The Oud || 5CW

❛ pairing | sigurd x reader

❛ type | one shot

❛ summary | reader tries to imitate her crush’s song, but can’t.

❛  warnings | none

❛  request | Can I also please request Sigurd teaching you how to play an instrument (viking or modern), but it ends up in you sharing a passionate kiss and revealing your feelings for one another please?

You string your fingers over his oud.

But… it doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound like Sigurd’s song. The way he worked his oud, flicking his fingers over the strings and bobbing his head-- that felt organic to you. Not this. Not… the awkward tickle of your fingers in nothing that sounds like his siren’s song. It was what it was. A song that… well, that made you all in love with him. You sigh in frustration, tuning the object that Hvitserk brought back from the Mediterranean for his little brother.

“Relax,” his breath lingers on your ear. He’s slipped behind you, his trousers on either part of your long, wool dress. Boots by your leather sandals. Here with you. Finally. Your arms tense as if they were the very tight cords you meant to string into a song. He shifts his arms around you, his hand sliding over your wrist to the back of your hand. “You’re too tight.”

“Here,” Sigurd leans his head around the other side of your body. His long braids tickle your arms. “One at a time.”

The Designer || 5CW

Cute moments of Sigurd finding out a slave girl who's with them since he was a child is in love with him silently through all these years, caring for him and even being the real author of many things he thought was Margrethe who did for him instead.

“This one is more your taste. She’s a good thrall from King Ragnar’s hearth as you may well know! Well-trained and a virgin,” the loud voice from the queen’s favourite trader punctuated, pulling on the slave collar that hung from around your neck. He cracks your collar down, forcing you onto your knees before the potential buyer.

“A virgin?” the woman said. “I wasn’t aware that the sons of Ragnar left any virgins unclaimed.”

“Fortunately so.”

The woman has a youthful face though her eyes reflect her age. Her long, blonde hair is neatly braided back from her bright eyes and spoke with a mealy-tongue. You recognize the woman as being the earl Lagertha. Every once in a while, you spotted him shifting in the background. You caught a glimpse of his blond hair shifting by with his brothers. He sat today with them eating, a flat bread in his hand while his eyes creased as he talked. They remind you of where the sea lapsed along the dark granules of sand, how the great snake would one day slither out from the bright ocean.

But not today.

Another!

❛ pairing | bar owner!sigurd x drunk!reader

❛ type | drabble

❛ summary | on a sad night, you come to Sigurd’s Bar.

❛  warnings | drinking, passing out, upset!reader

❛ request | Another request for the Sigurd Event. Could you please write something modern, maybe like he’s mixing y/n drinks like in the sons of Ragnar video? Please tag as @allvikingsfanfic thank you 😊

Sigurd’s Bar is most busy on Sunday nights. Those nights when couples were chasing their last fucks before the long work week began, Christian patrons were sinning away their newly renewed eternal souls, and when lonely women came to the bar’s edge. Sigurd’s boots ripped sticky booze under his foot as he moved around, supplying strange cocktails to all sorts of foreigners. Then-- he stops in front of you.

You’re way out of his league, sitting on the chair in a form fitting gown. Your manicured nail swirls around a plastic stick. You bat away men that bother you like hotcakes fresh off the grill. Each excuse is something different. I don’t swing your way. I’m waiting for a date. I’m not interested.

There’s no date to speak of nor woman that strikes your fancy.

“You’re (Y/N), right?” Sigurd brings over a drink, setting it to the man to the side of you. Rather than merely grunt at him, you turn your head toward him in interest.

“Do I know you?” you ask.

“Likely not,” Sigurd admits, decidedly creepy enough that you inch back from the bar in your seat. “I went to school with you-- guitar. Uh, Sigurd.”

A Small Cost

❛ pairing | biker!sigurd x brazillian prostitute!reader

❛ type | drabble

❛ summary | sigurd doesn’t like what you do for a living. requested by @lisinfleur

❛  warnings | prostiution, biking.

The names on your notepad are pointless.

Several customers a day from the time you wake up to a few hours before bed. Some want you on your knees, sucking their cock until they pop over your tits or head. Others want to fuck you in the ass and cum over your cheeks. And some-- fuck your pussy. But none get the privilege of nutting inside of your pussy.

Well unless you consider him.

He showed up some good months ago. His long hair in wily waves, bangs pulled away from his face. Except for those poofy bangs which you straightened once.

“Thank you, Mr. Sousa! Boa tarde!” you held the door open for him, letting him go out.

Be a Man

❛ pairing | sigurd & ubbe

❛ type | drabble

❛ summary | too tense to be at the birth of his child, sigurd tries to calm himself down.

❛  warnings | parental abandonment mention, light angst, big bro ubbe!

❛ request | For 5cw: Soon-to-be dad sigurd is happy but worried he is not gonna be a good dad since he didnt have a good father figure to look up to. Doesnt want reader to know of his fears but they find out. Reader or one of his brothers try to make him feel better maybe? Fluffy and angsty if you wanna. Thank you sy :*

It’s expected that at his age, he would have children. Of his brothers he is the only one to meet that expectation. For the days for birthing were right on top of you and your stomach was round and taut. Dressing attractively is difficult, but as he’s said, you could wear an apron dress and still look delectable.

Comforting you is easy, comforting himself is hard.

Even his oud gives him limited comfort now. He sits with crabbe apples and takes large bites of them, deciding for himself what to do next under a large tree with wide arms like Yggdrasil itself. He thought, no, he hoped that the gods would be here to assure him. Should he… go see you? Early in the stages of labour-- you sent him away to prepare himself.

“Shouldn’t you be with your wife?”