The Beast of the Ball
Ivar’s Reader
Word Count: 1.7k
Summary: Ivar and the reader attend the annual Viking ball, but the reader has a less than ideal time
Warnings: Implications of Sex, cursing, humiliation, Ivar being a dick
Ask to be tagged/any questions about what happened in this AU >>>HERE<<<
To no surprise, the Annual Viking Ball was nothing short of exquisite.
Every person that considered themselves of mob blood---Italian, Greek, American, Brazilian---showed up to as a display of good faith and temporary peace.
But less was it a neutral night for the mafias, and more was it a spectacle of wealth and power. Nothing was dared to be spared for such an event. Once the invitations were handed out---almost immediately after the ball the year before was over--- ballgowns of magnificent designs were requested and tuxedos of only the finest materials were considered for wear. The Viking Ball was known for the show, for the controlled chaos of cultures that would no doubt be present.
Despite it’s elegant appearance, the ball itself was just as cutthroat as the name suggested. Despite it being a neutral night, threats were slipped into withering looks, whispers of what was to come would be passed to another’s ear, and slight blood would splatter before anyone could blink an eye.
Yes, the Viking Ball was both exceedingly beautiful and terrifyingly deadly as one would expect.
Which was why you couldn’t wait to go.
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You believed it would be years before you could ever attend another Viking Ball.
Fuck, you thought you’d actually die before you’d see another Lothbrok again.
But here you were.
“Stand up straight.”
The stern voice of Ivar blinked you away from your thoughts, and your eyes lazily met his. The intensity of his gaze burned at you in a way it always did, but at the same time it was like something you had never felt before. He was slightly hunched over on his crutches, his black tux molding to his body like a second skin. The dips and creases of his biceps and shoulders made you unconsciously lick your lips, and for a split second you thought you saw Ivar follow the movement with his eyes.
You felt perspiration build up in your armpits as well as the back of your neck as his gaze seemed to get sharper. For a few moments, there is only silence between you two, smoldering within the air before you dropped your gaze to smooth out the ballgown that adorned your body.
As usual, it was red---Ivar’s favorite color on you. It accentuated your chest, the slightly sheer material teasing the curves of your breasts, the velvet wrap included with the dress pressing them together in a seductive display. The measurements were perfect, and the skirt started right above your belly button. It fanned out delicately, the embellishments striking but not over exaggerated---it was everything you wanted in a dress.
A lump caught in your throat, and you cleared it violently to make it disappear. The details and care put into this dress contradicted how Ivar said he felt about you---because it is obvious that he remembered the specifics.
You grasped the sides of the skirt, staring down at it in both anxiety and awe. “How do I---do I look okay?”
Ivar didn’t answer you. Instead, he entered the room carefully, the dull thuds of his crutches beating in time with your heart. As he got closer, the necessity to breathe became harder to fulfill, because for the first time in a long time, Ivar was coming closer to you, Ivar was going to touch you---
He stopped close before you. Close enough that you could feel his breathing, and reach out and touch him if you had the guts. The distance he chose was calculated, and you were again made aware of that everything Ivar did had a purpose. He wanted you to feel his body heat, he wanted you to smell his cologne, to see the details of his eyes---he was feeding your desire to feel him as you once did before.
But Ivar was just as cruel as he was calculating. For he did not touch you, nor make an effort to. He looked you up and down, his eyes never lingering like they used to---like you wish they still did.
“This will do,” he commented, and your stomach plummeted. “If you are lucky, you will not be outdone at the Ball. My taste with yours has always been unmatched, tonight should not bear different results.”
His words lifted your spirits slightly, and you breathed out when he stepped away and walked to the door.
“Ivar, wait, I--!” You called after him, trying to find the words. “The bracelet, you have not given---”
Before you could finish the sentence the door was slammed, and you flinched at the sound.
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Ivar was right. Unsurprisingly.
When you walked into the Viking Ball on Ivar’s arm, all heads immediately turned to you. Whispers already fled the audience’s mouths, and your lips upturned slightly. Out of habit you looked up to Ivar (despite his accident he still towered over you), but you were disappointed to see that you were the furthest thing from his mind.
You both made your way to the uplifted dias in the front of the ballroom---in true Viking style, there was an honorary table set for only the most elite. Ivar’s brothers already sat with their partners at the table.
Bjorn and his partner were difficult, as usual---that seemed not to have changed. She was paying avid attention to the mobster that came up to talk to her, while Bjorn’s eyes never strayed from her form. It was tragic honestly,...their relationship. Two people so very much in love but have stabbed each other in the back too many times for the trust they once had to be rebuilded.
Next them, Hvitserk and his bride were...disgusting as usual. His hands never left her, and it seemed as if they’d both die if they didn’t have skin-to-skin contact. They hadn’t been together for a long time, from what you heard. It was a large opinion that they would split soon, but you knew better. The spark they had for each other had yet to fade, but that is because it never would. It was in the way they looked at each other---not in lust, but in adoration and devotion. It was in the way they touched each other---not in fleeting, hard grasps, but in long, soft caresses.
Tears formed in your eyes and a slight bitter taste settled in your mouth watching them, so you moved onto to Ubbe and his wife. They seemed to have the most mature relationship, the type that kept up proper appearances. Slight PDA, but not too much. The picture perfect couple---and despite being anything but, they were a team that had become unbreakable throughout the years of their unconventional love.
Sliding your eyes over one more time, you balked at the empty seat next to Ubbe and his wife. There was only one.
Wanting to stop, Ivar’s pace prevented you from doing so. Once you arrived, Ivar sat down without a care that there was no seat for you. Your throat constricted and it felt like your heart stopped beating. You knew what he was doing. He was going to humiliate you---
Despite you knowing his plan of action, you stood dumbly by Ivar’s side as he surveyed the room. Ubbe saw you and a frown crossed his face, a heavy sigh passing his lips.
“Ivar, are you not forgetting something?”
The youngest Ragnarsson gave him a fake look of confusion. “What are you talking about Ubbe? This table is for the most important of them all, is it not? I am exactly where I need to be.”
“Ivar--” You tried to squeeze out, but as soon as his gaze turned on you, it stopped your words.
His eyebrows raised in surprise before he laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry (Y/N)! Did you actually believe you were important enough to sit up here with me?”
“Ivar,” Ubbe’s wife warned, and your eyes fluttered closed. You heard the chattering of the people standing closest to you stop, and you knew they were watching.
“Did you really think I wanted you back up here by my side?” He snarled lowly, his eyes narrowing. “That you deserved to be treated more than the gum at the bottom of my shoe---”
“Ivar,” Ubbe snapped, and you turned away and stepped off the dias before you could hear whatever he had to say.
How could you be so foolish? To think that you could walk back in and reclaim whatever had been lost was a stupid ambition, and now your heart was bleeding at the hands of the man you loved.
Trying to go outside as fast as possible, you stumbled when a hand shot out and stopped your escape. Whirling in surprise, you were met with the mischievous eyes of King Harald---a man who had his eyes on you for quite some time.
“And where is the belle of the ball going?” He inquired, his teeth flashing in his alarming smile. It quickly dropped as he saw the tear buildup in your eyes that had started to fall. “Now who has made my Princess cry?”
“Not now Harald,” you snapped, trying to pull away before he brought you back.
“Shhh,” he cooed, bringing you into his arms where you rested your head against his chest. You allowed it, wrapping your arms around him tightly as you tried to get your emotions back on point. After a few moments of just comfortable silence, you pulled away and he wiped your tears softly.
“Leave with me,” he said suddenly, and you froze before shaking your head.
“I can’t---”
“Yes you can,” he reassured. “I hate this event and you look like you need to get as far away as possible. So leave with me.”
Once again hesitating, you turned your eyes back towards the front of the excellently dressed crowd where the Lothbroks sat. Ubbe and his wife were nowhere to be seen, and Ivar seemed to have a very interesting escort straddling his lap. Fire crept up into your veins as you saw him looking straight at you, encouraging the woman whose lips were attached firmly to his clenched jaw.
“Alright,” you said without another beat. You swallowed, looking Harold dead in the eye. “Take me wherever you want, far away from here.”