Okay yall, I’m a little late to the party, but Rollo Lothbrok🫣 I’m only on season 3 of Vikings and I’m officially in love with the beauty of this man. Be prepared for more Vikings fics🤤 Also, this is a LONG fic, but it’s worth it!🥹
Bridge Between Worlds
Rollo Lothbrok x Reader
In a marriage arranged for political alliance, you, a Christian princess, and the Viking warrior Rollo find yourselves unexpectedly drawn together, bridging the divide between your faiths, cultures, and hearts.
Warnings: smut, fluff, struggles with faith, religion, drinking, cursing
The grand hall fell silent as your father’s voice rang out, echoing through the stone walls. His words seemed to linger in the air, heavy with purpose, like a chain slipping over your wrists. “The Northmen have proposed an alliance, my daughter,” he said, his gaze steady as he looked at you. “King Ragnar has offered his brother, Rollo Lothbrok, to wed you. This marriage will bring peace to our lands and protection from their raids.”
The room seemed to close in, the walls pressing down as you struggled to breathe. Marry a Northman? The very thought filled you with dread. You’d heard tales of these people—warriors who worshipped strange gods, men who swept through villages like storms, leaving only ruin in their wake. And now, to bind yourself to one of them, to Rollo Lothbrok of all people… It was unthinkable.
“But, Father,” you protested, your voice wavering. “Surely, there must be another way to secure peace. A treaty, a negotiation—anything but marriage.”
Your father’s gaze softened, but his voice held the iron weight of duty. “This is the only way, my daughter. We need this alliance. You have always known that your marriage would serve a greater purpose, and now that purpose is upon us.”
You felt a lump rise in your throat. Your life had been a careful sequence of preparations for this role, every lesson, every sermon instilling in you the virtue of self-sacrifice. You’d known that one day your life would be bound to someone chosen for you, but you had always imagined it would be to a noble from a nearby kingdom, someone who shared your faith, your values. Not to a pagan warrior from a distant, brutal land. A beast more than a man.
And yet, you had no choice. The Northmen’s proposal had been clear, and your father had already accepted it. The fate you had so long been prepared for was now sealed.
***
The day of your wedding dawned, cloaked in an eerie stillness. The grand church where you were to wed Rollo was adorned with flowers and candles, symbols of a sacred union. You wore a gown of fine lace, your veil trailing behind you like a whisper of grace. You felt numb, as if moving through a dream—or a nightmare—waiting for the moment to be over, waiting for the reality of it to settle.
Rollo stood at the altar, a tall, imposing figure, his features set in a mask of silent defiance. He looked as out of place as you felt, his gaze hard and unyielding, his mouth a tight line. When he glanced your way, his eyes were unreadable, a mixture of resentment and resignation. It was clear that he, too, had little desire for this union.
The priest began the ceremony, his voice a steady drone of Latin prayers. You barely heard the words, your mind elsewhere, tangled in memories of home, family, the life you were leaving behind. Each phrase, each gesture, seemed hollow, an imitation of the wedding you’d once imagined as a child. This was supposed to be a moment of joy, of love. But there was no warmth here, only the cold formality of duty.
When the priest instructed Rollo to take your hand, he did so without meeting your gaze, his grip firm but impersonal. His hands were rough, scarred from battle, the hands of a man who had known violence more than tenderness. You felt the weight of his touch, solid and unyielding, a reminder that you were bound now to this stranger.
The priest continued, his voice a solemn echo as he blessed your union, but you could see the slight hesitation in his eyes. This marriage between a Christian princess and a heathen warrior defied every tradition, every vow that was meant to sanctify it. And yet, the ceremony proceeded, binding you together in the eyes of your God and your people.
When the vows were exchanged, Rollo spoke the words in a language foreign to him, his voice thick with an accent that turned each promise into something distant, almost detached. You struggled to keep your voice steady as you repeated your own vows, feeling as though you were surrendering more than your hand. You were giving up your life, your dreams, to a man who would never understand you, nor you him.
As the ceremony ended, the church fell silent, a strange, somber quiet lingering between you and Rollo. The people gathered offered their restrained applause, their faces a mixture of relief and curiosity. To them, this was a strategic victory, a bridge between two worlds, but to you and Rollo, it was a prison.
You stole a glance at him, trying to discern any hint of emotion in his eyes. But his face remained a stoic mask, unreadable and distant, as if he, too, were waiting for this day to be over.
That night, as the festivities continued, you and Rollo exchanged only the briefest of nods, acknowledging each other out of obligation more than anything else. You sat at opposite ends of the grand table, separated by language, by faith, by the vast chasm of your different worlds.
And so, as the night grew darker, you resigned yourself to this new life, feeling like a stranger in your own skin. Bound by vows spoken in words that felt foreign, you wondered if you would ever find warmth in the cold, unyielding presence of the man you now called your husband—or if this marriage would remain as empty and silent as the vows you had uttered in that grand, hollow church.
***
The sea air of Kattegat was colder than anything you’d known back home. The winds held a bite, reminding you each day that you were far from the familiar warmth of your homeland. It had been a month since you’d arrived, a month of silent days and sleepless nights in a place that felt like another world. Though married, you and Rollo had barely exchanged a glance since arriving, your only link to understanding his world was the quiet monk Athelstan, who patiently taught you Norse.
Days passed in strange routine. The Northmen spoke a language rough and wild, each word sounding like thunder to your ears. But Athelstan was a skilled teacher, and over time, the foreign words began to settle into your mind. Slowly, painstakingly, you came to understand snippets of conversation, whispers of words. And though you’d never spoken to him directly, you felt Rollo’s presence more keenly than anyone else’s.
Beyond learning their language. You learned of their gods.. gods that were not so different from the one you knew to be true. In the quiet moments of your days in Kattegat, when the biting northern winds were at rest and the village hummed with the peaceful rhythm of daily life, you found yourself questioning truths you had once accepted without hesitation. This land was raw, its people fierce, yet you had begun to notice an undeniable beauty here. And with it came questions—questions that took root deep within your heart, challenging the very foundations of your beliefs.
At first, the differences between you and these people had seemed insurmountable. Their rituals, their prayers to unseen gods of thunder, fertility, the sea, and the harvest—all of it seemed like blasphemy to your ears. Yet, as the days turned to weeks, you saw their reverence, how their lives were woven with purpose and respect for the land, for each other, and for forces they couldn’t see but trusted in deeply.
They worship their gods as we worship ours, you thought one day, watching as a woman carved runes into a wooden charm meant to protect her family. They seek strength, guidance, blessings. Are they so different from us?
The question unsettled you, and you struggled against it, recalling sermons from your homeland, the teachings that painted pagans as savages, their gods as dark spirits. But there was light in these people, too, wasn’t there? A unity, a sense of duty, and a love for family that you had always been taught were the virtues of your own faith.
Your gaze often drifted to Athelstan, your quiet teacher and guide in this foreign world, who had once been a Christian monk but had found himself torn between the faith of his past and the gods of the North. You wondered if he felt the same turmoil you did. Perhaps he, too, had wrestled with questions of what was true and what had been constructed by the hands and minds of men. After all, Athelstan had once told you that the Vikings’ gods had existed long before Christ had walked the earth.
This thought lodged in your mind, growing roots you couldn’t shake. Could it be possible, you wondered late one night, lying awake in the cold silence of your home, that the stories of my faith were born from theirs?
You thought of the tales you’d been told in church, stories of miracles, sacrifices, and holy men who could summon storms, heal the sick, or commune with higher beings. But here, you had seen similar stories told around the fires in the evenings—stories of gods who controlled the weather, who guided their people, who demanded sacrifices to keep balance in the world. You watched the children listen with wide eyes, just as you once had, their awe and reverence echoing your own memories of kneeling in a grand church, captivated by stories of your God.
And the symbols—they weren’t as different as you’d once thought. The hammer of Thor, which hung on a leather cord around the neck of nearly every warrior, wasn’t so unlike the cross worn by priests and devout nobles back home. Both symbols represented strength, protection, a hope that something greater watched over you.
What if, you wondered, heart thundering with the weight of the thought, these people had seen the same truths but woven them differently? What if, in some ancient past, we had all followed the same gods, the same ways, and only time had divided us?
It was a question you dared not voice, even to Athelstan. But the idea stirred something within you, something that frightened and intrigued you all at once. You felt the weight of the cross you still wore around your neck, a symbol of your devotion, yet here, it felt somehow…lonelier than before. Was it possible that your understanding of the divine had been limited by the walls of a church, by teachings passed down without question?
Each day you rose and went about your new duties, the questions circling in your mind like a hawk over the fields. Each time you watched Rollo go to the sacred woods or pour mead onto the earth in an offering, you felt a strange pull, a whisper in your heart that perhaps the world was larger and more mysterious than you had ever allowed yourself to believe.
One night, as you lay beneath the northern stars, you found yourself praying, not just to your God but to whatever forces might hear you. A strange peace settled over you then, as if your heart had found a rhythm that it had been seeking all along, something beyond names and symbols—a sense of connection to the world around you, to the mysteries and wonders that spanned both your people and his.
For the first time, you felt that perhaps there was more than one way to honor the divine, more than one truth, and that perhaps, in marrying Rollo, you had not been lost to a foreign faith but rather drawn closer to understanding the many ways humanity sought to make sense of this world and the next.
***
One evening, after a long day of lessons, you returned to your new home, hoping for the comfort of a bath to soothe your weary body and mind. You went to the small, private bathing room, where a tub of steaming water awaited. But as you reached to untie your dress, you found yourself struggling, your hands fumbling clumsily over the stubborn knots at your back. Frustration welled up, and you cursed softly under your breath, wishing for just one familiar comfort in this strange, foreign life.
Suddenly, a presence loomed behind you, close enough that you could feel his warmth. You froze as a large, rough hand gently touched your shoulder.
“Let me,” came the deep voice, and you knew instantly it was Rollo. His voice was as rough as the northern winds, yet softer than you’d ever heard it, as if afraid to shatter the silence that had always lain between you.
You held your breath as he deftly began to untie the laces, his hands surprisingly gentle as he worked through the knots with ease. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, his closeness overwhelming, every brush of his fingers against your back sending sparks down your spine.
Once he had loosened the dress, he lingered, his hands resting against the fabric at your shoulders. You felt your heartbeat quicken, and with a shaky breath, you finally turned to look at him. His intense blue eyes met yours, filled with an unreadable depth.
“Thank you,” you murmured in Norse, proud yet hesitant as you stumbled over the unfamiliar sounds.
His lips curved, just barely, in something close to a smile. “You’ve learned our language well,” he replied, his voice low. “I am…impressed.”
Your cheeks warmed, and you looked down. “I wanted to understand. To not feel like a stranger here.” There was a long moment of silence before you finally spoke the question you had been wondering since you arrived. “Will we have a pagan wedding?”
Rollo looked at you with confusion. “We already had a wedding.”
“Yes, but that was a Christian wedding. Our marriage is not recognized in the eyes of your gods, therefore… we are not truly married. Not in the eyes of you or your people.” You held up your, now falling, dress as it slumped around your shoulders.
“Is that what you want? For us to not truly be married?” You hadn’t realized how difficult the answer to that question would be. You would have assumed you would have immediately said yes, but now, in this moment… you’re not so sure.
“It’s what you want, isn’t it? You do not love me.” Rollo scoffed at your words.
“As you do not love me, Princess.”
“Yes, but I love no one. You do love someone, it’s just not me.” Rollo’s eyes widened at your words and he came so close to you, you could feel his breath on your cheeks.
“What do you know of who I love?” You swallowed a lump in your throat, realizing you had hit a sensitive spot.
“I know more than you think, husband. I’m not some stupid and scared girl. The whole month I’ve been here, I’ve been quiet and observant.” Rollo rolled his eyes, taking a few steps back.
“And what is it that you have observed?” You nodded, holding your chin high in retort to his evident doubt.
“I’ve noticed that you are angry. At both yourself and your brother. You’re jealous of him. You feel you are less than and this makes you infuriated. I know you’re in love with Lagertha, but she has never shared that feeling. Though I never knew Siggy, I see the way you act when people talk about her. You loved her, but not in the way you love Lagertha. For this you carry guilt and it fuels your self hate. Did I observe correctly?” Rollo’s expression was one of frustration and astonishment.
“You’ve been busy, Princess. Do you agree with your observations? Am I less than Ragnar?” His question took you by surprise, but didn’t at the same time. The idea that he cares for your opinion is shocking, but not that he needs the validation.
“The truth?” He nods in response. “I think you are a great man. I think you’re honorable and kind. You’ve never forced yourself on me when you could have. You treat me well when you do not have to. As much as you are jealous of your brother, I truly believe that you love him and would not hurt him. You are an honorable warrior, which from my understanding is one of the things you Northmen pride yourselves on. Why you do not see yourself as such, I dont understand. Even my people back home knew your name, Rollo. The Bear, they called you.” A smile spread on his face at the name, and you couldn’t help the one that found yours. “I am proud to be the wife of a man with such high honor.” Rollo was silent for what felt like eternity, just staring at you. You began to feel self conscious, pulling your falling dress as high as you could, and dipped your head to hide your face. “Why are you just staring at me?”
“I suppose I’m surprised. You do not talk to me the entirety of our marriage and the first time you open your mouth you have insulted me and spoken so highly of me in one sitting. I thought you hated this marriage,” he said, each word measured. “I thought you hated…me.”
You looked up, startled by the honesty in his gaze. This was the first real conversation you’d had, the first true exchange, and it struck you how different he seemed now than the man you’d first met. Gone was the stoic warrior, replaced by a man with insecurities, a man who, perhaps, felt as much a stranger to you as you did to him.
“It was never hate,” you whispered, choosing your words carefully. “Fear, maybe. But not hate.”
His hand lifted, his fingers brushing against a strand of your hair as if testing the boundaries of this new understanding between you. “You are braver than you think,” he murmured, his voice like a quiet promise. “More brave than I.”
You swallowed, your heart thundering in your chest. “No, Rollo. Not braver than you.” He smiled, his hand slipping from your cheek to your neck.
“You speak your opinion where I cannot. That’s much braver than facing battle.” The hairs on the back of your neck stood as his hand danced from your neck to your exposed shoulder.
“Maybe we are just brave in different ways. Maybe we can teach each other.” He stepped closer, his fingers curling around the loose neckline of your dress.
“You want to learn to fight?” You shrugged, a smile finding your lips.
“If I am to be a Northeman’s wife, I should learn their ways, no? You teach me the skills of battle and I shall teach you the skills of wit.” He began to pull the fabric of your dress down and you clutched it. He stopped, his eyes meeting yours. “Rollo, I’m…” you realized you did not know what the word was in their language. You searched your mind for it.
“You’re what?” You took a deep breath, embarrassed to have to explain.
“I’ve never been with a man. I don’t know the word in your language.” Rollo chuckled, grabbing your small hand that was holding your dress up.
“Ah, virgin,” he said, squeezing your hand, as if to ask if he could remove your clothes.
“Virgin,” you repeat and he nods.
“Yes, Princess. You are my wife. Should we not bed at least once during our marriage?” You felt your cheeks getting hotter as you finally succumbed to him. Your hand released and your dress fell, pooling at your feet. Your hands covered your breasts, feeling too exposed. His large, scarred, hands clasped your wrists lightly, pulling them down to your sides. “There is no need to hide from me, my wife.” His calloused fingers ran down your exposed chest, to your stomach, stopping at your hip. Goosebumps lit ablaze across your whole body. “It is as if you were carved by the gods.” You giggled as he pulled you close, your bare chest now flush with his.
“As were you, Rollo.” Your palms lay against his chest.
“My gods or yours,” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“I haven’t decided yet, but being here… I do question if my god is even real,” you say honestly.
“Are we turning you into a pagan,” you laugh, shrugging.
“I’m starting to think it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” With that, his lips are against yours, hot and wanting. You moaned into his mouth, entranced by how warm he is, how his beard tickled your cheeks with each synchronized movement of your lips. His hands gripped your hips, picking you up with ease. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your lips never leaving one another. He walked you to the bed, gently laying you down.
He got off the bed, standing at the edge. You watched as he undid his pants. His eyes never leaving yours as he moved slowly to untie the laces. He is a man of beauty. Perfectly chiseled and large. His long hair flows down his chest and his tattoos perfectly caress his skin.
“After tonight, we will be officially married in the eyes of your god, no?” You peeled your eyes away from admiring his body to meet his gaze.
“Yes. We never… I don’t know the word. To make a marriage official, the man and wife must lie together.” He pulled his pants down, revealing himself to you fully, as you are to him. You sucked in a breath, an undeniable feeling of want and nervousness filling you.
“Do you want to lie with me? To truly be husband and wife?” He ran his finger along your collarbone, down to your nipple. He circled it lightly and you couldn’t help the moan that came with it. He smiled, licking his lips. You grabbed his wrist, using it to pull yourself to your knees. You are now face to face with him at the edge of the bed. You grabbed his other wrist, placing both palms on your breasts.
“I want you. Just- just be gentle, okay?” He kissed your cheek as his hands squeezed your chest.
“Northmen are not gentle. We do not fuck gently.” He kissed your neck.
“As much as I want you to fuck me like a Northman, I’ve been told your first time hurts.” You looked down at his already hard cock, feeling yourself getting more nervous. “And you are quite large.” This made Rollo laugh as he continued to trail kisses across your neck and chest.
“Don’t worry, Princess. Me and my large cock will be gentle.” You giggled and slapped his chest, making him laugh again. He laid you back down on the fur covered bed, climbing on top of you. You took in a deep breath as he spread your legs. “Don’t be nervous, my beautiful wife.” The words made butterflies erupt in your chest. He kissed your forehead, then both of your cheeks, easing the tightening in your stomach. He grabbed your hands, holding them above your head. He continued to leave gentle kisses as he slowly started to enter you. You squeezed his hands so hard you’re sure your knuckles were white as he pushed farther inside you. He is extremely large and you wince in pain from you being stretched open.
“Rollo,” you whined and he stopped, meeting your gaze. You gave yourself a minute to adjust, then nodded your head. He continued pushing in further until he was finally fully in you. He pulled out, then slowly thrusted back in. His movements were slow and gentle and eventually the pain turned into pleasure. Pleasure like you’ve never experienced. Your head tipped back and your mouth fell open, letting out a moan.
“Does it feel good, Princess?” His hot breath hit your neck as he whispered in your ear and it lit something wild in you.
“Go faster,” you moaned and wrapped your legs around his waist, giving him more access. You felt him push in deeper as he picked up his pace. He was hitting deeper and deeper inside you with each thrust and your eyes fluttered shut at the intense pleasure.
“You look so beautiful.” You opened your eyes to see he is staring at you, drinking in your appearance. Staring into his blue eyes makes all the sensations better. He rested his forehead against yours and you couldn’t help but fall in love with the way he is staring at you as he thrusts harder and deeper inside you. The room is filled with each other’s moans and gasps. You feel yourself reaching a point of release and you can tell he’s about to hit his too. He kissed you passionately as his thrusts become sloppier. You moaned into his mouth as a wave a euphoria rushed over you and your legs shake from utter pleasure. You feel him release inside you and he rides out his high with a few more thrusts.
He laid next to you on the bed and you rolled over to lay your head on his chest. His heart is beating fast and his breaths are short. You ran your fingers up and down his abdomen as you both fall into a comfortable silence. You’re not sure where you find your confidence, but the words that finally come out of your mouth surprise not only you, but Rollo.
“I do not love you, Rollo Lothbrok. But, I can see my falling in love with you.” You meet his shocked expression, but it eventually turns soft.
“Goodnight, my beautiful wife.”
***
The night air of Kattegat was alive with laughter and song, the flickering torchlight casting a warm glow over the village as the Vikings celebrated with wild abandon. Mead flowed like rivers, horns clashing in toasts to the gods, to family, to life itself. You felt the familiar warmth of the drink pulse through you, each sip lighting your blood with a fire you hadn’t known before coming to this land. Tonight, you danced without restraint, twirling with the crowd in the great hall, your feet moving with the beat of the drums, the earth beneath you thrumming with life.
You had grown accustomed to the spirit of Viking celebrations, their passion for life something you had come to appreciate. Though you were not of their faith, their customs, or their world, the sense of freedom here was intoxicating, a heady contrast to the strict life you had known. Tonight, you felt a part of it all. For the first time, you truly felt like you belonged.
The world around you was a blur of laughter, music, and flickering torchlight. You spun and swayed, your feet carrying you to the beat of the drums, your heart pounding with the thrill of freedom, of finally feeling as though you belonged here in Kattegat. The mead warmed your blood, filling you with a giddy lightness that melted away your reservations. This was a new side of you, one that you hadn’t known before—a part of you that had found joy in this wild land, surrounded by people who embraced life as fiercely as they embraced battle.
As you moved, you caught sight of Rollo, standing on the edge of the crowd, watching you. His intense gaze was steady, following your every movement. His face, usually hardened by shadows and silent restraint, now held something softer, almost tender. You felt his stare like a touch, tracing over you, lingering with an appreciation that made your pulse quicken. You and Rollo had not been able to go a few hours without being intimate since your first time.
Without thinking, you met his eyes and smiled, your feet carrying you closer. He didn’t move, his stare unwavering, as if transfixed. The other dancers melted away, leaving only him in your focus, your heart pounding louder than the drums. Before you could second-guess yourself, you held out your hand, a silent invitation, your eyes daring him to join you.
For a moment, Rollo hesitated, his usual guarded expression flickering with uncertainty. But then, slowly, he reached out, his large hand enveloping yours, and you pulled him into the crowd. He stumbled slightly, unused to this kind of playfulness, but his eyes remained locked on yours, an amused glint sparking there as he let you lead.
You laughed, feeling as though the walls between you and this man, the ones that both had been breaking down slowly, were finally crumbling completely. You pressed his hand to your waist, guiding him to follow your movements, his body close to yours as the drums echoed in the night. Though he towered over you, his presence solid and intense, you felt a softness in the way he held you, his grip firm but gentle.
“Are you sure you know how to dance, warrior?” you teased, your voice light and filled with the boldness that only mead could bring.
He huffed, a smirk breaking across his face. “Dancing is not the way of a Viking. At least not the way you dance, Princess,” he replied, his voice deep, but his eyes sparkled with unspoken laughter. “But for you… I will try.”
The two of you moved together, your laughter mingling as you guided him through each step, each sway. His movements were unpracticed, slightly stiff, yet he relaxed with every beat of the drum, letting himself be drawn into your rhythm. It was as if the crowd, the village, the night itself faded, leaving only the two of you bound in this moment, where titles and gods and duty did not matter.
You felt his hand tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, his other hand coming up to cradle the side of your face. The playful smiles faded, and in their place, a deeper warmth simmered between you, something vulnerable and unspoken.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” he murmured, his voice barely audible above the music, his gaze tracing your face as if memorizing every detail. “So Free. So Happy.”
You smiled softly, your fingers brushing over his hand. “I feel alive here, Rollo,” you whispered.
His thumb gently stroked your cheek, a tenderness in his touch that you’ve grown accustomed to since the night you first made love four months ago. “Then perhaps,” he said, his voice rough, “this land, this life, is more yours than you thought.”
You felt a swell of warmth in your chest, a feeling that chased away the last remnants of doubt. Here, with him, in this wild, untamed place, you had found a part of yourself you never knew was there—a part that yearned for freedom, for belonging, for love.
The drums beat on, but the world around you was still, your gaze locked with his, the silent understanding between you deepening. And as he lowered his forehead to rest against yours, his breath warm against your skin, you realized that the music had stopped. Everyone around you had gone quiet. You and Rollo broke contact to see the cause of it. Walking through the great hall doors was Athelstan. Bjorn had told you both that the monk had thrown his sacred arm ring into the fjord.
Rollo’s voice thundered through the crowd. “Athelstan,” he roared, his voice laced with anger.
The crowd quieted, all eyes turning to the monk-turned-Viking who had lived with one foot in both worlds. Rollo stormed toward him, his face twisted with rage, and gripped Athelstan’s wrist, holding it up for all to see. “Look at this man!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the night. “Where is your sacred ring, Athelstan? I was told you threw your ring, the one our king, Ragnar, gave you into the fjord!”
You felt the blood drain from your face as you watched, horrified by Rollo’s fury. You had always known Athelstan was a man of two worlds, like yourself—caught between his old faith and the ways of the Northmen. A pang of sympathy tore through you, a deep understanding of the pain and doubt he must have felt to make such a decision.
Athelstan’s eyes darted toward the crowd. “You have betrayed the gods who welcomed you,” Rollo growled. “You stand here, pretending to honor both, but now we see who you truly are.”
Ragnar pushed through the crowd and wrapped an arm around Athelstan’s shoulder. He dragged him away from the crowd, into a back room, whispering something in his ear.
The celebration resumed, though it was subdued, the laughter tinged with unease. You lingered near the fire, lost in thought, watching as Rollo stalked away, his jaw tight with anger. Before you knew it, you followed him, the words you’d held back now bubbling to the surface.
When you both arrived at your shared home, you closed the door behind you, crossing your arms as you gathered the courage to speak. “Why are you so angry at Athelstan?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended. “You’ve always known he was torn between both faiths, just as I am. Why is it different now?”
Rollo turned, his face dark and unreadable in the dim light. “You don’t understand,” he replied coldly. “Athelstan has cast aside his ring. He has thrown it away, shown us he has no loyalty to anything but his Christian god. He cannot be trusted.”
“Cannot be trusted?” you echoed, frustration flaring in your chest. “Athelstan has always been loyal to you, to your brother, to your people. His struggle with faith does not make him any less trustworthy.”
Rollo’s gaze hardened. “He is weak. He cannot choose between one god or another, and now I see he tried to be something he’s not. He insulted the gods by pretending to be one of us.”
“But you do not see it, Rollo,” you pressed, your voice trembling with a blend of anger and desperation. “I see myself in him. I, too, am torn between worlds—between my God and your gods, between my homeland and yours. Am I a betrayer because I am still finding my way?”
Rollo’s eyes flashed, and for a moment, you thought he might lash out. But instead, he just clenched his fists, his voice low and fierce. “You must choose as well. You cannot love both. You cannot be a Christian and a Viking.”
You shook your head, feeling a pang of sadness as you looked into his eyes. “Athelstan was struggling, just as I am. Faith is not a simple choice, Rollo. It’s complicated, and sometimes it takes time to understand what it truly means. He was searching for where he belongs, and he has found it. This does not mean he cannot love your people… just as I love you.”
Rollo’s shoulders tensed, his eyes going wide. It’s the first time you had said it. Neither of you had ever spoken those words. You weren’t even sure if Rollo loved you. You felt embarrassment and anger at his lack of words.
“Is this why we have not had a Viking wedding? Because you feel I have not chosen your gods?” You felt tears pricking your eyes, but you fought to hold them back.
“If you do not choose our gods, we will never be in Valhalla together.” You scoffed, wiping a tear that slid down your cheek.
“Why does it matter if I end up in Valhalla or Heaven? You clearly do not love me back, so why do you care which afterlife I spend my days?” You began to turn away from him, but he grabbed you wrist, pulling you into his chest. His hand met your cheek, wiping away one of your tears.
“I do love you. But everyone I have ever loved either died or did not love me back.” You met his gaze and your heart hurt at the sight of tears in his eyes.
“Rollo, everyone dies. Just because the people around you die, does not mean you’re the cause of it. You cannot be afraid of death. You, more than anyone, know that. You Northmen do not fear death.”
“It is not death that I fear. What I fear is loving a woman who will not join me in Valhalla. It is not being able to spend eternity with you.” You stood on your toes to reach his lips. You gave him a soft kiss, then pulled away to meet his sadden gaze.
“I love you and I would do anything to spend eternity with you. We were fated to be together, Rollo. I can feel it. No matter what god willed it to be.” He looked down at you, his expression softening further, the anger that had once filled his gaze replaced by something warmer, deeper. In that moment, you felt that perhaps, just as Athelstan was searching, you and Rollo were finding something—a bridge between worlds, a space where faith, love, and understanding could coexist, no matter how different they seemed.
“We were fated to be together.” He pulled you as close as he could, kissing you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, standing taller to deepen the kiss. When you pulled away, you were both out of breath.
“Does this mean we will have a wedding?” He let out a deep chuckle, nodding.
“Yes, of course we will.” A smile spread across your face.
“Good, because I wouldn’t want our child to be born without married parents.” You grabbed his hand, resting it on your belly. His face lit with excitement and he let out a laugh.
“You’re… you’re with child?” You nodded, tears falling freely to see the joy that found his rough and beautiful face. He picked up you, twirling you around. You let out a laugh as he set you down, kissing you.
You nodded, unable to stop smiling. “Yes, Rollo. You’re going to be a father.”
He let out a shout of pure happiness, his arms wrapping around you again, holding you tight as if he were afraid you might disappear. His hand returned to your stomach, resting there reverently, his thumb brushing over the place where new life grew.
“I cannot believe it,” he murmured, his eyes shining. “You… you have given me more than I ever thought possible.”
The look in his eyes was raw, filled with joy, wonder, and a fierce love that made your heart swell. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally, his lips met yours in a tender, lingering kiss, his hand still resting protectively over your stomach.
When he pulled back, he grinned down at you, his expression so soft, so full of love that it nearly took your breath away. “You have given me a family,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I will protect you both. I will give you everything I am, everything I have. I swear it.”
The drums beat on around you, the celebration continuing in the background, but in that moment, the world felt like it held only the two of you, wrapped in a love you hadn’t dared dream of, a love that had grown against all odds.
And as you stood there, feeling the warmth of his hand on your stomach, you knew that whatever came next, you and Rollo would face it together—with joy, with strength, and with a love that was stronger than any doubt, any fear, any past that had once divided you.
Like is it some type of button up long sleeve shirt and the belt makes it look like a dress and that's just a skirt or is it just a dress and how is the bell thing attached???? Im so confused
I figured it out my friend helped me with this drawing lol
Rollo has always chosen to keep a vow a chastity to himself. It was a very personal thing for himself, he valued keeping himself untouched for when he would find love. It wasn't that he didn't deserve it for being so wretched. He also felt that pornography was vile and disgusting, no one should expose themselves or see others so exposed without knowing them deeply. He found it all to be so incredibly vulgar.
Early the other day he had gone onto one of the student council rooms PC's to check for something or other. He found a tab left open relating to seemingly a book series. One of the council members must've liked it, out of sheer curiosity he decided to look it up. He found a website to read it for free. Scrolling through it he found it was actually a manga, he figured they were black and white comics. He didn't really understand much more about them beyond that, he figured the styles were peculiar. As he kept reading he figured it must've been a romance comic, how borish. That was his initial thought process, but he actually found the characters to be quite charming. He scrolled over to the second chapter, he sat at the desk with his head boorishly sitting in his hand.
Though he looked like he was having just the time of his life, he was actually getting a little invested in the comic. Then suddenly the characters started to brush closer, they started, kissing and undressing. Before he knew it they were seemingly..having sex? He was confused but as he kept reading it just continued.
He quickly stopped on a panel of the two blushing and clenching and closed the tab. Along with the other unimportant tab. He went about the rest of his business before turning off the computer and leaving a sticky note on the screen.
'Do not leave unrelated tabs open'
But for days he couldn't forget the thought and sight of it. Two.. boys...kissing and groping each other so.. intimately. He kept blushing at the thought of it, so much so that when he was around other people at school they would comment on it.
"President Rollo are you alright? You look red.."
-
"Do you have a fever? Are you feeling nauseous?"
He just shrugged it all off and stuffed his handkerchief back to his mouth but he kept thinking about it anyway. The thoughts just, wouldn't go away. They made him feel so tense, but because he had completely repressed himself sexually he didn't have a natural response to act on.
Tonight is the fourth night of tiresome thoughts plaguing his mind and poor sleep. He tells himself he's going to purge these thoughts clean, there must be something keeping them from leaving and tonight he's going to figure out what it is. He takes a bandana and wraps it around his eyes, his goal is to completely deprive all senses so he can focus on his mind. He sits in his bed as he thinks. He remembers suddenly every bit of touch the other council members gave him over the past four days. The way the vice president touched his arm and felt his hand. The way someone else caught him when he nearly stumbled down the stairs.
The thought of their touch crawling along his body made him warmer, he felt the want to instinctively push it away but, he figured there might be something to this so he let it continue. An arm gliding up his chest and feeling his neck another two feeling up his sides. He huffed in and choked on a breath as he swore he could feel them gliding up his body. They held him softly under the blankets of the bed, he heard their voices in his head.
'It's okay Rollo, we'll take care of you'
'We're here for you~'
He knew he was just imaging things, he felt this was wrong. He turned over to try and get it to go away, it wasn't right to think about his school mates like this. He laid on his stomach and pressed into the mattress, suddenly he felt a rush of blood flow to a...lower region. He gulped and thought to peer done but shook the notion away, it would go away on its own. Or so he thought.
The memory of that manga he had read came back. The thoughts of the characters ..penises...rubbing against each other and be engulfed in soft pleasures. Rollo softly pressed his hips into the mattress. His cock throbbing in pleasure from the sensation. He took a breath and confined to do it. It kept pulsing and throbbing in his pants as he whimpered into the pillow.
"Mmm-........hmmphf..~"
He kept going, humping the mattress solemnly as he imagined it all. Not seeing a thing, but it wasn't enough. He pushed himself up and took a breath before hastily undoing his pajamas. Just enough to get his cock out of it. He started rubbing it against the mattress at an angle. Holding himself up while blindfolded to prevent him from seeing anything. Maybe he wouldn't remember it if he couldn't see it...he wouldn't have to feel guilty. Did pleasure without guilt exist? Could this be ..
"Mmm...mm..MMPHF~!"
He kept going and felt a surge of pleasure as his tip poked out from his foreskin and rubbing against the sheets. It was seemingly wet from his precum leaking into them. But he kept thrusting, imaging just what it must've been like to have someone to share this pleasure with.
"Haa ...lord....seven abo-ve..mmmnghhhh~"
His jaw went slack as he felt a pulse of pleasure throb through his lower half. He seemingly held a moan in at the back of his throat. He felt repeated ropes of a substance blow out from his shaft. The warmth leaving him felt amazing. He gasped for air as it ended and collapsed into his pillow. He felt a sticky substance against his chest but couldn't be bothered to care as he passed out then and there.
The next day, his vice president noted he was looking better than usual. Rollo however, couldn't help but realize that he was imagining his voice the past night...
—
I wanna rock his silly little world I love him so much
In the mood for Rollo to pin me down by the back of my neck rail me like the wild animal he is. Thank you.
“Again?” you ask wryly, pretending that your body isn’t warming instantly at the rough way he’s pressing you against the table. “Already?”
“How could I possibly resist when you wear dresses that tight?” he replies, voice low and growling with his need. “It reminds me too much what’s underneath.” His palm bridges your spine, pressing you into the table’s surface. His other hand starts rucking your skirt up.
You were right in the middle of preparing the evening meal. You make a half-hearted attempt to lift yourself up, out from amid the bowls and messy spoons, but his hand is rigid at the back of your neck and Rollo only pushes you back down harder.
“Just a quick interruption,” he promises. His other hand leaves your body and comes back wet, fingers skillfully plunging between your folds to make sure your body is ready for him.
But it’s always ready for him, isn’t it?
He groans as his cock slides into you, this position creating enough delicious resistance to crowd out your thoughts of anything else but his invasion. He ruts into you with all the enthusiasm and need his hands had promised. Within three strokes he’s already bellowing in your ear.
On the night Edithe loses everything she gains the attention of a brutish Northman they call the Bear.
Masterlist
Warnings: Explicit mentions of violence and gore.
Edithe heard the horns blaring before smelling the acrid smoke that was already seeping into the room. Her eyes peeled open, mind and body still half consumed by sleep as her mother barged through the bedroom door, her voice urgent above the din, “Edie, Nessie, you must wake up!”
She prodded her baby sister who, like a newborn pup, was still snuggled against her, her leaden limbs lost in slumber. “Little Nessie, get up! Get up!”
She didn’t need her mother to say it was Viking’s that had come to their lands, the smoke and the frantic shouts of her people told her that. All she needed to do was run, like her father had taught her, run and don’t look back. Her heart beat with fear. Fear of being captured but most of all fear of what these barbarians would do to her family. Even if her people were skilled swordsmen, she had heard many tales of these Northmen, tales which made them sound like the devil himself.
Edithe scrambled from the bed, pulling her dress and boots on with careless haste as her mother roused Nessie. She had a dagger, the handle carved with the head of a raven, it had been a birthday present from her father and she concealed it in the folds of her dress before tying her cloak and standing ready by the door.
Her mother cupped her cheeks, her voice now as calm as the sea after a storm, “you know where to go, beloved.”
“Yes,” Edithe nodded and her mother smiled, kissing her forehead like she was still that same little girl who would spend the day running through the wilderness only to return home with scraped knees and brambles snagged in her hair. Happy memories made her squeeze her mother tight, tight enough to hear the hammering in her chest and realise the calm in her voice was all a facade, a mother's way to protect her frightened daughters. There was no more time for memories or gentleness. Those things belonged in the peace of sunshine and the innocence of childhood, it was time to run, perhaps even time to die.
When the door swung open there was chaos. Fire, screams and the clang of iron on steel, a frenzy of noises all ringing out in heavy darkness. Edithe pulled her cloak around her and tried not to look, tried not to see the axes hacking through flesh and the blood that soaked the earth. But even in the dark, even with half closed eyes she could still see the redness of it and she could still hear the pain of it in the cries of dying men.
“Hurry,” her mother urged, grabbing Nessie’s hand and running for the treeline.
Edithe took one last look at her home, crossing herself and making a silent prayer to God before her fingers wrapped around her dagger and she began to follow. Her mother's cloak served as a banner, leading her through the carnage until it began to fall to the floor, the motion slow like the wind falling from a ship's sail. She didn’t see the plume of ochre velvet hit the dirt, she only saw the Northman with his bloodied axe, his hair fair but his eyes dark and both of them fixed on her. He grinned, his teeth shining white as if he was a murderous wolf while her sister crouched beside their mother, wailing like a child of five rather than a girl of thirteen.
Edithe took a step backwards and he advanced like she hoped he would. She called out, “run Nessie, run and hide,” praying the sound of it carried to her sister's ear before following her own advice. She ran back towards the safety of her home, the heathen stalking her every step and the anticipation of being caught tingling along her spine.
When she slammed her front door closed, a sigh of relief filled her lungs before she forced the bar into place, hoping to buy enough time to escape through the tiny window at the rear of the house. She could hear the Northman banging against the wood, his battle cry heartstopping as she loosened her cloak to help her squeeze through the opening. The crack of the door beginning to split made her faster and with one final push she tumbled through the window, landing hard but safe in a pile on the floor.
She scrambled to her feet and began to run, terrified that he would see her escape and ashamed that she had not done more or been braver. She weaved carefully between the shadows, desperate to make it to the treeline where she hoped Nessie had fled. Her little sister, six years younger than her, was still such a baby in so many ways.
Standing between her and escape was a man, tall and broad, his torso bare of anything but blood and strange black markings. He cut through her people like it was a dance in which only he knew the steps and she watched with morbid fascination, silent and still until she saw her own brother fall to his axe.
Edithe didn’t recognise the strangled scream which began to pierce the air as her own but when the Northman looked her way she knew it must have been. His eyes locked with hers, his brief loss of focus so careless that it almost cost him his life. She wished it had but the sword that struck for him only grazed his neck and he regained his movements, his murderous dance, slaying all that stood against him.
She knew right then that battle was over and all was lost. There were no more clashes of swords, only crying and the sound of timber splitting as fire consumed the village. Her father had been Lord of these lands and a great heaviness weighed in her heart, no doubt he had succumbed to the heathens along with his people. By morning there would be nothing left but dust and the empty bodies of the ones she had called her friends and family.
She turned, hoping to find another way to escape only to see the man who had slain her mother now closing in with two others by his side. Life as a slave to these heathens would hold no meaning, letting them touch her with their bloodied hands would be an abomination. She straightened her spine like her mother had always taught her and ran like her brothers had taught her. Fast, surging with every ounce of strength while the Northman laughed at her, the sound loud and mocking, curling hate into every fibre of her body.
When her mother's killer reached out to grab her, she grasped the dagger from its hiding space and landed it in his neck like she was born to kill. His blood spurted warm on her face and surprise froze her. She had expected to be cut down and reunited with her family, instead she watched the man gripping his neck, lifeblood pouring through his fingers as he dropped to her feet gurgling his last breaths.
The man who had killed her brother seized her arm before she had even considered moving, he was taller and broader than she had thought, the markings on his body more intricate and beautiful than she had expected. He was still laughing at her but the laugh was softer now as his hands clamped around her arms and he forced her to face him. He spoke in words she didn’t understand, the sounds harsh and cruel but his smile gentle, his eyes crinkling like she hadn’t killed one of his people.
“Valkyrie,” he told her, patting her hair and taking a lock between his fingers.
Edithe jerked her head away from his touch, hating his gentleness, hating his smile and hating him for being a skilled enough warrior to kill her brother like he was nothing more than a boy with his first sword.
“Rollo,” the man said, thumping his chest like some sort of beast before carefully waiting for her reaction. If he was asking her name then he was a fool as well as a barbarian for she would tell him nothing.
“Rollo,” he said again and anger burned hot in her core, if her dagger hadn’t been lodged in the throat of his friend then she would have lodged it in his antagonistic smirk.
Edithe knew she was defenceless to a man like this but that did not mean she was submissive. She spat, the spittle landing amongst the blood on his face and his smirk faded to an angry line, his foreign words a low growl that made her blood run like ice in her veins. She might have cried but she did not, she goaded him again, kicking his shin without restraint before fighting to pull her arms free from his grasps.
Suddenly he was laughing again and this time it was even harder than before, his face lighting up, his chest rumbling with the sheer pleasure of amusement.
“I hate you!” Edithe cursed and he pulled her tight, her face pressed to the naked plains of his chest, the smell of blood and sweat intoxicating as he whispered words like lovers do, the sound of them only for her, his lips against her ear.
She didn’t like the way he was holding her even if she didn’t understand the words he whispered. Her hands balled into fists, her knuckles digging against his chest in an attempt to push him away but he was like stone, steadfast and unaffected by the way she fought him.
“Valkyrie,” he told her again, releasing her from his ironclad grip. His thumb was rough as it brushed against her cheek and she pushed his hand away with disgust.
“I would sooner die than be a whore to a godless heathen!” she shrieked and he smiled, accepting her words as though they were love songs. He shoved his axe into his belt and when she tried to run away he heaved her onto his shoulder, chuckling as she tried to fight him and bringing his hand down hard across her rump when she bit him.
With his men as witness to her humiliation, he stepped over the bodies of her people, carrying her like a prize he had conquered. Even if the battle had been lost she did not accept her fate.
Thank you for reading the first chapter!
I will also be posting this fic over on AO3, Fanfiction.net and Wattpad if you prefer to read there :)
Am I the only person that wants to absolutely destroy rollo to where he's nothing more then a whimpering, sobbing, Over stimulated mess for me to play with??? I'm having an mental breakdown over how bad I wanna hate fuck that stupid twinkafide version of frollo and drag him away into a night of sinful lust. I don't know what to make of this.
Also I can't find any writings about nsfw rollo so if some one shoots me a request I'll be more then happy to write it have a good day
