ficnation - Tumblr blog

ficnation · 15 days

Text

I was so happy for them and then Alfred had to go and spoil it all 😭

THE AUDACITY-

He'd never leave his wife for her and yet he doesn't want her to be happy with someone else.

The Scottish Princess, Finan x Reader, Part 4

Warnings: Mature. Minors DNI. Sexual themes. Angst/Sadness/Anxiety. Super smutty. Lol

Note: Super long, but worth the read and I’m obsessed! Hope you love it as much as I do 😉

After you left Alfred’s chamber swiftly, your heart raced and tried to imagine how to reach the cells beneath the palace, a place you had never ventured to before. You weren’t going to give Alfred time to ponder Finan’s release - you needed to see him, and your heart would ache until you did. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears when you darted around a corner, immediately startled by running into Uhtred.

“Uhtred!!! Oh, God… where is he?!” You said as you gripped Uhtred’s forearms firmly.

“Lady, he is alright, only a few bruises. You must not act with haste, it will only anger the King further. Come with me, hm?”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared into Uhtred’s sympathetic eyes.

“No, you must take me to him. Please.”

Uhtred sighed and looked around the corridors, and nodded when he knew that no one was watching the two of you. He guided you down a steep staircase with damp walls, only a few torches lighting the path into a dark, desolate area that held cells for prisoners. Uhtred moved stealthily, still managing your surroundings and hoping to not come across one of Alfred’s guards, but if he did, he would try to talk or even fight himself out of it.

Finan was sitting in the cell on the ground, his legs stretched out and back against the cold stone wall as he stared ahead and contemplated. His head turned when he heard rustling, his eye catching sight of Uhtred and then of you behind him. He stood up immediately from his seat, eyes widened as he rushed over, his hands grabbing hold of the bars that caged him.

“Lord!” He rasped out quietly in anger, “Why did you bring her here?!”

Uhtred smirked at Finan as he came closer.

“She is very demanding, Finan.”

Finan’s seriousness diminished and he smiled as you came closer, grabbing his hands in yours tightly as you pressed your forehead to his. Uhtred watched the scene before him, a wave of sympathetic sadness coming over him.

Finan spoke while keeping his forehead pressed to yours, cupping your cheek with one of his shackled hands.

“Lady, you should not be here… you must leave. Go back home… to your father. I will be fine.” He assured you, squeezing your other hand in his.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and your heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces. You had never experienced such a feeling before, and it broke you.

“Never… I will not leave.”

Finan groaned. “Uhtred, please… take her somewhere safe.”

You breached from Finan’s grasp, your widened eyes looking to him desperately.

“No! I won’t leave you...”

Finan shook his head at you and looked at you for a moment with a soft gaze, reaching out for your hand again as he pleaded with you.

“Do this for me, will ya? Please.”

Tears fell from your eyes at Finan’s words, and you looked to Uhtred who gave you a nod, then looked between the two of you. Seeing your sadness made Finan’s heart shatter as well.

“Go with Uhtred,” Finan said sternly as he brought your hand up to his lips again. “Go.”

You kept shaking your head as tears continued to fall, and pressed your forehead to Finan’s again through the bars. You cupped his face and kissed him deeply. Uhtred came over to pull you away and you held on to Finan’s hand until you had to drop it as the distance grew between you.

Uhtred guided you back up the stairs, and you couldn’t fathom the feelings that had suddenly come over you and hit you so strongly for this man. You felt entirely helpless, feeling as if you might faint from the rush of emotions.

Finan cursed as you left, feeling helpless as well and his heart stirring with emotions that had long been dormant. He paced the cell for a moment and hoped that you would find the strength to return to Scotland, but silently wished that there was another way so that he didn’t have to suffer the pain of parting from you.

You followed Uhtred to the palace yard as he met up with Sihtric and Osferth, the men returning you to the Inn. Your body was exhausted but sleep escaped you for most of the night as you lay wrapped in Finan’s cloak, comforted by the smell of him and aching to have him beside you.

The next morning you woke early and watched out the window of your room at the Inn as Uhtred confidently strutted back to the palace, praying that he would find a way to rejoin you and Finan again.

Alfred was sitting at his throne, one of the priests discussing something with him as Uhtred approached.

“Lord, may we speak?”

Alfred glared at Uhtred, almost annoyingly, and then nodded. Uhtred spoke confidently.

“You love this woman. But does she not deserve a life outside of being a mistress to you? If Constantin knew of your plight, he would be enraged.”

Alfred nodded, then stood and walked slowly toward Uhtred, his hands cupped together in front of him.

“Uhtred, you have given me further reasons not to trust you or your men. And so I must ponder the necessary course of action… the consequence.”

Uhtred bit his lip as his heart raced with anger, his words sharp.

“Lord, I have served you and continue to serve you. This is the will of the Princess, Lord. And you must honor it. Your denial is fruitless.”

Alfred remained steadfast as he held Uhtred’s harsh eye contact.

“Bring her to me. I will speak with her for the last time, and then Finan will be released… no wergild to be paid.”

Uhtred was taken aback by Alfred’s capricious behavior. He simply turned from Alfred and walked back outside to the palace yard at a steady pace.

Sihtric and Osferth had attempted to cheer your spirits by taking you to the Alehouse, buying you drinks and asking you questions to keep your mind distracted. This plan failed when Uhtred walked through the doors of the Alehouse.

You stood up quickly from the table, walking straight over to Uhtred and grabbing his arms again.

“Lord, what did he say?” You asked impatiently as

Uhtred sighed. “He wishes for you to speak with him once more. Then he will allow Finan to be released.”

Your heart raced, and you immediately sprinted from the Alehouse. Uhtred was in shock at first, then motioned for Sihtric and Osferth to follow as he sprinted to catch up to you.

“She is a mad woman!” Uhtred shouted breathlessly to the men, coaxing chuckles from them.

You entered the hall again swiftly, slamming the doors open and holding your belly as you caught your breath.

Alfred was standing in front of the throne in the hall, and your eyes caught Finan standing before him, still shackled. You took a deep breath, and tried not to look at Finan as you approached the King.

“Lord King,” you bowed, still trying to catch your breath.

Alfred nodded to you, and then glared at Finan.

“Your Highness, you have my apologies. I was mistaken. You may take your leave at any time. Uhtred’s man is free to go.”

You gazed at Alfred in complete awe of his words, holding your stomach again now as you chuckled out of pure relief. Alfred gestured for Steapa to release Finan from the shackles, Finan giving Steapa a wink and Steapa giving him an eye roll back.

You spoke raggedly again at the King.

“Lord King, I am grateful…”

Alfred nodded, his eyes red and slightly watered, but he hid it well. He stood there and watched as you ran over to Finan, hugging him in a tight embrace, then bestowing a kiss to his lips without a single care of who witnessed it. Uhtred, Sihtric, and Osferth had hung back and watched the scene before them, all smiling.

After several mugs of ale in celebration back at the Alehouse, Uhtred insisted that the men begin the journey to Coccham once again, but wondered what destiny had in store for you next.

“Your Highness, what is next on your path?” Uhtred asked with a grin.

You smiled at him, and then looked at Finan. His crinkled, sweet brown eyes looked to you as he smiled and you held his gaze for a moment before looking back to Uhtred.

“I would like to see this place called Coccham, Lord.”

Finan’s heart jumped in his chest. He wasn’t sure what you were to each other, but he assumed that you felt strongly for him judging by the way you fell apart when he was detained. He had tried to bury his feelings for you overnight in his cell, but being apart from you had only made them stronger.

Uhtred laughed and raised his mug. “Allow us to escort you, lady, as your humble servants!”

You chuckled, looking at the men around you clink their mugs together. You begged their attention once again as they settled down.

��I have dismissed my guardsmen back to Scotland. I have no need of them anymore,” you started, the men’s eyes becoming wide as they listened. “If it does not burden you, I wish to create a home in this village of yours.”

Uhtred looked to Finan immediately, witnessing his dark eyes twinkling at your words. Anxiety crept up in Uhtred’s mind, thinking of how your father might react once he heard of his unmarried, royal daughter’s wishes. He stifled his worry for now, raising his mug to you again.

“You are welcome there, lady, and I hope you find happiness,” Uhtred said, “We will leave at first light for Coccham.”

As the Alehouse settled that late evening, the men returned to their rooms at the Inn and you returned with Finan to his.

Finan sighed as he closed the door, then leaned against it as he closed his eyes.

You chuckled at him. “Quite the week, hm?”

“Aye,” he chuckled, coming over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Ya really are somethin’, aren’t you? A fiery little woman.”

You giggled and nuzzled his nose with yours, and Finan gave you a searing kiss.

“I have somethin’ to ask ya,” Finan said as he pulled away, gesturing for you to join him at the table. “Sit with me.”

You nodded and joined him, grabbing his hand from across the table. He seemed deep in thought for a moment before he spoke, his Irish accent lingering on every word.

“You want to travel with us to Coccham and live there. Why?”

You felt like he was interrogating you for a moment, and you took a deep breath before replying.

“Is this not what you want? I suppose I never asked you if you had a wife, or children… I feel foolish. It all happened so fast.”

He chuckled. “No, lady…I don’t have anything like that. But that is everything I want.” He said in a serious tone, looking into your eyes and making your heart race. You hesitated to reply and he grabbed your hand again.

“I would love for ya to join us… And hopefully ya decide to share my bed from now on, Princess.”

You smiled at him. He might have had a vague notion of how you felt about him, but he had no idea just how strongly you felt.

You gazed into his eyes as you licked your lips. “I would delight in sharing your bed, Irishman. Perhaps we could start now?”

Finan’s eyes seared into you as he nodded. “Mmm… Now that I have ya all to myself in here, it sounds like a great idea.”

You could feel your core throbbing already as you stood from the chair, unlacing your dress as you held his gaze. His eyes came down to your breasts as your dress fell to your feet, and you moved on to unlacing the thin shift that graced your bare skin, dropping it onto the floor and stepping out of it. Finan remained seated and gazed over your body, shaking his head before he spoke.

“God help me,” he mumbled in his deep brogue as he took you in. He stood from the chair to come closer to you, his hands coming to your hips, then dragging upwards to cup at your breasts. He grabbed you and pulled you against himself firmly, capturing your mouth in his and seeking entry with his tongue. You moaned into his mouth as he brought his large hand to your arse, squeezing it roughly and then turning you around swiftly. He stroked your entrance with his fingers from behind you, coating your clit in your wetness as he circled it for a few moments, causing your head to fall back into his chest as you moaned. He slid two fingers into your core, pumping in and out slowly, making you ache for more.

“On the bed, sweetheart.” He whispered in your ear, giving you a gentle push. You climbed onto the bed on your hands and knees, giving Finan a perfect view and causing him to groan. He worked his armor off swiftly, and you turned around and admired him as he did so, watching his hard cock spring free from his trousers and impatiently waiting to taste him.

You held your hand out to Finan, bringing him closer to the bed but still standing as you gripped at his cock. You began stroking it up and down with your hand as he held your face, kissing you deeply and running his tongue along your lower lip. You knelt down to graze his cock with your tongue, teasing the sensitive spot underneath the head. You wrapped your lips around his cock and started coming up and down on his length, listening for Finan’s moans that were increasing as you took him faster.

“Oh god, woman… be careful,” he groaned, feeling his cock grow harder on your tongue, finding it difficult not to give in.

You chuckled as you continued your ministrations, feeling Finan’s legs become shaky.

“I want you to cum in my mouth first…” You whispered in between strokes and licks. You started to stroke him firmly, sucking at the head of his cock at the same time and watched as Finan bit his lip and tilted his head back, gripping your hair in his hands. You knew he was close to his peak, so you took it upon yourself to grab his hips, allowing him to thrust deeper into your throat. Finan hissed through his teeth at the deeper sensation and let out sensual moans until his hips stuttered, his peak washing over him in waves of heat.

Once he came back to his senses, he gently pushed you backwards and grappled at your legs to position you perfectly for his mouth. He began by leaving wet kisses and love marks on your inner thighs, his hot breath tracing your core and driving you mad.

He finally took his tongue to your slit, alternating between wide strokes with his tongue and suckling at your clit. He then took his thumbs to your entrance, stroking and massaging as he alternated his touch and his tongue. He groaned when he slid one of his long fingers in, then another, stroking them upwards firmly until he heard your breaths quicken.

“Such a pretty sight...you’re so good for me, princess.”

You let out a pleasured moan as he added a third finger, bringing you straight to the edge with his ministrations. You pleaded with him as you got closer to your peak.

“Oh my god… please, Finan…”

Finan gave firmer pressure with the curling of his fingers but continued the agonizingly slow pace, feeling your core quiver and clench on him. He smirked as he saw your chest rise and fall, your brows furrowed and moaning relentlessly. He then quickened his pace with his fingers until you completely fell apart, outwardly soaking his hand and shaking beneath him.

You gasped for air, a warmth radiating across your body as your hips continued to quiver for a few moments at the incredible stimulation. You locked eyes with the Irishman who was still smirking at you, now beginning to stroke his hard cock through your folds. You started to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out just right.

“Finan.. how did you...I… ugh,” you managed to say in between breaths, recovering from the best climax you had ever experienced.

Finan thrusted his cock deep inside you before you could develop a thought, and he brought his mouth to yours again in a searing, desperate kiss.

He groaned and came down to whisper in your ear.

“So petite, and yet ya take me so well...” he growled, then grabbed your legs and threw them over his shoulders, gazing at the sight of his cock disappearing inside your small entrance. You let out a loud moan at the change in angle and sensation, and this position made his cock brush against the perfect spot in your core firmly, over and over until you were trembling uncontrollably beneath him again.

You closed your eyes as you felt your core winding tightly around his cock, begging another orgasm within seconds. Finan felt you get close to your peak and grabbed your chin with his hand, gently gesturing you to look up to him.

“Mmm, that’s it… are you going to come apart for me?”

All you could muster was a strangled moan turned into a “Yes” as your nails dug into his hips.

“That’s my girl…” he growled, keeping his steady pace and relentlessly bringing you to the edge. Finan groaned as he felt your core clench his cock, making him bite his lip and whimper. Your peak washed over you within seconds, practically begging for his release. He let out a sensual moan as you forced him straight over the edge with you. Finan released himself inside your tight core, but he was still much too aroused to be finished with you just yet.

He placed you on your side as you continued whimpering helplessly, still coming down from your last strong orgasm. He spooned you from behind and grabbed your leg firmly to drape it across him behind you, and his large cock entered you again, causing you to roll your eyes and lean your head against his chest.

He wrapped his arm against you strongly, holding your stomach as he began sinking into your core again slowly.

“Fucking hell,” you whimpered desperately, feeling so warm in your chest and cheeks and so helplessly stimulated that you knew it wouldn’t take long for you to cum on his cock again, which is exactly what Finan wanted. He quickened his pace and held you against him firmly, sucking at your neck and allowing you to hear his sensual moans in your ear. The pressure of his cock against the deep spot on the front wall of your core was too much, and before you knew it, you drenched him again generously and he groaned in pleasure.

“Cum for me,” you whispered to him, gesturing your arm up to wrap around his neck and gripping his hair tightly.

Finan felt deeply flushed as well, completely overwhelmed with strong arousal and sensation, tipping toward the edge of complete bliss. He moaned deeply when the coil finally snapped inside of him again.

He panted breathlessly as you turned to face him, crushing his lips in a searing kiss. Finan brought his sweat glistened forehead to yours as he caught his breath, coming down from his own overwhelming peak. He gazed at you longingly with his deep brown eyes, nuzzling your nose again and giving you a sweet smile. You brought his head to rest on your chest, stroking his hair and running your nails over his back.

Late that evening, King Alfred had gone into his study, his frustration evident in his eyes but his demeanor remained fairly calm. He sat at his desk, taking quill, ink, and paper into his hand. He began writing a letter to your Father, the King:

Your Grace,

I regret to inform you that your Daughter has given her virtue to an Irish outlaw, a man who follows my oathman and who is known to have nefarious intentions. My attempt at halting the faithlessness was unsuccessful. I will require your aid for this matter further.

Alfred of Wessex

Taglist: @gemini-mama @persephones-journey @alexagirlie @whitedarkmoonflower @bcon24 @justanother-sihtricgirlie @badbish-suki @ficnation @itbmojojoejo

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist ❤️

#fic rec list #fic recommendation #fic rec #finan the agile x reader

36 notes · View notes

ficnation · 16 days

Text

This is a masterpiece 💖💖💖

"Finnish polka" - Ivar the Boneless x Reader

SUMMARY: After helping one of the northern Jarls, the Lothbrok brothers attend a celebratory feast. There, they're faced with a tradition of warriors catching flower crowns that belong to young women. How surprised Ivar is when you almost shove your crown into his hands.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.1k

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

Ivar is tired.

Of course he's glad that Jarl Thorstein came out victorious. And that his brothers are fine. Still, he feels weary as the adrenaline leaves his body. His legs start to ache. Ivar downs the rest of his mead in hopes it makes him a little more deaf to his mood.

The upbeat, bright music fills his mind like an obsessive thought. His heart beats to the rhythm tapped by the feet of dancing women. They spin, jump and run around with flower crowns sitting atop their heads. How the wreaths remain immovable, he can't quite say.

Ivar is also angry.

As the local tradition entails, when the song ends, all the dancing young maidens will throw their flower crowns to the crowd. Whoever catches it, is believed to be the girl's lover chosen by the gods. However, whether the couple indulges and trusts gods' judgement is a different story. But if the wreath falls to the floor, the girl is said to remain unmarried for the next five years.

Ivar knows the chance of him somehow catching one of those is near zero. He's sitting quite far from the dancers. Even if he did catch it, he's disillusioned about the imminent dissatisfaction of the flower crown's ownert. Not only is he disabled in a way that almost entirely excludes him from fighting but he's also infamous for his ruthless nature and vengeful heart. Hardly a man who invokes desire. Still, some naive piece of him remains hopeful that maybe he's wrong. Maybe he can be terrible and loved all the same.

He shakes those weak delusions away from himself before they sour his mood further.

His piercing eyes have been following one of the dancers for the better part of the song when he catches himself. Her movements look effortless even when the musicians pick up the tempo. Clearly, she's done this dance one too many times to have any doubts about what she's doing. Joy beams from her in a way that makes her appear almost shining. The wreath on the top of her head is mostly green with white and red flowers. It makes Ivar think of the woods surrounding Kattegat; it makes him think of home.

Ivar leans toward Oddleif, one of the Jarl's men, who's sitting next to him.

"Who is she?"

Oddleif looks at Ivar out of the corner of his eye. He scoffs, takes a large sip of his drink and only then decides to answer:

"If you're thinking of catching her flower crown, don't." His blond braids dance slightly as he shakes his head. There's a hint of laughter hiding in the back of Oddleif's throat. "Half of the surviving army wants it."

"I have no care for flowers," Ivar lies through his teeth. "They have no use. They wilt and die and soon no one remembers them. I am simply curious about her."

"Her father is the blacksmith. You might have seen him in the battle, swinging that damned sledgehammer." Ivar silently nods. He remembers that man - tall as a pine tree and wider than a stable. The blacksmith invokes respect even when he's not decimating enemies like a troll equipped with a tree trunk. "He said once that he'll let any man marry his daughter but only if he can lift an anvil. Tried it once myself. Not that I had any success as you can imagine." Oddleif laughs bitterly and continues drinking. His eyes are glued to the dancers but Ivar knows that right now, the two of them are admiring the very same girl with a flower crown like a forest.

The melody continues to quicken. Despite being out of breath, you don't want it to end. Your feet ache but they do not falter nor do they stumble. It seems that their muscles know the dance better than your mind. There are a dozen girls dancing with you but you do not see them. Not really. They appear worlds away from you and the song of bagpipes and strings.

And then appears he.

A slouched, dark figure flies before your eyes as you're doing another pirouette. The man simply sits there, in the corner, but his presence is overwhelming. Or so you think. He does nothing and yet he tears his way into your microcosm of quick footwork, turns and lively polka.

You recognize him. Of course you do. Many whispers, equally frightened and amazed, have spoken of him. You have believed in all of them until the moment you met his gaze for that split second. Right then, somewhere between blinks and breaths, you renounce every gossip you've ever heard about him. A voice in the back of your head, a trickster or an oracle, nags at you to learn the truth yourself.

When the lively, fast melody comes to a stop, you find yourself shaken awake from the thoughts about Ivar the Boneless. The end of the song seems somewhat abrupt to you as you've been letting your fantasy run wild without paying much attention to what's going on around you. Dancing the last part purely by the memory of your muscles. The moment musicians stop playing, a small crowd begins to form in front of you. Men of different class, age and ancestry reach out their hands. Each one of them is more determined than the other to catch your wreath. They start to yell something but considering that the inside of the long hall is awfully loud anyway, you can't make out any words. Reading their lips, you can only tell when they're exclaiming different variations of your name.

They're only pushing towards you, shoving each other away. You keep taking steps backwards but the distance you create with each step is quickly shortened with the men calling out to you. You knew there would be many of them in front of you but never assumed that many. Instead of somewhat flattering, the siege is terrifying and imposing.

Looking for help or advice, just something that will ease your tension, you silently look around the long hall. Your gaze falls on the same slouched, dark figure. Strange peacefulness washes over you when his eyes meet yours.

The dim candlelight seems to bend around Ivar, making his corner appear darker than anywhere else in the long hall. He's simply sitting there. Maybe he's not interested? But the way he's staring at you shows nothing if not burning curiosity. The sons of Ragnar aren't know for their patience. No, they're said to take whatever they want the moment their desire sparks. Despite that, the youngest of them, and arguably the most famous, appears to be waiting. But for what exactly?

The fresh pine needles prick your skin. You furrow your eyebrows. Your gaze falls to the wreath and then comes back to Ivar. Could it be...?

It isn't much of a throw, really. You toss the flower crown towards him without looking anywhere else but into Ivar's eyes. Without as much as blinking, he catches the wreath with ease as though he has been prepared for that. Low murmurs hit your ears but quickly the sounds of disappointment fall silent as it's made clear who caught your wreath. Despite their initial determination, the men who had been reaching out to you suddenly disperse like fog does in the early morning. They knew better than to get under the skin of a Lothbrok. Especially that one.

"I believe this belongs to you."

Ivar is holding up the wreath. Despite his words, he makes no effort to offer it back to you. His eyes are bright and glistening, the corner of his mouth is tugged ever-so-slightly upwards. He appears amused.

At first, it was nice to finally sit down after dancing for what seemed to be hours on end. But now, when you're facing the consequences of your spur-of-the-moment decision, the tension sets in once more. This time, however, it doesn't feel threatening. In turn, the nervousness is somewhat welcome like the jittery state before a surprise is revealed.

"If I wanted to keep it, I wouldn't have thrown it," you answer in a light tone.

"And why should I keep it?"

The blue eyes study you for a moment. It's a strange feeling - you can't help but think that the longer you are in Ivar's presence, talking or not, he's reading your mind and soul. He stares at you in a way that tells you he already holds all the answers but wants you to confirm them.

"It's said to bring good luck." You shrug your shoulders. "Until the wreath wilts and dies, Freya and Freyr will look after you."

Ivar looks at the flower crown again. Only now, when he's holding it, does he realize that for a flower crown, there aren't many flowers. A few sandworts and poppies, yes, but the wreath is made mostly of evergreen plants. It might take weeks until the crown wilts.

The microcosm seems closed again. Now it's not you and the bagpipes but you and him. It's strange and it's new but it's not threatening. It's not the kind of presence a man of his infamy should have. Or perhaps you've simply fallen for his honey trap.

"Why did you throw it to me?" Ivar tries to make the question seem unimportant, just curiosity brought to light. But he can't quite convince himself that he doesn't care. There's a hint of something vulnerable and genuine when the words roll off his tongue. It's easy to miss like a dandelion clock carried away by a gust of wind.

You wish you knew the answer yourself.

"I don't know really," you say honestly. "Perhaps it was one of the gods that threw the flower crown for me." You make a pause. Ivar's face is unreadable. "Or perhaps I have no interest in urgent, desperate men."

Ivar chuckles. A deep shadow is covering part of his face, making him appear kind of sinister. For a moment, you question whether he's laughing with you or at you.

"And what exactly makes you think I'm not urgent or desperate?" he continues. You notice his smile is growing wider. That glint of amusement in his blue eyes has changed in mischief. "What if I'm worse than all of them? You surely know who I am."

"Of course I do, Ivar the Boneless," you drone the words. In a barely noticeable fashion, he clenches his jaw when you say his name. It makes him feel a strange, burning sensation in his stomach but Ivar is left unsure whether he likes it or detests. "The whispers of your ruthless character are unending."

"But you're not afraid?" he asks with both disbelief and suspicion. A girl with a flower crown doesn't necessarily strike him as fearless in any way. Or this whole strange situation is a little too good, too dream-like, for him to accept it at face-value.

Ivar's smile falters when your face takes on a confident, maybe even arrogant, expression. He's taken aback.

"I'm a woman of the North," you say while leaning towards him on the table. The distance between your faces shortnes. "The only person I fear is my own reflection."

The sudden closeness makes Ivar inhale sharply. The strong smell of pine needles fills his nostrils. For a moment, his imagination runs wild but it's not his fault - he has no grasp on it:

How those big eyes glistened in the semi-dark of the long hall as you were staring at him. Your smirk, somewhat challenging and beckoning him to push on. Then, the smell of conifer that shakes all senses awake. His fantasy leaves the northern snows and travelles to forests, to him brushing pine needles from your hair and your naked, flushes skin smelling of evergreen trees.

But quickly his shaken awake, to his utmost displeasure, by you:

"Well, if you don't want it, I suppose I should take it back, no?"

Your hand unsurely reaches out for the wreath in Ivar's hand. He's quick to pull his arm back.

"It's bad luck to take back gifts," he states plainly. In an act of nonchalance, Ivar is playing with the wreath, spinning it around his finger. "I should like to keep it."

Sometimes you come back to the night you've met the infamous Viking, when you're rendered sleepless while he's calmly breathing next to you, getting the rest he desperately needs. How funny all of it seems - that a flower crown in bloodied, merciless hands could lead to having a genuine crown on your head. Maybe you were right, after all, and it really was the hand of one of the gods that threw the wreath for you.

#fic rec list #fic recommendation #fic rec #ivar the boneless x reader

2K notes · View notes