The Third Wife

❛ pairing | Ragnar x reader

❛ type | (?)

❛ summary | Ragnar is caught in a lie he can’t take back.

❛  warnings | murder, death, younger seasons, polygyny, dark!lagertha

requests filled | Hi I was wondering if it would be possible for you to write a story about the reader and Ragnar as they have their first child together and she decides to name him after athelstan. And as their child grows Ragnar notices how much his son remind him of his old friend

Can you please do a series where Ragnar has a secret family with the reader that no one in his family know about until they one day catch him out and about with the reader and their child. Aslaug decide to tell the reader the truth about Ragnar. Now Ragnar has to manage the flames he caused.

Hi, I have a request for a Ragnar x reader one shot about Ragnar marrying (after leaving Aslaug) a younger woman and having children with her. Thanks!

In a home of many children, it is scarce to get time alone. 

Sliding out of the home during midday was the only way to take your beloved bath on those days. Your beloved thralls would care for the children as you bathed in a clear stream, the pebbles under your toes and fishes dancing delightfully underfoot. 

In these spare minutes, you can run the hunk of soap over your body. Honey is a distant pleasure. One that your oldest son… Vesteinn had given you. Your nipples perk under the soap, the cool water from your hands falling over the perk of your breasts. Your mind wanders.

“Touch her here.” 

Fingers drifted between your lips. Shy, quiet gasps from his lips. His hips snapping, time with rapid thrusts of fingers over your clit. A silent scream. A slap of hips. Cumming, cumming and-- god, those blue eyes set into a pale face. Not your husband’s sultry eyes. No. 

They were far too… concerned for that. 

“Are you alright, (Y/N)?”

A New Bond

❛ pairing | Alpha!Ragnar x Omega!Reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | Reader’s old mate has died, throwing her body into a tailspin when the bonding mark dissipates. Not the best… time… on a boat.

❛  warnings | abo dynamics, sex on a boat, nsfw

❛ sy’s notes | fulfilling sex on a boat + alpha request. Gif not mine.

The falling mist with the collapse and rise of waves reminds you to keep strong.

You’re crumpled against the wall of the ship. The woolen hood of your head hangs in your face, each side tugged as if to obscure your looks from the men clustered about the ship. They slept, for now, unable to smell the changes in your body. It’s not taken over yet. As if instinctual, however, the heat seeps between your legs.

“If you keep up like that,” a voice assures you, “you’ll be bred by the entirety of the ship.”

The Wife of Kalf: Him

❛ pairing | Ragnar x Reader, Previous Kalf x Reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | Your sons Saevarr and Vigfuss are not over the death of their father. They torment you about your choice to marry Ragnar.

❛  warnings | hateful sons, divorce, bullying, harassment, fighting.

❛ sy’s notes | requested.

The love of their father was strong. In some ways, more than anything else. Bones of a horse crack Ivar on his skull as he drags himself through the angled streets of Hedeby. Standing there are the two children of Kalf, flicking bones in their hands. Ivar brings his fingers up, rubbing the sticky blood between his fingertips.

“Did you hear--” says Vigfuss.

“Yes brother?” prompts Saevarr, his broad arms folded one over another. Firm, handsome arms and dark hair, easily growing fine beards.

“The reason Ivar cannot grow a beard?”

Ivar shifts on his gloved arms, alternating as if to listen to his stepbrothers. They look at him with wide and curious eyes.

“What would that be?” Saevarr asks.

Maisie

❛ pairing | Ragnar x reader

❛ type | drabble

❛ summary | Ragnar and the reader go to the farmer’s market with little Maisie.

❛  warnings | floof

The inside of the farmer’s market overflowed with baskets of ripe peaches and plump apricots. There were dried candies, your favourite being the mangoes dusted with spice. Your sweet stepson Ivar would like these when he came to visit from Aslaug’s home this afternoon at three. You slip the fruits into a reusable basket on the warm, toned skin of your husband. Toasty like marshmallows during cold winter nights. You shift your purse over your shoulder, knocking against a furry hard surface.

“Maisie, don’t eat the mangos,” you pat the small lamb’s head. She’s adorably white, splotched with caramel brown and black as if she was a painting. Her bright red collar is studded with an adorable heart-shaped name tag. “Do you think we could get her a hat?” 

Precious Girl

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