Summary: You married a man who didn’t love you, but you chose to love him anyway. Through quiet care and devotion, you gave him healing he never thought possible.
You were not the wife he wanted.
You knew it the moment Queen Aslaug placed your hand in Ivar’s before the gods. You felt it in the stiffness of his grip, in the way he looked through you and not at you.
“A union blessed by the gods,” Aslaug had said, smiling gently at her son. “She is clever, gentle. She will be good for you, Ivar.”
Ivar did not reply.
He only walked away from the wedding fire when the ritual ended, leaving you alone among the ash and shadows.
And yet, you stayed.
You were his wife now. You were bound to him.
Even if he hated you.
He ignored you most days. Barely spoke to you unless forced. When he did, his words were sharp and cold, meant to push you away.
Still, you watched him. Quietly.
The way pain twisted his features in the morning. The tremble in his hands when he forced his legs into motion. The anger he swallowed, the shame he masked with cruelty.
You saw it all. And your heart ached.
Because, unlike him, you wanted this marriage.
You had admired him for years.
Not just his mind or his fierce spirit, but the way he carried himself despite the world’s cruelty.
You saw a man carved by pain, and you longed to soften its edges. To help him heal.
So you sought out old healing texts. Spoke to volvas in secret.
Traded furs for rare herbs. Brewed tinctures to strengthen bones, to ease pain, to mend where time had been unkind.
And every night, you added it to his drink.
Quietly. Carefully.
You knew he wouldn’t accept it if he knew.
It happened on a stormy night.
He came home from the training fields, soaked and furious, dragging mud into the hall.
You had already prepared his food, placed the warm cup of brew beside it as always.
You smiled, ready to leave him in peace.
But his eyes were already on you.
“What is this?” he snapped, lifting the cup. “You give me this every night. Do you think I don’t notice?”
Your breath caught. He was holding it like it was poison.
“It's nothing. Just herbs, to help you rest-”
He threw the cup against the wall. It shattered, making you flinch.
“Do not lie to me,” he growled. “Are you trying to kill me, Wife? Is that how much you hate being mine?”
His voice was venom. His hatred, a sword.
You swallowed hard. Your hands trembled, but you didn’t back down.
“It’s not poison,” you said quietly. “It’s medicine. For your legs.”
He stared at you. Something in his eyes cracked.
“What?”
“I asked the volvas. Searched scrolls from the East. It's a mixture of roots and silverleaf, it's meant to help rebuild strength in damaged bones. You’ve been in less pain lately, haven’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
You stepped closer.
“I just wanted to help. I know you didn’t want this marriage. You don’t even like me. But I still see you. And I care. Even if you never… feel the same.”
Silence fell.
The storm outside raged, but in the hall, it was still.
Ivar looked at you, truly looked at you, for the first time since your wedding night.
“You’ve been doing this… for how long?”
“Since the second week we wed.”
He lowered his gaze. You saw the war in him, between pride and pain, between mistrust and something softer.
“You are a fool,” he said. But his voice had lost its edge. “A stubborn, strange little fool.”
You turned to leave, swallowing your humiliation.
“Wait.”
You stopped.
He rose from his bench with difficulty, but stood nonetheless. He looked at you, blue eyes unreadable.
“I’ve been walking farther. I thought it was the gods.” A pause. “You’re the one who did it.”
You nodded slowly.
He stepped toward you.
“Why?”
Your voice was barely a whisper. “Because I love you.”
The words stunned the air.
He didn’t speak. He only looked at you, and for the first time, you saw no hatred in his eyes. Only confusion, and something like awe.
He reached for your hand, his fingers trembling.
“Sit with me,” he said. “Stay tonight.”
You hesitated. Then nodded.
That night, for the first time, Ivar did not eat alone. And when you touched his hand beneath the firelight, he didn’t pull away.
The fire crackled low, and outside, the rain turned soft, tapping gently on the roof like the gods themselves were listening.
You sat beside him, closer than ever before, your hands folded in your lap, unsure of what to say now that you’d spoken the truth.
You had confessed love to a man who never once gave you kindness.
But tonight… he had not turned away.
Ivar’s eyes were unreadable, but they didn’t look through you anymore. They held you.
“How long have you loved me?” he asked, voice quiet as the flames.
You hesitated, but answered honestly. “Since before the wedding. I admired your strength. Your cleverness. The way you held your head high when the world gave you every reason not to.”
He looked away at that, jaw tight. “You saw something good in me. Even when I couldn’t.”
You nodded.
“And yet I treated you like the enemy.”
You gave him a soft smile, one born of pain, not pity. “You were protecting yourself. I understand.”
He exhaled through his nose. Then, after a long silence:
“No one has ever done what you’ve done for me. Not like that. Not in secret. Not without asking for something in return.”
You turned toward him. “I didn’t want anything. Just… for you to be in less pain.”
He looked at you then, and something cracked open behind his gaze.
“Come here,” he murmured.
Slowly, cautiously, you moved toward him.
Ivar shifted with effort, wincing as he opened his arms, awkwardly at first, as if the gesture were unfamiliar. And perhaps it was. You had never touched more than his hand or shoulder since the wedding.
But now…
You moved into his embrace.
He wrapped his arms around you, hesitantly at first… then tightly. Desperately. As if the idea of being held like this might break him, but also save him.
His forehead pressed into your neck, and you felt it.
The tremble.
The breath he was holding.
The surrender.
“I don’t know how to love,” he whispered, voice cracking. “But I want to try.”
You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes.
“You don’t have to know how,” you whispered. “Just let it happen. We’ll find the way together.”
His eyes searched yours for a long, breathless moment.
And then—he kissed you.
It was not rough or hurried like you'd imagined it might be. It was soft. Curious. Full of unfamiliar tenderness. The kiss of a man learning, trusting, hoping.
And when he finally pulled away, his hands stayed on your face like he couldn’t bear to let go.
“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered.
“I’m yours,” you replied. “I always have been.”
That night, you didn’t lie on opposite sides of the bed like you had for so long. You curled into him, warm under furs, his arm wrapped around you protectively. He fell asleep with his face in your hair, breathing you in.
And for the first time since your wedding, he didn’t wake from nightmares.
He only dreamed of you.
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
Wattpad
/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
Summary: After being captured by the Vikings your prayers to god remain unanswered, as you come to realize they always have. An intriguing Viking man teaches you of their ways, and all your prayers are answered. (No language barrier & Ragnar is unmarried for the sake of the story).
Notes: 18+ ONLY!!! Smuttt, maybe some fluff, loss of virginity, outdoor p in v, fingering, oral (f), angst, kidnapping/violence/raiding in opening story, possible spoilers.
I’m very into Norse spirituality so I loved writing this
Word count: 3.7k
masterlist
Everyone in the city moves in a panic as the bells ring, alarms in response to the Northmen pulling up to your shores. You find a spot in your house to hide and clutch your cross close to your chest as you pray to god to protect you from these heathens.
A bang startles you as a Viking man kicks down your door. Your heart races as you hear him tearing apart the house searching for valuables. You hear screams outside and continue whispering prayers to god begging him to keep you from being found.
The Viking eventually finds you hiding in a corner between your bed and the wall. Your heart stops when his bright blue eyes meet yours. His eyes examine you from head to toe before he smirks.
“Please… please don’t kill me.” You beg through oncoming tears. “Take whatever you want, just please.”
“Come.” He reaches his hand out for you to take.
You look up at him with furrowed brows in confusion.
“You said I can take whatever I want.” The man says. “So come.”
“No, no, please. Please don’t hurt me…” You cry.
“If you come with me, I will have no reason to hurt you.” He steps closer. “Otherwise…” He gestures to the axe in his hand.
You sniffle as you get up onto your feet. The Viking gestures his hand out to you again which you reluctantly take. He rushes out of the house, dragging you along with him. A small shriek escapes you as your eyes take in the dead bodies and blood everywhere. The man pays no mind to any of it as he pulls you through the city and leads you right out the front gates and into their Viking camp.
“Well, well. What do we have here?” A large Viking man with long dark hair approaches you. You pull away as he tries to brush hair from your face.
“Leave her be.” Your captor says as more of the men come over to ogle at you.
“Why? She is a useless Christian. Only good for one thing...” The man smirks at you.
“She is mine, keep your hands to yourself Rollo.” Your captor replies. “That goes for all of you! No one touches her, she belongs to me.”
You take a small breath of relief before your captor grabs your hand again and leads you far from the group and into a tent.
“Sit.” The man gestures to a small cot. “What is your name?”
“(y/n).” You say as you sit.
“(y/n)…” He hums. “Interesting name. I’m Ragnar Lothbrok.”
“Thank you Ragnar.” You say lowly.
“For what?”
“Out there, protecting me from the other men…” You respond. “And I guess… thank you for not killing me.”
“Like I said to the men, you are mine. They will not harm you as long as you are with me, understand?”
You nod your head.
“What are you going to do with me?” You ask.
He smirks in response before looking you up and down, making you nervous.
“I have not decided yet.” He shrugs with a smirk still on his face.
**********
The journey back to their land was long and dreadful. You had never been on a boat before and the ride made you nauseous. Ragnar kept a close eye on you and made sure no one bothered you.
As soon as they dock Ragnar quickly sneaks you away like he is trying to hide you. He leads you to his small farmhouse outside of town.
“Am I your slave now?” You ask once inside.
He laughs at your response and you scowl.
“I have no need for slaves.” He shrugs.
“If you wish to cook or clean for me, or do other things…” He smirks at you suggestively, making you blush. “I would certainly not object, but you will not be forced to do anything.”
“So I am not a slave… but I am not a free woman?” You question.
“Yes.” He simply responds.
“Then why am I here?”
“I do not know. The gods have not revealed your purpose to me yet.”
“There is only one god.” You say sternly.
He laughs again making anger rise in your cheeks.
“Maybe your god will reveal to you your purpose then.” He says teasingly.
**********
The next couple days were surprisingly peaceful. You did not dare to try and leave the house. Although he never asked you to, you cooked and cleaned mostly to have something to occupy your time but Ragnar appreciated you either way. He would disappear for most of the day to god knows where, but when he returned you would have a hot meal waiting for him.
Ragnar would ask many questions, about your life and your god. You asked about him in return and he told you all about his adventures and of his gods.
“Are you a virgin?” Ragnar asks out of nowhere while you are eating supper.
You choke on your drink, the question taking you off guard.
“Pardon?”
“Well, you are unmarried right?” He continues. “I have heard Christians remain virgins until they are married.”
“Well, um, yes. It would be a sin otherwise.” You respond shyly.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why is it a sin?” He asks with curiosity in his tone.
“I- um, I don’t know. It’s just a sin. You should only make children with your husband or wife.”
“Well, that is a bit silly isn’t it?”
“What is so ‘silly’ about that?” You scowl.
“Because making children is not the only reason to have sex.” He shrugs.
“What do you mean?” You ask, heat rising in your cheeks from annoyance and another feeling you couldn’t quite place.
“Do they teach you nothing?” He raises his brow.
“Not really… especially us women. They keep us sheltered from everything.”
“Well,” He says, taking the food bowl from your hands and placing it down.
He leans towards you until his breath brushes your ear, sending shivers up your spine.
“Sex can provide you with the greatest of pleasures…” He says lowly in your ear, your heart races. “If you know where to touch.” His fingers graze up your knee.
“Your gods… they do not care if you sin?” You ask but it comes out as a whisper.
He chuckles.
“To our gods, it is not wrong. The gods gave us the gift of such pleasure, why would they deny us from taking it?” He shrugs.
“I guess that is true…” You whisper.
“I can show you our ways, if you want.” He says with a devilish grin, moving his hand back to your knee.
“What? No. No I- Um, no… thank you.” You stutter, taken aback by his offer.
“Well, if you change your mind you know where to find me.” He whispers in your ear before standing and cleaning up from supper.
You go to bed early, trying to hide your flushed cheeks since your conversation. Ragnar eventually begins to lightly snore from the next room that was only separated by a thin wall with gaps you could see through. His words replay in your head, “greatest of pleasures if you know where to touch.”. Curiosity gets the better of you as you lightly trace your fingers along your neck and collarbone, the feeling creating goosebumps. Without even realizing, you start imagining Ragnar’s hand as yours travels lower. You grab onto your breast before your hand continues down. Your fingers tease at the hem of your pants before slowly moving down into them. You lightly touch the sensitive skin and it sends a jolt through you making you gasp louder than intended. You hear Ragnar stir in the next room and you quickly pull your hand from your pants as you look to him, still asleep. You sigh and try to get comfortable to sleep. Everything that has happened within the last few days has left you so lost and confused. You have been praying to god every day but nothing changes, nothing reassures you and what you are supposed to do in this place. Your mind continues to race until sleep eventually pulls you under.
**********
“I would like to go into the mountain to pray.” You say to Ragnar.
“Why? So you can run away?” He gives you a teasing scoff.
You can’t hide the small laugh that escapes your lips.
“You know I would not make it very far without you.” You roll your eyes at him. “Besides, I need you to show me the way.”
“Alright then… perhaps tomorrow.” He shrugs.
“No, today.” You push. “Right now… please.”
You were desperate to have a moment of solitude and a private moment speak to god.
“Very well, we should go now while the sun is still high.” Ragnar says as he heads towards the door, you stand and follow after him.
He leads you up the hills of the forest until you reach a clearing facing the water. The stunning view took your breath away.
“I… I need to be alone.” You say to Ragnar.
“Do not try to escape.” He winks at you. “I will be just down this hill when you are done.”
You give him a grateful smile and you watch him walk away until he is out of sight. Turning back to face the edge of the cliff, you close your eyes take a deep breath as you feel the breeze brush across your face. You crouch to the ground onto your knees and bring your hands together in prayer.
“Heavenly father… Please help me to find my path. I feel so lost in this unfamiliar world and do not know what I am to do next or who I am meant to be now… And I feel… as if my prayers to protect and watch over me have gone unanswered, especially when I was taken by these people.” You pray with tears coming to your eyes. “Please god, if you are there, if you are watching over me… if you are real… please send me a sign.”
You open your eyes and watch for any sort of sign that your god is with you. Nothing happens.
“Please, give me any sign so I know you are watching over me as I have always believed.”
You wait again, and wait, and wait. The world was still, not even a stronger gust of wind to show a possible sign from god.
You drop your hands into your lap in defeat. Tears begin to roll down your cheeks until an idea crosses your mind. You breathe out a laugh to yourself feeling a bit silly for what you were about to try. You bring your hands back together but instead have a strange urge to connect to the earth. You bow, reaching your hands forward into the ground, feeling the dirt and grass between your fingers.
“Odin…” You close your eyes and begin, whispering so quietly it’s nearly silent. “Freyja… Thor… Please hear me. Hear my prayers. Help me, guide me, to who I am supposed to be now… what I am supposed to do.”
Suddenly, a raven lets out a loud ‘caw’ startling you. Your head shoots up and you look to the bird watching you from a rock to your side. Your heart races and your eyes go wide as you watch each other. A tickle on your hand makes you look down to see a white butterfly that landed on you. You lift your hand to admire it and it flies around your head before flying away, at the same time the raven flies off with it.
As your brain tries to comprehend the unmistakeable signs that the pagan gods are answering your prayers, you hear a rumble of thunder. The skies turn grey within a matter of seconds before rain suddenly begins to pour down. You stand and let out a laugh of disbelief as you spread your arms wide and look to the sky as you let out a heavy breath of relief. The rain washed over your entire being, cleansing you of your troubles. It felt like a different kind of baptism, a rebirth.
“(y/n)?” You hear Ragnar call from behind you.
You turn to him with a wide smile on your face. He noted how beautiful you were when you smiled like that, he realized he had never seen more than a faint one cross your lips.
“Are you alright?” He smiles back at you. “We should head back. Thor’s wrath may become brutal soon if we remain all the way out here.”
“No, he is speaking to me.” You smile, making Ragnar’s brows furrow in confusion.
“Your gods… the gods…” You continue. “They answered my prayers…”
“So, suddenly you believe in our gods now?” He teases. “And what of your god?”
“The Christian god has never answered my prayers. Never even given a small sign he is with me.” You explain. “I prayed to Odin, and a raven appeared… Freyja, a white butterfly landed on my hand the same moment… and Thor…” You gesture to the skies the rain continues to pour down from.
You walk closer to Ragnar.
“I want to teach me your ways…” You say lowly.
“All of our ways?” He smirks, mischief dancing in his eyes.
“All of your ways…” You say as you move even closer until your noses brush.
He traces his finger up your neck, making you shiver. His finger continues to move along your jaw before he gently lifts your chin, making your eyes meet his piercing blue ones. “Are you sure about that?” He says with his classic devilish smirk.
Instead of responding you bring your lips to his, which was answer enough. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back hungrily, a small growl escaping him. He cups your cheeks as the rain pours down on you both, the kiss is wet and passionate. His tongue demands entrance to your mouth and you let him take the lead, following along a little awkwardly. His hands move from your face down to your hips as he pulls you against him. The hardness pushing against your stomach makes you gasp.
“Do you wish to return to the house…” Ragnar whispers, against your lips before kissing you again.
“No… I want you to take me right here… under the eyes of Thor and all the gods watching over us…” You whisper back, bringing your hand to his cheek.
Your words light a fire in Ragnar as your eyes meet in an intense gaze. He reaches out and begins to slowly pull at the strings of your dress. His eyes watch yours carefully, as if daring you to stop him. You would do no such thing. Once the ties were loose you let him pull the dress off your shoulders, completely exposing your breasts. They instantly perk up in the cold chill of the rain, droplets of water falling down your skin. A moan escapes you as he leans down and takes one in his mouth, flicking his tongue over your sensitive nipple. Your entire body felt aflame. You welcomed every cold raindrop that touches your heated skin.
His sinful tongue continues to explore down your stomach until he’s on his knees in front of you. You look down at him with lust filled eyes as pulls down the skirts of your dress, leaving you completely bare for him. His gaze meets yours as he squeezes your thighs hard and gives you a smirk.
“Ragnar what are you-“
Your words are cut off when his tongue licks your most intimate area. You gasp and whine as he begins to messily eat you. Your legs shake and wobble as you try to hold onto his shoulders.
“Ragnar I can’t…” You breathe.
He could sense you were barely able to hold yourself up. In one swift movement he hooks your legs over his shoulders and you yelp as he lifts you up. His tongue does not stop working at your bundle of nerves as he walks you over to a tree. You lean your back against the rough bark. The feeling of him was so overwhelming that you hardly felt the tree scratching at your skin. He ate you ravenously like a man starved. Your hands quickly find their way into his hair, tugging lightly, he grunts against you in response. You pant as you look up to the grey rainy skies, the entire moment felt like a dream. A knot begins to tighten in your stomach and your vision starts to blur. Ragnar dips his tongue into your entrance and that is your undoing. You scream out as your thighs squeeze tightly around his head. You would be worried about hurting him but you could swear you felt him grinning against you as his tongue works you through your orgasm.
Ragnar carefully lowers you back to the ground, you feel both your body and your mind come back down to earth. You shiver as he lays you down on the cold wet ground. He removes his now soaked shirt before climbing over you and capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, you moan at the taste yourself as your tongues dance together.
He stands again to quickly remove his pants, your eyes widen at his length before he climbs back on top of you.
“Are you certain?” Ragnar asks lowly, noticing your worried expression.
“Yes but… I don’t think it will fit…” You whisper shyly.
He gives a cocky chuckle before he begins kissing on your neck.
“It will.” He mumbles against your skin.
You feel him rub his length against your core making you whine and buck your hips in response.
“So eager.” He smirks.
He slowly begins pushing in making you grimace in pain. You instantly question his reassurance that it will fit.
“Shh,” Ragnar tries to soothe you.
His lips move back to your neck kissing, sucking and biting, trying his best to distract you from the pain. You moan at the feeling before he pushes right through the barrier and you gasp loudly. Ragnar groans loudly as he feels you squeezing tightly around him like a vice. You pant heavily with tears in your eyes as you adjust to his size. He does not move until you’re ready, then he starts pushing in and out slowly. The pain soon fades and you wrap your legs around him, forcing him deeper into you.
“Please…” You breathe out.
“Please what?” Ragnar whispers directly in your ear, making you shudder.
“More…”
“More what?” He teases you.
“Ragnar, please.” You groan in frustration. “Faster. Harder. Give me more.”
He smirks before finally obliging your wishes and starts pounding into you relentlessly. You quickly begin to see stars as your second orgasm washes over you and you cry out his name. Ragnar slows his pace once you have hit your peak.
“So this is…” You pant. “This is how Vikings… fuck?”
“We fuck however we want to.” He says as he kisses your neck, still hard inside you. “Viking women enjoy riding their men like wild horses.” He mumbles against your skin, like a challenge.
“Then I shall do that…” You say as you sit up and force Ragnar onto his back.
Ragnar’s eyes widen as you move to straddle him.
“I shall ride you like a wild horse.” You look down and meet his eyes, fire in your eyes and a devilish smirk on your lips. “I shall fuck you like a true Viking woman.”
He does not take his eyes off you for one second as you start to sink back down onto his cock, causing your mouth to drop at the feeling. Being new to all of this, you awkwardly try to bounce up and down until Ragnar grips your hips and guides you to move them back and forth.
“Oh…” You moan, eyes rolling back.
You follow his direction and rock your hips back and forth, increasing the speed. The position sends tingles through your entire body. Ragnar watches you in amazement, taking in every inch of your wet naked body as your beautiful moans ring in his ears. His hands move from your hips to grab your breasts and you ride him harder in approval, earning a groan from him.
You still felt like you were dreaming. You had lived such a strict sheltered life and felt so trapped for so long… But as the grey clouds swirl above you and the rain pours down over your shamelessly naked body, as you ride this god of a man who made your entire body vibrate with life, as you cried out loud enough for the gods to hear, as your prayers had finally been answered and your path now clear, as you feel your very souls connect. For the first time in your entire life… you felt free.
Your peak hits you even more intense than any time before, zings of pleasure radiate throughout your entire being. You felt yourself cry out Ragnar’s name but the sudden crack of lightning in the distance completely drowned out the sound. Your eyes shot open and you caught a glimpse of the fast line of lighting across the mountains at the same moment you came. Ragnar digs his fingers hard into your hips as he finds his own release. A loud rumble of thunder booms as he chokes out a moan. In that moment you felt so tremendously powerful, like a you were a god and goddess.
As you come down from your high the rain suddenly becomes much lighter. Panting, you look down at Ragnar who’s grinning smugly up at you. You give him a smirk back before leaning down and capturing his lips in a hungy kiss, your tongue instantly demands entrance and Ragnar happily obliges, moving his hand to your cheek as he eagerly kisses you back.
You roll off of him onto the wet grass, the rain now stopping completely. You felt so wild and free you that had no care about the mud that had gotten all over you.
“So…” Ragnar huffs, still catching his breath. “You really believe in our gods now?”
“They answered my prayers…” You respond, also panting. “It is hard to deny their existence after all of that.”
Ragnar just grins at you.
“We should get cleaned up.” He says as he stands, lending a hand to help you up.
As you stand he pulls you into a quick passionate kiss.
TW: Canon typical violence, cussing, readers a bit dumb (understandably at this point)
A/N: Research has been done on brittle bone disease, "Osteogenesis imperfecta" however in as many cases as possible have stuck to canon depictions, while trying to be respectful to the lifestyle differences and challenges of the disabled community. Opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the feelings of the author.
Modern Mercy - Part 1
The forest floor crunched beneath your hiking boots as you navigated the winding trail, autumn leaves painting the world in shades of amber and crimson. You'd chosen this secluded path specifically to escape the chaos of daily life—no crowds, no noise, just you and the wilderness. The kind of solitude that made your soul feel lighter with each step, your favorite playlist humming softly through your earbuds as you lost yourself in the rhythm of walking.
But now, three hours into what should have been a simple loop trail, that peaceful solitude was beginning to feel more like isolation. The marked trail had seemingly vanished somewhere behind you, leaving you surrounded by towering pines and unfamiliar terrain that all looked frustratingly similar. The GPS app had been spinning uselessly for the last twenty minutes, showing nothing but a blank gray screen where your location should be.
"Come on," you muttered, pulling your phone from your jacket pocket with hands that trembled slightly from both cold and growing anxiety.
"Just show me where I am. Please don't tell me I'm going to be one of those people who gets rescued by a helicopter because they took a wrong turn."
The device felt oddly warm against your palm, warmer than it should be considering the crisp air. You'd been using it for photos all morning, but the battery should still be at sixty percent. The screen flickered to life, but instead of your usual GPS app, strange patterns danced across the display—pixels shifting and rearranging themselves in ways that made your eyes water to follow. Colors bled into each other, creating an almost hypnotic swirl of light that seemed to pulse with its own rhythm.
"What the actual fuck ?" You stopped walking entirely, holding the phone closer to and then further from your face, with forrowed brows. The screen continued its bizarre light show, completely unresponsive to your increasingly frantic taps and swipes.
"This is so not the time for you to die on me. I literally just updated you last week!"
You tried the power button, the volume keys, even that trick where you hold multiple buttons at once that usually fixed everything—nothing worked. A high-pitched whining sound emanated from the device, so sharp it made your teeth ache and forced you to pull out your earbuds.
"Great. Just great. My phone's having a seizure in the middle of nowhere." Frustrated and more than a little unnerved, you lifted your foot to take another step forward, but your boot caught on something hidden beneath the fallen leaves. Your ankle twisted painfully as you pitched forward, arms windmilling desperately for balance.
The phone flew from your grasp, its bizarre light show spinning through the air like a demented firefly before disappearing into the undergrowth.
You hit the ground hard, damp earth cushioning your fall but doing nothing for your dignity. Pain shot through your palms where they'd scraped against rough bark, and your knee throbbed where it had connected with what felt like a particularly vindictive rock.
"Perfect," you groaned, rolling onto your back and staring up at the canopy above. "Just perfect. Lost in the woods with a dead phone. Nature's determined to kill me."
By the time you'd accessed yourself mentally for injuries and decided to drag your arse out of the dirt, it looked like rhe light filtering through the leaves had changed, taking on a golden quality that spoke of late afternoon rather than the mid-morning sun you remembered, shit had you hit your head harder then you thought ?
You pushed yourself up on your elbows, scanning the ground for your phone among the scattered leaves and debris. Instead, your eyes found two pairs of worn leather boots, planted firmly in the earth not three feet from where you lay.
Your gaze traveled upward—past rough-woven pants and leather armor that looked hand-crafted rather than costume-department perfect, past fur-trimmed cloaks with intricate brooches, past metalwork that bore the patina of actual use—until you found yourself staring into two pairs of eyes that definitely didn't belong to fellow hikers.
The men were tall, broad-shouldered, with long hair braided in patterns you'd only seen in history books and, more recently, your favorite television show. Scars crossed their visible skin—they looked like real scars that told stories of violence and survival. And pointed directly at your throat were two swords that looked very, very real.
Your heart began to race, but not from fear. These costumes were incredible. The attention to detail was beyond anything you'd seen outside of major film productions. The weapons looked authentically forged, the leather was properly weathered, and the men themselves had the kind of rugged authenticity that spoke of serious commitment to their craft.
The men exchanged a look that seemed equal parts confusion and concern, speaking in a way that sounded familiar and made your pulse quicken with recognition. The rolling vowels, the harsh consonants—you'd heard this accent before, week after week for seasons.
"Oh wow," you breathed, temporarily forgetting your precarious position as excitement bubbled up in your chest. "Are you guys filming something? Please tell me this is for Vikings. Are you filming near here? Is Travis here? What about Alex?"
"This is incredible," you continued, struggling to sit up properly while trying not to make any sudden movements toward the very real-looking weapons. "The authenticity is amazing. I mean, I've been to Renaissance fairs, but this is next level. You guys even smell authentic—like, actually smell like you've been living rough. Method acting much?"
One of them gestured toward you with his sword, the meaning clear even without translation. The other spoke again, his words carrying an authority that made your stomach flutter with a mixture of nerves and starstruck excitement.
"Get up."
Your legs felt like water as you struggled to your feet, hyper-aware of how the weapons followed your every movement. But even as a rational part of your brain registered the potential danger, a larger part was busy cataloging every detail of their appearance, trying to place which characters they might be playing or if they were new additions to the cast.
"Seriously though," you said as one of them grasped your arm with a grip that was definitely firmer than you'd expect from actors worried about liability, "when does this air? Because I have literally seen every episode of Vikings at least three times. I have so many questions about the next season."
But as they began to march you through terrain that bore no resemblance to the hiking trail you'd been following, a chill ran down your spine that had nothing to do with the weather. The grip on your arm was too strong, too real. These men moved with the kind of casual violence that spoke of lives lived on the edge of survival.
The journey that followed felt like stepping into the most immersive historical experience imaginable. The two warriors—because what else could you call them—flanked you as they marched through terrain that looked like it had been untouched by modern civilization. Rolling hills stretched in every direction, dotted with clusters of buildings that looked like they'd been pulled straight from historical dramas.
"This is unreal," you murmured, your eyes drinking in every detail. "The production value must be insane. How did they find a location this perfect? There's no power lines, no modern buildings in the background, nothing."
Your mind raced with possibilities. Maybe this was one of those immersive experiences for super fans ? Maybe you'd somehow stumbled onto the world's most elaborate filming location ? Maybe this was some kind of historical recreation site that you'd never heard of, despite your obsessive consumption of anything Viking-related.
But even as you tried to rationalize what you were seeing, something nagged at you. The smells were—not the sanitized version you'd expect from even the most elaborate theme park, but the real thing. Wood smoke mixed with less pleasant odors of a world without modern plumbing, animals, and unwashed bodies. The sounds too were wrong for any kind of production, no generators humming in the background, no modern voices calling directions, no anachronistic equipment hidden just out of frame.
The settlement that came into view made your breath catch in your throat, and for a moment, your steps faltered entirely.
"No way," you whispered, your voice barely audible.
"No fucking way."
It was Kattegat.
Not a representation of it.
Not inspired by it.
It was exactly as you'd seen it on screen, down to the specific arrangement of buildings around the natural harbor.
The great hall dominated the settlement, its distinctive architecture immediately recognizable. Smoke rose from countless chimneys, carrying scents that were somehow both foreign and familiar from years of watching your favorite characters navigate these same streets.
"This is..." You struggled for words, your inner fangirl warring with growing confusion. "This is perfect. Like, scary perfect. How do you create it so exactly?"
The warriors guided you through streets that seemed to pulse with authentic life. Children ran between the buildings, their laughter mixing with the sounds of craftsmen at work—the ring of metal on metal, the rhythmic thud of looms, the calls of merchants hawking their wares. Women tended to various tasks, some weaving, others preparing food, all of them dressed in clothing that looked lived-in rather than costume-perfect.
And they all stared at you with expressions that made your skin crawl.
Your modern hiking clothes—the synthetic fabrics, the bright colors, the strange cut and style of your Jacket—marked you as an outsider as clearly as if you'd been wearing a neon sign. But it wasn't just curiosity in their faces. There was wariness, suspicion, and in some cases, outright hostility.
"Okay, this is getting a little too real," you muttered, your earlier excitement beginning to curdle into something approaching fear. "Like, I get that you're going for authenticity, but the staring is kind of intense guys."
Your escorts didn't pause.
The great hall that loomed ahead was exactly what you'd expect from years of watching Vikings, but somehow more imposing in person. Massive wooden beams supported a structure that seemed to reach toward the sky itself, and intricate carvings—the carvings you recognized from countless episodes.
The doors swung open at their approach with a groan that you felt in your bones, revealing an interior that stole what little breath you had left.
The hall was vast, filled with long wooden tables and benches. Tapestries hung from the walls, depicting scenes of battle and conquest in threads that seemed to glow in the firelight. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of meat, mead, and too many bodies in close proximity.
And on a raised dais that you'd seen in your dreams, sat a figure that made your heart stop entirely.
"Holy shit," you breathed, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "Holy actual shit."
Queen Aslaug.
She was exactly as you remembered from the show—ethereally beautiful in a way that seemed almost otherworldly, with long blonde hair that caught the firelight and eyes that seemed to hold secrets older than time itself. The same regal bearing, the same sense of mystical wisdom that had made her such a compelling character.
But seeing her in person, breathing and real and looking directly at you, was like having your favorite fictional character step out of the screen.
And surrounding her, arranged in a semicircle that spoke of both protection and presentation, were her sons.
Your knees nearly gave out.
Ubbe sat to her right, tall and golden-haired, with the kind of steady, thoughtful presence that had always made him your second favorite character. The strong jaw, the intelligent eyes, the way he held himself with quiet authority—it was all exactly as you remembered, but somehow more vivid, more real.
Hvitserk lounged in his chair with the same restless energy you'd watched, his dark hair falling in a way that made your fangirl heart skip. Even seated, you could see the lean strength in his frame, the quick intelligence in his eyes as they tracked your movement across the hall.
Sigurd sat with his characteristic smirk, the one that had always made you simultaneously want to slap him and appreciate his particular brand of cruel charisma. His snake-eye studied you with an intensity that made your skin crawl, but in a way that was thrilling rather than truly frightening—because this was Sigurd, and you knew his character inside and out.
And Ivar.
Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes found him. He sat in his chaur with his legs positioned in front of him, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made the rest of the room fade away. Even motionless, he commanded attention in a way that was utterly terrifying. The sharp intelligence in his face, the cruel curve of his mouth, the way his fingers drummed against the arm of his chair—everything was exactly as you'd memorized from countless hours of screen time.
"This is insane," you whispered, your eyes darting between faces that belonged to your favorite show. "You guys are incredible. Like, scary incredible. The resemblance is perfect. Are you the actual actors? Please tell me you're the actual actors because I have been obsessed with this show and meeting the cast would literally make my entire life."
But even as the words left your mouth, something cold began to settle in your stomach. The resemblance wasn't just uncanny—it was perfect. Too perfect. And the way they sat, the way they moved, the casual interactions between them... there was no sense of people stepping in and out of character, no modern tells breaking through their performances.
"Bring her forward," Aslaug commanded, and her voice was exactly as you remembered—melodious, authoritative, with that distinctive accent that had always given you chills.
The guards propelled you past people who had stopped their conversations to watch this unexpected entertainment. Your footsteps echoed loudly in the sudden quiet, each step bringing you closer to people you'd spent years analyzing, theorizing about.
When you finally stood before the royal family, close enough to see the individual details of their clothing, the very real looking scars on their skin, the way their eyes tracked your every movement with predatory interest, your rational explanations began to crumble.
"Okay," you said, your voice coming out smaller than you intended. "I'm seriously confused right now. Are you guys method acting? Because this is either the most incredible immersive experience ever created, or..." You trailed off, unwilling to voice the impossible thought forming in your mind.
"What manner of creature is this?" Sigurd spoke first, and hearing that familiar mocking tone directed at you sent shivers down your spine. But it wasn't the good kind of shivers anymore. His voice carried an edge of genuine disdain that no actor playing a role would direct at a fan.
Aslaug leaned forward slightly, her mystical eyes studying you with an intensity that felt like being examined by a particularly beautiful predator. "Your garments are unlike any I have seen," she observed, her English clear but heavily accented in a way that made each word feel deliberate. "The colors are... strange. Unnatural. And the material..." She gestured vaguely at your outfit.
"Oh, um," you stammered, suddenly very aware of how out of place your moisture-wicking jacket looked in this setting. "It's just, you know, synthetic fabric? Like, polyester blend? For hiking?"
The words felt wrong the moment they left your mouth. Your casual speaking pattern clashing horribly with their formal, structured way of communication.
Hvitserk tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve. "She speaks strangely," he commented to his brothers, his voice carrying the same warm tone you'd fallen in love with on screen. "The words are familiar in part, but the manner in which she forms them..."
"Like no Saxon I have encountered," Ubbe agreed, his brow furrowed in genuine concentration. "The rhythm is wrong. The choice of words... peculiar."
Ivar had remained silent during this exchange, but you could feel his gaze like a physical weight. When he finally spoke, his voice cut through his brothers' observations with razor-sharp precision.
"Tell us" he said, and the familiar candance made your heart race for all the wrong reasons, "where is it that you come from?"
The interest in his words hit you like a physical blow. You'd heard him and you knew that in the show—usually he spoke right before doing something terrifying to whoever had caught his interest. But hearing it directed at you, seeing the way his eyes glittered with curiosity and something much darker, made you realize just how much danger you might actually be in.
If this was real.
If they were real.
"I'm from..." You paused, your mind racing. How did you explain twenty-first century America to people who lived in a world where that continent wasn't supposed to exist yet? "I'm from really far away? Like, really, really far?"
Your voice rose at the end, turning your statement into a question in that distinctly modern way that made you cringe even as you said it.
"How far?" Aslaug pressed, and there was something in her voice that suggested she might understand more than she was letting on. "Beyond the great sea?"
"Um, yeah," you nodded eagerly, latching onto anything that might make sense to them. "Way beyond that. Like, super beyond that."
Sigurd snorted, a sound of pure derision. "Super beyond? What manner of word is 'super'?"
Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. The casual slang that peppered your everyday speech sounded ridiculous in this formal setting, childish and strange.
"I just mean... very far," you corrected yourself, trying to adopt their more formal speech patterns and failing miserably. "Like, an incredible distance. More than you could possibly... um... imagine?"
The brothers exchanged glances, and you saw Hvitserk suppress what might have been a smile at your awkward attempts to sound more formal.
"She speaks like a child," Sigurd observed, his cruel smile widening. "Using simple words in simple ways...is that it ... are you simple ?"
"I'm not simple!" The response burst out of you before you could stop it, defensive and sharp in a way that immediately made you regret speaking. "I've been to university."
Ivar's eyes glittered with amusement at your outburst. "Such fire," he murmured, and the approval in his voice was somehow more terrifying than if he'd been angry. "Tell me, what is this 'university' of which you speak?"
"It's..." You struggled to find words they might understand. "It's like... a place of learning? Where you go to study... things?"
"Things," Hvitserk repeated, and now he wasn't bothering to hide his smile. "How illuminating."
Your face burned hotter. Everything you said made you sound either crazy or stupid, and you were beginning to suspect both might be true.
"She is either touched by the gods or touched in the head," Sigurd declared, earning chuckles from some of the watching crowd.
"I'm not crazy," you protested weakly, but even as you said it, doubt crept in. Maybe you were. Maybe you'd hit your head and all of this was some elaborate hallucination brought on by a concussion.
But the ache in your scraped palms felt real. The smoke in the air made your eyes water in a very real way. And the expressions on the faces around you carried a weight that no dream or hallucination could match.
"Then explain," Aslaug commanded, her voice carrying absolute authority. "Explain your strange garments, your peculiar speech, your claim to come from a place beyond our knowledge."
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. How could you explain that you came from a world over a thousand years in their future? That you knew their names, their personalities, their fates because you'd watched them portrayed on a television show? That you had their pictures saved on your phone?
Your phone. Which was lying somewhere in a forest that apparently didn't exist anymore.
"I..." you started, then stopped. Your throat felt tight, and for the first time since this nightmare began, tears threatened at the corners of your eyes. "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you."
"Try" Ivar suggested, and his voice carried a silky threat that made your blood run cold.
Because suddenly, impossibly, you were beginning to understand that this wasn't a film set or an immersive experience or an elaborate prank. The smells were too real, the sounds too authentic, the weight of history too heavy in the air around you.
These weren't actors playing characters.
These were the actual characters.
Which meant you were standing in Queen Aslaug's hall, facing Ivar the Boneless himself, in a world where the things you'd watched him do on screen weren't fictional plot points but actual memories.
The hall suddenly felt very cold indeed.
"I think," you whispered, your voice barely audible, "I think I'm in a lot of trouble."
The silence that followed stretched on forever, broken only by the crackling of fires and the distant sounds of life continuing outside the hall. You could feel the weight of dozens of eyes upon you, studying your every reaction, cataloging your fear.
Finally, Aslaug spoke, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Children" she said, addressing her sons, "what think you of this strange girl?"
"She is clearly foreign," Ubbe said thoughtfully, his voice carrying the same measured tone you'd always admired on screen. "But from where, I cannot say. Her manner of dress suggests wealth of a sort, but the materials are unknown to me."
"Perhaps she is a sorceress," Sigurd suggested, his voice carrying the same cruel amusement it always had on the show. "Sent by our enemies to bewitch us with her strange appearance."
"I'm not a sorceress!" you protested, then immediately regretted drawing more attention to yourself. "I mean... I'm not... I don't know magic or anything like that."
Ivar had been silent during his brothers' discussion, but now he spoke, his voice carrying a authority that immediately silenced everyone else. "Mother," he said, never taking his eyes off you, "what do your visions tell you of this creature?"
Aslaug's mystical gaze seemed to look right through you, and for a long moment, she said nothing. When she finally spoke, her words sent chills down your spine.
"The gods whisper of displacement," she said slowly. "Of things torn from their proper place. She carries the scent of otherworldly knowledge."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. How could she possibly know?
"Otherworldly knowledge?" Ubbe questioned. "What manner of knowledge?"
Aslaug's eyes never left your face. "Tell me, strange girl, do you know of things yet to come?"
The question hit you like a physical blow. Did you know things yet to come? You knew everything that was supposed to happen to these people to date. You'd watched their stories unfold, knew their triumphs and failures, their loves and losses.
"I..." you stammered, unsure how to answer without making everything worse.
"She hesitates," Hvitserk observed. "That is answer enough."
"What do you know?" Ivar demanded, his voice sharp with sudden interest. "What visions plague your mind ?"
You looked around the hall desperately, at faces that belonged to people whose fates you knew by heart. How could you tell them that you'd watched Sigurd die? That you knew how Ivar's cruelty would escalate.
"I can't," you whispered. "I can't tell you."
"Cannot?" Sigurd laughed harshly. "Or will not?"
"Both," you admitted, and immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say.
Ivar's eyes glittered dangerously. "How interesting," he murmured. "Knowledge she possesses but will not share. Perhaps she requires... encouragement."
The threat in his voice was unmistakable, and suddenly you were terrified in a way that went bone-deep. This wasn't the sanitized violence of television anymore. This was real, and these people had no modern concepts of human rights or due process to protect you.
"Wait," you said quickly, raising your hands in a gesture of surrender. "Please, I'm not trying to be difficult. It's just... complicated."
"Uncomplicate it," Aslaug commanded.
You took a shaky breath, trying to find words that might make sense to them without revealing the impossible truth. "Where I come from, we have... stories ... Sagas ... About people like you. About this place. About things that might happen."
"Stories," Ubbe repeated slowly. "What sort of stories?"
"Stories about great warriors," you said carefully. "About raids and battles and... and of Ragnar Lothbrok."
The effect of Ragnar's name was immediate and electric. All four brothers straightened, their attention focusing on you with laser intensity.
"You know of our father?" Hvitserk demanded.
"Everyone knows of Ragnar," you said, which was true enough. "His fame ... his fame reaches very far."
You'd almost said "will reach," catching yourself just in time.
"And what do these stories say?" Ivar asked, his voice deceptively soft.
You looked at him, this man who would evolve into someone capable of such beautiful and terrible things, and felt your heart break a little.
"They say you're destined for greatness," you whispered. "All of you. That your names will be remembered long after..."
You stopped, unable to finish the sentence. Long after you're all dead, you'd been about to say.
"After what?" Sigurd pressed.
"After the world changes," you finished lamely.
The brothers exchanged glances, some unspoken communication passing between them.
"She speaks in riddles," Hvitserk said. "Like a völur."
"Or like a spy," Sigurd countered. "Sent to learn our secrets and report back to our enemies."
"What enemies?" you asked, confused. "I don't work for anyone. I don't even know where I am, exactly. I mean, I think this is Kattegat, but..."
"You know the name of our home," Ubbe observed. "Yet claim to be lost."
You realized your mistake too late. Of course they'd find it suspicious that you knew where you were.
"The stories," you said weakly. "I told you, there are stories..."
"Convenient stories," Sigurd sneered. "That tell you exactly what you need to know."
Aslaug held up a hand, silencing her sons. "Enough," she said. "The girl is clearly far from home, whatever her true origins. The question now is what to do with her."
Your stomach dropped. In the show, strangers who couldn't account for themselves rarely fared well.
"She could be useful," Ivar said thoughtfully, and something in his tone made your skin crawl. "If she truly possesses knowledge of the future, she might prove... valuable."
"And if she is a spy?" Sigurd challenged.
Ivar's smile was razor-sharp. "Then she will tell us everything she knows before she dies."
You felt the blood drain from your face. Was this Ivar at his most dangerous ?—calculating, intelligent, and utterly without mercy. You'd watched him torture people on screen, had been simultaneously horrified and fascinated by his methods, but when where you now ? What season ?
Being on the receiving end of his attention was pure nightmare, but where exactly where you in the seasons.
God you sounded nuts, which episode did the stranger fall through time ... your probably unconscious in a forest having a fever-dream.
"Please," you said, your voice small and shaking. "I'm not a spy. I'm just... lost. I fell in the woods and when I got up, I was here. I don't understand it any more than you do."
"The woods?" Ubbe questioned. "What woods?"
"I..." You struggled to explain. "There was a hiking trail. Trees. I was trying to find my way with my... with a device that shows directions. But it broke, and I fell, and then..."
"A device that shows directions?" Hvitserk leaned forward with interest. "What manner of device?"
You realized you'd painted yourself into another corner. How did you explain GPS to medieval Vikings?
"It's... it was like a... a map?" you tried desperately. "But small and it showed lots of maps?"
"Lots of Maps," Sigurd repeated mockingly. "How convenient that this miraculous map is lost."
"But perhaps," Aslaug said slowly, "not so convenient for her."
All eyes turned to the Queen, waiting for her to elaborate.
"If she speaks truth," Aslaug continued, "if she is indeed displaced from her proper place, then she is as lost as she claims. A stranger in a strange land, with no way to return home."
The sympathy in her voice gave you a brief moment of hope, but it was quickly dashed by her next words.
"Which makes her our responsibility. And our property."
Your heart stopped. Property. The word hung in the air like a death sentence.
"She will need to earn her place among us," Aslaug continued. "Prove her worth through service."
"What manner of service?" Ubbe asked, though his tone suggested he already knew where this was heading.
Aslaug's gaze moved between her sons, considering. "She claims knowledge of the future. If true, this makes her valuable. But also dangerous, if that knowledge falls into the wrong hands."
"She should be closely watched," Hvitserk agreed.
"Very closely," Ivar added, and there was something in his voice that made your blood freeze.
"Then it is decided," Aslaug declared. "The strange girl will serve as a slave in our household. She will be given to..."
Your heart hammered as her gaze moved between her sons. Please not Ivar, you thought desperately. Oh shit not Sigurd either.
Ubbe, in your mind was the most reasonable.
"My youngest son Ivar," she finished.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Of all the possible outcomes, this felt like the worst. You'd watched Ivar on screen, had seen what he did to people who displeased him. His intelligence made him unpredictable, his disability made him cruel, and his curiosity made him dangerous.
And now you belonged to him.
"An excellent choice, Mother," Ivar said, his voice carrying a satisfaction that made your skin crawl. "I shall take very good care of our mysterious little guest."
The promise in his words was anything but comforting.
You stood frozen in the center of the hall, surrounded by people whose stories you knew by heart, facing a future that terrified you beyond measure. Because you knew exactly what Ivar was capable of.
୨୧ ragnar x fem!reader ୨୧
After helping his son, Ragnar finds what he'd been searching for and you found something you hadn't been looking for.
a/n: (1.3k words) Hopefully I got their personality's right, I'm still on season one of Vikings lol
You strolled through the lush forest as you searched for more potion supplies.
The afternoon sun shone over the branches of the tall trees. You knelt down on the cool grass and picked a few plump mushrooms, placing them in an empty pouch on your belt before wiping the dirt from your skirt and kept walking.
You were about to reach for a specific pinecone that had fallen onto the ground when you paused hearing a man's voice in the distance. You were planning to just ignore it when an arguing younger boy's voice echoed in the quiet forest and the sound of scuffling began.
Quickly darting over, you saw a scruffy looking man push a blonde boy against a tree and threaten him with his sharp axe pointed at his neck. Your eye twitched in anger as you surged forward.
Magic flickering from your foreign words and fury in your eyes. The man's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell backwards with a startled gasp. He hit the dirt and you were able to relax now that the threat was dead.
The blonde boy was crouched down, leaning against the tree with wide scared eyes glued on you. You turned towards him and crouched down to his height, keeping your hands on your knees.
"I won't hurt you" You said softly with a small smile. The boy glanced between you and the dead man skeptically. "I promise" You assured and the boy's blonde brows furrowed as if trying to figure out whether you were lying or not.
You introduced yourself before asking him. "What’s your name, boy?"
The boy seemed frustrated at the mention of his young age but answered nonetheless. "Björn" You nodded with a warm smile and repeated the name.
"Are you hurt, Björn?" You glanced over the boy when you'd crouched in front of him but you wanted to be sure you hadn't missed anything. Thankfully Björn shook his head no.
You sighed happily and stood up brushing off the dirt from your skirt once again. You outstretched your hand towards Björn but he hesitated, looking at your hand warily.
"Are you a witch?" He asked pointedly and you tilted your head as if pondering the question.
"I would rather call myself knowledgeable" You hummed and he thought your answer over. He let you help him up and brush off the bark stuck to the back of his shirt.
"Come. My home isn't far" Björn said and began walking, glancing back to see if you followed him.
You breathily laughed at the young boy and decided to follow him, wanting to make sure he returned home alright.
As you walked together you answered all of the curious boy's questions, from why you were in the forest alone, to the strange words you'd muttered.
Eventually you both broke through the forest's edge towards a farm and a cozy cabin. Björn rushed forward, grabbing your arm dragging you along towards the wooden door.
He burst open the door and your eyes quickly scanned the room. Standing in the middle of the room were two adults. A strong looking blonde woman whose hair was half pulled into braids. And a muscular man with piercing blue eyes and dark blonde braided hair.
They both turned at the intrusion and Björn rushed forward pointing at you. "I found a witch!" He beamed brightly and the blonde woman, who you assumed was his mother, spluttered glancing between you and her son protectively.
"You are a witch?" The man stepped forward towards you and you met his gaze, ready to defend yourself but you paused when you saw the curious glint in his eyes. Definitely the boy's father then.
"Depends" You shrugged and the tall man smiled, intrigued.
"Oh?" He questioned. "Most men who call me that, deem me dangerous and cruel but I am not. I merely know more than most on forgotten matters." You explained and it seemed to fascinate the man even further.
"But you are a witch! I saw you! You killed that man without even touching him!" Björn prattled and both adults quickly looked cautiously at you. You sighed exasperatedly and huffed like a small child.
"He was going to kill you" You placed your hands on your hips, looking down at the boy who had the decency to look sheepish.
"Didn't say it wasn't a good thing" Björn mumbled with pink cheeks.
His mother looked you up and down. "Is this true?"
"Yes. And I can see that he has returned safely home. I shall let myself out" You nodded uncomfortably about to leave but Björn's mother halted you.
"You helped my son, you brought him home. We shall feed you and shelter you for the night. As thanks" She offered and you mumbled a thanks as she began gathering the tools she needed to start dinner.
"What is your name?" Björn's father asked and you gave him your name and he smiled, repeating it back to you with a grin.
"Ragnar" He introduced himself and his wife, Lagertha to you.
Ragnar told Björn to go out and help his mother but your eyes were glued on the handsome man. His eyes were a captivating shade of blue, like lightning in stormy weather or the bursting of waves in the ocean. You wondered what they’d seen, what they planned to.
He was clearly a seasoned fighter, no doubt one of the many men going on raids each summer. You imagined him fighting, with a sword or axe in hand. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander, of him covered in his enemies blood after a mighty fight. As a good fighter, he must have good stamina…
Not to mention passion. Yes, you could tell the man in front of you was passionate. But of what, you didn’t know. He had dreams and plans, goals and ideas. You wanted to know them all. You wanted to drink in every piece of him like a dehydrated sailor.
You were so mesmerized by Ragnar, you briefly wondered if he was a warlock who'd placed a spell on you. You were startled when a young girl's voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned towards the door you'd previously walked through and a young girl with a strange looking man stood in the doorway.
"Are you the witch?" She asked again and you mutely nodded, still embarrassed by your prior thoughts.
"Can I see your magic?" She asked with excitement swimming in her eyes. Lagertha went to scold her, trying to be careful of the kind stranger but you only smiled with a nod at the young girl.
Everyone in the room watched you intently. You squeezed your hands together tightly and whispered another spell. Slithers of light poured from between your hands as the spell finalized and you opened your hands, holding a rose with each petal a different colour and shade.
The young girl gasped as you handed it to her and she held it as if it were the most delicate and fragile thing in existence.
"How did you-" The strange haired man began but the girl pulled him outside, off to show her brother the gift she'd been given.
"That was incredible" Lagertha said, perplexed and you thanked her with a humble tone.
"Yes it was" Ragnar agreed and you glanced over at him meeting his adoring and wonder filled eyes.
And in that moment you wondered if those men who'd called you evil and cruel were right. Because despite standing in his family's home, after talking to his wife and helping his children.
You knew you'd cast a thousand more spells just to see him look at you as he was now, for a little longer. And by the way his lips quirked to a smile, he felt it too. You smiled shyly at him, as if knowing his thoughts as his eyes looked you over, more intimately than before.
He smiled wider and sat down, patting the seat closest to him. Your heart skipped a beat but you mindlessly obeyed and sat down beside him.
As Ragnar leaned over, closer to you to talk and ask you more questions, you couldn’t help but thank Björn and that foolish man for ruining your planned day of picking mushrooms and pinecones.
More story ideas for reader insert this one is for Vikings
These could be from ideas that I have read or seen or just stuff that I have come up with, don’t know what is what, not tried to steal just compiled ideas.
These could be platonic or romantic for most of them. Anyone one of them can be angst, fluff etc,
These can be used for any individual character in Vikings, obviously some will work better with others, you will know it’s up to you.
With a reader who is from a Celtic clan Scottish/Welsh/Irish that they discover and work on an alliance with against the English
With a reader who is a druid
Reader who is the princess and in an arranged marriage, could be another viking tribe or kingdom etc.
Reader who is an English princess but doesn’t want to follow Christianity that they help escape
Raeder who is a Valkyrie
Reader who is a shapeshifter, crow/ fox etc, could link to the druid prompt
Reader who is the village healer or just some healer that they need the help of.
Reader who is a blacksmith and a great one at that, someone that they need the help of for war etc
Reader who is leader of a clan who they have to try and build an alliance with, could be either a warrior or just be bog standard royalty
Reader who is from an isolated tribe
Reader who is Floki’s daughter and also a boat builder
Reader who they find after their village has been pillaged and take in and help
Reader who they find on the shore or coast from a shipwreck from an un-known place and doesn’t speak their language
Reader who is just a sweet little goat herder on the outskirts of the settlement
