. “I’ll need to put more inside you if we wish for this to work.”

“Hmm… fuck!” You moan loudly as he places a strong hand on either side of your head before thrusting himself inside you for the third time that evening.

Fucking was one of your favourite things to do, but Ivar would push you to the point of exhaustion with how many orgasms he gave you. He always made sure you came at least once before fucking you into oblivion.

—

You nip at Ivar’s bare chest with your teeth, and he flinches slightly, causing you to giggle. Burying your face into his neck, you mumble, “How long will you be gone for?”

“I am unsure, but I will return to you,” he says, kissing the back of your knuckles, “to our family as a proud man, not as a cripple.”

Shuffling into a more comfortable position on your back, you let out a huff. You understood why Ivar needed to go to England with his father, but you still didn’t like it. Usually you remained close by his side, but being pregnant, you decided to stay behind in Kattegat, despite Ragnar asking you to join them personally. Queen Aslaug had a dream of her husband and son drowning because of a storm, but neither of them cared much for her warning, so you tried not to worry too much; you needed to believe Ivar would always find his way back to you. Letting out a deep sigh, your hand moves to cradle your ever-growing bump.

“My sweet, sweet Drifa, I can see the doubt in your eyes, but I assure you I will not die on this journey.”

“You better not; I’ll need you by my side when I deliver our child. I don’t want to do it alone.”

“You won’t be alone. If I’m not here, my brothers and mother will remain by your side.”

“I know,” you say, toying with strands of fur from the blanket covering your chest, “but they aren’t you.”

Ivar kisses the crown of your head, stroking your hair as you start to fall asleep. There was no possible way he could assure you he wouldn’t die, but he would try to comfort you the best he could. You’d grown up alongside the sons of Ragnar, with your mother and Aslaug being so close, so you’d known Ivar all your life. You had considered him your closest friend before any romantic relationship had developed between you, but the flames of desire had been burning ever since he killed a boy who tried to force himself on you.

It would absolutely break your heart if Ivar didn’t return home.

—

You opened your eyes, scanning the dimly lit room to see where the sound in the distance was coming from. You saw nothing but recognised the heavy breathing as your husband's, so you closed your eyes again. Leaning your head back, you try to enjoy the warmth surrounding your body as Ivar drags himself into the room. You had the slaves fill you with a bath as soon as you woke, scrubbing continuously to wash away the blood that stained your skin. Your thighs and groin were red and raw, but you continued to clean each time you saw the blood from your miscarriage reappear.

It seemed like the right decision at the time to remain in Kattegat, but you were there when the village came under attack and witnessed Lagertha killing Aslaug while her back was turned. Moments later, you fell to the ground, screaming as a pain ripped through your lower abdomen as you lost your unborn child.

Lagertha had spared your life after you attempted to kill her by throwing an ax at her head. She thought that by letting you live, the sons of Ragnar wouldn’t seek revenge for their mother. Oh, how wrong she was.

“They say being in water so warm isn’t good for you, my love.” Your husband says he's propping himself up by his arms, leaning them on the side of the tub so he’s level with you.

You shrug.

“I can have one of the slaves help you get out and dressed if you’re in too much pain.”

Shaking your head, you press your forehead against Ivar’s. To most, he was a sadist and bloodthirsty man, nothing more than a man who craved violence to fill the void in his heart, but he had never treated you with anything but kindness and respect. Ivar found the love he always craved from you in spite of others thinking your relationship would fail. Since Margarethe spread rumors claiming Ivar couldn’t please a woman sexually, the other sons of Ragner enjoyed teasing Ivar, saying it wouldn’t be long until you left him for someone else, not that you ever would.

“No, that won’t be necessary. Besides, I want to stay in here until the water cools down.”

Ivar brushes damp hair behind your ear as tears start to roll down your cheeks. “Perhaps the gods took our child early so that my mother wouldn’t be alone.”

“Perhaps,” you sob. Ivar had been furious upon learning of his mother's death and had sworn to kill Lagertha one day, but he was trying his best to contain his rage around you. “Queen Aslaug deserved better. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop what happened to her, but her death will be avenged.”

“We will have our revenge on Lagertha, but for now we will bid our time. First you will regain your strength, then we will have revenge on those who are responsible for my father's death, and then we will have retribution for what happened to my mother.”

—

A mixture of dampness and thick smoke hung heavily in the air as you stepped outside for the first time in days. Hiding away wasn’t going to change what happened, and you wanted to at least appear strong on the outside. The first person to greet you is Ubbe, who pulls you into a hug. “I’m sorry, Drifa; I know how happy you and Ivar were to finally start a family of your own.”

Hvitserk hugs you next but says nothing. Behind you, Sigurd makes a crude comment about Ivar losing his mommy and then his surrogate mommy right after. You keep your composure, not wanting to give him satisfaction. Sigurd had attempted to seduce you several times since you married his brother, but each time you rejected him, making him bitter towards you.

“That’s enough,” Ubbe snaps.

Irritated, your fingers tap against one of the tables loudly, gaining all of the brothers attention. You narrow your eyes at Sigurd as your fingers slide over the selection of weapons already laid out on the table for the purpose of gutting fish.

“Just ignore him,” Hvitserk says, attempting to calm you down. “My brother is just jealous; he doesn’t even have a woman to stick his cock in.”

“Is that right, Sigurd? You are making jokes at the expense of my dead child because your dick is lonely? I’m sure we could find a nice pig for you.”

His face reddens with embarrassment when his brothers all laugh at him. “You’re nothing but a whore; we all know Ivar couldn’t possibly be the father of that thing that was growing inside you. He isn’t man enough.”

“Do not insult Ivar in front of me!”

“Why? Nobody cares. Nobody gives a shit about a cripple.”

You grab hold of the knife next to you and aim it at Sigurd. The edge of the knife scrapes across the side of his face, cutting it in the process. When Sigurd goes to take a step towards you, Ubbe steps in between you and says, “No more; you’ve upset our sister enough for one day.”

Another reason Sigurd hates you is because his family accepts you as one of their own. Aslaug treated you like a daughter, and his brothers were very protective of you. They admired your loyalty to Ivar.

“I am counting down the days until my husband finally kills you!” You hiss.

Hearing a laugh, you turn your head back to see Ivar observing the scene with a smile on his face. He had managed to crawl so quietly that nobody noticed him sitting on the opposite side of the table from where you stood. He claps his hands in amusement and says, “Isn’t she fantastic? Beautiful and violent.” Ivar licks his lips before sitting back in the chair. “Now, let us begin to plan our next move.”

Ivar motions for you to come over to him; when you do, he guides you till you’re sitting atop his thighs, his arm wrapping around your back while your legs dangle over his. He kisses your cheek and says, “Good girl, your aim is getting better.”

Admittedly, you weren’t the best at welding a weapon or firing an arrow until Ivar decided to teach you. You whisper, “I still think I’ll need a few more one-on-one lessons.”

He smirks before turning his attention to his brothers, who seem unfazed by you sitting on his lap, all aside from Sigurd, whose glare is burning into you.

[midnightstar16]

Whispers of Love: Ivar x Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: Reader is new in Kattegat and catches the attention of a certain Ragnarsson.

Warnings: Assault, murder, slight swearing(i think)

You came to Kattegat just a couple days ago but it didn’t take much time at all for you to notice the famous sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. You only saw them from a safe distance as they talked to one another. You noticed one of the boys was crippled but not before you saw his face. You were in awe, to say the least. But your eyes must have lingered on him for quite some time for he met your gaze with an intense stare that sent chills down your spine. You never had more reason to leave and go back to the hut you were staying in.

You became an orphan at the mere age of 12 and had taken care of the farm for many years with your older brother. But the two of you had recently decided that you wanted a far more exciting future than just farming on the land so you sold the land and took the money to buy a hut and look after yourself just until you had settled in. You forgot about Ivar soon enough once you reached you new home and moved on with your new life.

A month passed by and living in Kattegat was so much more different than the farm. It was much louder, faster and there were more people than you could count. But it was not to your dislike, it was the contrary actually. You had started your training to be a physician and you were doing nicely. Everything was working out better than you or your brother could’ve imagined.

Ivar had not stopped thinking about you ever since that little eye contact in the market and it may have been a bit delusional of him to still believe that he would see you again. You were probably not even in Kattegat anymore because he could not find you anywhere. You were the first girl to look at him with such admiration and he drowned in your beauty the second he laid eyes on you.

During dinner he seemed to have zoned out because Sigurd had to throw some food at him to get his attention. Ivar was immediately annoyed and glared at him. Trying to stop himself from flinging his axe at his brother, he asked, “Why are you throwing food around like a child?”

“You wouldn’t listen. Had to do something to bring you back to Midgard,” he replied.

Ivar rolled his eyes, already feeling great anger towards his brother but before he could say anything, his mother interrupted, “We are celebrating Yol tomorrow.”

Ivar drowned in his thoughts once more. He would know if you were in Kattegat by tomorrow night. If you were in the town, then you would be at the feast and he would approach you. He wanted to know all there was to know about you; all the important and unimportant things of your life.

You and Kalf, your brother began cleaning up the plates and horns after dinner. You broke the silence, “It is Yol tomorrow. There will be a great feast.”

“Yes, I have not been in the Great Hall since the Thing, where I got my arm ring. Just thinking about the food that will be there makes me hungry all over again,” Kalf spoke excitedly.

“We have just had dinner, you fool. How are you always this hungry?” You spoke laughingly.

“Your cooking will make any man excited to eat something else,” he commented.

Gasping, you threw the nearest thing you could find at him at which he simply laughed. You spoke sarcastically, “I won’t make food for you if you really hate it that much.”

“Well, I mean it’s not THAT bad if I think about it,” he retaliated.

Smiling smugly, you spoke, “Better.”

The feast was spectacular. You sat on a different table from your brother though because you knew he would embarrass you the first chance he got. The food and the ale was so good you could feast all night. There was music as well and many were dancing to it but you weren’t drunk enough yet to give yourself away to the music. You simply talked and laughed with your newly made friends.

Looking around the hall, you suddenly noticed certain eyes on you and then the memory came back. Those blue piercing eyes and that face, he was perfect in every way. You maintained the eye contact for long, getting lost in his eyes until one of your friends whispered, “That’s Ivar. The crippled one.”

You looked at her. You had heard of Ragnar Lothbrok’s crippled son. The girl continued, “They say he is a menace, quicker to anger than most men, so don’t let his legs fool you and not only that, but I’ve heard that he is stronger and better at fighting than any of his brothers. Apparently he strangled a boar with his bare hands but that is probably not true.”

“Of course it is not true,” you scoffed. After waiting a second, you suggested, “Come, let us dance. The music is lovely.”

The both of you giggled and rushed to give yourself away to the music. You soon felt the beat through your veins and the rhythm matching with your heartbeat. You danced uncontrollably, partly because you wanted to see how the crippled prince would react, if at all. His eyes had barely faltered from you and it was making you uncomfortable but you didn’t want him to know that. You didn’t want him to know that he made you feel weak by simply looking at you but every now and then you would give him a glance.

You suddenly felt a hand around your waist. You didn’t know who the man was for you had never seen him. His hold on you was not budging when you struggled. His other hand was roaming at places on your body that made you terrified and the hall was crowded enough for no one to truly notice your struggle.

“Let go of me!” you said, struggling.

“Oh what’s a bit of harmless fun? Especially with a woman of your beauty,” the man spoke.

You felt tears welling up in your eyes as he continued to ‘dance’ and play around with your body until something that you hadn’t expected in a million years to happen. A knife suddenly struck his head as his eyes remained widened with shock. You quickly stepped away as his body fell to the ground. The tears ran down your face and you looked around trying to figure out who it was until you saw everyone looking at Ivar who was glaring at the man’s limp body. It was different to how he had looked at you in every singly way but you didn’t stay around to find out more. Feeling absolutely overwhelmed, you stormed out of the hall with Kalf following.

“What happened back there?” Kalf spoke worriedly.

“I-…” you hesitated. Before you could speak, your brother interrupted, “You don’t have to tell me. It is fine… Come on, let us go to our hut.”

Ivar had had his eyes on you all evening, his brothers even teasing him about it but he quickly turned them away angrily. But when he saw that asshole trying to touch you without consent, Ivar felt an uncontrollable anger. He wanted to skin the bastard alive but he couldn’t simply watch you struggle like that. Even after killing the man, Ivar felt no guilt. Why should he? He was simply protecting you, making sure you were safe.

No one had asked him about why he had done what he did. Perhaps it was already too obvious. Perhaps he had scared you off. You wouldn’t even want to go near him now. He felt his insecure thoughts weighing him down during the night.

You barely slept through the night, the picture of the knife piercing the man’s skull replaying in your mind and then seeing the look Ivar had on his face. That menacing look, the one that could take down entire armies.

The next day, you went away from the town to feel the quiet of nature that you had already begun to miss. You walked around the forest, finding a riverbank to sit nearby quickly enough. You thought about what had happened last night, how, in some really fucked up way, Ivar saved you. But he also killed a man who will never experience Valhalla now. Then again, that monster didn’t deserve Valhalla. You sat there wondering what would’ve happened if Ivar had not intervened.

“Mind if I join you?” you heard a voice from behind. When you turned your head and saw that it was Ivar, you quickly stood up.

“Were you following me?” you realised in this moment, you were terrified of him.

“Will it help if I said no? Either way, you walk too fast so I had to find you myself,” he spoke. When you didn’t say anything, it didn’t take him long enough to realise how you felt, “You are scared of me.”

Scoffing, you reasoned, “Who wouldn’t be? You killed a man while I was simply inches away.”

“He was hurting you,” Ivar remarked as if that was reason enough.

“But you could’ve killed me,” you argued.

Ivar grinned, “I didn’t though, did I?”

“Well… No but still, it was terrifying,” you said while Ivar made himself comfortable by sitting against the trunk of a fallen tree.

Even though Ivar worked very hard to not show it, he had been very nervous to actually talk to you. Now that you were here, he didn’t want to ever leave.

You stood there silently before sitting down in front of him. What was it about him that you felt so drawn towards?

He looked at you lovingly, “What is your name?”

“Y/N is what they call me… But I already know who you are, Ivar,” you acknowledged.

“Do you?” Ivar joked.

“That anger in those gorgeous eyes of yours, how could you be mistaken?” you replied.

“My eyes are ‘gorgeous’?” he couldn’t control his smile.

You blushed, “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“I’m afraid so. I don’t mind the compliment though, please, y/n, carry on about my gorgeous eyes,” he teased. Truth was, he felt a thousand butterflies. He’d never gotten a compliment from anyone.

The two of you continued making jokes at one another, laughing constantly and time flew by ever so quickly. Ivar couldn’t believe the sun was about to set. With you, he didn’t have to worry about anything. He felt at peace.

When his brothers asked where he had been, he simply smiled and shrugged. For the first time in so long, he didn’t feel furious. There was something about you, like you were a goddess who appeared to save him. The next day Ivar went up to the same place, hoping you would show up. He was almost about to leave until he saw you show up.

You finished your work as a physician for the day as quickly as you could and relied on your friends to cover up for you. Once out of Kattegat, you practically ran to the same spot on the riverbank as yesterday. You didn’t know how but you just knew that he would be there, nor did you know why you felt so eager to go to him either.

You continued these secret meetings for as long as you could. No one was aware of who or where you actually went but you didn’t care even if they found out. Ivar had become your sanctuary as you had become his.  

During one such evening, as the sun began its descent, casting a warm golden glow over the riverbank, you found yourselves lost in a conversation filled with laughter. Ivar had a knack for weaving humor into every exchange, and you found yourself charmed by his wit and the way his eyes sparkled with amusement.

Ivar grinned, his eyes dancing with mirth. "See? I told you I was the funniest person you'd ever meet."

Laughing, you shook your head. "Well, I suppose I can't argue with that."

His gaze softened as he looked at you, a warmth filling his eyes. "I'm glad you find me amusing, y/n."

You smiled back, feeling a flutter in your chest at the sincerity in his voice. "You have a way with words, Ivar."

He chuckled softly. "Only when I'm with you."

The air between you seemed to crackle with an unspoken tension, and before you could think, you found yourself leaning in closer to him.

Ivar's hand gently brushed against your cheek as he whispered, "You're beautiful when you laugh, y/n."

Unable to resist the pull any longer, Ivar reached out, gently cupping your cheek with his hand. His touch was tender, sending a shiver down your spine as you met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest.

As your lips clashed with an overdue feeling of affection for one another, Ivar kissed you passionately and possessively almost as if declaring that you were his.

You pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, you found yourself lost in Ivar's eyes once more, a sense of belonging settling deep within your soul.

“I am yours, y/n, now and forever and you are mine,” Ivar’s words echoed in your heart as you buried your eyes in his, expressing a thousand unspoken words.

[vikingsmasterlist]

Summer Series

Meadow Lark (Ivar x OFC)

Honey & Water (Ubbe x OFC)

Bal (Ragnar x OFC)

Midsummer's Promise (Hvitserk x OFC)

The Dance (Ivar x OFC)

Shadows of the Sun (Ivar x OFC)

Solveig's Crown (Ivar x OFC)

[its-all-or-nothing94]

Ravenblade - Part 3 // Ivar Lothbrok x OC

Summary: The battle against the saxon forces is about to occur, so Ivar wants to inspect the grounds. Liv and Ivar are having an intimate moment.

Warnings: Language, light smut

Pairing: Ivar x OC

Tags: @liebgotts-lovergirl

Liv watches the landscape passing to their left and right with an alert gaze. They are on their way to Wessex to bring King Ecbert to justice. Again and again, Liv feels the youngest Ragnar's son's look on her, but she tries to ignore it.

"He stares at you all the time," Sven whispers to her, and Liv looks to the other boat, where Ivar immediately averts his eyes. "His gaze is like that of an animal seeing its prey."

Liv looks at her most loyal companion. "Are you jealous, Sven?" she asks, amused, and he shakes his head.

"I'm not saying that… Just that somehow he seems a little off to me."

"So are we. Do you think my brother or Ubbe and Hvitserk trust us? Probably not," she says, steering the boat slightly to the left. "I know, my brother. He probably doesn't trust me as far as he can throw me. He knows what our motives usually are. But this time, it's different. It's something personal!"

Sven looks at Ivar again and then lets it go. Liv is right. Probably no one trusts them.

As night falls, Liv begins to sing to herself.

My mother told me Some day I would buy Galleys with good oars and Sails to distant shore

Stand up high on the prow Noble bark I steer Steady course for the havens Hew many foe-men Hew many foe-men

In the second verse, Sven joins in, and Liv looks at him with a grin. In the third verse, everyone joins in, and Liv gets goosebumps.

When the song dies down, and Liv only sings lightly to herself, her gaze wanders to the boat next to them, and she notices Ivar looking at her. She holds his gaze and then smiles.

When they finally dock, they continue on foot. Liv walks next to Hvitserk er and chats with him. He actually seems quite nice.

"Why are you helping us anyway? I thought you only fought for reward," he says suddenly, looking at Liv. "And Ragnar wasn't your father."

Liv smiles, but honestly, this time. "No, he wasn't. But I did know him. In the ten years you didn't see him, I saw him often. Did you know he was responsible for me ending up with the Ravenblade?" Hvitserk looks at her in surprise.

"How so?"

"Well, I grew up with Lagertha and my father. My father was not a good man. He beat mother, and he beat me too. Lagertha had lost her will when Ragnar left her for your mother. I probably have Bjorn to thank for that being the worst thing my father did to me."

Liv lifts her tunic a little, and Hvitserk recognizes a long scar on her side.

"Björn protected me, but anger was building up inside me. Anger at my father for being such an abusive person and anger at my mother for allowing him to do such things to me. All I ever heard was what a fierce shieldmaiden my mother was, but it didn't look like that. I have never forgiven her for that. So when Björn decided to go with Ragnar, I was even angrier. Angry at Björn. But Ragnar came to see me before he left. He promised me that when the time was right, I could leave Hedeby. And so it was… He had contacts with the Ravenblade, and they came for me when I was 12 years old."

Still amazed that Liv is revealing so much to him, he listens intently.

"And how did you come to be the leader?" Now Liv laughs again.

"The Ravenblade trained me. Of course, I had training with Lagertha before that, but what I learned from them is worlds apart. I honestly don't remember what it was exactly, but suddenly I was face-to-face with my mentor. He raised me and trained me. He was the leader before me, and now I had to fight him. I later learned that when the leader of the Ravenblade takes in a ward, that tradition wants you to fight your ward when the time comes. This is where you show whether you have trained them properly."

"And you killed him?"

"I'm here, aren't I? It's part of the test. When you kill someone you love, it destroys the last bit of empathy you have in you. So you become the perfect weapon. And the perfect leader."

"That sounds kind of… extreme."

"Maybe it is. That was three years ago," she says, shrugging her shoulders.

Hvitserk and Liv continue talking, and of course, Ivar watches his brother and the young warrior closely. A stab of jealousy hits him, and he squeezes his eyes shut as Björn stops them all.

One of their scouts comes riding towards them. He tells them that the great Saxon army is a day away from them, prompting Björn to set up camp here. But it seems Ivar has other plans.

"You can set up camp," he calls to his brothers, and Liv looks at him with interest. "I want to see the place where we fight."

"What are you talking about?" asks Björn, looking at his younger brother.

"They will expect us to fight in a certain way. Why should we do that? Why don't we plan to fight in a different way and surprise them?" he asks, and Liv likes his way of thinking.

Björn waves his brothers closer to Ivar's chariot, and Liv also stands next to it. None of the brothers seem to mind.

"Our warriors will not understand what is happening," Hvitserk reflects. "We fight with the shield wall. That's how we fight."

"But we have a bigger army now. And they have a bigger army, too, Hvitserk. They don't fight the same."

"It's too late to change that now," Sigurd interjects.

Liv takes a deep breath and listens intently to the brothers' conversation. They really can't work well together.

"Who are you to say such things? Shut your mouth!"

"We are brothers! Together!" Björn now says firmly. "Why do you want to change tactics?"

"Do you want to win, brother?" Ivar asks. He knows he has Björn with him. For a moment, the two look at each other. Then Ivar rolls his eyes. "Listen… Come with me, Björn. Let's survey the battlefield. Maybe it's better if we don't keep the battlefield on a plain but expand it to hills and a few miles further, and we need their landscape. They have only hills and forests."

The brothers all look eagerly at Björn. He has the last word.

"What do you say?"

"If it works, it's a good plan. If it doesn't, it's a bad plan."

A man brings Björn a horse and he sits up.

"What are you waiting for?" asks Björn, and then Liv steps onto the chariot.

"Me," she says casually and Ivar looks at her in surprise.

"What are you doing?" he asks and Liv raises an eyebrow.

"I'm coming with you."

"Liv…" says Björn warningly, but she just looks at her brother.

"What? Six eyes see more than four. Let me help." Björn takes a deep breath and then rides off, and Ivar follows him.

In the evening, Liv is sitting by the fire when Sven sits beside her. He holds out a cup to her, and she accepts it.

"Thank you," she says.

"What are we going to do after this? When we have killed this king and avenged the death of Ragnar Lothbrok?" he asks, and Liv shoves a piece of bread into her mouth.

"The thing we always do?" she asks him and he smiles at her.

"Fighting is all good, but I'm more the quiet fighter than the one on the battlefield."

Liv smiles and takes a sip of her mead. "You've done well for yourself, though."

Sven laughs too, but then Liv notices in the corner of her eye Ivar creeping towards his tent. She sits up and follows him with her gaze.

"Liv…" says Sven, but she gets up and follows Ragnar's son into his tent.

The latter is pulling himself up onto a chair and straightening his legs. When he catches sight of Liv, his eyes grow wide for a moment.

"I'm impressed," she then says and walks towards him. "You really have strong strategic thinking. You're smart. I like that," she says, brushing her blonde hair out of her face.

"Um… Thanks, I guess," Ivar replies, then fills two mugs with mead and holds one out to Liv. She accepts it and then sits down beside him.

"You are much smarter than your brothers…. At least when it comes to tactics. You should take advantage of that."

"I know… They always think straight. But at least Björn listens to me."

Liv takes another sip and looks Ivar in the eye again. Then she stands up and sits on his lap. She takes his face in her hands, and her grey eyes meet his piercing blue ones.

"They don't give you enough credit. You are worth much more than you might think, Ivar," she whispers to him. Then she leans down and kisses him. When she pulls away from him again, he looks at her in amazement.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks, and Liv smiles.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, this? You bring me affection, but I don't know why. You're an incredible woman. And I'm just a cripple."

"Don't say that. There's so much more to you. And I don't know what it is, but something about you draws me in."

Again Liv leans in and kisses him. A little more demanding this time. She strokes his muscular chest and shoulders. She runs her tongue over his lower lip, and he opens his mouth. Their tongues dance together, and Liv can't suppress a smile.

Then she runs her tongue along his stomach and down to his trousers. As if by reflex, Ivar grabs her wrists and stops her. Liv raises her eyebrows in surprise.

"We've been here before," she smirks, and Ivar slowly lets go of her wrists.

Then she stands up, unbuckles her belt, and lets it fall to the floor. Ivar follows her with his gaze as she walks towards the bed and pulls her tunic over her head. He sees her back, which is covered in tattoos and some scars to boot.

She is wearing a bandeau that covers her breasts and holds them in place. She sits down on his bed, covered with furs, and slides back a little. Then she beckons him to her with her index finger.

Ivar hesitates momentarily but then pushes himself off the chair and crawls to the bed. He pushes himself up with his arms and slides towards Liv. He examines her body, which is simply incredible.

She is muscular but also defined by all the training and fighting. He spots a long purple scar on her left side, briefly runs his fingers over it, and Liv flinches.

"What's that?" he whispers, and she looks down momentarily.

"An old memory," she only replies, probably not wanting to elaborate.

Then he looks into her eyes again and sinks into the grey eyes that look at him in the same way. He lies down beside her, and their faces are only inches apart.

"You are beautiful," he then breathes, and Liv smiles. Warmth rises in her, and she doesn't usually know such feelings.

She never thought a man could throw her off the track like Ivar. He strokes her stomach again and slides closer to kiss her again. The feeling is just incredible. Not like with Margrethe, but really good. Her lips are soft, and Ivar's desire grows with every kiss.

He caresses her soft skin and kisses her demandingly. He feels Liv unbutton his tunic and pulls it over his head. Briefly, she looks at him, and his upper body is just incredible. From all the years on his arms, muscles have naturally formed.

Then she strokes his belly with her cold fingertips as light as a feather, which makes him wince briefly, yet the son of Ragnar sees how Liv reacts to his body. He pulls her to him and kisses her. Then Liv turns them both and sits Ivar astride.

Her hands rest on his chest. Then she reaches behind her back, undoes the button holding the bandeau, and lets it fall. She is so perfect. It seems as if the gods had carved her themselves. Ivar doesn't let this go on for long, though. He turns her again and leans over her, stroking her cheek briefly.

"I want you, Liv. You have no idea how much I want you," he whispers, and she feels his breath on her face.

Liv closes her eyes in pleasure as Ivar explores her body with his hands, kissing her repeatedly. Ivar climbs over her half-naked body and starts kissing her all over, which earns him a satisfied moan from Liv. Then he unbuttons the button of her trousers and pulls them down so that the young woman is completely naked. He looks at her briefly and takes it all in before looking into her eyes.

Then she turns with Ivar again so that he is lying under her. Slowly Liv pulls down his trousers without breaking eye contact with Ivar. As she throws the trousers aside, she looks at his deformed legs, which makes Ivar visibly anxious. Then Liv looks him in the eye again and smiles.

"You're perfect just the way you are, Ivar," she whispers, and he pulls her to him again.

He kisses her gently at first, then more and more demanding. He turns them both around again, so he has the upper hand. Liv feels his hardness against her middle, and now she, too, becomes slightly nervous.

With slightly trembling lips, she looks at Ivar. It's not Liv's first time, but it's the first time it's even remotely meant anything, which makes her all the more nervous.

He winces briefly as she reaches down and takes his hardness in her hand. Ivar kisses her again, but the feeling of her hand down there is just overwhelming. When she has placed it that far, Liv looks at him approvingly, and he slides slowly but firmly into her.

A tentative moan comes from her; for Ivar, the feeling is simply outstanding. He can barely hold himself up, so he pulls back a little and then penetrates her again, but not so gently this time. Liv opens her mouth in surprise and then slaps him on the shoulder.

"Hey!" she says firmly and looks at him.

"Sorry," he mumbles, now softening again. Slowly, eyes always on Liv to stop immediately if he should hurt her again, Ivar starts moving again.

And in her eyes, he finds only approval. And lust. He can read that in her gaze, for her grey eyes are like a storm.

He braces himself right and left against her and penetrates a little deeper, and Liv closes her eyes with pleasure before moaning. She throws her head back, and Ivar moans her name softly. She is giving him so much now that she doesn't even notice.

Not only that, he is really having sex for the first time, and then with the woman he wants, but he can do it. Carefully he takes her ankle and puts her leg on his shoulder to penetrate even more profoundly, and Liv looks at him, surprised but not averse. Suddenly he notices her tightening around his member.

"Liv?" he asks sceptically, not sure what that means, but she still has her eyes closed.

"Just keep doing that," she breathes and he does as he's told. And then she moans loudly and tears her eyes open.

A wave of pleasure rolls over her, and she presses her fingernails into Ivar's back. Then she slumps a little and breathes heavily. He has done it. He has satisfied Liv.

Confidence grows in Ivar. Then he looks at the woman of his desire. She nods.

"Go on," she whispers, and Ivar doesn't have to be told twice.

Still careful not to hurt her, Ivar begins to move faster. Liv tries to help where she can, and he can feel her. A little later, his body also tenses, and he pours himself into her.

For a moment, only their heavy breathing can be heard. Then Ivar wipes the sweat from his forehead, pulls out of her but stays on top of her. He looks at her beautiful face from top to bottom. He notices that she is trembling and then sees that Liv has closed her eyes.

All the exertion and sex with him must have taken more out of her than she thought, so he reaches for the furs and spreads them over them both. When she opens her eyes again, she looks at him.

"That was… That was amazing," he says and Liv can't help but chuckle.

"Liv, I…" he begins, but before he can finish speaking, the tent entrance is opened, and Hvitserk and Ubbe come in.

"Ivar…", Hvitserk says, but then he notices that his brother seems busy. "I uh… Sorry," he says quickly and turns away, and Ubbe does the same.

Ivar pushes himself off Liv and lies down beside her. Liv quickly gets out of bed and puts on her tunic. It is long enough to cover everything essential. She picks up her boots and puts her trousers over her arm.

"It's all right. I'll leave you to discuss your things," she says quickly and Ubbe and Hvitserk turn back around. The young woman approaches Ivar once more, presses a passionate kiss to his lips and then leaves the tent. The two brothers look after her with open mouths.

"What do you want?" Ivar then asks, annoyed that they have driven Liv away.

[noway4u]

Can't wait to read how piglet will react. 👀💣

Adrift chapter 19)Threshold

.-.-.

Blocking out fear or masking pain had been Ivar’s second nature. But he lacked the ability to keep some emotions to himself. In an instant his cheeks were rosy and even a blind fool could spot the source of Ivar’s heated flush. 

‘By the Gods, why did I pick her as third-person, of all people?’ He questioned himself, unable to look further than the tips of his feet. Either way, his gaze would cross with one of his travel companions and both made him anxious and jittery. Ivar briefly wondered which of the maidens made him the most uncomfortable and eventually decided that the one kissed-by-fire victored over Piglet’s smoldering silence.

Which did not automatically mean he’d rather stay near Piglet. Not by far. 

The whole thing left him plagued and indecisive; torn. With every fiber of his being he despised how his body reacted to touch; to being touched. He vividly recalled Piglet’s face contorted with fear and terror when Ludolf assaulted her. And yet, he longed for the maiden. For both and one was willing. He was a cripple, how could he possibly turn down such an offer? 

Deep down Ivar sensed he should decline the offer; and yet he could not help himself and, anxious, he crawled towards the shallow creek to fresh up. 

The evening passed dreadfully slowly, Ivar occupied himself by setting rabbit traps around the forest edge surrounding their campsite. Piglet had troubled herself with making a fire, due to the dryness of the earth and forest floor she’d made it at least fifteen feet away from the ox-wagon, which Ivar thanked the Gods for. 

As night settled in, the guilt started to eat at him. He reached for the watersack of ale and, before crawling toward the fire, he made a detour toward the ox-wagon. 

“Piglet?” Ivar lowered his head to peek underneath the wagon. Piglet’s back faced him and she pulled her knees up once she heard him speak her byname. 

“Piglet, please speak to me?” Ivar detested how his question came out as a plea. He was at a crossroad, one he could not come back from and he wanted her to seize the chance of changing his mind. All he wanted was for her to turn around, roll her eyes and be called hamar. 

But Piglet remained frozen in her position and did not bother to utter a word, not even a crude one. 

And so Ivar passed the threshold of no return and crawled toward the campfire. 

.-.-.

He wasn’t drunk per se, but he’d drunk more than enough to feel woozy and to dull the sharp edge of his anxiety. The flames sent red sparks dancing into the warm summer breeze. He told himself the flush on his face wasn’t attributed to his shyness; but to the heat of the fire. 

She came and joined him; her hair still wet from the shallow creek. Without a word she reached for the watersack which he allowed her to take without a protest. He looked her over shyly as she drank and swallowed a thick lump. 

She was in the business of selling her body, and he was no fool; he knew whatever interaction there would be between them would simply be an exchange for her. 

Briefly, he wondered if it meant anything to him and he decided that it did. And then he pushed away all the crippling thoughts of being less. For one night he wanted to be a man and he did not care that she’d see him. 

They passed the watersack a few times before she raised on her feet. Ivar gazed up at her, mouth suddenly dry as he watched her reach for the buttons on her dress. Undoing them in swift movement and allowing the fabric to sink to the forest floor gave away she’d done this many times before; naked, composed and unashamed. 

Such a world of difference. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice shouted something about Piglet and for a mere moment he glanced over his shoulder, at the sleeping silhouette beneath the ox-wagon. 

His gaze was set back on the one kissed by fire, watching her part her lips. He swallowed audibly, afraid to meet her eyes and so he focused on her breast. Ivar could feel the band in his groin beginning to strain and his breath became shallow. She slowly moved to straddle him and he let out a strangled choke at the weight and warmth of her. He couldn’t think, lips ajar and heart racing. Finally he dared to blink up at her. She gazed down at him, hand reaching to stroke his cheek. And he let her, all he could do was focus on her touch and his face must have given away his desperation, because she kissed him. The sheer lack of control was overpowering and he wanted, no needed, a glimmer of it back. 

And so he collapsed against her, fervently kissing her back. Sinking into her mouth, he could not believe how aroused he was, inhaling her sent, smoothing his hands over every inch he could reach. His hips bucked involuntarily upward and it was almost painful how much he wanted this. Her hands worked fast, tugging at the hem of his tunic. Slowly she sank down onto him and his eyes screwed shut in igneous euphoria.

And then she moved and he let out a choke and a moan. There could not be anything more in the world that he needed more than the way she moved atop of him. Not even air. His hips bucked against her and he swore underneath his breath when she bobbed upward with the rhythm of his hips, not allowing him any control or relief. He stopped moving obediently, leaning forward, feeling the curves of her breasts on either side of his face. Her movements were so agonizingly slow and yet she was the kindest torturer. All he could do was focus on how she felt around him. He couldn’t breath and the sounds he made weren’t manly at all.

He didn’t care though, he didn’t care that he didn’t last long, or the way his tunic stuck against his hips. As came back from his climax he blinked at her. With pupils blown she glanced down at him, for a moment Ivar thought he detected pity but then she pressed a kiss atop of his lips and he decided not to search for abjection. 

Their exchange of conversation was brief.

“I- I- didn’t think I could- I…” clearly the lack of blood made it hard to articulate.

“-You were alright, mon cheri,” she cut him off, evidently pleased with herself, “you weren’t the worst,” she added while standing back up and moving back towards her discarded dress. 

Ivar didn’t know if that was meant as a compliment or a critique. The rush started to wear off and although he sat near the fire, cold crept into his system. 

“I still don’t know your name,” he insisted. 

“It’s Valerié,” she briefly said while buttoning up her dress, “and what’s hers?” she asked, cocking her head in the direction of the ox-wagon.

Her question dropped down on him like a boulder and he failed to look over his shoulder.

“Her name is Piglet.”

“Piglet,” she snorted, “that’s truly her name?” Valerié exclaimed humorously. 

Ivar nodded, giving away Piglet’s real name was out of the question, he betrayed her enough for one night. 

“Please don’t tell her?” He pleaded softly.

“Don’t tell her what mon cheri? That we fucked?” She questioned unphased, smile turning into a little ‘o’ as he cringed at her words, “oh don’t tell me you two never…?” Her voice drifted away, giving him a once-over when he shook his head. She frowned at him, laughed and threw her gaze up skywards.

“You are an odd one, you know that?” She taunted but pressed her index finger against her lips: “but fear not, it’ll be our little secret.” 

.-.-.

A/N: Yes so…for the dear readers who’ve been waiting patiently for the slowburn between Piglet and Ivar to spark, well a fucking torch named Valeríe came in between. Apparently torturing Ivar isn’t enough, everyone shall feel bad in this story, even the readers at times. 

But hey, Ivar got laid!

Would love to read your thoughts,

Xoxoxo Nukyster 

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane

The tagged ones:

@youbloodymadgenius

@xbellaxcarolinax

@saldelys

@shannygoatgruff

@pieces-by-me

@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa

@readsalot73

@lauraan182

@conaionaru

@sarahh-jane

@peachyboneless

@adhdnightmare

@khiraeth

@funmadnessandbadassvikings

@ dekusdante  @neondragons7

@bitter-post-millennial​

@noway4u 

 @tessakate

[gwen-novella]

Ivar Ragnarsson - Nsfw Alphabet

Pairing: Ivar x female reader

Word count: 3.5K

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

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

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

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

(*) smár brandr = little blade

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

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

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

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding Kink

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

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

Trust Kink (?)

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

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

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

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

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

Short answer: You. Long answer: Also you. 

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

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

Hurting you.

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

Sharing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To quote TPAW:

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

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

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

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

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

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

(*) smár brandr = little blade