"I cannot believe you would snoop like that," Judith scolds lightly, pacing around her chamber. You lift your head from your spot on her bed and scoff. "I was not snooping Judith, I was gathering useful information," You retort. "In fact, I saw the Northman's son."
Judith's head snaps up at this, betraying her interest. "You saw Ivar?" Ivar. So that's his name. You didn't know much about their language, but you were sure his name fit him well. "Yes," you say as a knowing smirk graces your lips. Judith sent you a glare as she sat down at the small wooden vanity in the corner of the room. "I know that look. You know better," Judith warns quietly. Out of all the siblings, you were by far the most likely to stir trouble. It was the main reason your father preferred to parade Judith around and not you. He was ashamed to have such a troublesome girl. "Know better than to do what?" Your voice feigns innocence as you sit upright. Judith gives you an exasperated look as you scoot to the end of the bed. "You know exactly what I mean. You're plotting, and it always leads to trouble. Why can't you simply leave things be?"
You flash your most dazzling smile at her before standing up and stretching your arms rather unceremoniously above your head. "Where would the fun be in that?" You lean over to kiss your sister affectionately on the cheek, before skipping from the room and heading to Alfred's study. You were determined to badger the poor boy into coughing up whatever information he'd learned about the Northmen yesterday and why they were here.
You stop suddenly when you see guards perched outside Alfred's study and quickly duck behind the corner. Why were there two guards today? Usually, it was Ecbert and Judith being so heavily protected- unless...
You peer around the stone wall and watch as the guards begin their march away to switch positions. You wait until they're further down the hall before making a mad dive for the door, throwing it open and scrambling inside before the other set of guards show up to assume their stances. You shut the door behind you and let out a small sigh of relief. You turn around to see Alfred and a very confused Ivar sitting at a table, seemingly in the middle of a chess match. You quickly collect yourself and straighten your posture, smiling at them. "What are you doing in here?" Alfred asks, a frown marring his features. You feign confusion and point to yourself as if to say, 'who, me?'
"I merely wanted to see my dearest darling Alfred during his studies," you muse. Walking towards them, you can see Ivar raise a brow at you in amusement. You wonder, momentarily, if Ivar speaks Saxon like his father. Surely these two weren't just sitting here in silence? Alfred scoffs and looks back to the chessboard with a strong focus. "I know better than to believe anything that comes from your mouth," he mumbles. You raise a hand to your chest and gasp, stalking toward the table. "I'm wounded, Alfred, that you think I'd lie to you," you say with a defensive lilt. You glance down at the table and smirk. Alfred is losing.
Ivar steals a glance at you from the corner of his eye, judging your mannerisms. You weren't like any of the Saxons he'd met thus far. You had a wild, almost chaotic way about you that intrigued him. You turn to meet his gaze and smile. "Hello," you greet warmly. Ivar merely stares at you with a blank face.
Alfred looks between the two of you awkwardly and clears his throat, earning your attention. "I don't think he- you know- speaks..." Alfred trails off, unsure of how to phrase it. "Saxon?" You ask, looking back to Ivar. "It's terribly rude not to greet your guest, Alfred. No matter his language." Your eyes scan Ivar's face, looking for any hint of recognition. There was no way Ragnar was the only one who learned your language. Ivar looked far too intelligent to enter a kingdom he did not know the language of.
Alfred's eyes dart between the two of you as if waiting for a break in the stalemate. You hold Ivar's gaze, unwavering. The room falls still as the two of you stare, each daring the other to back down first. Finally, Ivar scoffs and looks away. You give an unladylike bark of laughter and practically crow as you say, "I knew it!"
Ivar looks back at you with a roll of his eyes. "So what if I do?" He seems almost annoyed that he'd been discovered, but you're quick to brush this off. "It means I'm right, which is very important," you coo gently. Ivar's eyes darken as he raises a brow. "Oh? Is that so?" You feel the hairs on your arm stand as a calloused hand brushes over your own. Your cheeks grow warm as he lifts your hand to his lips, placing a lazy kiss on the back of your hand. "I will keep this in mind," Ivar muses as he allows your hand to drop back to your side. You're frozen for a moment as if processing what just happened. You're quick to snap back and offer an innocent smile to the Viking. Alfred on the other hand looks between the two of you with a frown. "Well, now that we all speak the same language, I might inform you that we are betrothed," he grumbles. You feel something bubble in your chest as you glare at the brunette. Why did he have to spoil your fun?
Ivar seems to mull this over as he turns his attention back to their chess game. "Are you not the queen's sister?" He inquires. "One of them," you reply, moving around the table and planting yourself on the arm of Ivar's chair. He steals a glance at you and grins as if finding a new amusement in flirting with a betrothed princess. "You are here often?" He wonders as he steals one of Alfred's rooks. You sigh and lean slightly into his shoulder. "Unfortunately so. We spend most of our summer here so our father can pretend he has a keen knowledge of foreign militia."
Ivar lets out a genuine laugh at this and you smile in return. Something about his laugh stirs your stomach and you love the feeling.
"A Saxon will know nothing of war," Ivar says in a hushed tone, as though only speaking to you. "Really? I think we know a great deal about starting them," you muse. You feel triumphant as another smile ghosts over the Viking's lips. "I guess I will agree with you," Ivar replies before capturing another of Alfred's pieces. You look up at Alfred who is now deathly focused on the game before him. Though he was fighting a losing battle, you will give him credit for determination. He holds a knight in his hand as he stares down Ivar's pieces. You doubt he's listening to your conversation.
It's not long before the boys fall into an attentive silence, both sizing up the game and plotting their next move. You turn to look out the window and see that the sun is just beginning to set. You know the guards will be changing again soon, and if you didn't leave now you'd be explaining to your father why you were alone in a chamber with two boys instead of attending your studies with Judith.
You stand from the chair, earning a look from both boys. "Are you leaving?" Alfred wonders, his brow furrowed. "I should leave before our fathers realize I've been shirking my duties," you say with an impish smile. Alfred rolls his eyes at your antics. "I can't cover for you forever, you know," he scolds. "Of course, cousin dearest, I would never take advantage of such kindness," you say with a dramatic flourish. "Until next time," you add, sparing a glance at Ivar. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, and you can't help the sneaking smile that finds its way onto your face.
You turn your back to them and head for the door, trying your best to ignore your erratic heartbeat.
Author’s notes: This is for the writing challenge of the lovely @youbloodymadgenius . Please go read their work, if you haven’t already. I may have cheated a little bit with the prompt, but when I saw it, this idea instantly came into my head. I hope ya’ll enjoy it!
Prompt: “I’m done. We’re done.”
Summary: Family dinners never go as expected
Masterlist
“Come on Ivar. It’ll be great.” Y/N’s arms were around Ivar’s neck, playing with his hair as she knelt over him, keeping a knee on either side of his laps while he sat on his bed. His brothers had invited her over for a “family” dinner, but really they just wanted to see if Ivar’s lover was real or if he had made her up.
Ivar had met Y/N on a raid. Her father had insisted she come along from her village in order to understand the full cycle of being a Viking; from diplomacy to the gore of it. Her father was an earl and soon enough she would be ruling by her future husband's side and her father wanted her to be prepared. She had stayed in camp to help patch up the wounded and hopefully make alliances for her father. Her father's wishes were that she would find a fierce and worthy Viking to marry, never did he imagine that it would be a Ragnorsson, nor was he happy about it, but he loved her and so he sent his only daughter overseas to reunite with her lover. He however had not sent her directly to Kattegat to meet with Ivar, but to his trusted friend Floki, along with four of his most trusted guards. Floki had gladly welcomed them into his home, and in exchange she had brought him several materials native to her area for Floki to build with.
“You just don’t understand.” With a sigh Ivar leaned his forehead on hers, eyes closed.
“Well seeing me will shut them up won’t it?” He had told her of Sigurd’s mockery, and of all three of his brothers skepticism that someone who loved Ivar existed. He had told her all about Margrethe and what happened with her. She also knew, from plenty of experience, that he could in fact please a woman.
“Can we just not go? Can we just stay here, curled up in bed? My lips..” he placed a kiss on her lips, “exploring” then her jaw “every part”, then the crook of her neck “of you?”
She let out a small hum as her eyes fluttered closed and her head tilted to give him easier access to more of her skin “As tempting as that is” she took a deep breath and stood up, much to his annoyance. His long groan of anger made her laugh “I want to meet your brothers. I want to prove to them I’m real. I want to show you off and tell the world you’re mine”
With a roll of his eyes and head he grunted “You’re going to be the death of me woman”
“And what a great death it’ll be” she teased, leaving a small peck on his lips before walking out and into the great hall where she saw three men laughing and drinking. When she stepped in all their eyes turned to her with curiosity. She looked around at the great hall, it was her first time there and she was mesmerized. “You must be the princes of Kattegat!” She said excitedly as her eyes finally fell on them. They nodded and continued staring at her. It was her turn to tease them a bit like they teased Ivar. She pointed at Hvitserk “you must be Hvistra” then Ubbe “Uno?” and finally she pointed at Sigurd “and you...I always forget the third’s name. Not significant enough I suppose” and she shrugged. They looked at her bewildered. Did she really not know who they were? She was wearing fine silks and expensive jewelry, she must be someone of high lineage, but how could she be if she didn’t know who they were by name and reputation. They hadn’t noticed Ivar crawl in until they heard his voice
“Y/N… Behave” with amusement in his tone he crawled past her into his seat. That’s when they saw her break into a small laugh, amused by their reactions, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
She took her seat beside him pecking his cheek. “What? I was just teasing” she emphasized the last word as she made direct eye contact with Sigurd.
“Brothers. This is my lovely Y/N Gunnarsdottir” he brought her hand up to his lips. To say they were all taken back was an understatement. She was real, she was here, she was with Ivar. Tales of Gunnar The Blood Thirsty were what any Viking could hope for. He had helped Ragnar in their youth until Gunnar settled down in his homeland to take care of his people.
With bashful eyes she looked at all of them “Prince Ubbe, prince Hvitserk, prince...Sigurd” she let out a half grin after bowing her head to all of them.
“So you do know who we are?” Hvitserk laughed as he continued drinking.
“So I’m not too Insignificant for you to know” he chuckled as he emphasized the word you had used to wound him.
“Of course not my Princes” she reached for a cup of mead and drunk as Ivar began to speak of her arrival.
Before he could finish, Sigurd interrupted him. “So why is it that none of us saw you sail in?” He stared at her, with suspicion in his voice.
“As Ivar was saying…” she squeezed his hand under the table “My father sailed me directly to Floki for me to settle in. I arrived not too long ago” she put food in her mouth as Ivar dropped her hand to clutch on to his arm rest in anger.
“Or he dressed and paid you to pretend to be Y/N. After all. None of us know what exactly she looks like” Sigurd mocked nonchalantly with a shrug of his shoulders as he continued eating. Not even looking in their direction. “That would make more sense than the daughter of a fierce viking, that our father admired, falling in love with a cripple.”
Y/N looked around to the other two, both heads down not saying anything. Well no wonder Ivar was angry all the time, his brothers did nothing to defend him. And Sigurd, well Sigurd was just plain cruel. She felt Ivar stiffen and lean in to her “I told you this was a bad idea” she could hear the hurt in his voice. She couldn’t take it, that someone would hurt her Ivar. She was however the daughter of a great viking, one that had taught her to never bite her tongue in the face of the enemy.
Pushing her plate forward, and leaning her elbows on the table, she looked at Sigurd with her head tilted “That would just be plain stupid Siggy, to pay someone to pretend to love you,” she briefly looked at Ivar and smiled, the smile that Ivar knew was trouble. Before he could protest or tell her to just ignore Sigurd, all her attention was back on Sigurd as she continued “When you could just bed a slave with no free will.” She shrugged and then went back to picking the food on her plate “That’s much smarter for a man with not enough charm to get free women, but I guess you would know that huh Prince Sigurd?” She heard Ubbe choke on his drink and Hvitserk try to hide his laughter. Beside her, Ivar was staring at her with admiration and love. No one, aside from his mother, hel not even his mother, had ever stood up for him like that. She could also see Sigurds face turn red with not only embarrassment, but anger.
“WELL AT LEAST I CAN PLEASE A WOMAN!” Sigurd yelled out, desperate to have the last word, to be the one to embarrass Ivar. “Ivar’s legs aren’t the only thing that don’t work you know”
That was it, the final straw. She grabbed her empty cup and flung it as hard as she could, hitting Sigurd right on the forehead, leaving a red mark. Her vision went red, blinded by anger, she felt Ivar grab her arm as she tried to jump over the table to further attack Sigurd. “You know what? I’m done.” She smoothed her dress and squeezed Ivar’s hand “We’re done.” She heard the older two laugh as Sigurd stared at her in shock. “You got lucky this time because Ivar made me leave my guards and my knives at Floki’s. But I wouldn’t push my luck if I were you” She threatened, before taking a deep breath and turning to Ivar with a smile “Now. If you’ll excuse us. I have truly missed Ivar. We will be going now, to fuck until I can’t walk anymore.” She turned to walk out but not before winking at a bashful Ivar who nervously chuckled and waved at his brothers as he followed behind her.
As they walked out Ubbe chuckled “Looks like Ivar managed to find the only person in the world with a temper worse than his own”
“And with the aim to match” A breathless Hvitserk laughed poking at Sigurd’s red spot.
So I was bored out of my mind in American History class, and whenever I’m bored in any class, I have the terrible habit of doodling. So I decided to do some fan art for @pomegranates-and-blood series Vοσταλγία, because I love it and I got the sudden inspiration. I know it’s a reader insert, but there is a face claim she has up, and the actress is literally so beautiful so I went ahead and used her as a reference, not that it really shows much. Also, this isn’t perfect, it’s really sketchy and I drew this in the notes section of my Ipad 😅 I did the best I could while having my camera on during class lmao Luckily my professor didn’t notice me looking down so much. Anyway, I’ll shut up. Hope you like it! She’s ready for a winter in Kattegat, and she’s not very happy about it, hence the thick oversized cloak.
❛ request | obsessive/possessive dark!ivar finally making a move+ smut @vikingsbifrost, claiming a married woman as his for babies (cyq revamp) from anon, hvitserk saving reader from ivar + overthrowing him @lisinfleur
❛ pairing | king ivar/reader, hvitserk/reader
❛ word count | 3173
❛ genre | heavy angst, smut etc.
❛ summary | king ivar is only doing what his duties claim he should do. it’s unfortunate you don’t see it the same way.
❛ warnings | (1) noncon scene, breeding, wife stealing, black mail, forced marriage, violence, revenge(?), brothers feuding, dark!ivar, hate
❛ authors notes | there is a brief forced scene between ivar and the reader in here. @vikingsbifrost i am so sorry if this wasn’t what you wanted.
The thump of the trunk of a log thrashes the wooden door. His hand curled around the grip of an aged blade belonging once to his father then later to his snake eyed brother. As he jumped of the bed and hauled his pants up, he turned his eyes up to the shield above the bed. You shove yourself up in your bed, reaching for your thin night dress. Hurry! Hvitserk whispers out to you. A thump, thrash and a crack tears the door apart.
“Bring them out!”
“Let go! Hvitserk!”
A man needs a woman for breeding.
So then… he was only doing as mother told him to do. To make good on the warrior and breeder that mother told him he should be. This was all natural. The only unnatural part would be fighting it. He tugs the reins of his horse tight, slowing the rippling clacks of his hooves upon the icy ground just outside of the shared cabin.
“Ivar!”
Why did you not just take her?
He would mother, he would. He wasn’t weak-- not like Harald to let a woman make a fool out of him more than once. Twice. Three times. No, that wouldn’t be him. Your delicate feet slide upon clods of slippery ice gathered just outside of the home. Two of his soldiers steady you up from falling, steadying you with your feet dug in the dirty snow. You thrash between there hands tight on the middle of your elbow, yanking one way before another.
Hvitserk’s knees hit the ground, hitting hard clobs of ice before a great chariot. Not… anyone’s clobs of ice. Ivar balls up the reins in his hands, leaning over the breastplate that stabilized him to stare down upon brother, shivering in the cold.
“Ivar.” The stern voice quakes.
“Hello brother.” Ivat limps his way off of the chariot, a bruising grip on his crutch. Hvitserk’s body shudders from the cold kissing his cold frame.
“What are you doing?” His brother’s voice quakes from the cold. Ivar stands before him, his braces cold against the thick trousers he wore. Ivar stands in fully confidence of what he has done. More than that even, he has that wide unrepentant smile.
“You did not introduce me to your beautiful woman.” He points you out, shivering from the cold under your toes. Your nightdress does little to shield you from the cold and Ivar, noticing you in such chills, comes to your side. “What is your name?”
Despite the fact that you do not answer him, he carries on.
“It doesn’t matter. I know you, (Y/N). You must be cold.” Ivar says. The king relinquishes the furs on his shoulders, slipping them around yours. You flinch back away from him, tightening your shoulders as he covers you with his expensive furs.
“I’m fine, my king.” You shift your feet upon a clod of snow, toes pink with hot pain. Ivar hums, raising his thumb up to your cheek. The gentleness he contracts upon you is unsettling and so you tilt your face away from him.
“What are you getting at brother?” Hvitserk asks upon the snow. The men brandish their axes-- a hint that all was not as well as it seemed. Of course as a king there was something else that had to be bothering him to drag you both out of bed at such an unholy hour.
“I was only thinking.” Ivar curls his finger underneath your jaw, angling you back toward his face. His grip suddenly tightens. “I want her to be my new queen. Don’t you think she would look beautiful with a crown upon her head?”
“What?” You shrill out.
The shock of his statement anchors you in place even as Ivar’s thumb plips off of your full lower lip. Without another word, he jerks his head in the way of his chariot. Hvitserk leaps at the words, weighted down by the men that have their hold upon him.
“Hvitserk!”
“What? No!” Hvitserk’s voice suddenly raises, curling his back to shove himself up against the two men that hold him there. As he glances over his shoulder the realization that his baby brother is very much serious sets in. The words aren’t coming and neither are yours through the shock of the moment. “You don’t even know her!”
The words barely come out through the clanging of shields. Within their homes, grumbly men peer out the door to see what has happened. The king looks lazily to the men and then back down to his brother.
“Take him.” Ivar lazily hobbles toward his chariot just as the men tie your wrists to the cold thing.
“Don’t listen to him, (Y/N)!” Hvitserk shrills out, buckling when one of Ivar’s prized guards knee him in the stomach. You would flex your wrists against the thick rope, legs kicking at Ivar’s braces in frustration of being unable to run back to your man. Ivar steps back upon his chariot, abandoning his crutch while pulling the reins.
“Don’t fight me so much, hm?” Ivar looks over to you, rippling the horse might return to the Great Hall. You’ve been inside before— but never as someone important. Ivar gathers you up by the bundle of rope against your wrists. Your heels dig in with every subsequent step into the hall.
“Please Ivar don’t do this.”
He gives you nothing but his blind ear the whole way to his bed. At long last he shoves you down upon the plush furs he once shared with Freydis who was nowhere in sight. Only the crackle of a warm fire that chases away the tickle of pain you once felt. You fall upon your side cognizant of Ivar ripping apart your modest white underdress. The thin fabric tears under his warpick as if it were nothing. With your hands so bound, you can only look away.
“Don’t be modest, (Y/N).” Ivar glides his large palms over your sides, drifting across your hips to your well rounded breasts. “I’ve watched you. You’re not as innocent as you would let everyone to believe.”
“What?” You turn your face back up to him.
“You like it when Hvitserk uses his force.” Ivar loosens his braces, easing out of them while you lay upon the bed in the tatters of your dress. He pulls himself upon the bed, tugging at your ankle so that he might slither between your legs.
“That is different! He is my husband!”
“Did he ever propose to you?” Ivar cocks his flat eyebrow at you. Then of course there was silence. It wasn’t because… Hvitserk did not want to propose to you. You had never doubted that. Not even once. What you were absolutely sure of was the fact that your Hvitserk wanted to feel worthy of being your husband-- because he was a good man. Yet still the tears prick your eyes.
“You’re an asshole.” At your words, Ivar leans forward to cup your breast in his hand. He sweeps his thumb over your nipple, rolling his thumb upon it to harden up the little bud.
“You are the one who settled for less. Don’t tell me you hadn’t seen Freydis and I looking at you.”
“I would not settle being with two insane people!” You arch your back, shifting as if you could get away from him. It’s nothing but useless and yet Ivar gives you a look that could only mean nothing more but to eat shit. He slinks down to set soft kisses against your sternum, drifting over your belly to your lower stomach.
“Really? Well, then. I will reason with you, (Y/N).”
You’re listening-- looking upon the king with uncertainty. He rests a small kiss upon your pubic mound. Intimately careful where you full heartedly expected he would roll you over and take you as he would desire. He spreads apart your lips, examining his new tucked away little prize trim and neat.
“You will become my wife and you will like it. You will bear me a child and raise him in our ways.” Ivar glides his fingers over your inner labia, sweeping down to work his tongue over them in one smooth lick. Your fingers cringe and so you grind your nails into your palm. “Then in exchange I will send Hvitserk with our allies.”
Your eyes clench hard, buried with the thought of being filled with this man’s child. It had been more than once that Hvitserk told you that Ivar could not fill a woman with child. Yet Freydis had fallen with child. Ivar sweeps his tongue lower, poking against the entrance of your cunt, swirling about to begrudgingly make you lubricate. Then you make a fatal mistake.
“I’ll take your deal. But... I thought you could not fill a woman.” You say.
“Did he tell you that?” He abruptly snaps, thrusting you over onto your stomach. Ivar pounces upon you, wrenching a fistful of your hair back. You make a pitiful squeak underneath him, pulling your wrists at the tight binding around your wrists. “Did he?!”
The rumours of Freydis’s betrayal filled Kattegat. With that, word that Ivar could not properly fill a woman either. Maybe at one point that had been true and it causes Ivar’s lip to curl. He let his insecurities get the better of him. Your head strains back against him, knowing that it could very easily be the end of your sweet Hvitserk.
“Yes.” You whine just enough to pull Ivar’s interest back onto you. The head of his warm, throbbing cock nudges against your folds-- then with a hiss, he slams into your cunt.
“Do I feel like I can’t? Hm?” Gasping underneath him, you arch as if it could help you escape the dryness of your walls about him. The realization only seems to frustrate him forward, moving within your painfully dry walls.
“N-No, you can. You can!”
Small, mechanical huffs of frustration spills out of his lips. This wasn’t how he meant it to go-- you were meant to love him, adore him! You squeeze down upon his sloppy rhythm, hips weakly bucking against the curve of your round ass. With a deep thrust, Ivar seats himself within your cunt in his disbelief. It begins to become easier-- you lubricate.
“It doesn’t feel like you hate this as much as you say you do.” He leans in, whispering into your ear. The tight grip on your hair smoothes, petting your head much like a puppy or something of the like. He sets his forearm upon the bed, using but one hand to angle your face back towards him.
“Good. You’re taking me so well.” Ivar praises, the rage of his thrusts beginning to smooth over more evenly. He drags out to his tip and bucks forward with purpose and not just anger. Each thrust is swifter than the last.
“Do I feel good?” He asks. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on anything else but the Ragnarsson who takes you. “This was your fantasy to be bred full of child. It always has been, hasn’t it? It's always been mine.”
“Not with you.” You choke out. “With Hvitserk.”
The aggressive sweeps of his cock leave him knocking against your cervix. You’re squeamish to the deep, fulfilling thrusts that fill you chasing the tails of his purpose in taking you away from his brother.
“It was always mine since I saw you.” He says in a moment of weakness. Since he saw you? When was that-- when Aslaug was alive? It suddenly hits you; the discussion you once walked past at a party in the Great Hall.
Why do you not just take her, my son? A man does need a wife for breeding. Even better if you love her. She’ll understand in time.
They’ll hate me, Mother. She’ll hate me.
Your teeth grit together, grinding like rocks. He’s close. You feel him pin you down like a boulder to a mouse, hips bouncing against your own. His breath hitches, pounding pleasure coming over him so much that’s almost fearful of the feeling of vulnerability.
It comes over him, devouring him in pleasure-- Ivar makes a harsh, rippling growl as the splatters of his seed coat your walls. His cock sits deep against your cervix, sure to cum against it. He’s unprepared for the actual feeling; his broad shoulders push back to fill you like he always dreamed. Then softening inside of you, Ivar catches his breath upon you.
He slips away from you, loosening the bindings around your wrists. You wonder why he’s stopped. For most men, a few minutes would pass and they would be up yet again! Yet… Ivar thrusts the rope off the bed, drawing his knuckles over your arms. You look upon Ivar, narrowing your eyes.
“Tell me the truth. Why did you do this?”
Ivar looks to you when you speak, looking around this new place that you would call home. Not a small, meager cabin that you told Hvitserk you could be happy with but a whole Great Hall. An empty, loveless Great Hall. One day-- not so far away-- you would be asking why not. Why wouldn’t he take you to make this great, happy family.
“I fell in love.” He excuses. Was it love or lust? You weren’t sure either. One thing was for sure to you-- Ivar Ragnarsson was obsessed. He was obsessed with taking anything that Hvitserk had and destroying it! Men like him… they were all the same.
“I don’t believe you.” You say. “This is not love. You just want to make Hvitserk miserable.”
Maybe that was partially true. Ivar would pay any price to make his brothers pay for the pain, the humiliation and anguish they all imparted upon him.
“I’ve watched you a long time, my sweet. It was time.”
As you learn later, that conversation you walked in on? It was about you all along.
The chains around his wrists were starting to eat away at him. They were raw and achy, bones just as pained by the contortion of his hands high above his head and shackles binding his ankles down. It had easily been weeks of being imprisoned for something that he had nothing to do with. It must have been breakfast yet again, because the front door creaked open again. The familiar stomp of Ivar’s crutch fills the room.
“Good morning brother!” Ivar comes in, his hand warm on a bowl of porridge with his favourite-- chopped apples. Hvitserk looks tiredly to his brother, dirty hair matting to his head. Behind him, a thrall comes in with a basin of water.
“How exactly is it a good morning?” Hvitserk’s chapped and flaky lips part, scratchy is his voice. Ivar hands the thrall the porridge. She sits before him, cleaning his face so that he might eat. Food became more and more disinteresting. He can’t recount to Ivar or anyone else how many days have passed.
“It is a good morning because I come with great news.” Ivar says. “My wife and I have come to an agreement.”
Hvitserk flinches, begrudgingly taking in a spoon of the porridge. Fighting the thrall would only make more come to squeeze his cheeks and make him eat. Then they would muzzle him like a dog.
“My (Y/N).” He swallows the slop down.
“Yes, my (Y/N).” Ivar stands before him. “She is finally with child. It has been some months since you’ve last seen her, hasn’t it?”
With child. Hvitserk’s world shuts down, thoughts all running together under the weight of his statement. You were pregnant-- by his brother. You were married-- to his brother. You were his brother’s and yet, that was something he couldn’t accept. Hvitserk meets Ivar’s eyes with his own, wrinkling nose up tight. In siding along with Ivar, he knew full and well what that meant.
“You forced her.”
“Brother you are making this sound worse than it is.” Ivar twirls around the war pick in his fingers. “Like mother said, sometimes… you must take your woman. Now we are having a child together. Don’t be so cynical.”
Yes… sometimes, you must take your woman. Hvitserk lets the words fall deep in the front of his mind before he laughs, low.
“Now what are you going to do, hm, Ivar? Banish me? I am your brother.” Or rather, was. How could a man get over such humiliation? He was thrust out of his home into the snow in the dead of night, imprisoned in this place with only the crackle of a fire and a kind thrall to inform you of the changes in the Great Hall.
“Nonsense. You will go on a diplomatic mission to Olafur the Stout and convince him to keep our alliance.”
“Fine.” He’d kill him. He’d kill him he’d kill him he’d kill him.
“Can I… can I come in?” At the door, your weak voice. Ivar turns up his head towards the door, motioning you to come in. You were far along enough that your stomach gained curve underneath your dress.
“Come. Say goodbye to Hvitserk. He is leaving.” Ivar permits you to come in.
It had been seemingly long months since you had last seen Hvitserk. Months of nothing but relying on memories and thoughts. The spring was long without him to celebrate Freyja bringing in fields of popping flowers, fresh flowing honey and lovers kisses. Summer harvest without him wasn’t the same when no vendor was there to give him treats just to have a prince eating their merchandise. Now, in fall, it began to chill once again.
“Hvitserk, my sweet…”
You pick up the edge of your dress, sliding before him to kiss the top of his head. He was fed-- but his muscles… its obvious that he hasn’t moved in all those months that Ivar kept him prisoner. Your hands quake around his scruffy jaw, a small beard beginning to grow. The slave promised to keep him trim on your behalf-- knowing that was how he liked it.
“Are you hurt?” You ask, taking the basin of water to clean his hair with. The thrall would help you in washing it quickly as Ivar’s temper was waxing and waning with every intimate interaction between the two of you.
“Only my pride.” He answers. You join her in drying his hair and braiding it down to his mid back where it had grown just so long. Ivar begins to give you that look. The one where you were talking to someone too long and for their sake, it had better come to a swift end.
“I’m going to kill him.” He whispers against your lips when you lay one smooth kiss to his lips. He tastes salty-- and dry. Barely reminiscent of the porridge and apples that he was eating just seconds before. You part your lips from his when Ivar clicks his tongue at you.
“(Y/N).” Ivar hisses, causing you to look up. “Come.”
“Goodbye, Hvitserk. Goodbye.”
He promised himself that your goodbyes wouldn’t be for long. He would be back.
@avalon-4 commented how she needed to see a whole ass fic about Ivar falling into a chocolate coma on my Valentine’s Day With the Ragnarssons post and like me too.
“My love!” you called out, rushing over to Ivar with open arms. You nearly tackled him to the ground when you got too him. “I’ve missed you.”
Ivar hummed his agreement, pulling away to gaze at you. “You look as beautiful as ever, my queen. How are your parents?”
“They’re good,” you said. “I mean tired, but good. I can’t believe they had another child, I mean how old am I? But as long as mother’s okay, I mean do what you want to do. Enough rambling, how are you? How was the raid? Where’s Hvitserk, I have something to give to him.”
“The raid was good. I’m fine and maybe you should sit down,” Ivar said, lightly grabbing your elbow with his free hand and guiding you to sit down on the bed. “You have quite a bit of energy there. Did you see Sigurd before coming to see me? He’s been messing around with those herbs and did you know the other day he came into our bedroom hallucinating and rambling on like a mad man? Sometimes I worry about him.”
“No, I did not go see Sigurd before I came to see you but I did eat some chocolate.”
“Chocolate,” Ivar said, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes, mother had eaten some when she was a young girl and for some reason had a craving for it when she was pregnant. Father imported chocolate and also what you need to make it and now the kingdom is growing it.”
“I’ve heard of chocolate,” Ivar said. “But I’ve never eaten it.”
“You have to try it. It’s amazing.” You took a piece out of the basket you were holding and handed it to him.
Ivar cautiously took a bite and his eyes went wide. “This is possibly the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“I know. I brought some back for Hvitserk, I thought he would appreciate it.”
“You think too much of my brothers.”
“It’s called caring, Ivar. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
“I care about you and mother and…me.”
“Yes well, while you struggle with that list of yours I am going to go find Hvitserk and bring him some chocolate.” You took out a wrapped piece from inside the basket. “I’ll be back, don’t eat it all while I’m gone.”
After delivering Hvitserk the chocolate, checking in on Sigurd to make sure he was still alive, and helping Ubbe stitch up a hole in his pants he had gotten while training, you made your way back to your bedroom.
“Ivar, you will not believe where Ubbe got a rip in his-” you stopped upon entering the room. The basket of chocolate was empty and Ivar was curled up in a ball, holding his stomach with his chocolatey hands, and passed out.
“Ivar,” you said, gently nudging him awake.
His eyes fluttered open and he groaned. “My stomach hurts.”
“Because you ate all my chocolate.”
“You were taking too long. I haven’t seen you in three months and then you leave to go spend time with my brothers.”
You snorted. “You’re looking a little green, Ivar. And i don’t think it’s just from the chocolate.”
“Ha, ha, you’re so funny. I’m in pain,” he groaned.
“Fine,” you said, surrendering. “I’ll be back with some water and I’ll draw you a warm bath to help ease the stomach pain.”
“Thank you,” he moaned.
“Alright, the bath is ready,” you paused, sighing. Ivar was passed out again, splayed across the whole bed, face down. You could see the chocolate on the furs.
You took a sip of the water you had poured for Ivar and shook your head, turning around and walking back towards the bathroom. “I deserve that bath for all the whining I’m going to be dealing with later from his sorry ass.”
A/N: Alright peeps, finally a new imagine. Like the last one, this imagine was requested by the lovely @ceylon-morphe286. I am really sorry it is so short darling. I tried my best but I have to confess, I am not quite satisfied with the result. Anyways, I hope you like it. Enjoy!
Please comment if you find any mistakes.
Description: Ivar spends a lot of time listening to the stories of a mysterious young woman who travelled a lot. She tells him story's of gods from around the world, however, his favourite tale is the one of the crippled god Hephaestus and how he married the beautiful goddess, Aphrodite. Ivar admires the woman and can`t help but think of her as the perfect mother for his children.
She was not the first foreign woman to arrive in Kattegat.
Like many before, she came from unknown places and told stories no one ever heard of.
But she was the first one to catch Ivar`s attention.
The first time he saw her, he could tell right away, that something was different about her.
He couldn`t point his finger on what it was about her that attracted him so much and that drove him crazy.
In a way.
A special way.
The way she talked, she moved and she looked at him made him crazy.
She was like something above them.
Ivar noticed it when she acted with more grace than anyone else ever could.
Or when she sang.
He was fascinated by her.
Whenever she talked to him or when he listened to the tales and myths she told.
He observed her no matter what she did.
This made him notice things about her like the way she could make the kid`s eyes lit up when she told them about the world and life.
Over time a bond grew between them.
A bond of trust as clear as ice on a cold winter morning.
She told him all the stories, about the folks she met and tales she heard.
But one story, in particular, kept him awake at night.
The story of Hephaestus and Aphrodite.
The Greeks tell many myths about many gods but there are twelve gods higher than the rest, that rule from Mount Olympus.
Hephaestos, son of Zeus, king of all gods and of his wife Hera, was told to be one of them.
The myths talk about him being deformed and crippled since birth.
Ashamed of her son, his mother Hera left him to die.
Even though underestimated since birth and sent to die, he proved everyone wrong and made his way up to Mount Olympus to get revenge of his mother.
Thanks to his skills and strength, he became one of the twelve Olympians.
The god of fire, metalworking and the art of sculpture.
He married Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty, grace and love.
The most beautiful and desired woman.
Wanted by every man who laid eyes on her.
She was the epitome of beauty in a way more than just her appearance.
Kings took a single look at her and laid their kingdoms to her feet.
None of them was able to keep her interest longer than for a single night.
Except for Hephaestus.
The story made Ivar think about his own fate and he liked to think of Y/N as Aphrodite.
She was so much more precious than all the other woman he met.
Something about her made her stand out of the crowd.
Ivar couldn`t help but look at her round breasts covered only with a thin white gown and think of how his sons and daughters would feed on those breasts.
He felt an attraction towards her, a longing from deep inside him.
He knew she had to become his wife.
She was the one that was meant to be the queen of Kattegat.
Queen of all Vikings.
She was strong and wise. The perfect queen
She had to become his.
Ivar wanted her and like a child that wanted a toy, he wouldn`t accept a no as an answer.
he wouldn`t rest until she was his and everybody bowed before her as their rightful queen.
The library of King Ecbert's castle was, unsurprisingly, empty. Most of the inhabitants were either being trained for battle or standing guard around the Kings as they met. So, you found it to be the perfect hiding place when you felt the need to escape your tutor for the day. The chamber was in a calm and almost reflective state as if you were the first one to grace its halls in months. You gathered a small pile of books and scrolls that seemed the most interesting and made yourself a small nest on the ledge of a tall window. You'd purposefully tucked yourself away in the back of the library in the case that someone came looking for you. Though not many had caught onto your tricks, you knew Judith was smart and would most likely search for you here if she discovered you went missing.
You sift through your pile, settling for a written book on medicinal plants. At least this one was illustrated.
You settle into your spot as comfortably as you can and immerse yourself in reading. Though you were much more content to wander around the castle and cause mischief, you knew your father was especially on edge today. You'd overheard the maids gossiping about King Aelle's mistrust of Ragnar and knew if he caught you in your usual antics, you would be banished from seeing Judith and Alfred for the next month.
The warm breeze coming from the window coupled with the book in your hands was enough to lull you to sleep, and you surely would have, were it not for the figure leaning against the dimly lit bookshelf across from you. You sit upright, blinking to let your eyes adjust. "Ivar?" You ask quietly. "What are you doing here?"
Ivar shuffles forward with the help of his crutches, into the sunlight where you could see him better. "Same as you, I suppose. Hiding," he says with an amused tone. You laugh, closing your book and scooting forward. "How did you know I was here?" Ivar shrugs, plopping down at a small wooden table across from you. "Lucky guess."
You rest your chin on your palm and observe the prince as he sets a book of his own on the wooden table. "I'm not sure why I am surprised to find you can read," you mock gently, biting your lip in anticipation of his response. Would he have a temper with you, as the rumors say?
Though Ivar's jaw sets and he throws a glare in your direction, he says nothing. You wonder for a moment if you've ruined the mood, and you press again. "I didn't mean anything by it. People talk, you know," you add. "People may talk, but it is up to you to listen," Ivar replies. You let out a small chuckle and look away. "Oh, dear. I'm afraid I haven't a response to that," you say quietly.
Ivar looks back to you with a brow raised. "You, not having a remark? I think I'm surprised." A loud laugh rips from your throat before you can stop it, and you lean back against the stone window frame behind you. "It does not happen often, so I cannot advise you to get used to it, Viking." Ivar's face betrays his amusement as he turns back to the book before him. "I imagine, Saxon, there are many things about you I will not get used to," he says quietly. You bite your lip in an attempt to stop yourself from smiling, but to no avail. The Viking prince does something to you that you have never experienced before, and it was thrilling.
You shuffle back into your spot, picking up your forgotten book. You flip through the pages absentmindedly and steal little glances here and there at the boy beside you. You allow your mind to wander and imagine what it would feel like to be courted by someone so fierce. Ivar was a mystery to you, so much like his father. When you'd heard of their arrival, you had expected two beastly men who did not speak a lick of English nor have any common decency. Admittedly, you were almost disappointed at how pleasantly normal they were. Perhaps your dad's stories of the Northmen were just that-- stories. Figures, you shouldn't have listened to the paranoid old man.
You glance over once more only to catch Ivar staring at you. You offer him a smile and lift your head. "Yes?" You ask, smug that you caught him looking. If Ivar notices the tone in your voice, he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he asks, "You and Alfred. Are you really betrothed?" Your face falls at the topic, and you turn your attention out the window and to the courtyard below. "We are," you start slowly. "It is more so in name. My father wants me out and tamed as soon as possible, and King Ecbert was looking for a queen for his Alfred. It was a supposed perfect match," you mutter. Ivar listens carefully, his eyes scanning over the words before him. "When would you marry?" He wondered. You sigh and slump down further against the wall. "Most likely when Alfred is crowned King. If my father had his way, I'm sure it would be far sooner." Ivar seems to consider your words for a moment. You lull your head to the side, eyeing the young man. "Why do you ask?"
He shrugs, his eyes not leaving the page. "Curious about Saxon affairs," he offers lamely. You sit upright and frown. "Is that all?" You wonder quietly. This time, it's Ivar who turns to you with a smug face. "Is that all you want it to be?"
A heavy silence blankets the library as the two of you stare at one another. Was there another reason? What were you hoping for? For Ivar to live up to the Viking rumors and kidnap you, hauling you off to some unknown land?
You're the first to break eye contact as you lean back into the wall. "I suppose so," you say softly.
You hear the creaking of wood and a shuffling sound, followed by the repeating tapping of Ivar's crutches meeting the stone floor. You turn your head in time to see Ivar towering over you, looking down to meet your gaze. "For someone who causes such trouble," Ivar begins, reaching out to grab a stray piece of your hair. "You are a terrible liar, princess." Your face feels hot and you splutter incoherently while Ivar chuckles. "I am not lying!" Your voice betrays you, rising above your normal pitch. Ivar gives you a knowing grin and you snap your mouth shut. His eyes flit back and forth from your own as if searching for something. "I am leaving tomorrow. Will you really not tell me the truth before I go?" Ivar asks finally. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare up at him. Does he leave tomorrow? But what about Ragnar? Your face must have betrayed your sorrow because Ivar's gaze softens as he looks at you. "What if I ask nicely?" He adds.
You can't help laughing at this and shake your head. "It wouldn't suit you, Ivar."
He stares at you and it brings back that strange feeling in the pit of your stomach that only he seems to cause. He reaches a hand out and grips your jaw experimentally as if examining you. He does not hold your chin as a lover would, but more like a farmer observing livestock. It sends a strange thrill up your spine, to be so fiercely scrutinized by someone like him. Something dark and mischievous flashes in his eyes as he looks at you. "Give me permission, princess," Ivar says in a low voice. It's so quiet that you almost don't register that he spoke. You swallow as your eyes search his. "For what?" Your response is barely above a whisper, you know your voice would betray you if you spoke up. You don't need his response. You're not so oblivious to what he wants, but the tumultuous side of you wanted him to say it out loud. To hear him say he desired you, in the same way you did him.
But Ivar is wise to your tricks and doesn't speak. His grip on your face lightens, and for a moment you're disappointed in thinking he's walking away. Suddenly, his thumb hooks your chin and drags you towards him, earning a small squeal of surprise from you. His mouth is hot over yours as he kisses you and it sends small tingles throughout your body. Your hands come up to grab fistfuls of his shirt, trying to pull him flush against you. One of his hands tangles in your hair, gripping and pushing you closer. You feel his free hand slide under your dress and grab your thigh, hooking your knee and dragging you forward so he's nestled between your thighs.
Your head spins as Ivar kisses you with such a passion as if this was the first and last time you would see each other. The thought bothered you, and you found yourself whining into the kiss. This seems to spur him on as Ivar lets out a low growl, nipping your bottom lip with his sharp teeth. Then he breaks away, ending the kiss just as quickly as it began. You lean after him lamely, mourning the sudden loss of his warmth. Ivar steps back and looks at you with such a savage look of pride on his face that you feel something curl in your stomach. "Until next time, princess."
His fingers trail across the frame of your face one last time before he drops his hand and starts to leave. "You would leave me here like this?" Your voice trembles as your eyes sting. He can't just leave you here like this, right? Ivar spares one last glance over his shoulder and rakes his eyes up and down your figure. "When I come back, you will not have to worry anymore."
And just like that, he leaves you sitting in the library alone as the sun sets behind you.
