#viking au

[lukasaurusart]

The temperatures finally dropped a bit so im starting viking season with ghoap angst i guess

[vozart]

the people have spoken so here is viking soap and a bonus creep

[karna0l]

VikingAU❄️

[missallanious]

👁️👄👁️

[flawlessflesh]

the viking chieftain and his seer

[wyvern-whiskey]

Full on Patreon💙 The Vikings had an oath that allowed two unrelated, yet like-minded warriors to become blood brothers. But if you alter just a couple of syllables, it transforms into a hidden vow of love.

Literally, it goes like this:

"We pass under the turf arch. Our blood flows into the earth, making us one. I bind myself to you in loyalty and deep love, which shall not fail as long as my life lasts. You are the joy of my eyes and my strength. I shall avenge you as a brother, and follow you in life and death. May Odin witness us."

[buckets-and-trees]

I wonder how viking!Steve would react to his little bride being so needy, and maybe not even realizing it? Perhaps he’s awaken in the middle of the night by you unknowingly rutting against his thick, muscular thigh as you cling to him in your sleep. I think he’d be wickedly amused by this, no? I’m sure he’d give you exactly what you so obviously need, too 🫠🦋

The Rumble Where You Lay [For the King & Conqueror]

Characters/Pairings: Viking King Steven x curvy Female Queen!Reader Word Count: 825 (again, I know none of you are complaining when I exceed the 300)

Content/Warnings: DARK established relationship - kidnapped wife; explicit smut: light somno, grinding/humping, unprotected vaginal intercourse, insemination; use of pet name (little wife); slight dirty talk

Author Notes: Written for day 25 of @societyfolklore and @soelstress's Sexy September Scribbles challenge. All pieces are supposed to be 300 words or less (but shh, some days we just can't with the limit). Prompt in bold-italics.

Previous Part | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You wake to the sound of your own needy moan, low and feverish, muffled against the broad expanse of Steven’s chest. The dream that roused you slips away almost instantly, leaving only an ache and the insistent, humiliating pressure of your own hips grinding slow and desperate against the thick trunk of Steven’s thigh, one of your legs having slung its way over his in your sleep.

And you cannot hide your need in the cover between night and morning because the king is awake, satisfaction rolling off him in waves.

“I’m more than willing to give you what you need, little wife,” he drawls, voice molten and lazy from sleep, “but you seem intent on taking it yourself.” His hand, already resting possessively over the swell of your hip, flexes. He holds you closer, the muscles of his thigh tensing beneath your grinding. His cock is already hard from your movement against him. You’re aflame, mortified by your unguarded hunger. Your body has begun to rewrite its own laws in the short time you’ve been in his bed. You crave him now, crave his hands and his teeth and even the bruising weight of him. You want it all, in the greedy, animal way you’d once thought was for men alone.

Steven grabs you by your hips and shifts your body fully atop his. “Sheathe me inside you,” he commands. “Take the pleasure you crave.”

The order—rough, direct—sends a sharp bolt of need down your spine. You move without thinking, bracing your palms on his chest, shifting to straddle him. The motion stokes the friction between your thighs until everything aches, every nerve ending attuned to him. Steven’s hands slide up your waist, then back down to your hips, fingers digging in to anchor but not steer. The power is yours—he lets you believe it, and in that moment, you do. With a trembling hand, you reach between your bodies, breathless as you wrap your fingers around his thick length. You fit the head of his cock to your dripping entrance. Even after these past weeks as he’s used your body, each time you take him in it shocks: the stretch, the fullness, how fiercely you want it. With shaking legs you lower yourself, slow at first, hissing with the burn as he fills you. Steven watches, eyes half-lidded, his mouth twisted in a crooked, proud smile, hands unmoving at your hips. “That’s it. You’re taking me so well.” You grind your hips down, greedier than you knew you could be, until you are flush to the base of him. You let out a blissful sigh, and after a moment, you give an experimental roll of your hips. The pleasure in the action is immediate, deep. The morning air is cold on your bare skin, but your body is fever-hot where it clings to his.

You set a deliberate rhythm, rolling your hips in slow, greedy circles, taking him to the hilt on every stroke. Steven’s hands blaze hot against your skin, his breath quickening as he watches you ride him with growing, shameless hunger. For once, he doesn’t push or pace you—he simply drinks in the sight of you above him.

Until he sees the signs that you’re close to the edge, and then his hand moves to your mound, and his thumb finds your clit, drawing tight, circling with the kind of ruthless precision he always reserves for the moment he has you most undone. Your breath catches; your thighs tense around him as every ounce of sensation knots and twists into a molten core, the pleasure nearly too raw to bear.

You teeter on it, gasping, your hands sliding over the planes of his chest, nails digging into his shoulders for purchase as you chase down the crest of pleasure he’s forced on you. You don’t hold back the cry on your lips as you come apart, the sound loud and desperate in the hush of the royal chambers.

Steven’s hands clamp down, hard, holding you locked to him as you spasm, his cock twitching inside you. He grins up at you—wolfish and triumphant—and lets you ride out every wave of your own pleasure as he empties his own inside of you.

When the aftershocks subside, you collapse forward, spent and trembling, the length of your body pressed flush to the king’s. You burrow your face against his throat to hide, to draw in the scent of him—musky with sweat, edged with salt and a hint of wood.

He does not speak, but he does not let you move off to the side either. He wants you to feel the tremor in his cock, the raw pulse of him, until your muscles unclench and the last of your twitching subsides. His palm slides up along your back, rough and broad, smearing sweat over your skin, and he strokes your spine, soothes you, until you’re lost to the realm of sleep again, more than satisfied over your copulation this night.

-> next part FERVENT FLICKERS OF FLAME

Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

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[ghouljams]

thinking too many non-thoughts about viking!price... how he wants to steal you away too badly to live beside you, how he hates that the spirits keep sending him far from you and yet there he sits at your beside recording every prophesy that spills from you. thinking of the horror of being a völva, of having too many other people in your head, never knowing if a thought or feeling is your own, with one man willing to stay beside you and help you sort yourself away from the deax, of knowing that to the rest of your clan you may as well already be with the spirits, of wanting price so so badly but knowing he can never save you.

because surely he could never safe you... right?