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bxwitched · 10 months

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Captive - Part 4

Warnings: Explicit 18+ only, please read at your own risk. Noncon / dubcon, slavery, manipulation, sexual content, violence, descriptions of wounds and blood.

Character Pairing: King!Ivar the Boneless x Slave!Reader

Summary: You find yourself a captive of Ivar the Boneless.

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: I finally found the inspiration to continue this fic after a whole year. Comments, reblogs and likes are all appreciated! You can find my masterlist here.

You stirred as cold fingertips traced along your leg, a large callused hand smoothing shapes over soft the flesh, waking you from your dream. You kicked out at the explorative touch, making a sound of displeasure as Ivar caught your ankle in his firm grip and snickered in amusement.

"It is time to get up, Valkyrie." You groaned, burrowing your face further into the furs.

"Leave me be, King. Let me sleep." He huffed at you from his perch at the end of the bed and you gasped in surprise as he leaned forward and snatched your leg from beneath the blankets, jostling you as he hitched it over his broad shoulder. His icy eyes locked with yours as he pressed a slow kiss to the side of your knee.

You tried to ignore the heat simmering in your belly as his lips brushed against the sensitive flesh, leaving fire in their wake. His intense gaze bore down into you and flashes of the night before came rushing back; the way that Ivar had looked at you as you had taken control of him and used him for your pleasure.

You had behaved no better than a common whore, desperate for the gratification that his body could offer and you felt your cheeks heat at the memory, your stomach twisting into knots.

You leaned back on your elbows and studied Ivar, he was already dressed in his light armour; with his axe fixed to his hip, his knives stowed at his waist, and metal braces in place on his legs. You didn't have time to wonder what his plans for the day were before he brought you out of your thoughts, his breath tickling your soft skin as he spoke.

"I thought that you would be eager to see your little mouse, Valkyrie. But if you would rather remain in bed-" His voice was teasing and you bolted upright, wrenching your leg back from his grip as you looked at him with narrowed eyes, suspicious.

"You will allow it?" He nodded once, his bright eyes fixated on you.

"You have been good for me, haven't you? Torsten is waiting outside to escort you." You tried and failed to hide your excitement as you stood from the bed and rushed to get dressed. Ivar's lips tilted up at the corners and his eyes remained glued to your form as he watched you ready yourself for the day, beguiled by you.

As you walked the streets of Kattegat you had quickly learned that Torsten was not a talkative man; he was tall and well-built with short hair, shorn at the sides and a dark beard. He was more of a mountain than a man, clearly battle hardened and you had no doubts that he was one of Ivar's finest warriors.

You travelled in silence, trying to ignore the stares of the townspeople as you passed through the busy market, some offered you looks of pity, whilst others flashed you looks of distaste. You couldn't decipher the hushed words and low whispers that were spoken, but you imagined that it was gossip of the king's newest toy, his foreign concubine.

You wondered how many there were before you and what words were spoken of them, whether they were also from Eire or from lands further afield.

Torsten came to a stop when you neared a large barn and gestured you in ahead of him. You entered the dimly lit space hesitantly, mindful of the other thralls as they bustled around, readying for their tasks of the day.

You eyes flitted through the crowd of women, searching for the head of golden hair when a weight suddenly barrelled into you, taking your breath and nearly knocking you backwards as a smaller figure clung tightly to your waist.

Alva sobbed against you, her tears staining the richly-dyed fabric of your dress, 'a gift' Ivar had said, 'wear it for me'.

"I thought- I though that I would never see you again-" You hushed the younger girl as she cried, hiccuping as she tried to form words between her gasped breaths and tears.

"I'm here, Alva. All is well." You rubbed her back with one hand and stroked her hair with the other as she slowly calmed and managed to steady her breathing once more.

She looked up at you with glassy eyes, deep emerald irises that she had inherited from her mother's side.

"Come." You took her hand in yours and lead her away from the barn, down to the waterfront where it was quieter, calmer. You both walked in silence along the waters edge, taking in the warmth of the sun on your face and the sound of the waves as they lapped gently at the shore. Torsten followed behind, giving you just enough distance to speak privately, a courtesy you hadn't expected from the warrior.

Alva sobbed against you, her tears staining the richly-dyed fabric of your dress, 'a gift' Ivar had said, 'wear it for me'.

"I thought- I though that I would never see you again-" You hushed the younger girl as she cried, trying to form words between her gasped breaths and tears.

"I'm here, Alva. All is well." You rubbed her back with one hand and stroked her hair with the other as she slowly calmed and steadied her breathing.

She looked up at you with glassy eyes, a deep, rich emerald that she had inherited from her mother's side.

"Come." You took her hand and lead her away from the barn and down to the waterfront. You both walked along the waters edge, your shoes sinking slightly into the damp sand as Torsten followed behind you at a distance, giving you enough space speak privately. It was a courtesy you hadn't expected from the warrior but appreciated immensely.

"Where did they take you?" Your heart wrenched at the concern and fear in her shaking voice.

"They took me to the king." Alva's face paled, her eyes widening further. She looked akin to a doe in the forest, startled by a waiting hunter in the trees.

"Ivar the boneless." Her fear was evident now, her eyes moving over your body franticly. "What did he do? Did he hurt you?"

"No Alva, I'm fine." Your stomach twists at that and you let out a deep sigh, your shoulders sagging slightly. She was six summers younger than you but she was naive for her age, fragile. She wasn't hardened like you, she was innocent and she couldn't begin to understand the complexities of your situation.

She was a lamb amongst wolves and you knew that you had to do everything you could to protect her, even if it meant being the king's whore.

"King Ivar has taken me as his and so long as I am good to him, useful to him, our safety is guaranteed here. We may be thralls here but we are alive Alva, and we are protected. That is all that matters." She chewed her lip nervously and her worried gaze dropped to the floor.

"I have heard things, whispers from the other girls.." You stopped and crouched down to her level, ignoring the cold water that seeped into the hem of your gown as you searched her face with questioning eyes.

"What things?"

"They talk about the king, they say that he is a great warrior, that he is favoured by the gods and has never lost a battle. But-"

"Go on, Alva." You insisted as she shifted her weight nervously.

"They say that because of his legs, he cannot please a woman. He has hurt slave girls and threatened to kill them if they speak of it. They talk of a woman called Margarette, they say he strangled her."

Your eyes lowered to the sand and you nodded your head solemnly, you would not be surprised by such things given your experience of Ivar's volatile nature. You returned to your full height and forced a small smile, one you hoped would reassure the young girl.

"Come along, let us enjoy the water a little longer."

Torsten allowed you to spend a few hours with Alva, soaking up the warmth of the sun and the feel of the salty ocean breeze before telling you that it was time to return to the Hall.

Alva was unhappy to leave you and return to the thrall house but she finally relented when you reassured her that you'd be okay with a soft smile and promised that you would see her again soon.

You were almost back at the Hall when you heard your new moniker being called in the distance and turned to see Hvitserk making his way towards you.

"Valkyrie!" The man was completely different to Ivar, not only in his physical appearance but in his demeanour; whilst Ivar was impassive and unpredictable, Hvitserk was open and seemed to wear his emotions on his sleeve.

He grinned widely at you as he rested on the fence of the training ground, his hair mussed and cheeks red from sparring.

"I see my brother has finally let you spread your wings." You huffed at his jest and moved to rest against the fence beside him, watching as Ivar's men fought each other with vigour, the sharp clashes of steel and crashes of shields heavy in the air.

"They are fine warriors. Though not as fine as you I'm sure.." Hvitserk raised an eyebrow at your taunt, his grin widening as mischief danced behind his eyes.

"You told me that you were a fighter, Valkyrie. Perhaps I wish to see it for myself." You raised your chin slightly, your eyes narrowing in playful challenge.

"My father always believed that I possessed enough fury to rival that of a berserker, maybe we should test that." The blonde man's eyes flashed in delight and he held a hand out to you, helping you over the wooden fence and into the training arena, ignoring Torsten's protests and silencing the larger man with a raised hand.

"Hand me a sword, Ragnarsson." He passed you a short-sword, lighter than you had used before but well-balanced and finely made. Hvitserk opted for a larger sword, heavier and better matched for his larger frame.

"Don't worry, Valkyrie. I will go easy on you." You scoffed, watching as his grin widened and his eyes changed, the mossy green growing darker with his building battle-lust.

You watched his feet, anticipating his initial attack and dodged each skilful slash of his sword. You moved in time with him, keeping up with the prince despite your heavy dress weighing down your movements.

You grinned as you blocked several of the beserker's attempted hits. Hvitserk's expression was positively wild and the fight between you became more intense the more you challenged him.

He barely managed to block your attack to his torso and you grinned as he growled in irritation. You were so focused, until your name was shouted from the fence line.

Your head turned for no more than a second but it was enough time for Hvitserk to land a hit, successfully slicing a line of crimson across your forearm. You gasped as the flesh stung and you clutched at the wound as the blood began to seep from it, running down your skin and dripping into the dirt beneath your feet.

Hvitserk froze, his face dropping into one of remorse as he realised what he had done, then one of uneasiness when he noticed Ivar stalking towards you both with his men in tow. His face was stony but his sapphire eyes gave away his rage, they were practically glowing as he glared at both of you.

"What do you think you are doing, hm?" His voice was level, an unnerving contradiction to the storm brewing behind his eyes. He turned on Hvitserk then and the older Ragnarsson visibly tensed. "I suppose that this was your idea, brother?"

You were quick to speak up, stepping in front of Hvitserk to shield him from Ivar's wrath. Although he had been the one to challenge you to spar, you had been just as willing. He hadn't meant to injure you and you had enjoyed the rush of it, the freedom.

Despite being your master's kin Hvitserk had been civil to you during your time in Kattegat, amiable even. From what you had witnessed he seemed to be a decent man and you didn't feel that he deserved to be reprimanded for your poor choices.

"It's not his fault, my King. I challenged him to fight, if you are to punish anyone then it must be me."

"Is that so?" Ivar tilted his head at you with a raised brow and you nodded, his face said everything his words did not. This is not over.

He ran his tongue along the front of his teeth and nodded once, his jaw tensed.

"Very well, Torsten will take you back to our chambers." He dismissed the larger warrior with a wave of his hand and turned to face Hvitserk, fixing him with a false smile that left no room for argument. "Brother, you will go and fetch the healer. And the next time that you wish to fight? I suggest that you find a different opponent."

@wittysunflower @heavenly1927 @youbloodymadgenius @that-virgo-witch @helleiaiwritting @the-king-of-kattegat-ivar @nukyster-blog @ietss @belladaises @victoria-styles

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sigridsdottir · 1 year

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vikings + fave bts pics (2/?)

#vikings #vikings fandom #vikingsedit #vikingsfanart #vikingsimagines #vikings tv show #ragnar lothbrok #aethelstan #floki the boatbuilder #rollo lothbrok #lagertha #auslaug #bjorn ironside #ubbe ragnarsson #hvitserk lothbrok #sigurd snake in the eye #ivar the boneless

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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In His Thrall

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, age gap, power imbalance, size kink.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You serve the king but one day, he assigns you a new duty. (short!reader)

Characters: Harald Finehair (Vikings)

Note: This turned out longer than I intended. It’s my first fic for this fandom. Also tagging @alicedopey for her encouragemnt.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Mario loves pipes. Take care. 💖

Harald Finehair. The man who made himself king. So the tales say.

Spurned by a beautiful princess, he swore to seize a crown, to make himself wanted by every princess across every realm. Often it is that lives are woven like sheep's wool, to lend an air of romanticism to rejection or war or death. You're not certain what to believe about the king but he does not fall short of his name. His hair braided down his back with fine ornaments of silver and gems collected from lands you'd never know.

It doesn't matter what a thrall believes. You will never make yourself a queen, nor be a princess to deny a suitor, nor even dream of being a wife in her home, minding a hearth and a husband. Your fate is to toil, to serve those who have been chosen to claim a place in Valhalla.

So it is that you watch through the grey mist, receding as if in deference of the king, the Finehair stride by, a cape stitched with the image of a howling wolf swathed in flame, silver on red. He has the bearing of a warrior, confident but stealthy, laughing as he greets a smith and smiles at a passing maiden.

You keep your head down, boning fish with the short curved blade with the wooden handle grooves to your fingers' grasp. You toss each limp body into a bucket as voices swirl in the damp air. Boots mulch on the beaten path as the smell of guts pervades your world. Your bloodied hands are slimy and the blade slips in your hold dangerously.

You balance the knife on the edge of the wooden pail and wipe your hands across the stained apron around your middle, a ribbon of blood streaking past the hem and down your skirt. The mess doesn't bother you much as you check your fingers for damage. The din quiets and a static silence invades as soles kick across the dirt. You sense the change and raise your chin as you reach for the fish knife again.

Another hand scoops it up first, fingers decorated in inky markings above the leather gauntlet. Your breath catches as Finehair's eyes meet yours. As blue as the sky, they see the whole world beneath them. You swiftly retreat and watch the iron blade instead. He stands straight and raises it to the dull daylight

"A fine tool," he remarks.

At first, you can't speak. You don't know if you should. You're not certain if he speaks to you or another under the hide ceiling shucking fish.

"Many thanks, my king," you wisp out at last.

He turns it in his clutch and clicks his tongue, "I'm afraid the scales are too small for my hand," he refers to the knife's bone handle, "but I see it is well used."

"My king," your lashes flutter as you keep your eyes perilously neutral, "I crafted the scales myself. For my hand."

"Such small hands indeed," he squats and holds out the knife, "but toughened and strong."

He offers the knife scales first and you stare at it. Slowly, you reach for it. You gasp as his other hand comes up to catch yours and he clasps you tightly with his thumb, trapping your knuckles against his palm. You think to pull away but know you mustn't.

"But gentle when need be," he turns your hand over and pushes the knife into it, "I'm certain of it."

"My king."

He lets out a soft breath, something akin to laughter but less. He squeezes your fingers around the antler bone and lets you go as he stands. He looms above you as you sit frozen on the low wooden stool.

"A king rewards those who work diligently in his name," he declares, "and King Harald the Finehair will ever be the most generous of kings. Little one, your prize will come. Carry on in your steadfast labour."

"Yes, my king," you bow your head lower, watching the toes of his sewn boots until he goes.

You're uncertain what's occurred. Why he came to you. How he even noticed you among the dozens of thralls. You don't tarry on it however as you must fill the bucket for the king's next meal.

🌙

The drunken din of the feast rumbles from the longhouse, doors open to the early embrace of spring. Dag sits whittling a piece of dingy pine as you sit in the doorway of the thrall's hut, most of the denizens sitting in the grass enjoying the new warmth. You watch the moon, like you do every night, and ponder. The great beacon seems to reflect you in each stage, a sliver worn down only to grow full again, waxing and waning, sinking and rising.

"Hopes there's some scraps left for us," Dag mutters, "last time, I got a whole leg of lamb one of them maidens only nibbled on."

"Mm, this weather doesn't make me very hungry," you drawl as you rise, "and it feels too early to sleep. I may walk a while."

"Ah, but it is too the season of the wolves," he girds as you stretch your arms above you between the lintels.

"I will be aware," you promise him, "and I will keep my knife with me."

You feel the hook paring knife at your belt and look out at the bodies lolling in the grass, watching the stars. Some snore, some whisper, others writhe together as with stifled groans. You don't stare as not to intrude upon their fleeting moment of joy. It is not unusual, many of the thralls seek comfort in each other, though they may not wed.

Your bare feet flatten the dewy grass as it glistens beneath the silver light. A flicker catches your eyes from the open doors of the royal longhouse, figures pass in and out torches licking amber within and glowing through the archway. You continue around the hovel that houses the sleeping mats and sparse possessions of the thralls, nothing more than a pair of boots and a cloak, some less, few more.

You walk along the stalls that house the smiths' anvils and those with the large cauldrons that fire near all day and night, and those further down where you slice marrow and meat. The laundries further to the south and the weavers to the west. Beyond, the sparse forest of still winter-shorn trunks and broken branches. You near as a breeze rustles the untrodden grasses, critters rustling and twigs snapping. You're not afraid, you've never met more than a nosy snowfox or a fleeing rabbit.

The trees tower above as if your strolling among the giants of Jotunheim. You follow the winding pattern of trees, unruly and wild, the noise of the calm river just ahead, drawing you in with its calm babbling flow. Your feet carry you without hesitation, the low buzz of the evening luring you further from the king's house.

Moonlight ripples in the dark waters. You're so fixated on the eerie rings that you don't notice the figure sat upon the shore, a cloak spread beneath him as he tosses pebbles into the pool, further disturbing the rolling surface. You stop, staying close to the nearest tree, thinking to hide behind it as he looks over his shoulder. He hums and you're unsure if you've been sighted.

"Come, little one, you needn't hide," he beckons to you with a large hand, a familiar timbre as the rings on his fingers catch the nightly glow.

You obey. A thrall does nothing else. As you cross the soft ground to him, you're heart leaps at the recognition of his profile, limned by the moon as he turns back to the water, tattoos stark against his complexion. Harald Finehair. You stand by his shoulder, awaiting his next order.

"Sit," he pats the empty space of his cloak beside him.

"Yes, my king," you quickly lower yourself to your knees beside him and fold your hands in your lap, "my apologies, I didn't know you through the dark."

"No? You do not know your king?"

"My king, it isn't my meaning. I did not…" you cover your mouth, "I speak beyond my means. Forgive me."

"Do not be so fearful, and settle," he taps your knee, "stay with me a time. I don't mind the company."

You shift and free your legs from beneath you, bending them instead before you as you hug them. You look ahead to the water and he skips a stone easily, sighing. You sit in the lull of his unspoken thoughts, unnerved by it.

"I know you, even through the dark," he says. "I thought I knew you before… for you remind me of a princess I once met. A woman who is now old, now wed and whelped."

You listen, bringing a hand to your cheek as you turn to watch his hands toy with a stone. He is watching you, you know it, but you cannot return his gaze. It would be undue. He is king, you are thrall.

"My king, I'm not princess."

"And I was not always a king," he says as he tosses the pebble, "but we must listen to the norns when the sing to us."

You nod and flinch, surprised as he reaches to take your hand away from your face. He cradles it as if admiring how small it seems in his calloused palm. Long fingers forged for battle, strengthened by the destruction they've wrought, cleansed in the blood they've shed.

"The norns call me to serve you, my king," you say as he closes his fingers around yours. You tremble at the warmth of his touch.

"They do. I hear them too." He clings to you, admiring your knuckles, "do you know, the soft lords across the sea, when they see a beautiful woman, they kiss her hand. Like this."

He lifts your hand and presses his lips to your knuckles. You clutch him without thinking, squirming at the tickle that flows from the spot. He lowers your hand, petting it with his other.

"You shake. You are frightened?"

You gulp, "you are king."

"Which means?" You bat your lashes and try to turn away but he grabs your chin, forcing it up, "look at me and tell me what it means, lamb?"

His eyes gleam in the moonlight, bold and brilliant like gems. You cower as you look into them, swallowed by their depths, stormy and swirling.

"That you command all to your will," you eke out.

"Yes, that is what it means," his thumb trails up your chin and pushes against your lower lip, "and my will… is that you, my princess, will not turn me away like the one before. For I am king now and will claim my right."

“I am not a princess–”

“I am king. I may deem you princess.”

You close your mouth, foolish to argue before. You demure to him, looking down as he toys with your lip.

“Your king would like a kiss,” he says.

You inhale and your lips part just slightly. A kiss. So simple but you haven’t an inkling how to proceed.

“Must a king show his princess how to give him a kiss?” He asks, half a chide.

“Yes, my king,” you breathe, “I do not know how.”

“You do not? A beautiful princess like you?”

You dare to look up again. He leans in slowly as he tilts your head up, finger curled beneath your chin. His scent surrounds you, musky sweat underlined with a hint of some fragrant herb. His lips meet yours and you squeak, his lips soft despite the rest of him. He moves them gently, sliding his tongue between yours. He pokes past them, tasting you, the act growing more fervent, more hungry the longer you’re enmeshed.

He turns completely, urging your arms away from your legs, a hand on your shoulder as his other slips around the back of your head. He lays you down as he holds himself over you, mouth still crushed against yours. He snakes his arm under you as he consumes you, groaning as he traps you under him. His knees push down between yours, pinning you tighter as his weight strains on your skirt.

“Move your mouth with mine, lamb,” he whispers as he parts for only a moment.

You obey. He calls you princess but you are thrall still. If you don’t do as he commands, he will have you whipped. Like any other master, like any other slave. He moves his pelvis strangely, rubbing against you he drones.

He lifts himself on his elbow and shifts his knees as he blindly tugs at your skirts. You have no strength to move. You have no right to resist. The king wants this and so he will have it. Just as he took his crown. He proclaimed it to be, and so it was.

He pushes your skirt to your thighs, the thin wool brushing roughly against your goosepimpled skin. His fingertips make you twitch as they graze the tender flesh and he tears his lips from yours. He smears his wet mouth down your cheek.

“I always wanted to… taste a princess,” he growls as he drags his lips along your jaw, “you must be sweet, lamb…”

He kisses down your neck and chest, his hand coming up to feel you through your bodice. You shudder and flatten your hands against the ground. He trails further, burying his face between your breasts and nuzzling with a snarl. He gropes you as he descends, his other hand hook up to trace the crease of your legs.

You tense as he brushes along the coily hair, twisting it around his fingers as he flips your dress over your stomach. He kneels, bending over you as he hovers his head over your pelvis, his breath scouring you as he swipes a digit between your folds. You suck in air and your fingers clasp a wrinkle in his cloak beneath you.

He exhales as he lowers himself on his elbows, framing the angle of your pelvis with his index and thumb. You fidget as his nose touches your thicket of hair and he breathes you in. A coolness meets your heat, parting it as you let out a yelp of surprise. He spreads his hand across your pelvis, holding your still as his tongue explores you.

It’s strange. It feels wrong. You wouldn’t know and it can’t matter. The king will have whatever part of you he desires. His fingers flutter up your thigh and poke along your lips. He rubs you in time with his tongue, up and down, around and around, stirring an unknown tide within you.

Your breath hitches and your eyes close on their own. You tilt your head back and arch your back, the sensation leading you. He prods at you, dipping a finger past your entrance, only the tip as he wiggles it. You mewl as his lips circle your bud and he sucks, the pressure thrumming there, pulsing.

He slides his finger to the first knuckle, then the last. You whimper as he pulls it back and forces it back in. The loud lapping of his tongue mingles with the noise of the river and the wet clutch of your cunt. He tends at you steadily, building and building, until you’re quaking and crying in an eruption of fiery delight.

He eases you through your climax, letting you down little by little as he spreads his tongue against your cunt, drinking you up greedily. He lifts himself, his short beard glistening as he licks his lips. He sits back on his heels, thick legs bent in his legs as his hand settle in his lap.

“You taste like Valhalla,” he snarls as he picks at the laces, “you must feel like it too.”

You pant as you put your hand over your chest, feeling how your heart pounds. You cannot speak, you wouldn’t dare too. Your fear has sunk to confusion, your body torn between torture and longing. He moves closer and grabs your hip with one hand, pushing you onto your side.

You roll over as he guides you wordlessly, his long, heavy breathes like wolfish growls. He braces your waist and pulls your ass up, forcing you to your knees. You plant your hands on the wrinkled cloak as he squeezes you. He impatiently runs his hands back to bunch your skirt and twists it as he holds it above your ass.

You’ve seen it before. The other thralls sometimes engage in the same position. The sounds of their flesh claps as their shadows buck furiously. Your walls clench as you think of it. His free hand kneads your ass and he taps you lightly. You moan and he scratches his nails up your skin before he pulls his touch away.

He presses his tip between your cheeks, following the line as he lets out a deliberate grown. He rubs his swollen head against your wet folds, his voice drones louder at the slick friction. He grunts as he angles himself against your entrance. He pushes in and a dull pain spreads through your cunt.

He gets his tip past the slight resistance of your body. He snarls and grips your rumpled skirt tighter. A heavy agony aches in your bones as he dips deeper, stretching you around him painfully as stunted breaths escape his lungs. His sneering grows loud, more impatient, and he jerks his hips so you cry out.

It's as if you’re being rented in two. Your pelvis rings and a pang rolls up your spine. You heave as your arms collapse beneath you. He thrusts again and you shriek. You’re not prepared. You could never be for this. But you must allow him his will. You are bound to serve him.

“Oh, princess,” he clutches your skirt in his fists and lets it rest against your lower back, guiding you with the tension in the fabric, “oh, my little one, how you welcome me. As if you were…” he grunts and sinks to his limit, lingering as he wiggles his hips, “built for me…” he pulls back, “by the gods themselves.”

You whine as your eyes well and spill onto his cloak. His scent seeps into you as your fingers furl stiffly. He rocks, long strokes echoed by longer groans as he brings his pelvis to meet your ass over and over. His pace builds, little by little, faster, harder, deeper, as the impact carries with the river, your pathetic whimpers lost to his greedy growls.

You turn your face down and hide your head beneath your arms as you holler. You can’t hold back anymore. It hurts. It hurts so bad and you want him to stop. And he will. Eventually. When he is spent, when he has deemed your duty done.

“Little one,” he wraps his large hands around the curve of your waist, framing your sides as he ruts into you relentlessly, “the king has found his princess. The king— will have his queen.”

#harald finehair #king harald #viking #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #vikings tv show #one shot #harald finehair x reader #dark harald finehair #dark!harald finehair

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imagines-for-everybody-blog · 10 months

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Floki fluff

You’re drunk and tried to kiss Floki.

Warnings: nothing but falling more in love with Floki ❤

You were drinking with Floki.

„I really like you.“, you admitted.

You tried to kiss him but he gently pushed you away „I want you to be sober and really wanting this.“

„B-but I don’t know if I’m confident enough to kiss you when I’m sober.“, you mumbled against his shoulder.

He gave you a kiss on top of your head „Y/N you are so much more confident then you think.“

You felt warm and save in his arms and a few moments later you fell asleep.

The next morning you woke up but something was strange. You tried to turn around but something or someone was holding you tight.

Flashbacks of last night rushed through your mind and you blushed. You were embarrassed because you just told Floki your feelings kind of and on the other hand Floki was so sweet and caring. He must have carried you to his house because you still lived with your family. But here it was just you and him.

„Floki?“, you whispered.

„Good morning Y/N.“, he answered.

You turned around to face him. Still in his arms you studied his face, to see what he feels or thinks. His eyes were warm and soft…and looking in your eyes. You tried not to blush. Your heart was beating faster and faster.

You didn’t know what to say so you leaned forward. One hand was on your back and one hand was on your cheek.

Then your lips found his. His grip on your back was getting stronger and your kiss was getting more passionate. He bit your lip and your hand was running through his hair.

Suddendly he stopped and just looked at you.

„Did I do something wrong?“, you asked worried.

He shook his head smiling „I just enjoy looking at you.“

You smiled back „And I like looking at you.“ and kissed him again.

#vikings #vikings x reader #Vikings imagine #vikings tv show #floki x reader #vikings fluff #vikings floki #floki the boat builder #tv series #fluff #viking

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thunderfaucet · 8 months

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Longest hyperfixation since Catwoman lol. I truly don’t know how to blur this from casual scrollers. Apologies in advance..

#digital painting #my art #fanart #do not steal #vikings tv show #bishop heahmund #ivar the boneless #self h@rm #religious trauma #whump art #cw: gore #vikings 2013

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heremptyskies · 1 month

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Lagertha and Gyda making material on a loom

season 1 episode 1

‘RITES OF PASSAGE’

#lagertha #beauty #vikings tv show #Gyda #medieval #katherine winnick #history

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flare-queen · 10 months

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An attempt at a crossover gif with Lagertha Löthbrök and Geralt of Rivia because why not.

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imaginesmai · 11 months

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Once upon a fairy tale - Ubbe Ragnarson (3)

I wanna say I’m sorry in advance and that next chapter will be up tomorrow, so pls don’t attack me Other parts: Once Upon A Fairy Tale Masterlist

Plot: Aslaug tries to push you closer to Ubbe, leaving you in a vulnerable situation. When faced with a group of soldiers, they don't hesitate to make their opinion about you crystal clear.

Warnings: men being rough with reader, unwanted sexual attention, harassment

You woke up alone in the room, but there was evidence of another’s person presence not too long ago. There were robes on the ground, and a pair of man’s undergarments hanging from the bottom corner of the bed. Besides, it smelt like Ubbe.

When last night you told him to sleep on the ground, you half expected him to drag your out of bed by your foot, but you were too tired to care. Yet, as minutes passed by, you only heard him change clothes and pile covers on the ground. You had been almost lulled back to sleep when he had taken the pillow from under your head.

It could only go so well.

That morning, you changed clothes quickly, not wanting to find any unexpected visitors, and let the room to be made by a servant. It was sunny and warm enough to leave your coat inside, and to choose a light dress that would let the sun bathe your skin. Following a tradition you had created many years ago, you took the hall that led to the gardens and stared at the colorful flowers.

Spending a whole summer in a foreign country was incredible boring for a kid, and when you didn’t succeed in making friends, you had to look for other sources of entertainment. Ubbe and his brothers didn’t let you participate in their games; probably, because you won each one of them without playing fool. The only kid who made an effort to befriend you was Sigurd, but his interests didn’t align with you.

There weren’t many pleasant memories in the castle, but the gardens told a different story. Hvitserk was allergic to many of the flowers that grew inside, so the Lothbrok’s brothers didn’t go there often. It was silent and peaceful, and apart from an occasional interruption, you found yourself enjoying the calm. On the other side of the garden, you could hear the castle coming alive, probably from the courtyard.

Back home, you didn’t have flowers, not as pretty as in that castle. Watering them and watching them grow was your main activity during those months.

“Those are primroses” a woman’s voice said behind you, while you knelt in front of yellow flowers. “Had them brough from the woods outside the castle. And they’ve grown just fine”

“I can see that, my queen” you answered to Aslaug, not moving from your position. “They’re beautiful”

“Indeed” she agreed. “They’ve grown just fine”

Her feet moved forward and soon you were covered by her shadow. Looking up, you met her icy eyes and cold smile.

If you had to define Ubbe’s mother with a word, it would be distant. While her son was all feelings and impulses, she was always calm and passive. You had long ago discarded the idea of an indifferent queen – everything that happened in that castle, she knew where, when and why. Anyone could be fooled by her attitude, but you knew that every word and gesture was intentional and had a purpose.

Slowly, you rose up and brushed the dirt from your dress, although there was none.

“Do your new chambers meet your needs, my dear?”

“They do. Although I’m afraid I don’t think prince Ubbe share the feeling”

“He will, eventually. Give him time” she tilted her head in what pretended to be an innocent way, but that made her look like a snake staring at her prey. “Any man can get used to it”

You smiled without your teeth, because you had no doubt there were many others empty rooms in the castle. Only that she didn’t want you to be anywhere else, and you could think of a few reasons why.

Last year, you heard some of the servants talk about Ubbe, in a way you had never heard or thought about. You had had your own adventures at home, with a vendor from the market and with the stables’ boy in your castle. But those words got stuck in your brain, and for a few days, it was the only thing you thought about.

“It’s just, he’s gotten so big. And tall. And that face… He looks just like his father but more handsome, and he isn’t married yet. I would kill to feel what he hides between those elegant clothes” a servant laughed, as if it was a secret.

“I know. I can’t wait until he comes back. Heard he has let some girls into his room. I will gladly volunteer next time”

Everyone who had eyes could see Ubbe’s resemblance to his father, a strong, ferocious and handsome king. While you weren’t very fond of him, you had eyes, and could see too. Aslaug wasn’t any different.

She was getting impatient, and every year that went by, was another chance of a bastard appearing in the hands on a common girl and asking for rights.

“People will talk, but you don’t have to worry, Y/N” Aslaug assured. With a look, she started walking and you followed her, with your hands laced and your eyes on the ground. “Maybe it’s not common to share chambers before the weeding. You’ve been engaged long enough to skip that rule, don’t you think so?”

“I... don’t know, my queen. I can’t say what others might think of the situation, only that neither prince Ubbe nor I like it very much” you tried.

“You’ll get used to it too, don’t worry. After all, what better place to stay than in your husband’s bed? Isn’t that where a good wife belongs?”

You knew better than to talk back, so you kept quiet. The flowers you intended to take care of moved past you as you walked by her side, servants and soldiers bowing. Every year, she took upon herself to remind you that time was running out. Every year, she ambushed you sooner or later and tested the waters.

Sharing a room was nothing but accidental.

She couldn’t care less about his son’s reputation or about your dignity. The only thing she cared about was other’s opinion, and what they might say. Because they would talk, about you and Ubbe, and if someone was bold enough to start the rumor of you two bedding, the wedding she wanted would come up way sooner.

Birds chirped around you as you listened to her list the good qualities of a wife. You might not have had a mother, but your father had taught you enough and assured you other people would when he couldn’t. You knew what was expected from you, how you had to behave in and out the bedroom. Hating your fate didn’t make you ignorant, so you kept your head down and listened.

After a long and torturous walk through the gardens, you found the exit to the courtyard, where the king’s sons were training. There were soldiers and majors fighting against each other, laughing and tossing friendly punches.

From the language they were using and the lack of women, you guessed that was a place you weren’t supposed to be. There were shirtless men sweating and showing off his muscles, in a relaxed atmosphere that wouldn’t suggest the princes were between them.

Sigurd and Hvitserk were fighting against each other, with training swords and wooden shields. The loud noises didn’t alert anyone from the presence of the two visitors, and they kept going. Your eyes stopped when you found Ubbe, not too far away in a hand combat with a man twice his size.

He was shirtless too, new tattoos and scars decorating his body. The previous day, you hadn’t really noticed the change from the boy to a man, but now you did. He moved effortlessly around his opponent, dodging hits and throwing punches.

As you stared at the muscles of his back tense and move, you felt enchanted. You weren’t sure you blinked until the prince finally got a hold of the man’s forearm and threw him to the ground. When Ubbe rose victorious and showed his brothers a teethed smile, you forced yourself to look away, wondering how could a face change so much in a year.

Only then, you noticed Aslaug looking at you, with a satisfied smirk on her lips.

“Thought they would have finished by now. How silly of me” she excused herself. Instead of turning around, she gathered her skirts and stepped down the first stair. “Come on, dear, let’s say hi. It would be rude not to do so”

“My queen, I’d rather – “

“Now”

She didn’t wait for you, just kept walking down, knowing you would follow. Queen Aslaug had earned herself the respect and fear from the castle, day by day, and as soon as the soldiers noticed, one by one fell to their knee.

They didn’t look at you, didn’t rise up when you passed them or acknowledge their training partners. In a wave motion, they bowed to their queen and pressed a fist to their sweaty chest. You moved behind Aslaug in silence, staring at their faces and bodies. Maybe it was all part of her plan, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy it.

When you turned thirteen and your father caught you talking with the son of the cooker, he decided you would continue your training and outside activities far from any men. Excluding blurry memories of soldiers fighting with your father when you were younger, you had never seen so many men at their knees.

Thoughts that surely couldn’t belong to you crossed your mind, and you looked forward, ashamed and with your cheeks red.

A few feet away from you, Ubbe’s blue eyes met yours, his eyebrows furrowed. He looked between the kneeling soldiers and your cheeks, twisting his mouth.

“Hvitserk, Sigurd” Aslaug greeted them, taking a good look at Ubbe’s face. “Ubbe”

“Mother” the younger one replied, staring at the both of you with a small smile. “Princess Y/N, lovely to see you again”

“What are you doing here?”

Ubbe’s voice was rough, no trace of the bright smile you had seen moments ago. Soldiers were starting to rise, still in silence, and everyone stared while Ubbe and his mother stared at each other. They were fighting some type of mental battle no one else was aware of.

Awkwardly, you waited by her side until she finally clapped her hands and looked at the crowd, ignoring her son’s words.

“Don’t stop on our account, please. Continue your work. Let princess Y/N see how strong and brave her soldiers are going to be soon” she extended her arms towards them, although no one moved. “Keep going”

Slowly, the sound of swords and shields came back, and Aslaug turned back to her sons.

You could feel the stares of every man in the courtyard in the back of your neck, and it occurred to you, you weren’t wearing appropriate clothes. As an unmarried woman, you were supposed to be elegant, discreet, hidden. Most of the dresses you had brough were long sleeved and with high necks, covering every inch of your body. That’s how everyone in Mercia had seen you until that moment.

But it was hot and you were supposed to be in the gardens, so you had chosen a pale, blue dress with a low neckline that showed your shoulders, and sleeves that only covered until your elbow. And you hadn’t touched your hair, leaving it hanging from your shoulders.

Now aware of the situation, you crossed your arms over your chest and looked at Aslaug, who seemed awfully pleased with herself.

You didn’t think for a moment she actually forgot about the training.

“What are you doing here?” Ubbe asked again, staring at her mother. “It’s training day. You know it. And you shouldn’t be here, neither should she”

Disgust dripped from the last word, and he didn’t even meet your eyes.

“But she’s your future wife, you should share every part of your routine with her” she fired back, not minding Hvitserk’s stifled snort. “I didn’t see you this morning at breakfast, were you in a hurry?”

“I was. I have been training all day. Here. Where you shouldn’t – “

“Don’t tell me where I can or can’t be, Ubbe. Enough”

“Mother, we were about to end” Sigurd stepped forward. “Why don’t you wait for us in the castle?”

“I have business to attend” she smiled again, her snake eyes looking between Ubbe and you. “But you should escort princess Y/N. I think she was trying to take care of some flowers”

Without saying another word, Aslaug walked the other way. Soldiers moved so that she could pass, and when she did, they went back to their previous fight. She walked with a determination she hadn’t had in the gardens, and even if you had had time, you wouldn’t had been able to follow her. Not looking once over her shoulder, she disappeared.

And then, you were alone with the three princes in a yard full of loud soldiers who resumed their previous behavior.

All the respect they showed earlier, the quietness that followed your path, was because of Aslaug. You were just the foreign princess of a smaller kingdom, with no authority or importance in their training practice. You guessed that they would have had more consideration for any other woman from Mercia, but your value was of a servant.

A person without opinion or saying, that didn’t need to be taken into account.

When a soldier passed by your side and spit on the ground, only inches away from your shoe, you decided it was enough.

“If you’ll excuse me” you said, already starting your way towards the stairs. It wouldn’t be easy and you would probably have to shove some soldiers, but there wasn’t any other solution.

“Where are you going?” Ubbe asked, coming forward to.

“To my chambers? To yours. Anywhere I don’t have to see this”

“You can come to mine”

You found yourself face to chest to a man with blonde, short hair, and a missing eye. Only his shoulders were the length of your whole arm. His sweaty face stared down at with you side smile, earning the laughs of some of his partners.

It wasn’t anything new to you.

Maybe, during the first three years, people were intimidated by a foreign country visiting his lands. Maybe, they were actually happy at the thought of his prince getting married soon. But it all vanished quickly and you had endured your fair share of comments and observations from Mercia’s people. And you weren’t amused anymore.

Ubbe was, who stopped behind you.

Those people were not willing to risk his head, so they always talked when no one but you could hear it. The servants whispered not so low when they prepared your bath, the nobles sat close to you and commented the empty seat by your sides, and the soldiers only talked when the halls were empty.

“Get out of my way” you scoffed, easily dodging his body and moving forward.

There was a faint commotion behind you and soon Ubbe was back in his place, his breath almost hitting the back of your neck. The fact that his very naked chest was a touch away was making you nervous, and you tried to walk faster.

Soon, you lost the small clearing the princes were training in and were fully into the courtyard, surrounded by bodies.

Not even ten steps into the crowd, Ubbe grabbed your elbow.

“Are you insane? Are you actually insane?” he all but screamed to you. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Why do you ask so many questions? The only thing wrong here is your mother, who should know by now better”

“You should too! What was that back there?”

“Stop asking questions!”

You pushed him away and turned around, wiling your feet to walk faster. Not because you were actually annoyed by his questions, but because having him so close, made you stutter. The feeling of his hot chest against your fingers when you pushed him away, tempted you to keep your hands there.

Thankfully, you were smaller than him, and could outrun him while he tried to chase you.

Some soldiers thought it would be funny to try and stop you, going so far as stepping into your skirts and grabbing your shoulder and hair. They laughed and made comments that you shouldn’t had to hear.

To them, it was chasing the rabbit that was escaping from his prince. To you, it wasn’t so fun.

One of the soldiers stepped on your skirt and the cloth tore, achieving a bunch of hurrahs from the rest of his friends. Stopping to see how bad the damage was, you saw Ubbe pushing through the soldiers farther than before, something murderous on his face. He looked at your dress and moved faster, going as far as throwing a man into his partner.

You turned around to keep moving, now your eyes warm with tears. One thing was the playful banter of children, or even the not-so-playful pranks with Ubbe. But it wasn’t a joke anymore, you felt the men’s intention clear and loud. Humiliation and frustration boiled up in your body until you felt your chest tightening up. You willed yourself to save the tears for later, when you would be finally alone. So you tried to move.

Before you could do so, someone grabbed your hair and pulled harder than before, making your yelp in pain. You were thrown back, and by mere luck, you hit a man’s chest instead of the ground.

Suddenly, a pair of rough hands were on you, while your captor’s arms held you still.

“Come on, don’t be shy! Show us what more you have there!” someone roared, attempting to see through the slip of your dress. He managed to lift one side and grip your left calf.

“I’ll take the other side!”

He didn’t, because when the first man tried to move higher, still holding your left leg against him, was met with your foot on his face. The kick launched him back and made you stumble into other arms. Again, they tried to move lift your dress, now from behind. No matter how much you moved or kicked, your voice stuck in your throat.

By that time, there were tears running down your cheeks, and it was clear it wasn’t just a game between the soldiers. Some of them had stepped aside, looking almost troubled. But no one said anything.

It wasn’t like fighting with the princes, or falling into a prank. It felt like an assault to your dignity, even if they tried to make it look like a joke.

The first man quickly recovered and looked at you while covering his mouth. In his other hand, there was a piece of tooth that you had broken.

There was no longer humor on his eyes, not even the lustful glare he was trying to hide before. When he charged towards you, some of his friends tried to stop him, but it wasn’t enough. He moved with his whole-body force towards you, and since other soldiers were still holding you, you couldn’t do anything but close your eyes and try to cower away.

Between the shouts and laughs, you distinguished a familiar voice, and then heard a body falling to the ground.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

Taglist:

@66vikings

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 1 year

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timetraveling!vikings + modern tv/movies

Summary: how timetraveling!vikings characters would react to modern tv/movies

Notes: took a while for me to write this, but i still hope everyone enjoys :)

Taglist: @leithdragon @demon-of-the-ancient-world @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @alicedopey, @ivarlover @levithestripper @batmandallyboy (hmu to be added!!)

based on this request | Masterlist | requests are OPEN!

Ragnar

Ragnar loves TV

ESPECIALLY reality tv

Lives for the drama

Heartbroken when you tell him it’s scripted

Never recovers

Big on Euphoria (is team Maddy, obviously)

Lagertha

Freaked out at the TV

She’d rather experience all that stuff herself

Does like watching a movie sometimes, but it can’t be too sci-fi

Beats up filmbros if they come at Pride and Prejudice

Aslaug

She loves true crime

Sits down with a glass of wine she can periodically sip

Shakes her head at narrators that are boring

If you say true crime is lame, you’re banned from eating from her charcuterie board

Yes she makes them herself, yes they are perfect

Bjorn

Freaked out by the TV

Once he calms down he starts to like the mcu (derogatory)

‘there’s just too much wokeness’

Stfu Bjorn

Ubbe

Adores sitcoms

Especially modern family and derry girls

There’s just something about them

It’s totally not the non-toxic chaotic family vibes

Tunes in for them on weekends

Hvitserk

He really likes the Mandalorian and the Witcher

It’s totally not the gruff warrior unexpectedly adopting a young child

(please someone write this fic with Hvitserk)

He demands a baby yoda plushie

Cries whenever adoptee gets separated from dad

Totally does not live on the found family tag on ao3 (ofc he reads fanfic he’s not uncivilized)

Sigurd

One word: FLEABAG

Religiously (haha) watches this show

Phoebe Waller-Bridge is a god amongst men

HAIR. IS. EVERYTHING.

Also cries for three hours after watching everything, everywhere, all at once (same, and also, this movie is so good)

Ivar

HE IS NOT AFRAID OF HORROR MOVIES, GOT IT???

HE’S A MAN AND A VIKING

Screams at jumpscares, throws the snacks in shock

Loves the BCU (what is that you may ask? The Barbie Cinematic Universe, obviously)

Deeply relates to Raquelle in Barbie Life in the Dreamhouse

Don’t tell him you know he watches it or you won’t wake up tomorrow

Helga

Watches baking shows with Hvitserk

They have a whole ritual around it, and they never EVER miss it

Not even when there’s major events going down

Power outage? You bet Hvitserk has a fully charged powerbank to livestream the show with his mobile data

Helga bakes the treats from the prior week and eats them while watching

Floki

Watches the weird conspiracy shows that run at like 11pm

Fully believes them

Get him away from the TV

Like literally. He already is a flat earther, you don’t need to add to that

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71starsmusic · 8 months

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I should be working on music but made The Last Kingdom & Vikings wallpaper for my laptop instead. 😂❤️🎶 hopefully some of you will enjoy it

#the last kingdom #tlk #vikings #vikings tv show #uhtred and his pretty boys #lothbrok #uhtred #sihtric #finan #bjorn #Ragnar #lagertha #ivar the boneless

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levithestripper · 7 months

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“You are lucky.” “Why?” “Because you have never been married. I would not come back here, if it weren’t for my children.” VIKINGS— 03x05 “The Usurper”

AUTUMNAL EQUINOX WEEK— @vikingsevents ➳ DAY FIVE: FAVORITE SCENE— RAGNAR AND ATHELSTAN RETURNING HOME TO KATTEGAT.

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its-me-jessi · 1 year

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I Wish I Were Her PT 6 - Finale

Pairing: Hvitserk X Reader

Summary: Y/N and Hvitserk finally find their way to each other.

Introduction Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

“Right now?!”, I furrowed my brow at him, “Weren't you about to go somewhere?”

“I still am.”, he kept grinning, “but now with you as my date – come on!”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards him. Multiple senses were suddenly working at full speed. I could hardly decide on which I should concentrate on most. The woody scent of his perfume filled my nose, the warmth of his touch spread not only through my hand, but throughout my whole body, from my feet all the way up to my cheeks, and my vision was filled with his attractive features, his captivating smile, and his pair of eyes in whose pupils I was reflected.

On our way out, he asked me, "Have you ever played billiards?"

"Let's just say I tried once," I smiled awkwardly and shrugged, "why? Is that what we're going to do tonight?"

"Only if you like. We can also just have a snack, a drink..." he suggested.

"We'll see!", I smirked up at him, as he held the passenger door of his car open for me.

Normally I'm not very keen on trying new things and rarely move out of my comfort zone but with him, I thought to myself as he made his way around his car, it's easier for me and I was even looking forward to whatever he had up his sleeve that evening.

Turning the car keys and simultaneously pressing the button activating the seat heating Hvitserk started driving. "How thoughtful.", I thought, sinking into the warming seat.

Who needs a perfectly planned out date when all that matters is the person you spend the date with. Hvitserk made the very spontaneous date perfect, just the way it was. A billiards and dart bar would not have been my first choice for a date night, but it turned out to be the unthinkable best choice. We had the most delicious but also most spicy cheese nachos thanks to the jalapenos. They must have been harvested directly in hell. Luckily, they had milk there. How on earth could Hvitserk eat that without even making a face, except for the moments when he laughed heartily when I fanned myself or took a big gulp of the milk. "Be honest, it's more me than the nachos, isn't it?", he secretly teased me, and I poked him in the shoulder as I emptied my glass. "Oh, shut up!", I said, followed by a laughter. “But you didn’t deny it!”, he grinned at me.

“Which of you two lovebirds is up for playing billiards?”, one of his friends called out and therefore I got around an answer.

And who would have thought that I would also get along quite well with his friends and not just because they let me win at billiards. But seriously now, I'm really bad at billiards. If Hvitserk hadn't helped me so often, I wouldn't have won even then. Although you could have thought I was doing badly on purpose, just to have Hvitserk close to me, to feel his chest against my back and his hands on mine when he showed me again and again how to hold the billiards cue correctly. Who knows? Everything’s possible. We will never know.

Either way, at least I could score true at darts, even without help. So, I honestly earned the drink bought by the loser of the round, which happened to be Hvitserk. "Because you distracted me!" he argues, but I argue otherwise. I may or may not have distracted him purposely by giving him the glad eye.

A few hours and drinks later we left the bar. Hvitserk had kindly offered to drive me home. I did not drink much, however, to get my car and drive myself was too risky at that point. I would go to pick up my car first thing tomorrow, until then it was well kept in front of Ivar and Hvitserk's apartment.

And I was definitely in safe hands, too. I felt so comfortable with him, especially here in his arms, enclosed in what was intended to be a it’s-been-a-great-evening-I’ll-see-you-around-hug.

“Um, well…”, he loosened his embrace, "I guess I'll see you...."

“Actually…”, I started. Standing there, feeling like my heart is about to jump out of my chest, I realized I didn't want the evening to be over yet and most of all I didn't want him to leave just yet.

“Would you like to come in for coffee... or something?”, I asked, hoping the offer wouldn't come across weird.

“If you don't mind.”, he smiled down at me, starring directly into my eyes, “I’d actually love to… come in for a coffee or something.” And there he went teasing me again, didn't he?

“Come on in!”, I said, opening the door to my small apartment, and simultaneously reaching around the corner, turning the light on.

“Make yourself at home!”, I said gesturing to the suede couch, “I'll get us coffee.”

While I waited for the coffee maker to warm up, I heard Hvitserk walking through the living room, stopping here and there, then moving on. He was probably interested in all the embarrassing photos that hung on my walls and adorned my dressers. "Damn, I should have left the lights off," I joked to myself.

Distracted by the loud sound of grinding coffee beans, I didn't notice Hvitserk joining me in the kitchen. I noticed him only when he turned my head to him and kissed me unexpectedly.

Completely caught off guard, I could hardly react, as he already loosened the kiss again. “I’m sorry, I just felt the urge to do it.”, he explained.

I grinned up to him like a Cheshire cat. “Fine by me.”, I said, “to be honest, I wouldn’t mind if you did it again.”

His lips twisted into a smirk before he lowered his hands to my hips, pulling me against him, granting my wish. Again. And again. The butterflies in my stomach went crazy and I felt intoxicated.

He lifted me onto the kitchen counter and his lips worked wonders on my lips and on every part of my skin he could possibly reach at the moment.

"What about the coffee?", I asked breathing out.

“I don't want coffee.", he answered plainly, “All I want is you!” And that I gave him willingly.

When I woke up the next morning, under the warming blanket, nestled against Hvitserk's chest and enclosed in his arms I couldn’t feel any happier.

Slowly and gently, as not to wake him, I looked up at him and thought: “I no longer wish to be her. I am exactly where I belong. Right here. With him by my side.”

Thank you so so soo much for reading. Really, I am so grateful for you reading my stories. I really appreciate it and I don't take it for granted. 💚😇 I really hope you enjoyed reading the last part of “I Wish I Were Her”. Feel free to leave any kind of feedback. 😊

Have a good start into the new year!!🎉

Tagged: @ecarroll1978 @istorkyou

#fanfiction #vikings fanfiction #vikings fanfic #vikings tv show #ivar the boneless #fanfic #vikings #vikings imagine #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk imagine #hvitserk vikings #hvitserk fanfic #hvitserk fanfiction #hvitserk x you #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk lothbrok

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