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erzsebetrosztoczy · 1 year

Note

Hey there :) are you currently accepting writing requests and if you are, can we request any Valhalla character 💙

Hello there! Yes I am open for requests - tho my writing speed won't be super fast in the upcoming two month (in december but mostly in january).

Pairing: Ivarr × f!reader

Words: ~ 1400

Genre: angst, fluff

Wanrings: an itty-bitty tiny smut, mention of violence, angst mostly? Idk what i did here honestly

Summary: You and Ivarr are preparing for an upcoming battle.

Notes: it's a bit short, I only had time to write this between my exams sorry⚰️✌️

Your heart sank deeper, pulling it tighter and tighter with the cold strings of the uncertain future, as the more horrific images floated before your eyes every time you dared to close them.

The camp around you was preparing unusually quietly, nowhere to be found the previous night's amusement, drinking and singing, which made the forest roar with life.

The army of thousands of troops that the Ragnarssons had was preparing for the upcoming battle in deathly silence. Grim men were putting their helmets on, sharpening their blades - sparks flaring up now and then, lighting up their dread faces. Staring in front of themselves - they did their work rotely — that either saved them on the battlefield, or betrayed them, finally being able to rest in the halls of Valhalla at the end of their long journey.

You weren’t much different from the men around you. You had the same flesh, the same warm blood flowed in your veins as your fellow warriors. Your bone breaks the same way and your blood spills when the blade strikes. The light in your eyes can die out just as for the other person beside you.

Maybe this will be the last morning you see. The last breath of fresh air you have taken into your lungs, the last birdsong that has accompanied you in preparation until now.

Placing your sword on your knees, you stopped for a moment to gaze at the silver gleam of iron once more, the runes carved along its sheet.

“Courage. Luck. Protection.” Ivarr’s familiar voice came from behind.Taking a deep breath, you staightened in your seat, looking over your shoulder into his eyes.

His gaze was distant, dark orbs flashing from behind his black face paint. Ivarr was already flaunting his full armor, axes neatly tucked into the belt on his hips.

“Do you really believe your runes will help?” He raised an eyebrow, one hand gesturing to the steel in your lap, holding a clay bowl in his right palm.

You answered with a half smile, turning back in front of you, continuing your work. Without further critical notes Ivarr the Boneless circled you, sitting down into the green before you, firmly grabbing your knee.

“Come closer Little Lamb.” With a sigh he waved to you, like an old man, preparing to recite long sagas to the children by the gentle warmth of the fireplace on a cold winter night.

Gently caressing your thighs, Ivarr withdrew his warm touch too soon only to your knees, tracing small circles into your skin with his thumb over the harsh fabric of your breeches.

Your hand stopped in the monotonous movements, you looked up at him curiously.

Inteas of the usual edge, determination and darkness, Ivarr’s deep brown eyes softly fixated on your form. The corner of his eyes relaxed, a warming tenderness emanating from his gaze as he looked up at you.

It was rare when you got to see Ivarr’s softer side; when he showed you his vulnerable side in public. These looks were meant just for you, only for the two of you — when the whole world ceased to exist, and only he mattered to you, and only you to Ivarr.

The dreaded Ivarr the Boneless, leader of grand armies, the demise of kings, the boldest berzerker who ever lived — yet his touch was tender, his gaze full of devotion. love and care as he embraced you, pulled you into his lap and sought your favors.

Your heart stirred, as you looked down at the man in front of you.

Maybe it will be the last time you can see the love in his eyes, the softness of his face — that he can be just as caring as anyone else contrary to the tales.

Your mouth trembled, lips bent into a sour smile, fearful tears will fall at any moment. With a sniff you leant down to him; Ivarr’s strong scent of iron, furr and smoke hitting your nose.

Not long ago you felt his scent just as strongly- it went into your head as you could taste it on your lips, smoother it into your own skin.

It was a dangerous occupation of yours, berzerkers and Jomsvikings life. Placing your very own soul on an unknown stake, against a foreign opponent, in the unpredictable maelstrom of fates.

You had to live in the present for your future has not yet been set in stone, the weavers of fate have not woven the next part of your song.

“There is no tomorrow. Only today what matters. What you do, what you say, what you think.” Ivarr whispered in your ear last night as he guided you onto his bed, spreading your thighs apart with his knees.

“If we want to enter the Gates of the Forever Halls without regret, we must act upon what our heart dictates.” He murmured sweetly, bowing down; soft lips smoothing over your warm skin, teeth nipping into the flesh.

It was rare when he dared to show such vulnerability to you, acting upon his better self; heart wanting nothing more but gentleness and love. It was rare when Ivarr the Boneless wanted to savor his moments with you rather than devouring you whole like a starved beast - now wanting to memorize every curve, every inch of your body, how it moved beneath him, how it felt against his feverish skin, how it tasted in his mouth.

He wanted his last image to be your moans, whispering his name, your mindless pants; cunt wrapped around his aching cock so perfectly, so deliciously for him, only to him.

“Only today is ipmortant.''You repeated. recalling his words to you with a nod. “Just focus on what’s in front of you.” It sounded like you were bagging, as if you tried to warn him.

Your finger slid up on his neck, grazing over his nervously twitching tendons. Running your fingers over his profile under his chin, palms finally came to rest on his stubbled cheeks, cradling his face.

Eyes darting between his chestnut orbs, the well-known mischief glinting in his ireses; liveliness and clarity reflected back at you.

He smiled slyly, sending you a wink; his own hand grabbing your wrist holding his face.

“I always focus on that.” He replied- tone deep and mysterious as he dropped your hands from his face. “And now you are who’s in front of me.” Ivarr stated, bringing up the bowl into your vision, that he held until now.

A dark juice swirled in the small bowl, gray as mud, but the smell reminded you of strong spices and herbs. Ivarr gestured with his chin for you to lift your face, pulling you closer and pressing his waist between your spreaded knees.

Ivarr pressed his index and middle finger into the paint, and holding up your chin with his thumb he placed his painted, cold fingers under your eyes, slowly drawing them down until your jawline, attentive eyes never leaving your own the whole time. You barely took any breath while he repeated the motion on the other side, then making a half circle on your chin. The tip of his nails pressed gently into your nose as he moved his fingers over your lips, as if to silence you for a moment. He connected the lines with the semicircle, turning his attention to your forehead now, beginning to draw more symbols on you.

Not a single word was spoken between you two; yet thousands of feelings raced through your eyes, as you watched silently Ivarr. You wanted to capture his features in your memory as throughly as it was possible — one last time to etch every single wrinkle, scard, and line that dotted his handsome face.

When he was done, Ivarr wiped the remaining paint onto his breeches, leaning back to you, sneaking his palm over your nape.

For a moment your gaze fluttered;the movements sending a chill down your spine, and at the same time filling you with immense calmness. Ivarr was there, by your side, breathing and fighting until he had breathed the last shed of his soul. And that was all that mattered to you. Knowing that your love will be there, by your side. That you will both be there for each other, doing everything in your power to fight and survive.

“Do not leave me.” You wrapped your fingers around Ivarrs wrist, gently tracing his battle scars as you searched for his gaze.

Love, devotion, longing and the thrill of the battle burned in Ivarr.

“Never, my Little Lamb.” He gave a crooked smile. “Not even the Gods can keep me away from you.” He promised.

#ac valhalla #assassin's creed valhalla #ivarr imagine #ivarr ragnarsson #ivarr #ivarr the boneless #ivarr fanfiction #ivarr x f!reader #ivarr x reader #ac valhalla fanfic #my writing

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redskull199987 · 2 years

Text

Early Mornings

Ivar the Boneless x female!reader

Word count:1.1k

Warnings:a little bit steamy

Summary: You find yourself in a delightful situation after waking up, but are suddenly interrupted by an unexpected visitor...

Gif by @underragingwaves

Masterlist

Part II

I slowly tried to open my eyes. But it seemed so hard. I was too lazy and the bed too warm.

Finally, my eyes flutterd open and I tried to sit up, but a pair of strong arms encircled my waist. I looked up and smiled.

He seemed so calm. Ivar the Boneless, a man who was almost never calm.

I quietly turned around in his arms and admired his face. The eyes which were usually shining bright blue were now closed. His mouth slightly ajar and his chest rose and fell as he breathed.

Carefully, I let my fingers dance across his jawline. A soft stubble scratched my fingertips.

"I love you", I mumbled, "Ivar the Boneless"

"I love you too, my dear"

That caught me of guard. I tried to pull away, but Ivar was faster. He grabbed my hand, and put it back on top of his cheek.

A smile crept onto his face, as he grabbed my other arm and pulled me even closer to him.

"Ivar-", I protested, but before I could say anything more, his soft lips collided with mine and I let any protests slip past me.

I sighed against Ivar's lips and we parted slightly. I could feel his warm breath on my skin and his blue eyes gazed into mine.

"Ivar", I mouthed against his lips.

He lifted his hand and softly brushed away my hair:"My Y/N"

Ivar slowly put his forehead against mine and closed his eyes. He sighed softly, before looking at me again.

"My Y/N", he whispered again.

I smiled at him and reconnected our lips. I felt Ivar's hands wander to my waist and he pulled me on top of him, while he sat up himself.

I felt Ivar's back hit the headboard, while he pulled me closer to his chest.

"Ivar", I signed against his lips, "Please"

"So needy, huh", he chuckled.

I only looked into his eyes and nodded. A grin graced his lips and in a matter of seconds, Ivar had switched our places and he was suddenly hovering above me.

His lips attacked my neck and a moan escaped my mouth.

"Shh", Ivar whisperd, "We don't want others to hear these beautiful sounds"

I nodded and tried to keep silent while he continued to kiss across my neck.

"Those noises are only for me to hear", Ivar mumbled. His voice was stern,"Only for me"

I only nodded at his words again, not able to form a coherent sentence.

A yelp escaped my lips, as Ivar's cold hands slipped under my robe. He only chuckled and continued to lift it over my head.

He just looked at me for a second, like I was the most precious thing that he has ever seen.

"Ivar",I mumbled and pulled him towards my lips again.

Another moan escaped my lips, I felt how his frigid fingers touched my skin. Ivar grasped one of my breasts, before starting to kiss down my sternum.

I felt his other hand slip behind my back and puling my Body closer to him. His lips covered my hips in kisses.

I desperately rubbed my thighs together, to conjure some friction, as Ivar was taking his time to cover my skin in hickeys.

"Oh dear", he mumbled and I felt his hands push my legs apart. I gasped, as I felt his lips on my inner thigh.

"Fuck", I mumbled and brushed my hand through his hair. A groan left Ivar's lips.

"Ivar!!"

I have never seen a man, who couldn't walk, get up so fast and covering himself and someone else. Because the Person screaming his name, was not me, but his brother.

Ubbe. He only looked at the two of us and grinned. Our relationship was no secret to them, nor to anybody else, but still they liked to make fun of us or tease Ivar for always being so protective of me.

"You're late", he said sharply, before turnung around to leave.

"Oh, and Y/N?", he asked again.

"Yes?", I sighed and shyly peeked out from behind Ivar's back.

"Our mother is searching you", Ubbe stated before leaving.

"Shit!", I got up as fast as possible, looking for my clothes.

"Where do you think, are you going?", Ivar asked perplexed and even though he was still sitting on the edge of the bed, he managed to pull me back into his lap again.

"Ivar", I giggled. His pouting face was too cute, "I promised your mother to help her with embroidering"

"Why can't you stay?", Ivar wined, running his hands up my back.

"Because your mother is the queen of Kattegat and she will personally kill me if I am late", I chuckled and pecked his nose, before getting up.

"I'd never let her do that", Ivar mumbled.

"I know, Ivar", I smiled and grasped his cheek, "I know"

"I love you", he mumbled while I put on my dress.

"Would you help me with the Corset, love?", I asked and turned my back on him, so that he could could tie the knots.

"All done", Ivar smiled after a minute. I turned around and kissed his forehead:"Thank you"

I quickly grabbed a comb and brushed through my hair. I was about to tie it together to, but Ivar stopped me.

"Leave it", he said. I turned towards him and smiled, before dropping my hair. It fell down my shoulder, before Ivar slowly reached out for it. He grabbed a lose Strand and quietly examined it.

"I have to go now", I murmured.

Ivar nodded, before grabbing his crutches. He struggled a bit to get up, but I only watched him. Even though, I wanted to help him, I knew how stubborn Ivar was. He would never admit, that he needed help.

After a minute, he was standing in front of me. Only in his pants and his hair still slightly messed.

I chuckled at his sight.

"What!?", Ivar smiled,"Don't you like, what you're seeing?

"Oh I do", I answered, "In fact, I even love what I'm seeing"

Ivar smirked before giving me one last kiss. It wasn't as passionate as the others, but still tender and full of love.

"I love you", he mouthed against my lips.

"I love you too, Ivar the Boneless"

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underscorewriting · 2 years

Text

Destiny | Part two

Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader

Warnings: heated make out, fluff

Part One

1076 Words

The woods were quiet. Peaceful. They hid their beauty between the tall trees. Her breath was going fast, her smile still on her face, she doesn't think it even left, ever since she saw Ivar. The time went by, waiting for him she begun to feel a worry settle in her stomach. What if he wouldn't show up? She'd look like the biggest fool.

Hearing the leaves rustle around her she released a breath she didn't know she held. As she looked at the prince she saw him walking with his crutch. A frown was on her face, thinking about how uncomfortable it must be for him to walk with it in the woods. "Good morning, my prince." With a smile she bowed her head down slightly.

Ivar chuckled softly shaking his head. "Even though I do love how it sounds, coming out of your mouth. Just call me Ivar." A blush crept onto her cheeks as she nodded. "I'll remember that, Ivar." She smiled at how his name left her lips. A small smirk was on his face as he watched her reaction to saying his name.

"So, why the woods?" As they started walking, her nerves came to an ease. "It's quiet. Not many people come out here and if they do then they don't stare." The lines on his forehead told her that he got stared at a lot. "I wouldn't stare..." She whispered quietly lowering her eyes to the ground. The prince shook his head softly. "But you did, back in the great hall before we talked. You stared at me."

A deep blush made it's way onto her face. "You saw that?" He nodded slightly, watching her carefully. "I apologize deeply, but it wasn't what you think it was." Ivar was confused. Why should her staring be different, everyone tried to talk themselves out of it, but he was ready to listen to it this time, because it was her trying to talk herself out of it. "I didn't stare, not out of pity, I mean. I thought you were quiet attractive."

His eyebrows shot up. This changed the situation a lot. A smirk found it's way onto his face as he watched her even more careful this time. "I didn't have any bad intentions or thoughts behind it, I promise." She gave him an apologetic smile.

Without knowing it she pushed his ego more than what was healthy. "So you thought I was attractive, huh?" The smirk didn't seem to leave her face, holding his head high. The girl lowered her head, secretly liking the teasing tone of his voice. "I did, my prince. After talking with you the feeling deepened." It was her turn to tease him. A soft innocent smile on her face as she stopped to lean against a tree, watching Ivar closely.

The boy turned to her, looking her up and down. "You're quite the tease, aren't you?" His thoughts of the night before coming back into his mind. "Honestly? No, but I'm happy it's working." She giggled shyly. "It's working wonders..." He whispered walking closer. His eyes not once leaving hers. Again, she felt like she was drowning in his eyes. Drowning in the ocean behind them. His free hand was on her hip as he pushed her up against the tree. A quiet gasp escaping her, only encouraging him to continue.

The smirk just wouldn't leave his face as he looked down at her. "I'll be sure to tell your brother how I had to look up to you..." Not knowing what to say in the situation the girl thought back to how Sigurd interrupted them the night before. The prince chuckled softly, leaning his forehead against hers. "You're too precious for your own good, love." He kissed her cheek softly. She could feel a burning sensation the moment his lips met her cheek, almost letting another gasp escape her.

"I should let you go, protect you from myself and save you from being so perfectly ruined by me." He squeezed his eyes shut, almost like he was in pain, his forehead back against hers, letting a sigh escape him. "But I can't. I want to be selfish, have you all to myself." Her hand found his cheek. "Ivar, you can have me." Her voice was sincere, he never felt like he did right now. His heart was beating out of his chest. "No, not that." His face twisted in disgust for a second. "Oh..." She was about to pull her hand back.

He was quicker, grabbing her wrist and placing a kiss on her palm, placing it back onto his cheek. "I didn't mean it like that. Well, maybe that too, I wouldn't mind laying with you, pretty girl. But I mean being with you. I want to have you in any way." His eyes opened again, looking at her with an intensity, that if she wouldn't have been pushed against the tree, she would've got weak knees.

His mouth placed kisses everywhere, her neck, her cheek, her forehead, but they wouldn't go near her lips. "I need your answer." His voice was husky as he was torturing her with kiss. "Please, Ivar.." A whimper left her lips and he chuckled darkly shaking his head. "Keep those words for later, just tell me, can I have you in any way I want?" His hand wandered up to her chin, making her look up at him. His thumb pulling her lip down slightly.

She was trembling at that point, trying to stay strong, so she could tease the young prince, but her self control was getting weak. "Yes! Yes, Ivar, I'll let you have me in any way you want to. Just please-" A loud gasps escaped her, but it barely left her before Ivar kissed her hard, pulling her closer, caressing her cheek. His crutch long forgotten on the floor. His hand grabbing her hip, pushing himself up against the tree in secret as well. As they both needed to breath, he pulled away, keeping his forehead against hers.

A smirk was on Ivars face as he mentally pictured how shocked Sigurd will be, when he walks into the great hall with his newly found woman by his side. He would marry her, he knew it. That's what he meant with having her in anyway he wants.

He could already picture them dining with the gods in Valhalla. Gods, how he couldn't wait.

#ivar's heathen army #ivar ragnarsson #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #ivar imagine #ivar lothbrok #ivar fluff #ivar fanfic #ivar the king #vikings #vikings fanfiction #ivar x y/n #ac valhalla ivarr

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synintheraven · 4 months

Text

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary: you finally find Ivarr Ragnarsson and a cup of ale gives an unexpected turn of events between the two of you.

✵tw: mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol, drinking, other than that lots of fluff :p

✵word count: 1,3k

characters info | part five

The sun was hiding behind clouds and a thin layer of snow covered the hills around us. It was cold, the wind crawled under my clothes and a shiver climbed my spine as their eyes were on me.

We had just arrived to Repton, yet the little army under Ivarr and Ubba's command was far more cautious than that of Tamworth. And as their famously reckless Lord stood proud before us, the rabid dogs followed close behind.

There were no children, no wives. Only soldiers dressed in mail, their Lord's most trusted hounds.

—And what of her? Is she your gift to me? —Ivarr asked almost too proud of himself and I was ready to bite back, but Sihtric was quicker to answer.

—She’s my woman. —He said. I frowned, his words still echoing in my head.

—Slave girl? —The Ragnarsson grinned, his eyes fixed on my expression. —Either that or she hates your cock.

Sihtric then gave me a strange look, his hand finding its way along my back and stopping where my butt joined my back, pulling me awkwardly closer to his side. —We’re just tired, it was a long journey from Theotford.

Surprisingly, he seemed to bite on Sihtric’s lie, while I pictured myself with a knife going through the Dane's throat.

—So, why are you here? Guthrum isn’t treating his hounds right?

—We got word that a son of Ragnar had taken Repton, so we thought to serve a true dane lord was better than to follow a stupid man to his defeat.

We knew nothing about Guthrum; not the colour of his banner nor the look of the man’s face. But it was easy to make up a lie when the man himself wasn’t there to deny it, though in truth Guthrum would’ve embraced us as his warriors as long as we looked like Danes.

Ivarr was hesitant, like dry weeds waiting on a spark to set ablaze. Yet he welcomed the fire, not afraid to get burnt.

—Ha! —He said loudly, his gaze studying me with curiosity as he crossed his arms. —And you, woman? Can you fight? Or are you only here to please this pretty warrior? —He finished as he looked at Sihtric, but he was out of words.

—The son of Ragnar wants me to teach him how to use his axe? —I snapped back happily, but my man, the one I wasn’t aware I had, was concerned about Ivarr’s deadly stare.

—I love sassy bitches, you can stay. —He smiled widely, as the men around us joined their lord with a grin. —Same for you, pretty boy.

Everything was blurry; the candles provided the room with a gloomy light and the flickering flames made the shadows around us deeper than they really were, like if whole territories hid among that darkness.

It made me wonder about the unknown, all that is hidden from plain sight but lurks in the blackness of the night. The wild beasts, the magic creatures, and all else that is hidden to us mortals.

I could hear the voices from the drunken warriors around me, their laughter, their joy after a succesful battle. The sound of wooden jars and metal clashing as they celebrated with ale, their harsh steps on the floor.

I was hearing Sihtric as he talked, telling me one more time stories about all his battles, all he had conquered to get here, to England. All about the raids: priceless treasures, gold-filled chests and wealthy norse fools ready to give everything up if only to escape an unneccesary fight, all that he'd managed to steal for himself after years of serving under Yggr's banner.

I watched as he wrapped his hands around the mug and a puddle of ale drenched the linen around his arms, yet he didn't seem to care. A tattoo showed from under his sleeve, an interesting shape playing in the shadow and hiding from the candle light. He simply kept on talking, ever proud and happy about his stories, his life.

Maybe it was the ale, maybe there was something in the air that night, but his words sounded funny in my ears. He was explaining how he once cut off a man's hand with an axe: the splatter of blood, the horror in that man's voice as he screamed out of pain. But all I could hear was a mumble, his attempt at sounding coherent while the ale made its way through his throat.

And so, I laughed. Sihtric's response was to look at me with a frown, then proceeded to burst out laughing with me.

He suddenly stopped and went completely quiet, worrying me for a moment that perhaps I was the reason of such a sudden change in his reaction, though nothing about his glare betrayed whatever was going on inside the man's head.

A young girl walked in our direction, trying hard to avoid Sihtric's eyes. She was skinnier than the others, with skin as white as snow and several bruises dyeing the flesh around her neck, making it no surprise that she was so afraid of the drunken warriors surrounding her. But she was there to serve drinks and so she would.

Her trembling hands made their best to hold the jar firmly and fill his cup, avoiding eye contact with the fearsome man before me. Yet when she was done and ready to escape, his hand wrapped around her wrist.

For whatever reason, I felt as if fire burnt inside of me; but I couldn't recall what was causing such a feeling, nor could I stop myself from standing up, as if something else was controlling my body.

—You're too pretty to be working at this stinking alehouse. —He said while pulling her closer, watching as the poor girl's panic intensified. —There's nothing to fear, woman, wouldn't you rather be with me than serving all these bastards?

There was a glimpse of a smile on his face, despite the terror in her eyes. He was a good man, for a drunken fool, and would've easily let her go if asked to: but that's not what those women were used to around there, so she was desperately looking for a way out.

So I took his mug in my own hand, spilling all its content on the floor. And his confused reaction was priceless.

—You better have a real good reason for that bullshit, y/n. —He stood up, freeing the girl's wrist, though she was still too frightened by him to go away.

—You're trying to hump some random girl and expect me to act as if I didn't care? —I asked with pride in my voice, though struggling to figure out what those words were supposed to mean.

He frowned again, probably trying to remain offended but failing miserably as a silly smile appeared on his face.

—We're supposed to be together, don't you remember, my love? —My words made no sense, yet they seemed sufficient for him, even if Ivarr and Ubba were too far from us to hear anything we were saying.

—Right! —His eyes widened up and he quickly took a step further from the girl, resting his hand on the messy table. —It's just that I'm so in love with you and to touch you would mean to ruin your pure beauty.

To this day I still don't quite remember what happened that night, nor do I recall when did the scared girl left us and ran back to the owner of that shithole of an alehouse. But I do, however, remember how he started to laugh mid-lie and looked down on his empty mug, only to remember I was the cause of it.

—Or perhaps my dear husband struggles to use his plow sword with his beloved wife. —I snarled back and once again he let out a noisy laugh then went quiet when he realized I had meant no compliment by that.

—Are you challenging me? —He asked with a playful smirk, leaning closer as I wrapped my arms around his neck and tangled my fingers on his hair.

My heart was beating hard: surprised at the shiver running through my body as I felt his skin on the tip of my fingers. And, for the first time since I’ve met him, something about his gaze felt different.

The candle light reflected on his face, his brown eye looking warm and inviting while the other side was ever bright, sea waters dancing within his eye.

His breath smelt of ale and his hands were getting a little too comfortable around my waist, but that didn’t stop me from reaching for his lips; even as he teased me, pressing the tip of his nose to my cheek, but avoiding my touch.

Sihtric’s kiss was full of warmth and necessity, feeling as his hands roughly pressed me onto his body. So I gave in.

#sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson x you #sihtric kjartansson x reader #sihtricxyou #sihtricxreader #sihtric x reader #sihtric fanfiction #sihtric fic #sihtric kjartansson fic #sihtric kjartansson fanfiction #tlk fanfiction #the last kingdom fanfiction #my writing #SORRY forgot to post it earlier hehe

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ashandquiet · 2 years

Text

My Most Unswerving Devotion

Chapter 2. Musings of a Duke

Regency! Soma Jarlskona x F!Reader

Summary: Since coming to Norfolk to stay with your family, the conversations have all revolved around matrimony. Just when your aunt has found a match for you much to your chagrin, quite by accident you fall for the wealthy Duke of Cambridgeshire; Soma Guthrumsdóttir. Can circumstance truly keep you apart?

A/N: This chapter is from the perspective of Soma, I hope you enjoy the bits of story building and I apologize for the long wait on chapter 2.

Read it on AO3

Soma had always been level-headed and sane.

Or at least she was sure she had been, a few bouts of rage, but that was due to anyone under duress, it wasn’t until this afternoon she found herself acting a fool.

Soma always followed a schedule, a strictly tailored schedule at that. She would rise just before dawn, dress, and take her breakfast in her study. It was there that her housekeeper and butler would relay the affairs of the servants of the manor, the places in need of address, and she would delegate resources as necessary. Then after having read the household ledger, Soma would take a short walk in the manor gardens to take in the fresh morning air. By the time she arrived back inside, Birna would finally be awake and sitting down for breakfast in the breakfast dining room, so Soma would sit with her and tea while Birna regaled her with the affairs of the servants, but with more sordid details as always. After breakfast, Birna would ride out to town to cover any affairs of Soma’s that did not require the Duke’s immediate attention and Soma would go check on land tenants.

After the morning's chores had been carried out, it was then that at her leisure Soma would take her gelding Alvis out to run the lengths of the land. It was here in the fields that she truly felt the strains and pressure of her inherited title lift from her shoulders. All the judgment and strain put on her by society could wash away, but in the end, it was just a wash. She did just as Guthrum had taught her, put on airs, and be intelligent and cunning. Never let them see how they affect you.

He had taken her in when she was just an unkempt street child scurrying about Stockholm with a small gaggle of other orphans, stealing and scraping to stay alive. It was after the death of her poor mother and father had left her alone and abandoned, and she had been running about the port struggling to keep up with the much older children who ran the gang like wolves. The tall bearded man dressed in finery had stepped in her way causing her to fall and his outstretched hand had effectively changed the course of her life forever.

Before leaving Sweden he had put her to work, mostly as a little spy because she could fit into places, and hear and see things that the others of his entourage couldn’t. Guthrum then grew fond of Soma quickly and wasted no time inviting her back to England with him, and Soma saw no need to protest, she was fed, warmly clothed, and most of all happy.

Soma was given the best possible education available, learning to read and write quickly, and excelling at arithmetic and humanitarian studies. She learned to be a great leader, as well as a listener under Guthrum’s influence and tutelage. It was there she was introduced to the younger Ragnarsson brothers Ivarr and Ubba, and she learned how to fight, shoot, hunt, and the art of swordplay, seeing the two brothers as adopted older brothers of her own. As she grew and became accustomed to her life in England it became plain to Soma that Guthrum never once attempted to raise Soma as a lady, knowing that he would never have a male heir; Soma was raised as a son, and eventual heir to Guthrum’s, land, title, and holdings.

Much to society's chagrin, Soma was never offered as a marriage prospect, even though she was named as Guthrum’s only heir and beneficiary. While in her teen years there were rumors that she would eventually marry Ubba Ragnarsson, while others argued that she was particularly monstrous and no man would be able to tame her feral nature. Many made little attempt to woo her, but she snubbed them in favor of horses, books, and swordplay.

The study of law had entranced her, so at the behest of Guthrum, a law education was arranged. Under the guise of a man, she attended university and rose to be a scholar in her own right. It was there at university with its dances, shops, and libraries, that she befriended Birna, her most stout-hearted and amorous companion, a daughter of merchants who similarly to Guthrum’s circle had come to England from Scandinavia and gained such prosperous wealth that they stayed to provide a life for their daughter.

Birna threw Soma into a life she had never before experienced outside the scholarly and dutiful confines of her being. The joys of drink, dancing, and social calls, as well as indulging in the finer luxuries that she had denied herself. She purchased her first townhouse and it was there that Soma and Birna threw small soirees, and Birna mocked Soma for her obsession and love of rugs and interior finery.

She met and entertained women, and had a few brief affairs, most ending with the other party marrying or being sent away by family. However letters were always exchanged but as letters stopped arriving Soma would burn the lavender and locks of hair and resume her solitary lifestyle, caring for her friends and the makeshift family she had found in the city.

As her life beyond Cambridgeshire stretched in an expanse before her, opportunities of employment and adventure beckoning, in the country, Guthrum grew sick. Knowing he was not long for this world the Duke summoned his adopted child back to his side. Dutifully Soma came and remained with him until the day he died. She knew her days of freedom were over, obligation was her constant companion as she assumed the responsibilities of Dukedom. At the recommendation of Birna, she hired an old acquaintance of theirs, Lif as a secretary and brought Birna on as an equerry to the estate.

Together the three of them formed an insurmountable team in making the land of Cambridgeshire prosperous and one of great renown throughout England.

However, the rumor mill never stopped churning, but what was there for petty country folk to talk about more than the affairs of Soma Guthrumsdóttir?

On these particular days after a morning full of settling disputes and arranging for gifts and aid to be sent to families within her territory, Soma found herself in most need of a ride. While her head swam with thoughts of land rights, tenant arrangements, and the lending of estates, Soma rode well off into the fields of Norfolk just for a moment's reprise from it all.

It was there, near a blooming horse-chestnut tree that she had nearly collided with what she could only describe as an angel came to earth, the sound of her voice still shook Soma to her bones as she urged Alvis homeward.

She had removed her gloves to feel the bones and muscles in the woman’s wrist and at the light skin contact, she felt as though she were on fire. The way that she could feel the woman’s eyes burn as she watched her, the soft gasp she made when Soma had twisted her wrist in a painful direction, it all made Soma’s skin prickle at the thought of her. Soma couldn’t help herself; she had crooned and given her a pet name of all things. One meeting and all she could think about was how it would feel to touch skin to skin. To talk to her as if they had always known each other.

Soma let out a frustrated noise as she neared the manor, she knew Birna would never let her hear the end of it if she came in looking like a lovestruck, amorous fool. The romantic sensibilities of her joyful friend would run away with her. How would she ever tell Birna she never even got the woman’s name? She was a damned fool, and all she could do was hope that Birna was off making some poor girl, or boy flush with compliments.

But Soma wasn’t lucky, and Birna was there sitting outside the stable on a bench pretending to read a book while watching the stable boy work with the horse.

“There you are Soma, you great wandering lordy you,” Birna called in her usual chipper tone as Soma rode up to the stable and dismounted. Soma flashed her a weary look and led Alvis into the stable, politely declining the offer from the stableboy to take the horse from her.

Birna got serious, “What happened.”

Soma shook her head with a sigh, finding herself rushing to get the cinches undone from Alvis, Birna would begin her further questioning soon and Soma could not bring herself to say what a fool she had been.

“Was there an incident at one of the farms? Did a cow give birth and it was partially gruesome to have seen with your lordly eyes? Was someone's child struck by a goat and you were given the child to hold while the goat was put to death? Are we having mutton?”

“No, no incidents of mention,” Soma grunted, struggling with one particular loop, her friend’s well-intentioned questions making her more irritable by the minute.

“Let me help, you’re gumming it up,” Birna stepped between Soma and Alvis taking over the chore of tacking down Soma’s bay horse. She treaded slightly out of Birna’s way to watch her undo the cinch, yet she found herself gazing at her hands, again.

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, Soma.”

“I’m alright I just need some time to myself, thank you Birna,” Soma felt grave as she nodded to her friend to take her to leave.

Stepping out from under the stable cover Soma ran her hands over her face, she was suffocating. Her throat was tight and she felt as though she would begin perspiring through her waistcoat, her hands clammy within the confines of the gloves, Soma stripped them off and tossed them to the ground.

Somehow she had let herself act such a fool that she had forgotten to ask for the lady’s name, or an address, calling card, anything. She had even neglected to tell the lady her name, of course, Soma had wrapped her wrist with a handkerchief from her pocket that was embroidered with “SG”, her initials, but how on earth would it even find its way back to her? The most mortifying and frustrating realization of all hit like a boulder being thrown into water; How would she ever know if the beautiful creature she had met this day, also preferred the company of women .

Feeling helpless, which she hated the most, she started walking towards the manor to lock herself in the safety of her private rooms, where she could brood and mourn this terrible turn in private. It wasn’t the first time she had experienced such heartbreak and she felt as though it wouldn’t be the last. She knew herself and her heart, yet she always seemed to fall into the trap of self-imposed distress regarding affairs of the heart.

Taking care of the tie in her cravat she tossed it to the ground and made her way into the manor, taking long quick strides to her study not caring for the muddy footprints that she left in her wake.

She has always desired women, both emotionally and carnally. The gentlest touch of another woman filled her with heavenly joy, in the passion-filled faucet of her heart she held the most sublime desires imaginable. It was her every aim in life to give a woman, whom she loved so deeply it cut like a knife, every possible thing and more. Soma had fallen like this before, and she knew that if she did not stop her heart from getting away with her she could end up broken, her heart exposed to the empty expanse of the world in the end just as before.

Soma let out an enraged noise throwing her hands in the air, she could feel the boiling rage rising within her at the thought of losing composure yet again. She was being choked, by manners and the very opposing forces within herself. Almost flailing to pull herself from it, she tore off her waistcoat throwing it across the empty room, not even having made it to her study yet. She panted staring at the offending garment. It wasn’t enough she still felt as though her clothes were constricting themselves around her. Soma then fumbled with the buttons on her vest and flung it in another direction, then the cufflinks, she yanked off her boots and collapsed onto her rear. Her eyes began to burn with emotion and she could feel her throat tighten. Soma undid the first few buttons of her collar and then drooped backward onto her back to stare upwards. Soma covered her face with her hands and suffered a strained sigh.

There was a shuffle of feet that came to an abrupt stop in the doorway, Soma turned her head to glance at the doorway where Birna stood looking a bit befuddled. Soma’s friend held the discarded cravat and suede gloves.

“Well aren’t you pitiful,” Birna chided as a maid rushed to take the items from her.

Soma sighed feeling quite pitiful indeed.

#soma x reader #soma jarlskona x reader #soma jarlskona #birna ac valhalla #ac valhalla #regency au #soma ac valhalla #lif ac valhalla #guthrum ac valhalla #soma my love #regency inspired #austen inspired #the world needs more wlw regency fiction

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heyitsauralie · 2 years

Text

Tagged by @sleeplessincarcosa & @theinkandthesea Thank you xx

Rules: We would like to ask you to recommend us 3 of YOUR fics: 1 that is "most popular" and 2 that are "hidden gems”!

I only just started writing so I only have 4 fics up atm.

1.Most popular:Skin Reader/Ivarr, Ivarr drags the reader to his smelly rat hole where they do the No Pants Dance.

2.Hidden Gem:Surprise! Ivarr/OC, My very first fanfic featuring Ivarr being his charming self.Ya gotta love him 🤷🏻‍♀️

3.Hidden Gem:The Ritual Ivarr/OC,My current wip. Its about a young Volva named Lyja (the placeholder name stuck,lesson learned) who meets Ivarr in unusual circumstances ten years before AC Valhalla.

I think everyone I follow has been tagged but if I missed anyone please feel free to join in x

#ao3 #my writing #fanfiction

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sonnefuchs · 3 years

Text

Ledecestre

Pairing: Ivarr Ragnarsson x Reader

Warning: sexy vibes

Looking around, you stayed away from the patrolling guards as you searched for Ivarr.

“Where is he?” You whispered from your hood.

Eivor had sent you on ahead to find Ivarr in Ledecestre, promising to be right on your heels.

So many guards! You were getting tired of narrowly avoiding them and ducking into shadows and bushes. Spluttering from your last leap into a bush, you spat out a few green prickles and brushed them from your cape.

This was getting ridiculous, where was that Ragnarsson holed up? Looking up, you thought you saw a figure pacing from a tower.

“No... This whole time?” You muttered, disappointed in yourself you didn’t check the high ground to begin with. A deep sigh and you gripped the stony wall and scratched your way up the tower.

Arriving at the top of the tower you saw a familiar figure scanning the horizon. Unfortunately for you, fully clothed this time.

“Wait, what?” You thought to yourself as you tried to shake the memory of your first meeting. The ink of runes on his skin etched into your mind.

Scrabbling over the top, you fell slightly lost in thoughts best saved for a later time.

Ivarr spun around and pulled his axe raised in your direction. His brows relaxed and he replaced his axe as he saw you pull your hood from your face.

“My, my, little mouse, you are so quiet. The Saxons never had chance with catching you.”

Walking over, he held out his arm for you to grab. Grasping his arm, he pulled you to your feet, his strength surprising you as you were not light and he was not a towering man like Sigurd.

“Not many can catch me.” You replied, looking up at him, tracing his scar with your gaze.

“Would you bet on it?” He smiled, blue eyes studying you.

“Depends on what kind of reward.”

“I can think of a few.” He purred, fingers slowly running up your arm, caressing.

You laughed and let go of his arm, realizing you were still holding it. Leaning against the wall, you appraised him with y/e/c eyes.

“I came as soon as I could, Eivor sent me on ahead, she will be here once she’s finished something. Have you found Burgred?”

“Not yet, but he could be cowering within these walls. I sent a scout in, we will know soon once he returns. Had you come earlier, you would have made a find scout with such light a touch as yours.”

“You must place great faith in this scout to send him alone and not yourself.

He nodded thoughtfully. “I see great things in this one.”

"And we just wait?" You asked, already feeling the itch to explore and probe the Saxon’s defenses.

Ivarr shrugged.

"We can throw rocks at the Mercians below.” He picked up a piece of stone crumbled off the aging tower.

"Wouldn't that just draw unwanted attention to us?" You asked, furrowing your brow."

"Define unwanted..." Ivarr grinned.

"Fine, fine." He dropped the stone to the floor.

"We could just have sex instead." He said nonchalantly.

You paused, considering it though not sure if he were serious. Up here, surrounded by Mercian soldiers. Though...the thought wasn't unappealing.

His grin widened as he watched your eyes think about it.

Before you could answer a hand shot over the wall and Eivor's head peaked over.

“Good timing, we would have stormed the place without you.” Ivarr called out to Eivor.

Eivor looked at your warmed face and over to Ivarr. Raising a brow at you she stalked over to Ivarr.

“What have you seen?” Eivor asked.

“Soldiers aplenty. Wagons going in and out. That weasel Burgred is here, I‘m sure of it. The bathhouse there, and that church, see? I sent a scout to check them both. Should be back at any moment.”

"Who is your scout if Y/N waits with you." Eivor asked, concern clear in her eyes. You shook your head at her, unsure who he had sent in as well.

"One keen to prove his abilities. Did you see Ubba and Sigurd in Templebrough?" Ivarr changed the subject.

“No. And if Burgred is hiding here, I won’t have to.”

“There is a lot we would not have to if we stuck to killing kings. Thanks to my brother, now we are into making them.”

“No small tension between you two. Thought you’d be more like-minded.” Eivor asked, slightly surprised.

“You and Sigurd...you always see eye to eye?” Ivarr said knowingly.

“More often than not.” Eivor shrugged looking away, thoughts of her dreams and the seers words coming back to her.

“You are still young. You live to my age and you will see. The closer you get, the greater the stink that rises.”

A silence fell between the two as Eivor chewed over his words.

You sat down, running your hands over the rocks strewn about. Maybe throwing rocks at the Mercians below wasn’t such a bad idea. The idleness had you itching to start trouble.

"Time’s up for your scout, I’d say. He’s either dead or run off." Eivor broke the silence.

“Give him a chance.” Ivarr waived her off.

“Can’t risk them seeing us and Burgred slipping away again. You stay here and wait for your scout with Y/N. I’m going in.”

“Fine, but Wolf-kissed, don’t be disappointed when Y/N and I have all the Mercians to ourselves.” Ivarr pulled his axe out and nodded to the soldiers patrolling below.

“Keep an eye on him.” Eivor muttered to you as she swept past and over the wall, descending from the tower.

“Just you and me now, little mouse. How about a game?” Ivarr asked with a wicked grin.

Holding a rock in your hand, you stood back up, and looked down at the soldiers below. Surely Eivor wouldn’t mind if they had a little fun...

#ivarr #ivarr x reader #ivarr the boneless #ivarr ragnarsson x reader #ivarr ragnarsson #eivor #ledecestre

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spookieloop · 3 years

Text

WHAT THE DEAD MEN SAY

Chapter One:

Pairing: Ivarr Ragnarsson(AC Valhalla)/Female!Reader

Premise: You are an archeologist/linguist in the Victorian era, and your world is turned upside down when a certain Viking Warlord returns to life before your eyes.

Rating: Explicit(there is a bit of NSFT at the end, and there will be more in later chapters)

In truth, you hadn’t wanted to attend this party. The museum was...nice, but you were quite familiar with most of the exhibits. Your presence had been politely mandated by the foundation that pays your bills, if only on account of your relative fluency in a number of dead languages and scripts. Not that you were given the proper respect for your achievements. “Greatest Female Mind of the 19th Century,” to distinguish you from the men, who won far greater respect for far less work. You weren’t sure how many more questions about your ‘spinsterhood’ you could withstand; as though none of your accomplishments held weight without a ring on a finger or a child on your hip. The other scientists were the worst of course; they had seen you work, knew your intelligence, yet it served their egos to pretend as though you were lesser.

It is far too much frustration, with far too little alcohol. Perhaps wine, yes; a quick trip to the cellars to clear your head ought to do you some good. You excuse yourself, your colleagues all too willing to believe you some dithering lady with need to retire for a bit; as though they hadn’t seen you trek through hot sun and freezing rains.

You roll your eyes as you turn away, your heels tip tapping against the marble floors as you make your escape.

It is however, a large building, and the lower floors are beginning to feel more like a labyrinth than a basement. At this point, you are more interested in finding your way out than you are in seeking out more wine.

The further you go into the basement, the less light there is, fortunately, you come prepared. You rummage through your satchel for your candles and matches, shedding some light on your surroundings.

The breath is stolen from your lungs and you all but shriek at the sight before you, a wide skeletal grin seeming to stare down at you. You calm down quickly however, realizing that this must be where the museum keeps its new exhibits before they go on display. Holding the candle closer to the skeleton’s glass case, you see evidence of water damage, as though it had been found at the bottom of a lake after centuries of rest...you frown as your flame illuminates the brass plaque.

Ivarr Ragnarsson

Of course, this must be from the recent Viking Age find. You had been requested for this project, but you refused. Normally, you were a go-to for Viking cultural finds, but this...The Foundation had decided to dredge the lake in search of high-profile remains. You were sickened by the idea, it felt as though your colleagues were disturbing the extensive rituals of the honored dead. You loved history, but this...felt wrong.

Wrong could not even begin to cover what you were about to witness.

You watch in awe as the bone seems to rejuvenate from its formally eroded state; awe giving way to horror as blood and flesh materializes seemingly from nowhere, knitting together to reform the man from the inside out. His face wears a blank expression, not quite alive, as the scars tear across his flesh, ink bubbling up to the surface to reform his tattoos. Your fingertips ghost against the glass inquisitively, your fears all but forgotten as you marvel at his form. Until now, you could only guess at what the people of the distant past truly looked like; and now here he is, standing before you just as he was the day he died.

Suddenly his eyes open, and you recoil with renewed urgency, only barely keeping your grip on your candle. He hadn’t just regained his form, the man is alive. Your brain fires off quickly, desperately seeking some explanation for this...perhaps a gas leak? No, your candle would have had you up in flames.

His head tilts in confusion as he eyes you, blinking abscently as though he had woken from a long slumber. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but a look of animal panic flashes through his eyes when he realizes there is no air in this glass box.

You realize it too, instinctually rushing to his aid, moving to unlatch the glass box...too slowly. As you reach for his prison, he is already smashing his head through the glass like a battering ram, littering the floor with the glittering shards. In your surprise, you drop your candle; the light still glowing weakly against the marble floor.

Barely illuminated, the man-Ivarr, is a thing of terror; rage and confusion etched into his face. You scramble backward, pressing your back tightly to the wall as he fixes you with his murderous gaze.

“What, THE FUCK, is this?” he growls in thickly accented Old Norse.

You struggle a bit to understand him, you were much more accustomed to reading Old Norse than hearing it. His displeasure though, is obvious. He lets out a pained grunt as he steps down into the broken glass with his bare feet, quickly closing the distance between you.

“I don’t know!” You manage to stammer out in his own language, shrinking away from him as his nostrils flare with rage.

“I was in Valhalla,” he booms. “Fighting beside my family for endless days.” He looks around, even as he struggles to see in the darkness, he can tell how deeply unfamiliar this world is. “Now I am...where am I?” He growls, caging you against the wall with his hands on either side of your head.

You quake in your boots; even naked and unarmed, you know he could kill you-with ease if he wanted…and he certainly looks like he’s got murder on his mind.

“London,” you force yourself to answer.

He doesn’t let you elaborate before he resumes his barking, unsatisfied. “I have been to Lundon, they had nothing like this,” he says, gesturing to what little you can see of the modern furnishings.

“It is London,” you insist, earning a rough hand around your neck before you can finish your sentence.

“You lie,” he snarls, squeezing harder as you claw at his hand desperately.

“Please,” you urge, struggling to choke the words out. “You’ve been dead for a thousand years.”

You gasp deeply when he releases you, staring up at him as you scramble for breath. He looks confused, but not so shocked as he should be; you can only hope that he believes you.

“A thousand years?” He whispers, looking around abscently in consideration. He looks down at you as you sink against the wall. “What sort of magic calls me back to this world after so long?”

You shake your head, trying to regain your composure, eyes fixed firmly on his. “I’m as shocked as you; skeletons don’t exactly have a habit of coming back to life.”

He sighs deeply, shaking his head before he looks at you, much more calmly than he had a moment ago. “So I live again…” he runs a hand through his hair, eyes miles away before returning his gaze to you. “What happens now?”

Fear dissipating, you cautiously rise to your feet; he’s staring at you expectantly, as though somehow you are supposed to have an answer for him. “I-I don’t, wait,” you cut yourself short, pacing quickly to retrieve your fallen candle. He looks at you curiously as you return, holding the candle up between your faces. “This is an extraordinary opportunity!” You gasp, any lingering expression of your previous trepidation evaporating in the heat of your excitement.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, grinning wildly. “So much history from your time is lost to us, or tainted by cultural bias,” you explain with a fevered sort of enthusiasm. Your free hand slides along his bicep, getting a closer look at the intricate tattoo stylings. “My God, you are incredible. Think of what can be learned.”

He eyes you with a grin, clearly amused with your sudden zeal in contrast to just a moment ago, when he had you cowering against the wall. “You are an odd woman,” he says, lifting his arm so you can get a better look at his tattoos.

“What?” You look up at him, breaking your intense focus, if only for a moment. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

He shakes his head, looking down at you. Already your attention returns to his tattoos. A deep chuckle escapes his throat as you kneel to trace the runes etched into the skin of his abdomen; translating them in your head. He takes you by the chin, just a tad too roughly to be tender. He grins down at you, satisfied that he’s got your full attention.

“I said, you are an odd woman.”

There is a certain growl to his voice that sends a warmth through your spine; you feel yourself blush as you realize just how much of this man’s personal space you’ve invaded.

You rise quickly to your feet, turning away from him in a failed effort to hide your embarrassment. “Sweet Mercy,” you whisper in your own tongue. “I am so sorry.”

He laughs, deep and loud from the pit of his stomach. “Sorry?” He steps closer, into the light of your candle, on full display. “There is no shame in liking what you see.”

Your free hand covers your face in scandal. Your profession affords you much less prudery than your contemporaries, but it is difficult to shake the Victorian Sensibilities with which you were raised.

He grins playfully as he approaches, his hand brushing yours as he takes the candle from you. “Look at you,” he beams, thoroughly delighted by your obvious discomfort. “You shook less when I was going to kill you.” He snatches your hand from your face, leaning into your comfort zone, but awaiting your response.

You bite your lip, focused on the hunger in his eyes. That is part of what you love so much about history, is it not? The Passion. Rarely in these modern days do you see such an unashamed lust for life. This man lived and died in a culture of unrestrained freedoms, unabashed pleasures. You gaze back deeply into his eyes; perhaps you’d like some of that pleasure for yourself.

You lean into him, pressing your lips against his, and he pushes you up against the wall. His teeth scrape your bottom lip as he tries to push your skirts up, but he quickly becomes frustrated with the sheer amount of layers you’re wearing. He sets the candle aside.

“Too many fucking clothes,” he growls in your ear, his hands sliding up to rip your dress open.

You gasp, ready to protest the destruction of your most expensive dress, when you notice him eyeing your corset with a frustrated sneer.

“Fuck, are you wearing armor?”

You fail to hold back your laughter as he pouts, like a dog denied his treat. Your eyes widen when he grips your corset, however and you quickly snatch his hands.

“This one is my favorite, don’t you dare-”

You hardly get the words out before he’s grinning like a madman, and you know he took it as a challenge.

“Wait, I can take it off-” You shout, but not quickly enough.

You cringe at the sound of the busk popping open. You open your mouth to give him a piece of your mind, but a pleasured squeal forces it’s way out instead as his teeth sieze the sensitive bud of your breast.

“Fuck,” You moan, your arms draped lazily around his shoulders.

He releases your breast with an obscene pop, pressing firm kisses from your chest up to your neck, before biting down on your soft skin with a lustful growl. You gasp, digging your nails into his shoulders as pain meets pleasure. You feel him start to move away, as though he’s concerned that he hurt you, and you whine.

“Do it again,” you beg, pressing your body against his with urgency.

He grins, toothy and feral, before pushing you a bit more roughly against the wall, teeth biting down on your neck. He takes your hand, guiding it to his waist. You know what he wants, and you are happy to oblige; your fingers sliding down to wrap delicately around his length.

You make long languid strokes, savoring the weight of him in your hand. You desperately want to feel him inside of you.

He groans in protest as your hand leaves him, and you laugh softly, your hands working to undo your skirts.

Your attention is so utterly consumed by him, that you hardly notice the room flood with light, until Ivarr’s attention leaves you.

“Unhand her!”

You blush furiously, shifting to move between Ivarr and your bosses, the Board of the Foundation.

Taglist: @youre-my-boshaw-baby

#mypost #ac valhalla #assassins creed ivarr #ivarr ragnarsson #ivarr the boneless #ivarr/reader #ivarr x reader #ivarr the boneless x reader #ivarr ragnarsson x reader #ivarr ragnarsson/reader #nsft #fanfic

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hereforreadandwrite · 5 months

Text

Chapter four

Masterlist

/!\ Miscarriage/!\

You came back to the longhouse, but you were strange. He knew what you went through was traumatic, but there was something else. You hid your body, covering your loosest clothes, you hid the right side of your face. You refused to look at him and you avoided him. You were hiding from Ivarr. You were hiding something from him and it was starting to annoy him. Ivarr tried to give you space and time, as Ubba and Halfdan advised him to do. They thought that with time to yourself, you would get better, but you still refused to talk to him.

You had refused to speak to him for four moons now.

Four moons since you refused to sleep with him.

You've been avoiding him for four moons.

You had completed several tasks that allowed you to move as much as possible. By Odin, you even agreed to work in the stables as long as you stayed away from Ivarr.

This time he had had enough. Their brothers could go to Helheim with their council. Ivarr was tired of seeing his wife drift away from him and become nothing more than a shadow of herself. Ivarr would go deep into the forest to find you, training you in archery. You drew the string of your bow, letting go of the string to see your arrow go into the ground, far from your target. At the end of your nerves, you threw your bow on the ground. Now that you had lost the use of your right eye, you could no longer aim properly. You had shot around twenty arrows, none of which had touched your target. You drew your axe, throwing it at the target, but like your arrows, it fell on the dead leaves.

“Shit!” you cried, running your hands over your face. "I'm tired of it!”

Ivarr leaned against the tree, watching you pick up your arrows and axe. When you turned towards him, you froze when you saw your companion. You sighed, putting your arrows back in your quiver.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, hanging your axe on your belt.

"I was looking for you. Is that bad?"

“I would have thought you would have gone to fight Bretons or Saxons.”

"The Bretons ran off with the pig's wife and apparently we can't go after the Saxons because of that idiot Bishop and Ceolbert," Ivarr growled.

“Normally, that doesn’t stop you,” you said, turning your back on him to detach your target. “What’s stopping you?”

“My wife stops me.”

You froze when you heard him say that. Was Ivarr worried about you? It was new. You turned to Ivarr. The Boneless looked at you with his gaze that seemed to penetrate your entire being. You swallowed, clutching the target to your chest. Gods, you didn't like it when he looked at you like he did. It always made you lose your means, but with their marks King Rhodri had left you.

You hated them.

You hated your body.

You had several other marks of war, but these showed your helplessness. So you made the decision to hide them. You hid your bruised eye and scars under layers of bandages and hid your body under thick furs. Ivarr lifted himself from the tree, moving closer to you. Your grip tightened, even more, on your target.

"There's something you're not telling me, woman," he said darkly. "What did Rhodri do to you? Did he make you do-"

"No! No, he didn't do anything like that."

"So what happened? What else did he do, (Y/N)?"

What else did Rhodri do?

You didn't want to think about it anymore, that's why you were always moving. You didn't want to think about this event anymore. You looked at Ivarr out of the corner of your eye. Should you tell him? Ivarr growled, spreading his arms, waiting for your response. You bit your lip. You tried to find your words. How could you tell him something like that? Ivarr was a drengr. This sort of thing was not important to a drengr. To die with dignity in combat is the goal of a drengr. Ivarr's objective. He always shouted it loud and clear. He always told you that you would be together in Valhalla, that you would both fight and drink and fuck in the great hall. Maybe you should have focused on that goal.

Maybe... you should have joined Valhalle sooner.

Maybe.

"We are drengr. Our role is to fight and reach Valhalla. That's why we are born. That's why we die. We live for nothing else, " you said, turning to Ivarr. "I repeat that to myself. Day after day. I focus on the most menial tasks to keep my mind occupied and not think about that day and what he did. I...he trampled on him like if he was just a common insect."

“Who did Rhodri step on (Y/N)?”

"Our baby... he... he trampled on him..."

Ivarr looked at you without knowing what to say or what to think. A baby? It was impossible. You never had the build of a pregnant woman. You continued your training as always. You fought against Saxons. You got punched in the stomach. Ivarr ran his hands over his face, pacing as he digested this news.

"How...? When...? You... you weren't pregnant when you were..."

"I was, but I didn't know it. He... he wasn't bigger than that," you said, pointing to the space with your thumb and index finger. "He looked like a larva... but... he was our baby... Rhodri had hit me so hard in the stomach. It hurt so much, but I... I didn't expect to see it. I tried to hide it. I hid it in a piece of cloth. I wanted to bury it. But... Rhodri saw it. He snatched it from me and... he trampled on him like he was crushing a common insect. I... I couldn't do anything. I... I could just watch him trample on him again and again... he didn't care. Nothing was left."

You could no longer hold back your tears as you thought about this scene. You saw again this little thing in your underwear that you hid a piece of fabric. You saw again Rhodri snatching it from your hands to throw it on the ground and stomping on it with rage. You screamed and cried for this child you couldn't bury. You cursed Rhodri for doing what he did.

You were surprised to see Ivarr turn on his heel and walk away from you. Where was he going? Why did he leave you alone?

"Ivarr?! Where are you going?! Ivarr!!"

Ivarr ignored your request. He continued to walk away until he disappeared from your field of vision. You had just lost your husband. Why did you speak? Why did you have to listen to Bishop Deorlaf? You should have kept it all to yourself. You fell to your knees, letting the target fall to the ground. You had nothing left. Were you alone? Not impossible. You must have had a bad dream, didn't you? Yes, that was the only explanation. You manage to get up, picking up your target to return to your tent. You put away your weapons and your target before lying down on your makeshift bed. Exhaustion overwhelmed you, you fell asleep. You didn't have any dreams. No nightmares. But there was nothing restful about this sleep. You didn't know how long you had slept, but you had to wake up to the feeling of someone shaking you and calling your name. You opened your eyes. Your gaze met Ivarr’s. You stood up, looking at your surprised husband. Ivarr had returned.

"Get ready, let's go," he said, standing up.

"Where?" you asked as you stood up, running your hands through your tangled hair. "

At Rhodri's tomb," Ivarr replied grimly.

#x reader #fanfiction #female reader #assassin's creed #ac valhalla #ac valhalla ivarr #ivarr the boneless #reader insert #ivarr x reader #ubba ragnarsson #ubbe ragnarsson #halfdan ragnarsson

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erzsebetrosztoczy · 1 year

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Thank you so much for writing that, I really enjoyed reading it. I love ivarr so much 💙would it be okay if I could request an imagine with Sigurd where him and the reader (a shieldmaiden for the clan) are dating but they have to break up because he is forced to marry Randvi. Sigurd asks eivor (male) to watch over her and always be there for her which results in eivor falling for her. (This is before they all go to England)

At your request 😌

Pairing: m!Eivor x f!reader

Word count: ~ 3000

Genre: angst, tiny fluff

Notes: Okay but I dig the "I cannot be with you, so I make sure someone else will keep you safe/company for that other person to fall in love with another so it's kinda a forbidden-love, love triangle I-live-for-drama story. Yesyes good soup :3 tempted to write about this more picturing Sigurd's reaction maybe??? Oh and I'm writing on sutdy break moments so the writing gonna be super slow but I try yall I swear I try 💀

„ No, this can’t go on anymore and you know this.” You sighed sitting up in the bed, the sheet's whisked a gentle breeze that stirred the bright flames of the candles around you. A groan left Sigurd's chest as he joined you, straightening up, his large palms came to rest on your middle, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. He did not respond right away, just sat there beside you, looking ahead as he came to rest his chin on your shoulder- tangled beard and ginger hair tickling your skin.

"You're to marry her." You continued, tone balked and weak. "How can you expect me to keep my heart this way, as it is right now? How can you expect me to–"

"I do not, my love." He cuts you off with a timid hum, his words resonating throughout your back. "I don't expect you to love me the way we loved each other when this happens… I don't want to– I would never disrespect your honor and trust."

You felt warmth on your cheeks, as tears broke off from the corner of your eyes, slowly making their way to drop down to your lap. It was no easy task, for neither of you. Sigurd was the clan's prince, the next in line, the only one who's right to lead the Raven clan. And therefore, King Styrbjörn made the decision to strengthen his position, the clan's safety and Sigurd's place by joining clans with a rival of his. Sigurd will marry the Jarl's eldest daughter, thereby forging an alliance with them.

The duty of a son. The demise of your love with the Raven Prince.

For weeks you have been consumed by the news, at first you did not believe that your love must soon end. Sigurd offered to go with him that very evening, desperate and hopeless. He will take you to a faraway land, where no one will know you, rank and duty will not matter, only you to each other.

But you both knew it would be an impossible undertaking; would the heir to the throne, who dreamed of following in his father's footsteps since he was a boy, run away from his birthright for the love of a simple blacksmith's daughter?

A girl, whose aging parents are waiting for her at home who loves her, who needs her help and protection. Who would remain among the voices, eyes and mouths in the storm left behind by their child's shame?

No, you were both more mature than that. You will take the responsibility that your ancestors have given to you, so that the white canvas of the lineage does not fail.

“I know, love. I know that.” You calmed Sigurd falling back, leaning your neck on his chest gazing up at him. Sigurd's arms crawled around your torso, reassuringly pulling your body closer to his as he gently rested his chin on the top of your head.

Your lips trembled as a new idea passed through your sweeping mind - a mindless, desperate, shameless idea, but you felt you might be able to survive the hardships that came with it. Your voice was thinning, almost whispering when you uttered the words.

"What if we don’t need to stop our love after all?" You proposed, waiting a few moments to gather the courage to continue. "We do it so that no one knows. They don't know it even now, anyway. It's just that...there would be another person there. During the day, her husband; at night, mine...?"

"Are you saying let's continue all this in the midst of even greater secrecy?" Sigurd's voice rang doubtfully. In addition to deep pain and sadness, bitterness seeped into his words. Are you saying you want me to pretend you're just a side issue? Like I just want to be with you in secret when my wife can't see it?” He moved quickly, you hardly had time to react to him as he crawled back and pulled your body into his lap, hugging you tightly, looking down at you with a worried look. It was then that you saw your dear prince's eyes were glistening with tears.

You couldn't give an answer, just to swallow against the huge lump that was squeezing your throat. You saw no other option but to…

“I will never put you in a situation where you think you're just an affair to me. I love you, my dear, with all my heart, and if it were up to me, I would have made you my wedded wife long winters ago.” He said, leaning down to place a soft kiss on your temple."I want you to be my wife, my partner who stands by my side. You deserve that, nothing less. I wouldn't dishonor you not even for all the treasures of Midgard. But I can't do that."

“So then? Will it all end? What we have? What we share, what we feel? How could I forget this…leave this behind..?” Your vision blurred as tears pooled in your eyes, the man's tall figure looking down at you from behind a wall of water. You waited and hoped for so long, after so many doubts and struggles, when you finally realized that there was more to you than simple friendship. After you were finally brave enough to cross that invisible line. Finally you could be together, and those moments were worth more than any treasure; you finally felt like you found that lost piece of your soul that you've always longed for. Finally, your heart was filled with him, you were happy with him, you were happy with each other. And now it's over? You will be banished once again to a harsh and dark barrenness without Sigurd's care and touch.

"Duty comes first. It doesn't just bind me, it binds you too, and you know that well."Sigurd slowly leaned forward, the warmth emanating from his skin comfortably covering your body, and fearing that he would soon pull away from you, you crossed your arms over his back.

"Whatever fate brings, my heart will be yours forever."

"I belong to you and you to me as long as we live." His lips whispered, softly caressing your face, one last time.

___

The wind bit hard against his skin as Eivor walked across the creaking wooden planks of the dock, around him- the lights of twilight flickered back from the icy sea. The flames of the torches bent with each gust of wind, dutifully standing at the edge of the pier.

His brother waited for him — arms folded behind his back, standing at the edge of the dock, watching the icy, slow-rolling sea as the blues and greens of the night lights cast upon Mindgard.

Sigurd took him aside for a word during the day, when Eivor had just returned from his dawn hunt- the stag not yet cooled out on his horse's back when he arrived. A single glance was enough for the young man to realize that something was wrong with his brother, Sigurd's usual serene expression, his eyes shining with peace, now dull and weak.

“Is there a problem, brother?" He raised his hand worriedly on Sigurd's shoulder, growing somber himself. Eivor usually cared for his own business, he didn't like to interfere in others' debates and troubles, but when it came to his brother's burdens, Eivor did everything to see Sigurd happy again.

As his piercing gray-blue eyes focused on Eivor, the young man thought he could feel the pressure of heavy burdens on his brother. Waiting for an answer, he scanned Sigurd's face, trying to figure out what was pressing on his heart.

Sigurd's eyes closed for a moment, a deep frown appeared between his eyebrows, and then they smoothed out just as quickly when he looked back at his little brother.

"Meet me on the beach after dinner. I have something to discuss with you, Eivor." He announced and after a strong handshake he left, leaving Eivor with the prey he had killed.

The elder brother's gaze was lost in the distance, the unison ripple of the water moved the pieces of the ice armor broken by the ships. Fornburg was quiet at this late hour, only the lapping of the water and the whistling of the wind could be heard. Eivor walked over to his brother silently; standing next to the tall man, he folded his arms across his chest and looked around the bay.

He knew that his brother was not usually this solemn, something really important could be weighing on his soul. Like everything since childhood, the two brothers shared their troubles with each other, looking for advice and sympathy in the other. Eivor decided to wait for Sigurd, let him share his problems with him at his own pace, he would not force this out of his brother.

For a while they stood motionless , silently appreciating the company and the discretion, as the two brothers had done many times before. After a long sigh, Sigurd looked up at the sky, blowing white mist into the air. Waves of colors seemed to follow the sea, the threads and shapes did their eternal dance in silence.

I presume you heard the news from our father.” The taller brother spoke, hoarse. Eivor glanced at his brother who kept his eyes on the sky- as he nodded. Oh, now he understood what it's all about. Oh, he now understood what it was all about.

"I follow our father in the leadership of the Clan, my duty is to keep my people safe; to give them a good life." He continued, raising his gray iris to Eivor.

The blond lad straightened his posture, his brother's look suggested that his help would be needed now more than ever.

"You will be a good leader." Eivor tried to reassure Sigurd,with conviction in his voice. Sigurd weakly acknowledged the words with a half-smile, but his eyes only exuded sadness. "No matter what happens brother, you’ll always have me by your side. I'll help you no matter what."

Sigurd wrinkled his nose wryly, as if a white-hot knife had been thrust into his side, as if it caused him immense pain to even talk about it.

"I entrust you with a serious task, brother, because you are the only one in the world in whose hands I would place my life."

An anxious, tight lump grew in Eivor's stomach, waiting for the question he had suspected since their father had told him of Sigurd's betrothal.

"You have to take care of her." Sigurd finally breathed, his voice breaking in the evening frost. "Be there for her and make sure she lives the life she deserves. The one we both know she deserves." Sigurd made him promise. .

___

Stretching your legs, you jumped off the rock, splashing the sparkling water onto the sand in the shallows.

"The fish must have heard that the dreaded Wolfsmal was stomping this way and ran up to the trees in fright." Chuckling, you strode over to Eivor's side, hands clasped behind your back, chin lifted to examine him as he stood in the stream with his breeches pulled up to his knees, fishing line in hand.

The man huffed one with pretended rage, lifting one leg in the stream, he kicked towards you, soaking your thin linen apron. You squealed and jumped back- a grimace of surprise and astonishment plastered on your face.

"Evor!" You shouted insulted, immediately bending down to return the “kind” gesture to the man by dipping your arm into the ice-cold spring. Laughing, you rushed at him, splashing the water back at him, that made Eivor dart backwards, his deep laughter echoing in the roaring water.

“If you keep doing this, there won't be fish for dinner and then you can try to explain to Tekla what we were up to instead of doing the chores.”

"Oh, I'm not the one who stands in the stream for half a day without a catch!" You cut back, spraying a veil of water over Eivor's head again. Having enough of your duel wrapped the line around his hand, starting to move towards you, his strong legs carrying him with easy through the heavy upstream. Turning back to the shore, you stumbled out onto the dry just in time, when you felt the touch of his wet, cold hand on your upper arm, closing around your torso from both sides, erasing even the thought of escape from your mind.

Your legs rose from the ground as you tried to kick free as one of Eivor's arms crawled under your knees, scooping you up in his arms like you weighed nothing.

"Put me down, Eivor!" You rolled your eyes at him, but his huge smile just betrayed the mischief, hiding across his face. "Do you hear that? Don't you dare throw me in the—" You ordered, trying to sound menacing and angry, but just like Eivor's face, your own was beaming with childish glee.

The man firmly grabbed your legs and arms and spun around on the shore, slapping you in the face with his untangled, wet curls. Apart from the roar of the river and the birds' whistles in the green forest, only the laughter and shouts of the two of you could be heard far along the river.

Sometimes, in moments like this, you forgot that what you call home now, was a foreign land a long time ago. A foreign country, with foreign people - but also a new beginning, a clean start. Leaving the past behind, you and your family came to this island in search of a new life. At first, it was searing, almost unbearable pain that you constantly felt when you saw Sigurd beside another; when you were no longer able to touch his scarred skin or press soft kisses onto his lips– all slowly drifted away in your mind and heart, leaving a throbbing wound, now only a memory for you.

Eivor was always there to distract you from them. As in battle, so in everyday life you sought his presence; your friendship - initially bonded by Sigurd- grew stronger, growing into faithful companions who were always there for each other at arm's length.

You knew that, and you felt it on Eivor as well; this bond was important to both of you. The two lonely souls, often separated from the clan, could have a kindred soul by their side. And you also knew very well that this arm's length was slowly shrinking. Pulling the thread of the bond on you ever tighter...

After finishing the game, you both started collecting your fishing gear and your own belongings, moving quickly and smoothly around each other. You glanced to the side from the horses, catching Eivor tossing his water-dripping mane back in frustration, leaving dark blue stains on his blue tunic. Sighing in amusement, you turned back to him, hands on your hips.

"Shall I help you?" You called out to him, but before Eivor could answer, you quickly stepped behind him.

You ran your fingers through his blonde curls, the thick strands gently tickling your fingertips. Eivor's shoulders relaxed with a sigh, instantly bending his knees so you could reach his head.

Not a single word was spoken between you, as your nimble fingers braided his long hair into a loose line, careful not to pull on his lush curls.

Finishing your work, you wiped your wet hands on your skirt, Eivor turned, towering over you as he faced you. The man must have been two heads taller than you, so close to him you had to bend your neck back a little to be able to look into his shining sky blue eyes.

His eyes always seemed to you they were in a different color each time you locked eyes with him. Ice blue, light blue, greenish blue- it seemed that Eivor's penetrating gaze was the night light itself. It was as if Eivor carried a part of your past within himself. The water was still dripping from his beard and forehead, small drops falling onto your face. An arm's length away, you were always just an arm's length away from each other.

"Eivor…" You breathed softly, raising your palm to your cheek. You didn't even notice that your thumb brushed away a drop of water from under his eyes. He knew everything about you, and you knew everything about him, the days when you were alone in his absence passed so bitterly slowly.

His searching gaze betrayed his thoughts when it fell from your eyes to your slightly open lips for a few moments. And you caught the moment. Whether it was you or the man who broke the still moment, you didn't know. You only realized it, when his lips were on yours, soft flesh melting over yours as a hand crept across your middle, pulling your body towards his form. Eyelids closed, you eagerly answered the movement, capturing his tender bottom lips between your teeth. At this action, Eivor groaned into the kiss, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he slightly skimmed across your lips with his tongue. The touch burnt your skin all across your body, tingling and pinching you, as your mind buzzed in excitement.

The warmth left your lips too soon, cold air sweeping across your flushed face as Eivor leant back. His gaze felt so tender across your form, adoring warmth glimmered in his eyes, a hand rubbing your side up and down.

The distance has now dissipated, a thread has grown stronger and tighter, as it connected your hearts, opening a new path for you.

#ac valhalla #assassin's creed #assassin's creed valhalla #eivor #male eivor #m!eivor #eivor varinsson #male eivor x reader #m!eivor x reader #m!eivor x f!reader #ac valhalla fanfic #my writing #ac sigurd #assassins creed sigurd #sigurd styrbjörnsson #sigurd styrbjornsson

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freshneverfrozen · 3 years

Text

Tincture - Chapter 3

Reader x Ivarr, Reader x Hytham

Part One, Two

Friendly reminder that, irl, we don’t tolerate bastards. We kill and eat them.

Chapter Three - Promises and Assurances

Basim greets you with a nod. He is the only one to greet you at all. Surrounded by two grim-faced Danes, one big, the other bigger, Basim looks out of place. Out of place, but not uncomfortable.

You, on the other hand, know that you appear both. With the sun bright in the sky, some of the cold has retreated, but it hardly improves your restless mood. The camp is a small one, a dozen tents scattered round, and you wonder how much of the blood on the axes and stained leather these men wear belong to your neighbors. You do not meet their eyes when they stare. Instead, you search the shadows for any sign of the mad Dane.

Basim’s voice draws you from your thoughts.

“My wayward apprentice and his charge.” He clasps Hytham’s outstretched forearm and the grin that follows turns to something genuine that warms the black of his eyes.

Hytham looks to one of the Danes, a woman, tall and with hair the color of frosted straw.

“Eivor, this is the healer we found on the road, the one I spoke to you about.”

She smirks and tosses her head with a chuckle, sending her war-braids spilling. “With the spark in your eye as you did? Yes, I remember the story.” She ignores Hytham’s spluttering and turns to you. “As Hytham has said, I am Eivor, of the Raven Clan. If you can mend scratches, you are welcome.”

“I can mend more than scratches,” you assure her, “But I hope it will not be needed. Thank you for allowing a stranger in your midst. It is a generous offer.”

Eivor nods, though her attention returns to Basim and the other Dane. The latter is an immense bull of a man. He has been quiet thus far, his face serious. Something about it bothers you the longer you look at it, until you are staring, and you are sure recognition is only a thought away.

Something in the eyes, the hair, the chin...

Warm breath on your cheek draws you from your thoughts. Hytham is near, very near, leaned over the distance between your horses.

“We will ride soon.” His eyes find yours. Blue, you decide. Today, they are blue and gilded like a king’s crown. You cannot look at them long, glancing downward to see his fingers flex. They hover in the air, as though he may reach for you. You wish he would. A steadying hand would do you good right now. You watch, disappointed, as that hand falls to his thigh.

What does he read on your face, you wonder? Fear? You certainly feel it, you have since rising this morning, and doubly so when you and Hytham had arrived at the camp.

You fear being recognized atop your stolen mare.

But of the two dozen faces you count milling about, none belong to the Dane who had set you on this path. You don’t dare ask after him. As the others speak of plans, you remain silent, intent on looking disinterested, even as you listen.

Hytham’s promise holds true. Within the hour, you are riding. Basim guides his horse to the other side of yours, and you find yourself caught -- guarded -- by these pretend monks. It sets your jaw to grinding, even as you remind yourself to be grateful for their protection. The Danes stop watching you as the two men close ranks. Maybe it is the threat in their curved swords or the seriousness of their faces. Either way, no one bothers you.

Hytham, you understand. You have never made friends quickly, but the man is as close to one as you have. But Basim? He owes you nothing, no matter Hytham’s claims. When he watches you, it isn’t with a man’s interest, as you had first assumed. He seems curious. Like a cat watching a bird before deciding whether or not to crush it under a paw.

There is as much danger here as you would have found had you kept to the road alone.

The reins protest between your fingers and you realize that you are squeezing the leather tightly enough to color your knuckles.

Wilting flowers do not survive as long as you have, but there is nowhere to run should you catch the wrong eye. You are eased when Basim informs you that most of the party will follow the large Dane tomorrow, parting from your smaller group that is bound for Ravensthorpe.

Riding a little farther in companionable silence, Basim catches your eye. His face is free of the road-dust that cakes so many others, and he lets you have your moment’s study. The cracks and crannies reveal no secrets, however, and you eventually look away.

“He is not here,” Basim whispers, “Do not look so worried.”

The words do not land as Basim perhaps hopes. There is no feeling behind them, and you are left frowning at the road ahead. That uncanny knowing will not settle -- something is amiss, and if it is not yet so, it will be.

Is this a mistake? Am I a fool? Not long ago, you would have called such a neatly presented gift as this one a trap. But the years you have spent in motion, never lingering until arriving at Fremedeleigh, are weighing on your shoulders. The frown settles into the lines of your face as you squint into the early autumn sun.

But it shines brightly, and if it knows what lies ahead, it keeps those secrets to the heavens.

………….

Something is wrong.

Fitful dreams weave webs of a dangerous face full of teeth and hateful eyes. They stir you, until you are pulled from their depths by fear and the night’s encroaching cold. For a moment’s time, you do not open your eyes to the blackness. Instead, you listen. A fire crackles beyond the flaps of your tent, the sound warm enough to chase away some of the chill. Softer still, voices murmur in the rough tongue of the Dane’s. You hear no breathing from the opposite corner. The woman who had agreed to share her tent has yet to come to bed.

But despite the gentle sounds of a well-guarded camp, a tickling in your bones tells you that all is not as it seems. You have heard the quiet before, and you know the danger that comes with it.

You open your eyes to darkness, unable to feign sleep any longer.

And for the first time, the knowing fails you.

It has come too late and met a cannier foe.

You see nothing, but you feel a weight sweep over your face as a heavy, callused hand cups your mouth and presses hard. Breath is driven out of you on a gasp, but the air meets the resistance of a palm and you are forced to swallow it back down. Cold, gripping fear balls in your chest, and you flail, striking at the body that settles above you.

Thighs press on either side of your middle, lifting only as your left arm is wrenched down and caught under one knee. You strike again with your free right arm, aiming high, clipping the intruder around the head. A voice hisses at you in the darkness, the sharp sound of sucking breath through teeth, and when you strike again, the hand that holds your face shifts to dig its nails into the skin of your cheeks and jaw.

“Found you, foxling,” says the voice. It’s sound is harsh even in a whisper, like the noise of a body dragged over rocks.

‘Foxling’. You know at once who has you - the mad Dane.

“Next time, find a hole farther from your hunter.” He titters softly, and through the darkness, you think you can make out the gleam of teeth. “Now, how shall I skin you?”

A sudden effort from you sends him forward, loosing his hand enough for you to sink your teeth into the meat of his palm. He tightens his grip, lifting your head in the span of his large hand, and then sends it cracking back against the ground. Sparks burst behind your eyes as, dimly, you register his weight shifting, moving to better subdue you.

He leans low over your ear, his breath hot at your neck. “I think I will kill you,” he hisses, “What our Raven-feeder doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Let’s start here --”

You don’t need to see it to know steel when it presses at your skin, the tip of a dagger digging into the flesh below your jaw. You squeeze shut your eyes, pressure mounting as you try again to throw him off. A rustle of fabric at the edge of your hearing stills you for a single beat of your heart, and you feel the Dane go rigid atop you.

A woman’s voice cracks out, “Oi, what’s this? Find your own tent for your business -- oh, it’s you, Ivarr. I didn’t realize.”

Light from the campfire spills past her, chasing away the shadows from the tent’s interior. For the first time, you can see Ivarr above you, his weathered face and neck flushed, his lank hair obscuring half his face and the snarl that forms on his lips.

“Can you not see I am busy?” he growls, one hand still tight over your mouth, the other poised with a jagged little knife, the end of which you can just barely see.

The woman hesitates, glancing back over her shoulder. The sounds of campfire chatter have ceased, replaced by the noise of quick steps crunching over stone and dirt. Ivarr sighs, sitting back to rest on your knees. His weight is heavy -- you had learned as much during your struggle, and you know that you had been right in your brief observation that he is a larger man than his build and movements would have you believe on a glance.

A second figure appears in the opening and a grin curls around Ivarr’s lips. “Ah, Wolf-Kissed! I found a --”

“Get off the woman, Ivarr.” Eivor steps forward and when she is near, the fingers of one hand curl in the back of Ivarr’s shirt. A moment later, he is lifted off of you, Eivor sending him stumbling back.

Ivarr rights himself with fluid whirl, so smoothly you would think he had not just been tossed away like refuse in the wind. “She is a straggler, Eivor --”

“A survivor,” the woman snaps, “She has escaped you. What rock did you emerge from under, Ivarr? I thought you had returned to Shropshire.”

“I smelled a rat,” his cold blue eyes turn to you, “Had to come check the larder.”

You try not to let him see the shudder that runs through you as you pull your cloak around your shoulders. But he sees past the movement and smiles again. He is almost ugly, except for the moments when the light catches his eyes and the glint in them distracts you from the scars and deep angles. There is a depth in them that frightens you -- it dawns on you that those eyes are not those of a madman, as he first seemed, but rather a very singular personality, one that revels in the sort of violence that nearly left you cut from ear to ear.

A crowd gathers beyond the walls of the tent; you can hear their shuffling and their murmurs and see their shadows playing through the cracks. Two men push past, and a breath leaves you in relief as Basim appears with Hytham at his heels. Hytham’s worried gaze finds yours, dragging over your face to land at a spot near the left side of your jaw. He scowls at what he sees there and it is only then that notice the trickle of warmth running down your neck. Ivarr’s cut had been a nearer miss than you had realized. All over again, the rising, frozen fingers of fear grip you tight.

Basim gestures between the two glaring Danes. “I see our new friend yet lives. Perhaps we can move our arguments outside?”

“Piss off,” grunts Ivarr. He sweeps past Basim. “Unless you want to argue with the tip of that curved sword.”

“Entertaining as that would be, it would be a mistake.” Basim’s eyes shine with a look that would have most men stepping back, but Ivarr only waves a hand at the man.

He calls on his way out, “Somebody get me a drink! If I can’t kill horse thieves, I will drown myself in ale instead.”

At last, the tent is quiet, save for the quiet shuffling of feet. With Ivarr gone, Eivor turns to you. Her eyes run from your feet to your head, her lips quirking. She gestures to the wound left near your jaw. “Seems you’ve a scratch to mend already.”

At that, she slips out, Basim following her. Only Hytham remains. He looks grim, as he so often does, his eyes on the ground near his feet.

“Frown much harder and you will dig a hole,” you say, though the words are difficult to get past your lips.

“Good,” scoffs Hytham, “Someone can bury him in it.”

Harsh words, but hard to disagree with. The bite in them surprises a grin out of you. The fear and panic are fading, and you find yourself moving on steady feet to Hytham’s side. The press of your hand at his arm draws his eyes up to yours. He seems to at last catch himself, shaking his head.

“I am glad Eivor was here,” he says with a gentleness you feel in your chest.

“You and Basim were not far behind her,” you remind him.

“Cutting a throat is a quick thing. If he meant to do it, I think we would not have been here in time.”

“If he meant to do it?” You raise a hand to your neck, fingers sliding over skin tacky with drying blood.

“Even Ivarr knows better than to kill a woman in the middle of camp.”

“So he meant to frighten me then?” He had done a fine job of it. He had snatched up your life and held it between his hands on a whim.

Hytham shakes his head again. “I think he likes to play with his food.”

“Must we call me that?”

Hytham laughs, even as your stomach churns. “You are right. I am sorry. A poor image.” His cheer sobers quickly, his eyes settling on you once more, though the shine in them remains. When you had joined him at his side, you had placed yourself nearer to him than perhaps you should. He has somehow closed the distance further still without you noticing, the heat from his body warm across the small space. So close, you can see the freckles across his cheeks, remnants left from a time in a sunnier climate than England’s. He appears to be considering something.

“Here,” he says after seconds have passed, “Take this.” With one hand, he reaches for you, his palm soft over the back of your hand. With the other, he reaches around to his side and frees a small, sharp-looking knife from his belt. He presses it into your outstretched fingers. “In case Eivor is not around next time.”

“What of you?” The question leaves you without you meaning it to, and your cheeks heat mercilessly. Hytham’s gaze softens in the light.

“It is my knife. Think of me when you stab the man with it.” His fingers run over the back of your hand, so light it could almost be imagined, and you shiver at the touch. He pulls his hand away.

“That’s very cut-throat of you, Hytham.”

“You would be surprised how cut-throat I can be, healer.” At this, something passes over his expression, but it is gone before you can name it. “Now, get some rest.”

“Goodnight,” you tell him. He slips out of the tent, pausing before the flap can fall. He catches your eye, smiles once, and then is gone.

…………….

The next morning, your mare is already saddled when you find her.

Ivarr sits atop her, grinning down at you as he braces against the saddle. The mare tosses her head, snorting when he pulls her reins tight. You frown as you watch his fingers wind their way through her silver mane, twirling the hair, taunting you.

“You’ve taken good care of her,” he says when you come to a stop safely out of his reach. “So kind of you to return her to us.”

It is another cold day, cloudier than the one before it, but anger heats your face as you glare at him. But what can you say? She is not your horse. She belonged with the Danes to start with, not quite stolen, but it’s a near enough difference that you won’t argue it. One glance at him tells you that Ivarr knows this, as he knows that you are snared by your helplessness to protest.

He nudges his heels into her sides. She comes to you, her velvet nostrils flaring as she noses your arm. As you reach to pet her, heat spreads behind your eyes, unreasonable and traitorous. She is a horse. Nothing more or less. Still, as you feel her warm breath on your palm, it feels as though Ivarr is taking something more from you.

And when you find the nerve to meet his eyes, you know that has been his intention from the start.

He smiles, all teeth.

“They say you are a healer. Or did they call you a witch?” He tilts his head - mocking you. “Dark seidr, that. So, tell me, witch, why is it that you did not heal all those people? What good are you if you cannot attach heads back onto shoulders?” His voice rings with the sing-song sound of a child’s rhyme. It echoes in your ears like bitter wind. He digs his heels into the mare’s sides once more, circling her around you. Her dark eye watches you as she passes, and somewhere in your heart, you think that the beast is sorry. Ivarr continues, his voice rising loud enough to turn heads. “Instead, you ran. Like a coward. Do you know what we do to cowards?”

The blood in your veins goes cold as you glare spitefully up at him. You want to spit at that grinning face, or claw at it, or sink Hytham’s knife into the socket of one of those eyes. Ivarr leans closer, craning down until his face is only a foot from yours. He studies your face and his eyes glimmer at the boiling wrath he must read there. He raises a hand, runs his thumb over his lip as though to taste the air as it sours between you.

When you do not answer, he says, “We polish our blades with their innards.”

Coward. Witch. They are only names. But as they slither out from his lips, they sound like curses, echoing in the back of your mind. Hands clenching at your side, it takes all your effort not to reach up and drag him from his horse. He likely won’t fall for that trick twice.

Instead, you raise your chin, and try not to think about how your insides feel as though they have turned to water.

As levelly as you can, you reply, “You did not manage it the first time, nor the second. Do you want to know what they say about you? They call you ‘boneless’.” You peer up at him, unblinking. “I wonder if it is because you do not have the spine to back up your words.”

A boom of laughter fills the air, startling the mare and sending her prancing. He snatches her reins and pulls her back around to face you.

“You,” he levels a finger at you, “you, I will skin cunt first. The Raven Clan and its strays will not protect you forever. Rest easy knowing that your fate is already sewn. You won’t be my finest kill, but I am a man who can find joy in the little things.”

He pulls at the mare, rounding her with a bellowing whinny, and leads her away.

You are glad to see him go. But as you know many things, you know, down to your heart, down to your bones, that you will see him again.

#ac vahalla #reader #ivarr x reader #hytham x reader #basim

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the-historywhore · 3 years

Text

The chronicles of Æthelstan, and his fiery wife.

Chapter 1: Married life.

Warnings: mentions of discrimination, mentions of violence.

———————

“Frida?” Æthelstan called, he had returned from his work with Ragnar in Kattegat hoping to be greeted by his wife. However, it was not that simple.

Æthelstan was a Christian, and his wife was a Pagan - a Norse woman. She was fair and beautiful, but fiery and short-tempered. He peered around the corners of the hut, hoping to find her but he found that he was alone. The Saxon huffed, all he wanted was for some comfort.

His day working with Ragnar, had also given him grief. Although Ragnar would not do such a thing, many others found themselves taunting Æthelstan. He was mocked for his faith, the butt of many jokes and taunts. It was tiresome for him.

“Husband?” He heard her call.

Frida found her husband sat upon their bed, fiddling with his hands in his lap. He seemed lost in the days thoughts. She set down the basket of fish she had collected down by the fjord and walked over to him. Her heart did swell when he looked up to her, she smiled at him and he did to her. Frida sat down beside him, her husband leant his head on her shoulder.

“What troubles you, my dear?” She asked.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, love” He replied, brushing his emotions off. Although, with his love beside him, his troubles did not seem so great after all.

“The other men have been calling you names again, they’ve been taunting you for your faith?” She deduced. Æthelstan avoided his wife’s gaze, she was right. And she knew it. “Tell me their names.”

“No, Frida. You don’t-“

“I wasn’t asking” Frida growled. “Tell me their names, I won’t have them speak to you like that!”

Æthelstan was the only one who could silence his wife’s rampages, he softly cradled her jaw to press his lips to hers. Affectionately rubbing the skin of her cheek with his thumb.

There were many times like this, where he would quell Frida’s rage and bloodlust. When she’d had a bad hunt, or torn her clothing just after she’d mended it.

“You can’t hurt everyone who makes jokes about me, just sit here with me for a while.” He explained.

“Fine,” She huffed. “I won’t hurt anyone, but I will be asking Ragnar to put a word out” She wagged her finger in his face, showing that she meant business.

Frida was small, and often described as ‘cute’. This meant that many people never took her seriously, but Æthelstan always took her seriously. He had seen what she was capable of, heard the way her anger twisted her voice to sound vicious and malevolent, she was a true force to be reckoned with. On one occasion, whilst sleeping, an enemy of Æthelstan’s had broken in while they were asleep and Frida had taken them down all on her own. In fact, Æthelstan woke up to see his wife seething with anger, hatchet in hand and blood splattered all over her face, straddling the waist of an unidentifiable man that had clearly had his face caved in with the harsh kiss of his hatchet.

She was condescending and sarcastic, and her blood-lust never seemed to end - but by Odin’s beard did Æthelstan love Frida, with all his heart.

—————

Sorry this is so short! The next one will be longer, I promise <3 let me know what you’d like to see Æthelstan and Frida face next :)

#athelstan x reader #ragnar lothbrok #vikings x reader #vikings #bjorn ragnarsson #hvitserk #ubbe ragnarsson #ubbe fanfiction #sigurd ragnarsson #ivar ragnarsson #ivarr the boneless #ivar imagine #aethelstan #Viking wifey

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synintheraven · 4 months

Text

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary/small introduction: Sihtric and you finally reach Tamworth, but you don't find quite what you were looking for there.

✵tw: mentions of violence

✵word count: 1,1k

characters info | part four

We were near. I could see the rising ground, the patched grass covering the hills to the west and the corn fields bordering the city walls to the east.

Leicester looked like no more than a bunch of broken bricks from there, the trees around it seeming small as a pile of dry leaves. The sun was sinking into the horizon, the colours of the sky going from a light orange to a dark blue, bordering the Saxon town.

And, as the horse galloped towards the edge of the hill, the Fortress of Tamworth revealed itself.

Grey stones emerged from the ground at the top, following the slope and climbing over rocks. A carved ditch circled the fortified town, weeds and bushes covered an evident trap to outside eyes. But, as long as we remained on the stone road, we’d reach Tamworth’s safety.

I had my legs hanging from the side of the horse, with my cloak flying in the wind and my sword clinging on its scabbard. Humming one of my father’s favourite songs as Sihtric listened in silence, almost enjoying the sound.

It was the closest I had ever been to him, feeling the warmth of his body on my chest and the subtle smell of mead coming from the fur over his shoulders.

—Yggr used to sing that when we were kids. —He said when the song had finished and looked over his shoulder, a subtle smirk appearing on his face. —I was told a Norse shipmaster wrote it many winters ago, before you or I even came to this world.

—I heard it was a Dane, an old sailor that went mad after spending his whole life at sea. —I taunted, yet all he gave me in return was a scoff; a reminder that, every time I thought I have gained his trust, he was still reluctant to befriend me.

Was it something I have said? One of my many attempts to provoke some sort of feeling, to find the friendly and silly man Yggr spoke of? He had told me of a happy man, a thoughtful warrior that picked his words, yet never turned down an opportunity to mock others. But Sihtric evidently wasn’t such a man, or at least hid it whenever I was around.

The fortress was closer now, a stone giant towering over us as we neared the open gates. With warriors in mail standing above them, carefully watching our approach. Yet we were allowed into the city without questioning, our looks easily betraying us as Danes as we rode among the Ragnarsson’s army.

It was a busy place; Dane folk filled the place with laughter and chatter, preparing themselves for supper as the night overshadowed the land. Children ran, most men were drinking or training and women worked hard to polish armours. They were preparing for battle, enjoying the last days before it was time to pick up the swords and the shields, then fight for the land.

The small village within the fortress was filled with smoke from the fires and the stench of animal dung, while we rode in search of a place our horse could rest. Watching over the city from behind bushes and rocky boulders, was the thatched roof over the main hall: yet the place was too quiet for a Dane Lord to be wandering around the Fortress' walls, suggesting our search for Ivarr wasn't over.

Though I still felt uneasy: carefully analyzing our surroundings, looking for the slightest sign of trouble. For no one suspected we were not the Ragnarsson's warriors, but it would take only one person to question us to be caught lying. It was just me and Sihtric and a couple hundreds of them, turning us into easy prey for a pack of hungry wolves.

But I couldn't show fear. I had to stay focused, watch every move and word I made. And if we were lucky, we'd find Ivarr.

A full moon filled the night sky, an owl hooted somewhere in the shadows and the tiny flames danced before us. The open doors allowed the cold wind inside the hall, fighting the fire on the hearth to keep the hall warm as we had supper.

A boar stew laid before us, its lack of taste compensated with sweet mead and the words of a drunken warrior, more than willing to share information with us.

—Ivarr was here a few moons ago. —He took another sip of his drink, spitting as he tried to put his thoughts into words. —But he left, because Ubba and Halfdan were fighting like children.

—Left to where? He didn’t tell us anything. —Sihtric interrupted with a lie, grabbing his mug as he pretended to drink, but I could tell not a single drop of mead had touched his lips.

—Of course he wouldn’t! —The man scoffed, giving a hard fist blow on the table. —Ivarr never tells shit to anyone, unless he either likes them or wants to chop off their head. —The last few words were almost unintelligible and I watched as he fought back the need to vomit.

—What about the brothers?

—They are in Repton! —he paused, looking at us with squinted eyes in suspicion. —Are you both new here? —He said. Then, waved a hand in the air, dismissing his suspicions. —The brothers gathered all of us here, fought about land and plans with Guthrum, then left to kill Christians over at Repton.

—With Guthrum? —I asked as Sihtric was standing up, ready to leave with our newly acquired information, but sighed and sat down again.

—Guthrum is a coward and left for East Anglia where he can play the King with his dogs. I never liked him anyway. —he took a last sip of his drink, then complained loudly about his empty cup until a slave brought him more mead.

—And Ivarr? Where could have he gone?

—He must be back with his brothers at Repton by now, —the drunken fool downed his newly served drink, looking more nauseous than before. —they always fight when there’s ale but make peace when the birds start with their little noises.

And just like that, we had a new destination to reach and a glimpse to what the Dane lords were planning. With Guthrum away in East Anglia, it meant the Ragnarssons’ forces would be smaller and their own quarrels would soon divide their army into disorganized little groups. Yet someone needed to lure those Danes into quit the fight or leave to any other territory far from our encampment.

So as the day came to an end, we bought new horses and searched for a place to spend the night, before we rode to Repton.

Fun facts, because why not?

✯Ragnarssons: So you probably noticed at this point that I don't ever refer to them as Lothbroks, the reason is that 1) medieval dane/norse last names usually go as Father's name + son (or dóttir if it's female) and 2) Lothbrok was a nickname that meant Saggy/Dirty Pants, so yeah not something I want to use to refer to his *potential sons.

✯Potential sons??: Well I'm no historian (just uhm google a lot of stuff for research and curiosity) but apparently they probably weren't Ragnar's actual sons, they were more likely just popular warriors among the danes that Ragnar adopted to hold onto their fame to remain interesting (lol) but also because a King needs heirs (and if they're legends, all the better)

✯Ragnar Lothbrok: Last but not least, the Ragnar that died in a pit of snakes potentially never existed as there's no historical or geographical proof in England of pit of snakes ever being a thing to torture or kill people, plus the tale that tells of this was written much later. However, there was a real Ragnar that did raid Paris and even went to Ireland too, but he was probably just merged with the legendary Ragnar at some point :p

#sihtric x you #sihtric x reader #sihtricxyou #sihtricxreader #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #sihtric kjartansson x you #sihtric kjartansson x reader #my writing #rtv #road to valhalla #sihtric fic #sihtric fanfic #sihtric kjartansson fic #sihtric kjartansson fanfiction

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camdentown-library · 3 years

Text

𝕰𝖘𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖎𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

☕ = Fluff 🥯 = Smut 🥨 = Angst 🟠 = One-shot 🟣 = Headcanon ☀️ = Male x Female 🌙 = Female x Female

𝕬𝖘𝖘𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖓'𝖘 𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖉

male!Eivor the Wolfkissed

Sober ☕🟠☀️

Sleeping with Eivor ☕🥯🟣☀️

Holding Hands ☕🟠☀️

You hurt me first ☕🥨🟠☀️

NSFW Headcanons 🥯🟣☀️

Ivarr Ragnarsson

Dancing with the beast ☕🟠☀️

Sleeping with Ivarr ☕🥯🟣☀️

How Ivarr behaves when he falls in love with the reader ☕🥯🟣☀️

NSFW Headcanons 🥯🟣☀️

Sigurd Styrbjornson

Sleeping with Sigurd ☕🟣☀️

NSFW Headcanons 🥯🟣☀️

Basim Ibn Ishaq

Sharing clothes ☕🟠☀️

Sleeping with Basim ☕🟣☀️

Hytham

Sleeping with Hytham ☕🟣☀️

Yusuf Tazim

Are you cold? ☕🟠☀️

Ubba Ragnarsson

female!Eivor Varinsdottir

Tyr

Ezio Auditore da Firenze

Federico Auditore da Firenze

Bartolomeo D’Alviano

Niccolò Machiavelli

Malik Al-sayf

𝕽𝖊𝖉 𝕯𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝕽𝖊𝖉𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Sean Macguire

🌺 + Sean ☕🟠☀️

Arthur Morgan

🥶 + Arthur ☕🟠☀️

Dutch Van der Linde

🤬 + Dutch 🥨🟠☀️

John Martson

Bill Williamson

Lenny Summers

Javier Escuella

Kieran Duffy

Flaco Hernandez

Josiah Trelawny

Eagle Flies

𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖑 𝕶𝖔𝖒𝖇𝖆𝖙

Kung Lao

One, None and One Hundred Thousand ☕🥨🟠☀️

Liu Kang

Raiden

Fujin

Hanzo Hasashi

Kuai Liang

Kano

Erron Black

Kabal

𝕷𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 / 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕳𝖔𝖇𝖇𝖎𝖙

Thranduil

My guardian spirit ☕🟠☀️

Feren

Lindir

𝕸𝖆𝖗𝖛𝖊𝖑 𝕮𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖈 𝖀𝖓𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖊

Loki

A series of absurd coincidences ☕🟠☀️

Helmut Zemo

Bath-time with Zemo ☕🥯🟣☀️

Steven Grant

Marc Spector

Jake Lockley

Bucky

Sam Wilson

Vision

Doctor Strange

Erik Killmonger

𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖗

Ah Sahm

Young Jun

Bolo

Wang Chao

Li Yong

Zing

Bill O’Hara

Richard Henry Lee

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bloodthirstychaos · 3 years

Text

Jealousy

f!Eivor X f!Reader

In which Eivor gets jealous over the reader.

CW: None

Third Person POV:

It was a rainy day in England when Sigurd Jarl and his drengr Eivor stood at the alliance map. They were planning their next move, the next alliance to make.

"I'm going to head to Ledecestrescire to meet with Ubba and Ivarr. Come join when me when you're ready." Sigurd told Eivor, resulting in a nod in response. "Maybe bring along Y/N with you, you two seem rather close. Future lovers perhaps?" He added with a smirk on his face. He knew he got her the second she dropped her head to hide her red face. It surprised him really. He had never seen his adopted sister react like that before, especially when it came to a person. He had noticed the way Eivor looks at Y/N, and she returned those looks. Yet, it appeared as though their feelings go unnoticed by one another.

"Brother, enough of this nonsense." Eivor voiced once she was able to get the heat in her face to subside. Eivor had tried hard to hide her feelings for the certain drengr. The way her eyes shown with a spark in the middle of a battle. How her hair flowed smoothly through the air with her harsh swings. Her protective nature over everyone else, determined to help all that she could. Future lovers? No. It couldn't be.

"Nonsense Eivor? There is no nonsense here. I went ahead and asked for her to accompany you before we met this morning." Sigurd spoke nonchalantly.

"You what? Sigurd, by Odin's eye, what are you doing?" She spoke hastily.

"I'm doing what I see fit as your Jarl, Eivor. You two meet us when you are ready." He replied with a smirk before walking out of the room. Eivor lowered her head, resting her hand on her forehead.

Your POV:

Eivor came to me in a fluster, telling me she's ready to meet Sigurd when I was ready. When we arrived, we first met Ivarr, who in my opinion seems a little unstable. When we met up with Sigurd and Ubba, we were greeted by the arguing of Ubba and a woman named Tonna. Later on we found out that she was giving King Burgred information, so Sigurd, Eivor, and I made our way to speak with her. She greeted us at the gate, but I didn't look at her, instead opting to look at the fortress around. Looking for any weakness or vulnerabilities that could be useful if this turns bloody.

They were talking, Tonna grabbing my attention as she walked around Eivor, "And who are you, lovely dove? Want to perch your ass on my lap." Tonna was looking at Eivor with a lustful look, looking at her ass. A look that caused jealousy and anger to soar through my blood.

Realizing that she had caught my attention, Tonna turned to me. "Ooh, or you. I have a perch for you. I've been told I have a rather expert tongue." She walked a circle around me, checking me out. If looks could kill, she would be dead by the look Eivor was giving her.

"No thanks." I hummed, looking her in the eye. She gave me a once over before replying, "The offer will stand should you change your mind." At this point, Eivor was glaring daggers at her, looking as though she was considering Ivarr’s offer to pay anyone who rid the land of this woman.

My attention was the taken back to the fortress as her, Eivor, and Sigurd exchanged words. It ended with Tonna wanting money, which was refused. We walked a ways away after Tonna made it clear that we weren’t welcome anymore, and if we showed up again it’d get ugly. It was then decided that me and Eivor would slip in and gather information while Sigurd went back to the Ragnarrsons.

Silently slipping in, we made our way to the building Tonna headed towards, making sure we weren’t spotted. Eivor slipped in while I stood and watched for anyone to enter. When Eivor slipped out of sight, Tonna walked through the door noticing my presence.

“Ah, lovely dove. I made it clear you weren’t welcome here,” She started before running her eyes up and down my body, “but for you I’ll make an exception. Come to accept the offer I gave you?”

“And what if I am?” I had to buy Eivor some time just to make sure she was able to get the information she needed and get out. I can’t exactly strike her down right here risking Eivor being caught. The look on Tonna’s face was surprise and lust, eyeing me up and down again.

“Well, I’ll show you the expert tongue I mentioned.” She spoke as she walked up to me, resting her hand on my waist. Do it for Eivor. Do it for Eivor. I didn’t want this woman’s nasty hands on me. I had no desire to be near her, much less touched by her. Before she could put her other hand on me, a hand reached around sliding a knife against her throat. Her body dropped, revealing a pissed off looking Eivor, “To Helheim with you.”

“About time. I thought you’d never come.” I said, releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“We will have words.” She harshly whispered before we made our way out of her fort. We ended making our way back to Sigurd and the Ragnarssons in a tense silence. Why is she pissed off?

In the end, we ended up taking down King Burgred, and him and his lady were banished to Rome. We ended up fighting the thegn that stood by his side, but ended up sparing him because he didn’t know the loyalty he gave wasn’t returned. It ended up being successful overall and Ceolwulf was made king. Halfway through the trip back to Ravensthorpe, we spilt off from Sigurd as he went to attend other matters. Eivor, still hadn’t talked to me about the whole Tonna thing.

As we got back to Ravensthorpe, I retreated to my hut as Eivor retreated to the longhouse, no doubt finding another place to make an alliance with. I sat, pulling off my armor leaving me in my tunic and pants. As I sat down on my bed and began rubbing my aching shoulders, a quiet knock on the doorway grabbed my attention.

“Eivor.” I greeted, waiting for her to speak.

“I told you we would have words after the incident with Tonna.” She started.

“Listen,” I began, “the only reason I played along was to buy you time. I didn’t want her to realize that we were snooping and it going south.”

“And what if I never showed up? Would you have allowed her to have her way with you? She seemed to take a liking to you since the beginning.” Eivor spoke, voice holding a certain emotion. Jealousy?

“Gods, Eivor! No! Gross.” I said scrunching my nose up, causing her to release a chuckle at my reaction. I could see her whole body relax at my answer. “Besides, if you didn’t kill her then I would’ve. Ivarr made a pretty tempting offer.”

“That he did. Although, I wanted to kill her the second she looked at you.” Eivor said walking closer and sitting beside me.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want anyone else looking at you like that but me.” She hummed, looking at me.

“That makes two of us.” I began, a moment of silence took over as we made eye contact.

“I love you, and I could stand her eyeing you up and down like a piece of meat.” She said, her face turning red.

“I love you too, Eivor.” I replied, laying my head on her shoulder.

“So, do you have an expert tongue?” I asked smirking, interrupting the comfortable silence between us.

“You tell me.” She said, leaning in and kissing me. All of the pent up jealousy starting to show as she pushed me back on my bed. The night was filled with us showing the other just how much we loved each other.

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