The Uncrowned King II

We are back baby! Welcome to a second round of the Uncrowned King’s day. I especially am excited with my requests that I’ve gotten! If you have a request for headcanons or moodboards, I’m still your girl! But you can also go bother my sweet @lisinfleur too.

Drabbles and Ficlets

That Boy is Mine!

Dark!Reader claims Sigurd as her own. At any cost.

Little White Lie

Sigurd doesn’t want to let go of his baby mama just yet.

Fadir, may I?

Sigurd’s daughter falls in love with Ivar’s only son Sigtryggr.

Better

Ivar’s ex falls in love with Sigurd for more than his skills in bed.

Mommie’s Baby

Sigurd is her Baby Boy. Sometimes, Baby Boys want to be fathers too.

Curly Cutie

Sigurd and Reader cuddle prior to their wedding.

Me, not her

Sigurd’s best friend takes an axe for him.

Xolile

Sigurd breaks away to see Xolile, the boy he is so infatuated with.

Pure Smut

Never Should Have

Take Too LONG

Moodboards

Spoiled

Fic Moodboard for smutgoblin

Sub!Sigurd

You have the illusion of thinking you’re free, Sigurd.

Red Little Shoes IV

Masterlist

Gif credit: balletomaneassoluta (?)

I guess Boneless isn’t so Boneless after all! #14weeksstrong #Ivar&(Y/N)  #Hopingforalittleballerina

It had been months since he’d been around you. Four since he had gotten into that sweet little cunt of yours with condoms pricked with holes. Four months of jerking his dick to your memory until his world was rocked upside down. In the months since, he saw all about your pregnancy on social media. It was blasted all over your favourite site. A little pink pregnant test with a sassy little remark on top of a white fluffy tutu and the most sparkly little red shoes he had ever seen.

Beautiful, he thought. But it was marred by your manicured hand grazing Ivar’s sideburns, laying a bright red lipstick stain to the side of his cheek. Worse still with Ivar’s hand touching the slight swell of your stomach, massaging what he thought was his son or daughter. It could very well have been his, sure. But as Sigurd lamented bitterly, it very likely could have been his just as much as Ivar’s.

Sigurd.S.Lothbrok: Congrats @(Y/N).Lothbrok.

3h.

TheoneandonlyHvitty: Guess we were wrong when we said we didn’t think he had it in him. Congrats @(Y/N).Lothbrok.

1h.

UbbeLothbrok: Quit picking on him.

40min.

Ivar.Boneless.Lothbrok: Ha. Ha. You’re uninvited to our baby shower. @TheoneandonlyHvitty.

36min.

(Y/N).Lothbrok: Oh stop bickering. I’ll uninvite you all and do it myself.

35min.

Ivar.Boneless.Lothbrok: My heart.

30min.

Aslaug Kraka: That’s enough boys.

22min.

Mommy to the rescue. The more he read, the more he wanted to vomit.

The months were passing quickly. With it, you were growing. Every week Ivar would take a little picture of your stomach, cheesily making a pun or comparing it to fruit. There was such a thing as happiness when he came to take your picture and laugh with you. Just like the nights when you were sick. If he could get off early from his job as head engineer, he would. He was climbing the ladder at work so quickly that you worried he might not have time for the baby and you. Then again, this baby technically had nothing to do with him… right?

“Are you overthinking again?” Ivar staggers by you as you slather messy barbecue sauce over chicken on a stick. You give a soft, disappointed ‘oh,’ when you drop a bit on a crimson dress that sits over your growing bump. Six months in, your belly was beginning to become a little obnoxious. For a dancer, it was strange to have to be so careful about it.

“Sigurd hasn’t responded to the divorce papers yet.” You murmur back to Ivar, slathering the other side with a sigh. Ivar clicks his tongue, dropping into his chair at the table.

“He has no leverage.” He says.

Except for stuffing his fat dick in your cunt. You shift awkwardly, not having told Ivar about your weak moment months and months ago. Your cunt was still aching, needing the sex more and more the farther you got along into the pregnancy. There were nights where you rolled over and stared at your phone, hoping that he would drop by to say something stupid. Your smile clicks at your cheeks.

“It’s all the hormones.” You look for your hand fan to cool yourself off. There was going to be a baby shower with Ivar’s family today and you were more than stressed about it, eating up the fruit that Aslaug had put out in sheer anxiety.

“Let me fuck you.” Ivar glides his hand over your belly. “You’d be less stressed.”

If that wasn’t the fucking truth. “Not right now, Ivar. Imagine what Aslaug would say about her cock hungry daughter in law.” You laugh the words out.

“That you’re pregnant with her grandchild and need the attention.” Ivar answers. It’s only recently that you’ve agreed to have sex with him-- and god, he has no regrets. He loves the bonding, loves the way you hold him so tight and loves plundering what was once his brothers. This was his little family now.

“If I had your attention all day I’d be constantly leaking.” You say with a laugh.

“Not a bad problem to have.” Ivar remarks.

In the doorway, Aslaug bustles in to collect the food. You glance lazily to her as she tells you to hurry up to be a good hostess. Sigurd is out there… you know that much. You glide your hands over the bump, and with a sigh, walk out the doorway.

For the most part, Sigurd was behaved. All things considered, it shocked you. Not only because Sigurd hated his brother but because you were pregnant by him. You plucked up a deep chocolate cake out of a teacup, looking over to where he was sitting with Ubbe and Hvitserk. There was something awkward in the air between the two of you. You hardly said a word to one another all evening. For the ever doting Sigurd, that was odd. He was treating you as if you weren’t there, lurking about despite the fact that it was your baby shower.

“What is it with Sigurd?” You lean over to Aslaug. She was decorating a onesie, humming as she gave Sigurd a glance.

“With Sigurd, we never know.” She remarks as she goes back to what she was doing. “Is there something on your mind?”

You let him fuck you, you whore. “No, nothing…” You murmur, arms folding over another. You looked to your decaf coffee, bringing it to your lips for a drink.

“There is something special we would like to do, now that we all have eaten!” Ivar is talking-- causing you to look up from your place. “Since (Y/N) wanted to save the gender of the baby until now, we should see what it is. Shouldn’t we, (Y/N)?”

God, it pained you to see how bright his smile was. You should have told him about Sigurd… but you could still tell him. It would be when things calmed down a little bit. Ivar waited behind you, offering out his hand to help you up. You took his hand when offered, moving to where he was about a cake when you heard it. The slam of hands against the quaint whimsical white table cover then the hiss behind you.

“I have something to tell you Ivar!” Sigurd, whose arms flexed in a tight blue top. You glance over to him, dread in your stomach. Bjorn was trying to will his brother to sit again, but it was getting nowhere fast. “I want a paternity test done.”

Ivar hardly skips a beat. “You aren’t the father, Sigurd. She hasn’t slept with you. Has she?” Ivar says under the cover of whispers. Your breath feels short, knowing that if you told him-- he would most definitely explode. But worse so was the fact that… Sigurd used condoms. He was very careful about his sex life. So why was he asking you this now? Ivar’s eyes turn to you.

“Has she?” He reiterates.

Your heart stops at that, unable to look him in his eyes. “Only once, it was an accident. But Sigurd uses condoms. How could…”

Then it hits you. The stickiness in your cunt, the way that you felt like your walls were slipping with what you foolishly deemed as lube when you took a shower. Before when Sigurd refused to cum inside you, you never would have thought he would betray you. Ivar is seething darkly, breathing in forced breathes when you’re the one to explode first, catching Ivar by surprise. His anger is cut short when you stormed around the table, shoving Sigurd back by the chest.

“You fucking stealthed me?!” You roar.

“Popped holes.” He corrects as if that would make any sort of difference. Hot embarrassment and betrayal take you over, bursting outright at him under the quiet that has come over those gathered.

“You fucking asshole!” You shriek, unable to hold it back. “I didn’t want your fucking baby! I wanted Ivars!”

Sigurd staggers back in disbelief of what you said. Since you were teens, you had always told him you wanted his babies in the future. Over ten years of begging for his babies and now-- you were acting like this? Sigurd curls his head, leaning in to grab your shoulders.

“Of course you want my babies. You’re my wife, not his.” He murmurs.

“Sigurd!” Aslaug reprimands.

“What mother?” Sigurd hisses, shoving his head in her direction when Ivar grabs Sigurd’s slender wrist on your shoulder. He twists it back and Sigurd instinctually ripped back, balling his fist up as if to punch him in the face. The older of the brothers stand up behind Sigurd. But no punches come. Instead you plant yourself in front of Ivar.

“I’ll do it. But I think you should leave.” You take in a harsh breath. “...and I strongly advise you respond to our divorce so I can finalize it when the baby comes.”

Sigurd nearly challenges you, but instead his hand curls back to his side and shoves into his pockets. You convince yourself to keep your head held high despite the tears that bite the corner of your eyes and course down your jawline.

“Of course.” He grumbles, sliding past Lagertha on his way out of his mother’s home. You turn away and head out when Ivar grasps your wrist. Past the crinkle of his brow, his clouded eyes shift to the cake.

“We didn’t finish.” Ivar remarks, limping behind to corral you back to the cake. You don’t even want to look at it anymore either. Ivar looks to his mother who hands him the white grip of his knife. He hands it to you, cupping your hand over it to gently ease the blade into the cake. The first cut was the hardest. Your hands shake like leaves when you remove the blade, then cut again on the other side. Ivar’s hand shakes as he releases the knife, angling your face up towards him. His lips were as soft, plush up against yours. Before you can deepen the kiss, he slides away.

“Hm.” Ivar whispers with a shudder. “A girl.” A precious little girl.

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Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye | Pan

He is loud-voiced in the dance, roaring like the sea...

Red Little Shoes II

Masterlist

Gif Credit: (?) found on giphy.

A/N: This one was actually really fun too write. I love Sigurd being in pain! *evil fingers*

A year had passed since he had been without her. A year of blightful days and empty holidays unlike he had before. Other women could fill the void for only hours-- before it was back to the reality that his wife didn’t want him anymore. Sure, he had never received divorce papers. But she was also not here anymore.

He was walking with his brothers when he saw it, the beautiful new ballet. Strewn over the cover, she lay in chiffon and ribbon. Her dress was a delightful blood red stained by a peppering of glittering gems. Her most beautiful yet with matching ballet shoes. (Y/N)’s last performance before retiring! It read.

“I have to see her.” Sigurd tells Ubbe, glazing his finger over the glossy card. He withdraws his phone, searching the seats. Full. Nothing left.

He cursed the thought of missing this. This finale had to mean so fucking much to you— when you were on stage, it was like he was watching that gleeful teenager all over again. Your smile could light up his world in seconds. There was nothing like seeing you dolled up and looking like a queen, taking pictures with ambitious little girls and boys.

“Ivar has tickets.” Ubbe motions to his young brother, looking over to where Ivar sat with a bottle in his hand. His eyes keen in glee where Sigurd knit his jaw tight. He wanted him to beg for it. He could see it written over Ivar’s smug face, bringing the lip of the bottle to his lips.

But then again, why did Ivar have tickets? He hated dance. He hated the arts. He was a fucking engineer!

“Why do you have tickets?” Sigurd bites out. Ivar rose his eyebrows as if to mock that he didn’t know why his brother was acting this way. The tension in his forehead relaxes as he moves to answer his brother.

“We talk. She wants me to go see her dance. I’m taking her out to dinner after.” Ivar sets his drink down and reclines on one hand, an onyx watch glistening on his wrist against his cheek.

“You’re taking my wife out?” Sigurd snaps abruptly, his voice tints darkly with the insinuation that Ivar shouldn’t be allowed to take her out. Hvitserk looks to the waitress coming by to take Sigurd’s order, setting him down a basket of chicken wings that he ordered-- appetizer of course!

“Is that a problem?” Ivar says as if he can’t be bothered to deal with his attitude. Sigurd huffs our harsh, sharp breaths shoving his phone back into the pocket of his jeans.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?!” He hisses back. Ivar folds his thick arms one over another, ones you’ve commented on more than once. All the moments of passively flirting between the two of you come to the surface, tension bubbling in his fingers. Ivar snuggles his arms against his tight v-neck shirt and scoffs just as the poor little waitress bit out a smile. I’ll be back later! She says, but neither brother is listening.

“No, brother, I get it. You think I’m fucking your girl’s sweet pussy. Oh but wait, she left you. Didn’t she?” Ivar snaps back just as Sigurd jumps up out of his chair, drawing the attention of everyone towards them.

“Fuck you!” Sigurd’s fists ball up at his sides. Hvitserk chews on his chicken bone, looking over when Ubbe grabs Sigurd’s shoulder, yanking him back down to sit. He looks to the waitress peeping over, flashing her a smile that said he had it.

“Ivar. Take Sigurd with you.” He says garnering the hateful leer from Ivar. The two of them? Alone? He never heard anything stupider from the oldest of the brothers.

“I was taking mother.” He snaps. “Why should I take him? He doesn’t even like me.”

“Because I’m telling you to.” Ubbe hisses— causing the younger brother to hiss in distaste.

“Fine.”

It was awkward to be in the same car with Ivar.  He felt like he was choking on a thick smog of his own resentment. His blonde hair was neat and prom, the blue of his button down in his black slacks. Ivar works the steering wheel, turning into the valet parking. As he turns his car off, Sigurd lurches over to grab his arm.

“Have you fucked her?” Sigurd asks through the silence, cutting through the awkwardness with a knife of hate. Ivar momentarily holds his gaze before popping the door open.

“What if I did?” Ivar hisses. Sigurd squirms in his chair under the words, hands going sweaty. You could have fucked his brother-- why would you invite Ivar otherwise? It wasn’t as if that temper made him a supremely hot date. Ivar adjusts his slender black tie against his charcoal vest waiting for Sigurd to get out.

“Hurry up.” He bites out, limping over to hand his keys off. It still eats him-- what if you did betray him? Sigurd slides out of the car as Ivar hands him a ticket, limping off to the ramp to walk up rather than take the stairs.

Ivar and he didn’t talk much during the whole play. No, talking led to arguing and arguing led to Ivar trying to pick a fight. Then he would look like the asshole that allegedly started a fight with his cripple brother. That aside, you looked so beautiful, he didn’t want to ruin this day for you. Not when you practiced hours upon hours, twirled across the stage with not even a foot out of place and looked like the divine prima ballerina you always wanted to be. When the lights flickered on, it took a moment for him to realize that Ivar had slipped away.

He knew where.

“You were perfect.”

Sigurd heard behind your door, closed all but a crack. You paced from Ivar in a puffy red dress, donned in jewels to the vanity where you would set a bouquet of deep red roses into a vase that you usually left there to fill with flowers.

“You think so?” You mumble, fixing your tiara topped on your head and adjusted the beautiful stream of red ribbon that sat tight on your bun.

“Yes, anyone else would miss the mark.” His brother shifts to sit in the stool you pulled over to him while you adjusted your makeup and took down your hair. “Are you so sure you want to retire?”

“I’ll never be ready to retire. That’s where my home is.” You sigh raggedly, as if the thought of never dancing on stage again ached you deeply. “But I can teach and… thanks to you, I can go forward with the IUI and have a baby. Finally. I’ve been waiting so long.”

You slip behind the rosy shields that hide your curves from Ivar to find a long gown and heels, slipping them on and abandoning your ballet dress. You must have already done autographs, he notes.

“It’s not a problem, you only had to ask.” Ivar grunts. “We could have just had sex.”

You give a little laugh. “And hear Sigurd berate you? I don’t think so. He’ll be enraged as it is.”

Sigurd pieces it together quickly. IUI, which he had no idea what it meant, and having sex. And babies, can’t forget the babies. His brother was giving you sperm to undergo a procedure to have his babies. His mind went blank when he caught Ivar’s next words.

“--he’s been sleeping with anything willing.”

“That’s a lie.” Sigurd pushes the door to your dressing room open. You slip out from behind the rosy shields in a deep red dress, highlighting the best of your features as you stare blankly at him. Up close, he noticed that your hair was cut differently. There’s a twinkle of relief in your eyes without him-- and you’re almost carefree. At least until he comes in.

“Sigurd.” You mumble, eyes scanning Ivar’s boots. “I didn’t know you came.”

Ivar sighs. “He was desperate to see you. So what am I but a good brother to bring him.”

You look over to your date of the night, clasping your bracelet on before smiling to him.

“Naturally.”Of course he wanted to come-- this was the last night you would dance. You nod to Ivar, tilting your head. “Thank you Sigurd… but we were just on our way out.”

You hold your hand out to Ivar. He pushes himself up out of his chair, taking your hand in his. He hadn’t even gotten a word in edgewise when Ivar dropped his keys into Sigurd’s hand, walking off as if nothing had just happened. Your black heels clicked down the hall toward the elevator, disappearing into the distance.

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Sigurd Snake in the Eye | Ravenclaw

Red Little Shoes

Masterlist

Sigurd Snake in the Eye x Reader

Gif credit: (?) To respective owner

A/N: I wrote this thinking of @lisinfleur from one of our conversations.

You were his high school love.

The pretty girl dancing ballet in the middle of the courtyard without friends, spin after spin with her eye on him, pluckily playing his stringed instrument. That girl that wasn’t shy to dance in front of anyone! That was his girl.

The very same girl that wanted a boat load of children. Six to be exact. Sigurd didn’t want to share his pretty wife with six children— on top of the fact that you were a performing dancer. Hours of recitals, picking the prettiest dresses for costume and posing for your fans grew tiring.

And at 31 with a successful ballet studio, you finally wanted to have a baby. Except he didn’t. He could go forever with your eyes on him alone.

“What is so wrong with taking off the condoms?” You say up to him, nails stroking along his biceps as he holds himself above you. Sigurd lets out a groan when your other hand wanders down his sweaty chest, rolling off of your body. He unrolls his spent white condom off his dick, flicking it into the trash as you roll back to where he was. You meet him with an intense stare— one he can’t beat.

“I’ve told you before— I don’t want to share you.” Sigurd sighs.

“You also said that I could have three.”

He laments at the mention. He knew he said that… when you told him that not having one would be a deal breaker. How could he lose you over this? If he could… just buy some time. But he could only buy you off for so long with his words.

“I… did.” Sigurd says as he pulls you in, despite the face that you would curl away from him. “My love.” He whispers sweetly. Nothing. You wouldn’t even look at him. He knew that his pretty prima ballerina was at the end of her rope.

“I’ll take it off next time.” He concedes the words— knowing he really wouldn’t.

“She wants you to cum in her and you don’t want to? Sigurd… c’mon.” Hvitserk laughs, his brothers beside him at this glow bright club. The drinks were falling down his throat rather then slowly being consumed-- he had so many, he wasn’t sure how he was sitting upright anymore. It wasn’t helping. He just felt like he was looking for a fight. Ubbe leans back in his chair, arms folded over one another.

“You’ve been married for how many years?”

Sigurd supplies the answer: since they were nineteen. Sigurd says nothing else of use, hand in his flaxen hair. He holds a sharp tasting tequila, still nursing where the hot smack across his cheek was a few hours ago. Liar! You smacked him so hard, his head was spinning. You never had hit him before. Then again, he led you on once again… like he usually did.

“If I knock her up, I have to share her. Don’t I Björn?” He asks his oldest of brothers who merely shrugs his shoulders. The same brother who would creampie his woman anyway. He glances off as a woman slips by, half of her ass falling out of a tight little dress that had his mind running. Bjorn takes up his glass, “It’ll be fun.” He says slipping off in the direction of the girl.

Honestly-- he thinks.

“So give her some, that way mother will get off our backs about grandchildren.” Ubbe chides lightly to Hvitserk while Ivar snorts, fingers clicking against his glass. He takes a nasty long sip, hissing as he finishes and looks to his brother.

“If you’re not a boy, you’ll just give them to her before she finds a man that will.” Ivar empathizes the end of his statement, causing Sigurd to turn up in his chair and glare at him. Tonight was not a good night to fight with Ivar. He was ready to start a brawl already.

“What does that mean?” Sigurd asks, his grip tightening on his glass.

“Means whatever you take it to mean.” Ivar gives a bemused squeeze of his lips into a frown. He sinks back down in his chair, sucking down his drink. Hvitserk pretends as if he’s not there any longer by sliding himself down, looking over his shoulder to the women passing. Ubbe tsks his tongue, looking over to Ivar.

“He means nothing. Sigurd— just do it for her, eh?” Ubbe says, but he still can’t convince himself to do it. He was too greedy.

When he went home the next morning, the sun was high up in the sky. He ran out in a rush-- leaving you behind with nothing to do but mope like you usually did. It would be something he could fix in the morning. He could serenade you, make you a brunch and explain… further. If just a few more years of having you to himself. That would be okay.

But then there were boxes. Lots and lots of boxes. He passes by your shared front porch where you waddle out, pinching his brow momentarily before kicking off. He came beside you, rising up onto your tippiest of tippy toes to slide your box into your truck.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Leaving you.” You answer in a whirl of your hair, tight in a ponytail on top of your head. The strands of red ribbon flutters in the wind against his nose as he pulls close to you.

“Wha… what?” Sigurd stutters, words heavy on his tongue like the booze that begins to churn his stomach from an early breakfast. You climb the concrete steps of your patio to the boxes that sit neatly arranged by your best friend Livvy, who seals the last of the boxes shut with cherry red tape.

“You don’t want babies, fine. But I do.” You say as Livvy pops up with a box, moving each into your electric blue truck. Sigurd cuts you off just as you set another box in the truck.

This wasn’t happening.

“That is not what I said! I said I don’t— want to share me. I know. But now you won’t have to because you won’t have me at all.” You turn for another box, eyes snapping back to Sigurd by the desperation in his voice. Your tone was sharp and triggers him to be more so. After all these years, you thought you could leave? Just like that? His fist collides with your truck, making Livvy bounce and look out the rearview mirror.

But you aren’t doing your usual slump, falling for his sweet kisses and how he might tell you it will all be alright in a year or two. How your aging womb can handle some more time. You might have been young, but you didn’t want to be chasing a son at sixty or worse.

“All this for a baby?” He folds his arms one over another, rolling his eyes and sighing darkly at you. No way he could understand why you were so adamant about this. You were: enough to break up with him about it. You were married… you didn’t just break up for laughs and giggles.  

“All this because you lied to me. You led me on. For years.” You lean up to him, the curly fluff of his hair brushing against yours. Your nose would tickle his as if to almost steal a kiss from those pouting lips. As he leans forward, you drift back.

“You can’t leave me.” He hisses— and there’s a disconnect between your confidence in this choice. You take a shaking breath, brushing past him to pull yourself up into your truck. You haul yourself in and shove the key into the ignition, roaring the engine to life.

“Watch me, Sigurd.”

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Bury It! III

Bury It! Masterlist

Warnings: Mention of rape.

A/N: I can’t believe I brought this out of the dead. Gif is not mine-- I’d love to give credit to whoever made it. Earlier chapters are from a long time ago. I should go look at them and revise.

“(Y/N). (Y/N) listen to me!” Sigurd broke through the crowd as he saw you. Your heart was riveting through your chest, skirts in your arms as you rushed through Kattegat. Your legs felt as if they were limp strings, barely carrying yourself away until Sigurd took that decision from you, grasping your wrist and yanking you in.

“Let me go!” You cried as his arms wound around your waist. Your fists form tight balls against his chest, panting sharply now. He held strong despite your onslaught of fists.

“Please don’t do it again!” You sob just as Sigurd shifts you around and presses you back against the Blacksmith’s wooden hut. His body keeps yours tight against the building. Everything rushed back. Every movement of Sigurd’s hips on yours, the way you sobbed for him to stop-- but he never did. He was supposed to be your friend. One of your very best ones… and he betrayed you. For what? Jealousy.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Sigurd says, looking around as if looking for someone else to come.

“You’re going to, you’re going to.” You stutter past a wall of tears. Sigurd’s hands slam up beside your head with a resounding thud of the building. Your head ducks to the side of his arms just when he picks your chin up. A loud sigh bounces off his lips.

“I promise… I won’t rape you. Please.” Sigurd reassures with empty words. But somehow, you wanted to believe that those words were true. You nod as your tears wetten your chin, rubbing them away when he speaks again.

“You didn’t tell Ivar?” He asks. Because his Mother wasn’t summoning him to outlaw him, cut off his dick or kill him. More than anything, women were intensely guarded. You should have been too-- if not for stubborn insistence that Ivar leave him alone. You sniffle harshly, looking to the side as he let go of your chin.

“He… he found out.” You mutter. “But I wouldn’t let him kill you.”

Sigurd wasn’t sure whether to be gladdened by you. Not for fear of his brother-- never fear of his brother, but it would be a hassle to deal with this as well when all he wanted was your good graces. Why? He wanted to ask. As if you could hear his thoughts, the next words fall of your lips and lay heavy in his stomach.

“I’m pregnant.” You glance up to Sigurd. “It’s… it’s yours.”

His thoughts weren’t working. His lips weren’t moving. He was just in a sort of awe looking at you-- wondering just what the hell he was supposed to do now. Not only did he rape you, he impregnated you by his seed. It was what he wanted… a baby? With you? Sigurd dreamed of having a child by you for so long. But not like this, your eyes glistened in sorrow. He couldn’t make you keep the baby… he had no right to say anything.

“I can’t keep it… I can’t keep it.” You stutter all over again, degenerating again into your babbling panic. “Ivar-- Ivar can’t know. You have to help me get rid of it… please.”

You wanted to abort his baby. Sigurd’s head dropped down, braids flipping with the wind running past. He thought heavily about what he should do. Should he let you? Or should he try to convince you otherwise? Sigurd pushes off of the wall, running his hand down his scruffy chin as he debated what he might do.

You were pregnant. His hands came behind his head. Correction, he forced you and of course! Of course you got pregnant. Rationally he knew that he didn’t deserve this little baby-- prince or princess, that clung to your womb. Ivar was the husband you so longed to have a baby with (in the future). Sigurd’s hands drop to his side.

“What do you need me to do?” Sigurd looks you over.

“I… I need to make a tea of Pennyroyal before Ivar finds out.” You say. If Ivar found out-- who knew what would happen.

“(Y/N)... divorce him. I know you don’t want to kill our baby. You didn’t want to kill me.” Sigurd reasons with you, reaching out to touch your swollen belly. The changes that began to take were frightening-- and you knew that you couldn’t keep this child. Sigurd took that decision out of your hands by raping you. If… if it were another way, maybe.

“That… that’s different.” You mutter. Sigurd was Sigurd! “I couldn’t…”

“Divorce him and marry me. Then I will help you.” Sigurd says. Divorce Ivar…? You step back from Sigurd. Ivar hadn’t done anything wrong-- other than try and protect you. As you stepped away from Sigurd and ran out of the alleyway, you knew that you would need to find the Pennyroyal yourself.

@wish-i-was-a-mermaid

Sigurd’s Mishap

“Twins?” Sigurd says, his snake entwined eyes blown wide. He drops his hand from fluffy blonde bangs, shakily reaching for another drink of mead. “Are you sure?”

Your hand lays upon your swollen round stomach, massaging the top of the taut skin. “I’m sure.... I’m sorry.” You apologize profusely, despite the fact that the Ragnarsson has already looked away.

When he meant to get you pregnant, so that he could marry you, he didn’t quite mean this pregnant.

Credit: bonniebirdgifcentre

@float-autumn-leave

Stop (Taking me lightly)

A/N: A little angsty, a little fluffy. Gif belongs to bonniebird!

You were a well established, well educated woman. You had a major in Music where you met your boyfriend Sigurd years ago in college. When you graduated, somehow you imagined a picture perfect world where you would travel around and learn all the music from different continents with him. It didn’t turn out that way.

“We can do implants, if it’s is viable, to restore a bit of sensation. But it would be expensive.” The doctors were speaking, but you weren’t listening. Instead, they were talking to your boyfriend who was the only source of stability at the moment. Your mother was back to work for the week. Sigurd glances over to where you sit, running his hands down a his black slacks. A bit, the doctor said. He exhales sharply with a nod.

“Let’s run the tests.” He says. The doctor flits out the room, leaving you with your boyfriend and a body of books on your bed. Behind you, Sigurd slaps his hands together sharpy.

You don’t turn around.

With a thick sigh, he walks around your plasticy hospital bed. You reach out to stroke his cheek as he comes near, but your still clumsy hand misses. He leads it back to his cheek.

“They want to do tests on you, to see if we can restore some hearing with implants. Do you want that?” He starts. “We can stop studying for today.” He forcefully pronounces the words. You glance to where he is pointing at your ASL books, slow as if you’re stupid, and sign quickly.

“Move.”

You never were one to give up and in a definite way, that was why he loved you. He only wished he had the nerve to say that before the ring burned a hole into his pocket.

@float-autumn-leave, @huntingbears, @igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @ateliefloresdaprimavera, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @ilovemyangelforever, @lisinfleur

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.

@igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @ateliefloresdaprimavera, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @ilovemyangelforever,