#this was so fun and so happymaking UGHHHH

[sapphic-woes]

Fables

A/N: A part of the 1k commissions! @penguin-wizard-party suggested a scary Eivor stumbling upon you during a raid...and I was like "wow bestie your brain is so big, imma get on that." lolol I hope you enjoy it and thx sm for commissioning me! <3

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You had heard the stories. Even spun some up yourself. Yet who knew the life of a storyteller would end up being cut down by the very people you lied about?

"...and the Danes fell upon them, hungry for war, violence, and blood!"

How foolish had it been? To make fables out of such tragedies. To think they would never happen to you.

"There was terror in the air, their homes ablaze. Alas! Would anyone save them?"

You shut your eyes and cover your ears, anything to stop the screaming. How many lay dead in the streets? How many were captured? You curl up in the little wooden box you once kept your most expensive dresses. You'd hung them up in the closet, hoping that would satisfy the Danes enough to not search for who owned them. More horrible cries fill your ears, and you try not to cry. Would you end up like them soon?

Was the help you spoke about in your stories…never going to come?

You freeze as the door handle shakes. You'd locked it, but it wouldn't hold out for long.  With bated breath, you stare into the darkness, waiting. 

It isn't long before your heart drops, and the hope that you'll make it out of this alive dwindles.

You hear voices. Gruff and in a language you don't know. The one closest to the door sounds like a woman. That doesn't make you feel any better. Surely, a woman would simply kill you rather than take you captive, right?

Suddenly the door is hit with a loud and sharp boom, followed by the terrible sound of it crashing to the ground. Had she done that? In one blow?

That’s it, I'm going to die. 

Boots creak across the wooden floor. Never had the sound been so dreadful. Woman or not, she was a Dane. If you were discovered, she could cut your head off and take it as a souvenir. To live, you had to stay quiet. You had to be still… 

…and pray. God, did you fervently pray.

Father, do not forsake me, for I am your faithful servant. 

The voice is clearer now. It's rough and awfully hoarse. It carries throughout the entire room, as if searching for you.

All my life, I’ve served you. spreading your word through the stories I weave. 

The steps grow near. Her voice is loud. It mimics the beat of your frantic heart. How ironically intune you both were. Perhaps that was why despite your efforts, she found you.

Save me Lord. Do not let her kill me! Please, anything but that–

"...it seems I've caught a mouse." Light shines as the lid lifts, and your eyes squint by reflex. Her English catches you off guard. Although it's thick with an accent, it's understandable. Fearfully, you look up.

Oh. It's a wolf.

How could eyes be so daunting? How could a face seem carved from stone? There's a pang in your heart. A chill striking through your body. How much of this was excitement? How much more fear? The woman is dirty, clothes stained with mud and blood. She seems to relish in it, much like how she relishes in you, eyes scanning over your shivering form.

You feel cornered by that gaze. As if you’re a butterfly pinned to a wall.

You're unsure whether you like it or not.

"A beautiful mouse hiding away in a little box? How adorable." The viking smiles, but her eyes narrow. Her blue irises are calculating, studying your wide eyes and parted lips. You’re too scared to speak, but the woman has no qualms with coaxing your voice out of you.

"Tell me Lady," you suck in a breath as she leans over the side of your box, blonde locks falling to tickle your skin. She smells of the burning fire outside and the blood of your people. It makes you shudder, and in turn the woman smiles. It's a soft smile, yet somehow it makes your blood run cold. "What are you called?"

What? You don't understand, but you answer regardless, scared of what would happen if you didn't.

"I-I, um, I am called Y/N…" Your miserable voice warily croaks out the sentence. The Dane repeats your name under her breath, testing it on her tongue. She seems pleased with it, lips spreading into a wider smile.

"It suits you. As does the last name Varinsdottir." You blink in confusion, then gasp as the viking grabs your wrist and pulls you out of your hiding place. You stumble with a yelp, falling into her arms as she chuckles.

"I admit, I'd rather not take a woman from a town I raided as my wife…but fate has not let us meet in the kindest conditions…nor am I kind enough to let you go." The woman's eyes shine as she looks down at you, grinning.

"You are beautiful, lady. It's no wonder you tried to hide, any of my wolves would have wanted you for themselves the moment they saw you…" You gasp as the woman cups your cheek in her calloused hand, leaning down to whisper.

"So I am thankful to the gods I found you first. I'll make you mine, y/n." You open your mouth to speak, but the woman has other plans–silencing you with a passionate kiss. 

"Mmh! W-wait, why–?" You whimper as the Dane doesn't relent, kissing you as if she hoped to devour you whole. Again and again, with hands grasping you close and body grinding against yours–you're falling weak to her advances, her burning desire, and gentle lips. It was useless to try and escape, nor were you sure you wanted to. 

What's gotten into me? A single kiss, and your lust becomes as strong as your fear. Did you forget how dangerous she is? No, you hadn’t. Yet she was…bewitching. The greed in her eyes when she pulls away and looks at you is addicting. The way her scarred, untamed body holds you tenderly. Protectively. Possessively.

There's something wrong with me. You know it because instead of running, struggling, screaming, anything–you merely nod, cheeks warm as you accept her proposal.

"Then…please take care of me…?"

#female eivor x reader #f!eivor x reader #eivor x reader #eivor varinsdóttir #ac valhalla #bibis comms #this was so fun and so happymaking UGHHHH