The sigh of “this is some bullshit”

Ubbe || Lesson Number One [ SSS ]

Ubbe || Total Control

You’re tired. Give me control and I’ll give you relief.

Ivar began total power exchange. Naturally Ubbe found himself intrigued. He knew you liked it when he bent you over and told you what to wear. You loved it when Ubbe caught others trying to lure you in.

“Would you do it?” Ubbe brought you to one of Ivar’s wife’s parties. Naturally Ivar, a show off, had her in a skimpy black skirt. You could see the beginning of her cheeks.

“Do...” You whisper shyly. Then it clicks. You smooth out your pencil skirt. “A total power exchange?”

Exactly, Ubbe whispers in your ear. “Let me be in charge.”

You had talked about it before. The prospect of Ubbe controlling what you did— who you did. It was arousing enough.

Of the corner of your eye, you catch Ivar dying from a laugh, catching your eyes for a hot second before you pull away.

You curl against Ubbe’s chest. “If you’ll protect me.”

“Always and forever.”

Daddie!Ubbe kink board

You’ll always be daddie’s girl, won’t you?

He is not Ivar, and yet, he is Ivar.

A Scarlet Dream

A Scarlet Dream: With omegas in short supply and betas unable to reproduce, royal law mandates that all unmated omegas be assigned to a commander for breeding. Omega (Y/N) has managed to rank highest in her class, becoming assigned to Alpha Ubbe Lothbrok. It’s amazing how difficult it can be to carry out your position without feelings, especially when his wife Margrethe keeps a constant eye out.

Warnings

A/B/O dynamics

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

A Scarlet Dream

Masterlist

Credits: Collage mine, pictures are not.

Summary: Royal decree commands every viable omega be assigned to a worthy alpha for the supply and demand of sons. With betas and alphas unable to reproduce, it lays on omegas to shoulder the burden of a loveless life. (Y/N) falls into the house of Ubbe whom happens to have a rather unforgiving wife.

A/N: Kind of inspired by A Handmaiden’s Tale, but I haven’t read or seen it so I’m winging it.

“I’m giving you the option.”

Lips were teasing your throat, moist by the breathless array of kisses planted across the expanse of your neck. Those same lips shift across your marred shoulders that barely keep your breasts in place in your tight blood red corset.

“The Mistress will see. She’ll look for my head.” You moan-- finding that it was easier to blame her than admit you wanted this. He would shift your skirts up, hand disappearing to massage your soaked sex smoothly.

“I want to do it here,” His other hand grasps the railing of the balcony tightly as two of his fingers penetrate your sex, curling in the abundant juices. The hotness of your heat has burned through your body all day-- and even in your rooms with a fine sight to Margrethe’s beautiful rose gardens. You gasp for him, knowing that at any moment she could be here. She was primming the roses. “Or not at all.”

“Commander please.”

It was all in your scent. As soon as your glands began to ooze, everyone knew the scent you were putting out wasn’t normal. It was sought after. Your good breeding and quaint mannerisms left you with a high placement for an Alpha. That is why you were here alone, waiting for an answer at the door with a clang of the wolf shaped iron.

The heavy door opens with a sweeping swish, fluttering your vibrant skirts back. There she stood, the lady of the house, hair in an elaborate updo and eyes staring. Judging you from the cleanliness to your skirt across the clearness of your skin. She wears a sickly sweet smile— but you know better than to believe the lies of a scorned Beta.

“Come in.” Her deep night sky skirts swell as she steps beside letting you slip in beside her. You pull your skirts modestly, stepping onto the hard wooden floors. Your fingers then find your hood, pulling it over your head in the foyer.

“Ubbe, your breeding bitch is here!” She calls up marble stairs that spiral up a second floor. Technically, the word was ‘breed mate.’ Sure, you could go by omega, you could go by any number of titles but the way she made it sound, you were nothing but a womb. She must have sensed your discomfort as well, because she tilts her head, fluttering long eyelashes at you.

“That is why you’re here, isn’t it?” She bites out. “To produce sons.”

“Yes, it is.” Your words scratch up your throat. There’s a rumble coming down from the marble floors. You suck in a forced breath as you tug the veil back over your face, forcing it to close over your eyes. No self respecting omega needed to be told when the Alpha of the house was coming. If not for the thick scent that permeated into the furniture, it was the smell that strengthens. It seeps into your pores, infesting you with the scent of a worthy man. You bite back a whine when he stops in front of you, hair bobbing around his back in a strange and sole braid.

“Good evening, little one.” He says in a low rumble like the howl of the wolves that threatened to pillage nearby villages. Your thighs clash together, meeting as you look down helplessly.

Pull your veil over your head, don’t let your alpha see your face.

“He… hello Commander Ubbe.” Your voice shakes and instantly you can hear your Mistress’s sigh of discontent as if she knew what he was doing to you under your skirts. “And… Mistress Margrethe. Pardon my shyness.”

A foreign tickle dances its way down your palms, sweaty and hot as they come together in front of your corset. Ubbe laughs as the Mistress whispers something in her ears. “She’s nervous. Let it slide.” He tells her in a voice that says he is commanding rather than asking. The man of the house owned all the women within it.

“Lets see your face.” Ubbe demands sweetly so. You’re thrown between obeying your alpha and respecting the laws of being an unmated omega. He wasn’t supposed to see you like this!

“He wants to see your face.” Your Mistress bites out and finally, you pull your shaking hands over the veil, yanking it off the soft waves of your hair. Your averted eyes dart up an impressively well pressed uniform to a tight black tie that holds in a black vest. You can’t covince yourself to look any higher than the bob of his adam’s apple.

“She’s pretty.” Margrethe mutters, strained when something drifts across your chin. As he tips your chin up, you realize that its Ubbe who tips up your chin so that your eyes might meet his. He tilts his head examining you as if you were any sort of good that he needed to have. Omegas were-- they were a luxury. Not everyone could have children, after all.

“Beautiful.” Ubbe tilts his fingers up around the curve of your cheek to the sole crown of roses that decorates your head.

You falter, meeting his brilliant eyes. It was a mistake-- they were the brightest of jewels you had ever met. So clear, so easy to lose your entire self within.

“Your next heat?” When he was speaking to you, your ears weren’t listening. It became evident that your cunt was doing the only listening of any sensory information you were taking in.

“Answer, bitch.” Margrethe’s words hung sharply as if they were the noose she was preparing you for already. You snap to reality, leaving his brilliant hues to bow your head once more. You pull your veil back over your head.

“In a few days. I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m a bit sleepy.” You supply an excuse. Lucky enough for you, Ubbe believes it.

“She’s had a long journey. Show her to her room.” With that, his boots swish away once again and you’re left with nothing but a foreign excitement in your bones. You will it down, down, down. It isn’t fast enough to avoid Margrethe’s pointed glare.

“Remember why you’re here.” She says, whirling you up toward your modest living quarters. At the very least, you think, there was a balcony overseeing the most beautiful of flowers.

Roses.

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Ubbe | Hufflepuff & Gryffindor

A/N: Board mine, Pictures not. @michaeliskindahot I couldn’t decide okay?!

Sub!Ubbe Smut Scraps

Warnings

Ass plug for Ubbe

Dom!Reader

Gif credit: imdancingintherain07

A/N: Eeehhh I have no confidence in this piece but everyone says to post it.

She was the best money could buy.

For his father dating pornstars, he supposed this was unavoidable. This new woman was one that was bought off. But if she didn’t care— fuck, Ubbe didn’t care. The heel of her classic black and contrasting red louboutins stopped between his legs. He would feel pressure pushing the red underside of her heel against him, moaning as she ground her foot into his dick. But fuck if it didn’t feel good when she ground herself into his shaft, causing him to groan underneath his beautiful woman in black. Not his, but his for the night.

“I hardly even have to work you, whore. You’re always so easy. Look at your dick, it’s drooling for me.” You point out, caressing him as far as his tip. His spent seed and precum mix, sticky against his chest as he rasps for breath. You took him so much, he could hardly keep up with you. It had been some time since his last orgasm and now he aches for another.

“Does Margrethe do this to you, little pet?” You him, kneeling down before him. Ubbe swallows dryly as you bring his tip to tease your entrance, those sweet walls he was never allowed to slide in between. Your rules.

“No.” His voice rasps deep, feeling as you slide to sit over his stomach, the strappy Black back of your panties tied in a beautiful bow. He was sure you were mocking him. He was so close to feeling that sweet pussy around his dick. Always so close… but never did he once get it.

“I think we’ll play a game, Ubbe.” You trill. “Do you want to play a game with me?”

“Yess,” He says, his arms bound tight

“Good boy.” You hiss. “It’s called don’t make a peep. Now no matter what I say, you won’t speak will you. Except for your safe word— but I think you can take this. Can’t you?”

Ubbe inhales with a nod, catching a mischievous smile in your eyes. You reach over to your purse and pull from it a box. A simple black box with no markings. His eyes shut, hissing out a curse seconds later when he feels the coolness of a ring sliding over his cock. Cold and tight, he knows what it is immediately. It holds him with a foreign excitement.

He can handle it.

He merely grits his teeth and waits for what comes next— thick and sticky liquid spills over his cock and drifts over his ball sack. It trickles down lower to his puckering entrance when he feels your fingers teasing him, spreading him with your tip to open him up. He clenches, head bent, unwilling to look at you. This isn’t something he does. Not at all, but you frequently push him to the brink of excitement in all that you did.

He can… he can handle this too.

But then, suddenly he couldn’t. He hisses as you glide something unnaturally rigged, metal and cold inside of him. Inch by inch it spreads his unused walls apart, causing him to hiss under the foreign allure.

“You’re peeping—“ You say in a saccharine sweet voice, harshly bottoming it into him. Ubbe forces himself to hush, shaking against the cool plug in his ass.

“Can you smile for Mami, baby?” You ask him, looking him over. His arms burn under the stinging rope around his arms, but he does smile at you weakly.

“Sooo cute.” You flick a few flyaways away from his face, running your fingers down over his ruddy beard. He looked gorgeous, bound and ready for whatever you had waiting for him. Such a fall from the rich CEO.

“Now.” You giggle, crawling yourself over to hover over him. “I’m going to give you a treat since you’ve been so good lately. But if you misbehave, I can’t give you it can I?”

You look to him expectant of a nod. He gives it to you, eagerly awaiting his treat. You suddenly shock him, peeling back the transparent black fabric of your panties from a sight that has him drooling. He could practically smell your excitement for him, causing him to bite back a whine. Rather suddenly you sink down on his tip, engulfing his aching cock and spearing yourself open around him.

“Ooohhhh fuck!” You bless him with your moans, sinking him in achingly slow until your hips brush his, skin to skin. His eyes glaze over your black garters, wishing he could grab those round hips and fuck into you— to show you how wonderful he could make you feel. His hips shift, gliding himself out when you lift back off of him. His cock twitches against the cool air.

“Did I say to move?” You reprimand, holding his jawline tight in your manicured hands. His eyes fall down when you smack him in the cheek, snapping his face around.

“If you cant listen, you won’t get a treat at all.” You hear him hiss, shifting back off of him with your fingers wrapping around his cock. His shaft is wet under your sweet slick, making him ache for more of that feeling. The way you wrapped around him like a vice, hips devouring his swollen cock and kissing your cervix.

It only lasted seconds— but seconds he aches for once again.

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Rut

Rut: Ubbe’s friend (Y/N) is a rare omega in Kattegat. A rare unmated omega that is. When Ubbe sets off on a trip, another wolf slips in to steal his prize. A/N: Pictures not mine, board is.

Warnings

Chapters

A Pinch of Love

A/N: I think Ubbe would be the most caring Ragnarsson for this! Gif is from bonniebirdsgifcentre.

It had become a large deal for you to travel to see Uppsala with your husband. You wanted to go see the high priest, to speak to the gods of what might become of you and ask-- why should a woman have these awful pains? Your body protested the journey up, and as such, somehow you had slipped. A little slip but being you-- it quickly become a big slip.

“Ow… ow…” You found yourself leaning on your brother-in-law Sigurd, am arm around his neck as he moved beside you. You begged him not to tell your husband for fear of what he might say. How such a journey was too hard for you or how your wound would not heal well. The ever constant pain of your body wretched through your back like a bolt of lightning set by Thor.

“You should have been slower.” Sigurd says, sliding his arms underneath your pulsing legs. Your bow was flung over his sturdy shoulders as he walked on perfect legs. How nice he must have had it, you thought. He lifts you up into his arms as he climbs the slope. All too suddenly you become self conscious of your weight. Guilty too.

“Am I too heavy?” You say, setting your hand against his chest. Sigurd tilted his head to give you a look, followed by a shake of his head. As if he would even tell you if you were too heavy, he was sweet like that.

“(Y/N)!”

Atop a cliff, leather boots twisted against the cliffside to maneuver down to where you were.  His braids sloshed side to side behind him. The rocks bounce off the top of the slope, rolling down over Sigurd’s legs. How he managed to find you so quickly everytime? It was a mystery to you.

“Ubbe I-- You should not have wandered off.” He says immediately.

It was as good as knowing that your husband had been searching for you all this while. He had to be to know that you had wandered off in this general direction. He slid you out of his brother’s arms and into his own, starting back up the cliff while looking you over.

“Where does it hurt?” He asks.

You point absentmindedly at the fracture that had all too quickly broken through your skin. It should have been an agonizing pain— but you became used to the pain that came knocking on your door all too often.

“The break would be a good place to start.” You say sheepishly. Sigurd climbs the slope beside you.

“She fell down the cliff.” He says.

“It was not a fall! It was a slip.” You correct.

There was a difference? Ubbe exhales air breaching the top of the cliff. Your arms slunk around his neck, tight and sound against his neck. “I just wanted to be like you…” You mumble.

“Like me?” He asks.

“Hunt. Be Viking.” You say, sighing as you do. You wanted so much more than to be what you were-- the clumsy girl married to the eldest of Aslaug’s children. Most people said it was a waste. That even the slave girl could be a better wife than the one who always seemed to have an issue. Followed by another issue. You didn’t want to be that girl anymore. You wanted to be the girl who was more than her slips, rolls and falls. You wanted to be Viking.

“You already are Viking.” Ubbe said as he walked pridefully into camp, despite the blood that coated your legs. Ubbe sighs as he reaches the tent you shared with him-- propping your leg up to treat it properly.

“I’m a burden.” You lean up on your forearms.

“Hush.” Ubbe pushes your head to the side playfully, caring for this break as he cared for all the others: with a careful hand. The pain was drowned out as your husband took care after the wound with Sigurd’s help. A change of bandages and a horn of heavy mead thrust you into a dreamlike state and before long, you’re snuggled up in bed by his shirtless chest, pawing at the curls on his pale chest. Sigurd must have slipped out. Or if he hadn’t, you were too roasted to notice.

“What if I’m never Viking?” You say, tinted by a drunken edge.

“You can be Viking, (Y/N), at home. Where you won’t sprain your ankle, take a fall and pop your legs open.” Ubbe says.

“But even then-- my back and hip pains… what if I can’t give you a son?” You mumble, starting off for another rant when Ubbe’s forefinger comes to your lips.

“That is why we are here.” Ubbe says. “You wanted to come to Uppsala. Remember?”

You do-- you remember begging Ubbe that he might take you to Uppsala to come kneeling to the gods as you always did. Year after year, but the pains seemed no less. The only difference was this year-- there was someone to share your pain. In a way, perhaps that was the only sort of medicine you needed: newlywed love.

“I do.”

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Fast Food Run

A/N: Hey mamas, I have to hand it to you, doing fast food really sucks. I used to be the opening manager (up by 3am!) at a McDonalds and after a while I just didn’t give a shit anymore. That’s how shitty the experience was, so props to you if you’re doing it. Gifs belong to milky-sarah, whenimaunicorn, noizzex, theladyof-lorien, fl0wsb0thways and spoiltlittlewitch

B j o r n

Bjorn would probably understand the need to work. Nonetheless he is unimpressed by both the amount of hours and time it takes to get there and back. When he finds out, it would probably be by running into you during closing hours rather than him actually finding out how much you work.

U b b e

Ubbe would be unamused. Like Bjorn, he realized why you had to work for school, but also finds that is something you shouldn’t have to go at alone. Of all the brothers, he would be the one with the coolest of heads. Despite being upset, of course.

H v i t s e r k

Finds it annoying that you work so hard. You were upfront about what you did for a living when you first dated him, and while he was fine with it, he hates the amount of work you have to put in day after day. When he one day picks you up from work, it comes to a bit of a head.

S i g u r d

Sigurd has always been fine with it. He frequently looks for other jobs that would not be as tedious, or as long houred, but respects that you want to keep this job until you find one in the mall. He kisses your greasy hairline and even enjoys fat snacks with you sometime. But when your boss forces his hand, he can’t really step down.

I v a r

It’s a no from Ivar. He would be the first one to say that you aren’t working there, you aren’t going to do this, that or the other. He finds the job as being below you as he knows what kind of disrespect you might encounter. Neither does he much like having to share you with a long drive home at the end of the day.

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Play with me

26. Put me down.

19. Touch me again and I’ll gut you.

A/N: Gif is not mine!

His ex-wife wasn’t just drunk. You were very, very sloshed. Your long, normally trim braid fell apart under your sticky fingers and tumbled onto the shoulder of a faceless Viking. For the most part, Ubbe allowed you to do as you pleased. Perhaps you had the right to do whatever you wanted as a free, single woman. You were free to make a fool of yourself when he damn well knew that you would regret it tomorrow, and so he had to put his foot down.

He thrust himself out of his seat, his grouped braids slapping behind his back as he stormed over to the couple. His fist clumped into the collar of his ex-wife’s dress , jerking you to the side off the man with a sharp kick of his boot into the chair. The chair overturns and the man is knocked flat onto the floor. You flail on the ground for mere moments before you’re swept up over Ubbe’s shoulder, kicking and whining.

“Uuuubbbe! Ubbbbee, put… put me down!” You say, though the words are more fondly said when Ubbe’s hand strikes across your ass in a swift sweep of his palm. The strike burns, but it burns in a delicious sting that spills a groan past your lips.

“Masochist.” Ubbe whispers.

“Hold on now.” The drunken man scrambles up, staggering to the side of Ubbe. His forefinger jabs at an empty spot of air. “She was sharin’ m...my drink!”

Ubbe shakes his head incredulously, rolling his heel onto the ground as he turns to leave. A hand shoots out for his wrist, stopping him for a slight moment. His lips pull down, dropping both beard and mouth into a sharp frown when he breaks the grip on his wrist. Instead, his hand shoots out for the man’s throat and drags him in close.

“Touch me again and I’ll gut you. Your chair won’t be the only thing spread on the ground tonight.” His voice deepens. His eyes challenge the man to fight, but the drunk being the lesser of two men turned his gaze away. Ubbe releases the man, petting his collar in blatant mockery.

“Why’d you do that?” You ask as Ubbe sets off out of the hall.

“Do what?” Ubbe asks.

“You know what.” You say with the lightest of groans. “You know how much I love that.”

He did. Of course he did. He also knew that every time you crawled onto another man’s lap, it was for him. It didn’t bother him in the slightest that it set him off to catch the bait time after time.

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Dirty Duties

Oooh is love to see a dirty cop au. Like the ragnarsons are all apart of the police force but they’re all neck deep in illegal activities and are protected because no one knows that Their Dad was the boss of an immense criminal enterprise. And a lady cop gets with a ragnarsson (I always think Ivar or Hvitserk, when I think of this AU) and suddenly she’s torn between protecting the man she loves and going deeper into crime or being a good cop and seein him burn. Or she’s a lawyer            

A/N: I really, really, really hope this is only a two parter story. I want to finish my stories! Gif belongs to inthenameofodin.

I believe in you. A heavy glass plaque sat on your wide desk with those words, commemorated by your fathers slightly effeminate cursive. He wanted you to conquer whatever it was you were going to do and in this case, you needed to conquer the stack of cases that were threatening to spill off of your desk.

The cases ranged from gunshots to blunt force trauma. Some of them were more gruesome than others but it quickly came to a head when your secretary somehow wound up chopped up limb by limb, tossed in a plastic bin and filled up to the rim with concrete. Then he was abandoned in a wash like someone’s trash whom was too lazy to take to the dump.

“For a prosecutor, you’re looking pretty lost.”

Who wouldn’t be, genius? You glance up from the cases on your desk with a rub to your temples. The attorney Ivar Lothbrok stood with the aid of his black crutch beside you, lightly setting his hand to your shoulder. Your hand wandered to his, nodding as you look over the vast majority of cases on your desk.

“The public is itching for me to get ahold of these cases and all I can say is I’m trying. I’ll have a mutiny on my hands soon enough if people keep going missing.” You drop your hand away.

There was only so much Captain Bjorn could do to keep information from leaking. Eventually, it caught wind that the multiple murders weren’t just happenstance. It got worse.It wasn’t just the many missing people. It was the drugs coming in through Kattegat’s port at the moonlight hours of night. It was the drug related murders and kidnappings too. It was absolutely everything.

“We still have no idea how Munnin is getting through undetected.” You say, and if you were paying attention to Ivar, you might have noticed his features contort like a short screw.

“What makes you so sure it is Munnin?” He says, straightening his face back to its normal nonchalance.

“It is always Munnin.” You pull a dark brown file close, flipping it open to see a picture of the victim’s battered and bruised face. “Where is Detective Ubbe?”

Detective Ubbe, brother to both Ivar and Captain Bjorn, was always running place to place. In a way, you almost felt sorry for him. His beard was progressively getting a bit more unkept like the wily bits of hair on his head. A brisk knock at your door of one to two knocks alerts you to his presence.

“How is it you always show up at the right time, detective?” You smile.

Ubbe saunters forward, his fingers hooking in the belt loops of a trim pair of charcoal slacks. His deep leather business bag is rigid with the many files that sit in his bag. He brings himself to a stop at the corner of your busy desk.

“Lucky I suppose.” He rasps. “I have more files for you.”

While he lifts his fingers over the metal buckles of his bag, your fingers rake through your hair to grip at the roots with ironlike fingers. He takes out two more heavy files and slaps them down on your desktop.

“I have an arrest warrant for Leif Estursson.” You stand up out of your desk, rounding the table with folded arms under your breast. You drop back against it and sigh a long breath.

“Leif?” Ubbe turns to Ivar who brings his free hand up to his mouth as if cleaning the side of his lips. You look expectantly to Ivar, a staunch frown growing at his disapproval.

“What?”

“He is one of us.” Ivar says dully. You knew that. He had been on the force for a good twenty years. But everywhere you looked, there seemed to be clues hinting yourself his way. If there were traces, you had to sniff them out.

“Are you saying there can be no mole here, Mr. Lothbrok?” Your head tilts.

Ivar leans close. “I’m saying, if there was, Leif would be the least of our problems.”

After a long evening at home, it was all you wanted to do to bundle up on the couch with a hot tea and a hotter, thick blanket. Your phone slid open to messages, finding a couple of dots bouncing on an incoming message.

Babe, are you at home? I’m coming over with dinner.

Your fingers moved on their own, sliding across the keys with the utmost excitement. You responded a soft okay with an overabundance in cute smiley faces. Then another, just to be sure. But your single size apartment was trashed.

He could see your mess.

That didn’t mean you wanted him to see your mess.

You shed the warm cave of blanket and tea in favour of cold tile and dirty dishes. You began to wash just as you realized the round, handheld device was blinking with a bright blue light.

“Read my messages.” You say.

There was a reminder for a medical appointment, then your mother calling to say that your sister would be in town. At long last, a shuddering whisper huffed over the phone. The forced breathing was palpable.

“(Y/N), it’s Devyn. I… I bet you think I’m callin’ to admit my undyin’ love like I usually do when I’m drunk as a skunk.”

A crack reveals your butter-like grip, cracking the dishes. You’re thrust back to the dark file of a blue bucket, chopped in bits of pieces over the grey of cement. You couldn’t recognize that smiling brown eye or the way he would fiddle with a sideswept cut that covered an eye.

“But uh, your Hvitserk isn’t-- he ain’t who you think he is. None’a them are.” He pants into the phone louder, hiccuping in what must have been some sort of fear that settles in your raised hairs. “They’re Lothbroks. You gotta believe me when I say that Helga ain’t their mother.”

A sudden shrill tore through the phone, ricocheting off of the paper thin walls of your apartment when you heard it.

“Shut him up!” You recognized the first, your Captain’s crisp voice.

“I thought he was tied.” Then you recognize the second, your detective’s disgruntled voice.

“Obviously not.” And at long last, you recognize the third: the attorney Ivar’s unamused voice.

The line went dead. It went dead because a rippling bullet crashed through the slight machine, exploding it into a million bits of shards that profused through the room. You duck down behind the sink, soapy hands digging into clean hair when you heard the deep sigh.

“I guess I’m late.”

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