Summary: Heiress (Y/N) encounters her ex, and CEO, Ivar at the Yule Gala. Turns out he doesn’t take kindly to being ignored.
A/N: Modern AU of Ceo!Ivar x Heiress!Reader with a basis of a prior relationship.
The Yule Gala was more than a silly holiday event. It represented a year in and out amongst rivaling companies in this big city. The lights were bright and the cameras flickering were even brighter. They burned past your meager sunglasses when you stepped out of the car hand in hand with the founder of the company. She steadied you with a hand to your bare back, motioning you to stop for a company photo, the white background accentuating the glittering jewels on the v-neck of your dress.
“I know its new, but you’ll do well.” Lagertha whispers before the camera flickers.
“I know I will,” You respond, sliding your hand around her waist with a gentle smile. You move along with your dress dragging across the floor. With each of the coming photos you gained playful confidence. At the end of the carpet, you slipped in with Lagertha into the vast art museum. The high ceilings were draped in white linen and glittering chandeliers. Everything gave you a very holiday feel. Even the trees smelled freshly cut, a fact you lamented about.
“Are the other Ragnarssons coming?” You frown, taping the hollow ornament with one of your long nails. It made a clink with every click.
“I assume. They never miss a chance to get smashed.” Lagertha says. You can’t help remembering why you traditionally ignored these events. They were Bjorn’s duties to attend with Lagertha, but when he stepped away from the company, there was no helping it. You have to step in. The closer you came to the wide double doors where the event was, the more a storm rumbled in your stomach.
“Of course.” You sigh.
The trees were pridefully tall and the appetizers were gluttonous. You took a fat slice of bacon between your fingers and pushed it past your nude lips. The other appetizer of some odd cheese you could not place was handed to Lagertha. The bacon was greasy and delicious, but the anxiety warned you that tonight was not going to be a good one.
“Charm them (Y/N), all of them.” Lagertha hums while guiding you to your seat.
“If there’s anything I can do, it is be charming.” You say in a low whisper. You look over your shoulder feeling something amiss.
It was almost immediate that you located him. He sat at a table with his family while you at another with Lagertha. When your eyes finally caught his deep eyes, you had to tear your gaze away. You drowned in those deep blue eyes, the same as his fathers, but different in his passion. He watched you wherever you went. Either speaking with potential clients or charming other companies, his gaze was always on you. You hated to admit it, but you begged him to be watching. You constantly shifted to meet his eyes, hot when Ragnar teased you and flushing when Ivar ran his naughty tongue across his lower lip. Lagertha noticed your discomfort, leaning into you as your knee bounced up against the underside of the table. You made the table rattle.
“Do you want me to talk to him?” She suggested as dinner was being handed out. Your jaw ached under the weight of your grinding jaw.
“No… no. I’ll do it.” You shake your head and slide out of a well cushioned chair. It was only fitting that you would speak to that family.
“Hello Aslaug,” You said cautiously, patting her shoulder with a quick few taps. She shifted over in her chair with a jumbled look cast over her beautiful features. Older, but she was still the lovely scowling mother you remembered.
“(Y/N), (Y/N) (L/N)?” She urges you over with a spare hand. You come and kneel by her side, your dress glittering across the tile of the museum floor between she and her prized little boy.
“(Y/N)!” Hvitserk beams between a fat roll of bread.
“The one and only, hungry boy.” You ruffle your hands through his braids. She looks you over.
“You look stunning. I haven’t seen you in years.” Aslaug muses.
“Three, isn’t it?” Ubbe remarks, swirling his cup and petting down his skinny black tie. Aslaug motions him to shut up with one hand.
“Who brought you here?” She smiles a radiant smile, free of the dread that flowed through your veins. There it was. As sweet as Aslaug was, she often expressed that you were less than Ivar. That because of his status as heir, you would always be less as just a wife. She always wanted better for him. You couldn’t blame her, you supposed.
“No one. I am heiress to The Arrow. I only came to see you.” You say sternly. Aslaug’s hands fold into her lap, thinking of your words before deciding to cup your cheek in her hand. The last of the brothers follows you, expecting that he too will get his own hellos. They never come.
“I knew you could be ambitious. You take after Lagertha.” Aslaug urges you to stand up, so you do with the help of Ivar’s chair despite his growls. You move over between Ubbe and Hvitserk, kissing each of their cheeks with a soft goodbye. You plop back at your table, taking up a drink of your favorite booze. Lagertha turns to you now joined by her husband Ragnar who joins in talk with another friend of his. You’re reminded why her family has such distaste for yours. Ivar turns in his seat, raising his glass to you.
“You’ve only made it worse,” Lagertha laughs.
The night went on for some time. Your glass was often frothing with drink after drink with your present like heels constantly on the move from boorish companionship. You would charm the average tom, dick, and harry that came your way with eager lips and hands eager to cop a feel. You hand popped more than a few hands that night, but when an old man’s hand squeezed into the curve of your ass, you heard the cracking of bones and the sheer rippling squeal from the older man there.
“I would not do that again, that is, if you want to keep these wrinkled old hands… because it is no problem for me to tear them out.”
He was like the flow of your favorite candy, chocolate. Smooth and rich and so easy to get under your skin. As he speaks, shivers come over you. You knew that voice. It brought you back to your early days swooning over Ivar, the son of a well-established millionaire and the founder of The Raven. The dark days where you would kiss the floor he stood on, dealt with anything he wanted and loved him blindly.
It was him twisting the old man’s arm like a pretzel behind his back while his family turned a blind eye to the abuse. What was new? He was kept upright by a black crutch tucked under his arm. He was really here, not sitting at the table, but defending you like he used to. But he shouldn’t have been.
“Stop it, let him go.” Your hand came atop of Ivar’s, unpeeling the man out of Ivar’s solid grip. He fell onto the tile and scurried off as quickly as his wobbly knobbed legs would take him. You watch him disappear into the crowd and then turn back to him. None of his brothers are around.
“Thank you… Mr. Lothbrok.” You say sharply, shifting to walk past him. Ivar cuts you off. Your words are disingenuous. They have to be… because you fear warming up to him. You fear looking at him in those deep sapphire eyes. You couldn’t be weak again. Fake it, fake it, fake it, you chanted in your mind.
“Why are you doing this?” Ivar leans forward, brushing his muscular chest up against yours. His cologne smells musky and familiar. You inhale sharply, teasing a few curling strands in your fingers.
“Doing what? Here I was thinking I was a good girl.” You say. You draw your tongue across your canines as you look him over. His suit jacket is pressed tight against his muscled chest and slacks accentuate every inch of his body. He notices it too, reveling as you look him over. Finally you move to brush past him. He grasps your elbow, leaning into your face.
“Don’t blow me off. You were mine for years.” He reminds you all too confidently. He’s warning you even—of what might happen if you do blow him off.
“Why not? You did the same to me. For your mother.” You say with your teeth clicking together once again. You didn’t notice the grind of your jaw until your words were out. Ivar leans into you, tilting his head. The sound of heels shifting across tile alerts you to a new visitor. Its Lagertha’s perfume that tips you off to her.
“Ivar, it’s nice to see you again.” Lagertha sweeps around the two of you.
“I can’t say the same for you,” Ivar grunts in response. He isn’t budging. There’s an awkward air in which Lagertha clears her throat as if waiting for you to move away. Ivar’s hand travels down to knuckles where he places one sole kiss atop your hand.
“I’m not done with you.”
It should have been the end of that. You stall, curling your fingers along his hand. His lips tilt into a knowing grin. He has you. His lips part into a wide smile at your next words.
“Go home ahead of me, Lagertha. I’ll be fine.”
Lagertha lingers long enough to ask you if you were sure. You hold your clutch tight in your fingers and nod. Ivar straightens, offering out his arm for you to take. Its your one chance to escape the devil that was your ex and instead of running for safety, your arm weaves through his.
