Completely Innocent

Gif credit: (?).

A/N: So I was searching around bridal customs looking for something on Indian customs in relation to touching and how that might go. Which, if you have anything, shoot them my way. Anyway, I came upon bridal abduction. Totally awful– but I thought of this.

He knew the chances of being caught red handed with Ubbe were bad. His waterlogged boots squish wetly as he moves beside his older brothers Bjorn and Ubbe, pushing away the reeds that shelter his view of the camp.

“This way.” Hvitserk murmurs. Ubbe slides to look behind behind himself as if anyone was looking. Bjorn reassures him with a stone faced look– as if nothing would go wrong because Bjorn Ironside was there.

“Her brother told you to do this?” Bjorn asks.

Hvitserk leans down as if in a crouch as they come up the shore. “Told, hint. It’s all the same isn’t it brother? He says their people do it all the time.”

Bjorn says nothing in response. They wad through itchy, high dark grass. The tents are jovial with their bright colours and dark woods in the large full moon. The flame has been put out as of hours but the embers are still a bit popping red. Hvitserk glances over, braids a deep muddy brown with the dirty water that chills him. He’s the first to lurch forward, shouldering past Ubbe to the camp in question. The younger Ragnarsson knows where he’s going. There are dark figures under warm handmade blankets. He finds the one he wants, drawing back the blanket under a mess of her strewn hair.

“Is she here?” He says.

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Never Run Away

Gif credit: (?) Not mine.

A/N: This… did not come out like I thought it would.

You ran out of Kattegat.

Perhaps your return was ever fated by the way people looked at you. The men would approach you thinking you were easy, the women would whisper in their husband’s ear and your father had been shamed. He could not do as many man would; go claim retribution. If he demanded it of the Ragnarsson, he would be sorely remorseful. With no other option, father sold his land and moved. You knew you ruined it all.

All because of him.

So you trained, you fought and made by yourself a household name. You helped Harald conquer kings, freed princesses of their binds and raided like a queen. Years had passed since you were that stupid young girl, dreaming of her dalliances with one of Kattegat’s cutest princes. It was so long ago. You pushed the thought of your mind thrusting over the doors of Kattegat’s Great Hall. You felt the heat of stares from within and the lamps that were warm with flame on your skin.

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A New King II

Previous

“Onto Valhalla.”

The great funeral pyre billowed smoke signals for miles over Kattegat’s crystallized lake. The bodies were burning with a great immense heat, bouncing off your body and Hvitserk’s white horse. Bodies of Ivar’s faithful men abiding to the oaths of their armbands– you hope they knock upon the golden gates of Valhalla. Your fingers are marked by pallor, pulling one of his furs around your delicate shoulders while considering what exactly was going to happen next.

“Up.” Hvitserk slides around you with a swirl of his boots, rising you from the cold ground onto his horse. You gasp gently as Hvitserk replaces himself behind you, toned arms gripping the reins of his horse. It’s different from riding on Ivar’s chariot. In place of Ivar’s thick, muscular body against yours– you’re left with Hvitserk’s. He is no longer the lithe thing you once knew. He’s formidable.

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Repost because I need the link for the moodboard

Shaghaf شغف : I

A/N: So I made this thing. I’m gonna drop it here, it’s highly a lusty piece. I’m trash and this isn’t exactly ways, but I hope with other subsequent pieces to this one it’ll be okay. This will have one more piece that isn’t just sexy, because I think that isn’t all to this reader insert, she was just being a mean tease to him here. Gif belongs to souls80.

Hvitserk x Bellydancer!Reader

The palace was different from anything Hvitserk had ever seen. Blaring tiles of cobalt blue with alternating snowy marble sat under his peasantlike feet. It was contrasted by the white design of the palace doors above. The columns of the doorways weren’t just wide, but etched in designs so intricate he wondered whom would have the patience to etch them. Twirls here, little windows there… But what struck him, beside this dome shaped ballroom, was what awaited him at the end of it. Not the newly wedded couple, no, he ignored them.

A woman. Or at least, he thought it was a woman. Bjorn had told him of Halfdan’s accident. He was first caught by the look in her eyes. A pillow of limpid rosy fabrics, so light and soft, covered her long legs shifting across the marble floor to the jaunty beat of drums and stringed instruments.

“This way, this way.” An older man with a spiraled headdress led him to a pillow to the side of the fray. His oldest brother at the other side of him, Hvitserk bounced to his place. Here he had a perfect view of her. The rattle of beads on her hip and breast shifted alongside the pop of her hips as she glided like a goddess across the floor. As she came closer, Hvitserk followed every dip and shimmy with eager eyes drinking in her olive kissed skin. The food laid out of light and fluffy basmati rice and lamb was lost on him. Even the bread!

Her hands twirled outwards, adorned in heavy yellow gold, towards him. There were peculiar bumpy like designs he would later account to be henna on her hands. In shapes of flowers billowing across her palms and forearms. Then she shifted her arms towards the heavens where Odin surely was looking down at him, laughing at his impatience to touch. His fingers outstretched, barely skimming the gold woven ends of her skirts when she twirled her hands down, arching back as she did. She lightly kicked out, knocking his fingers with her jeweled foot and twirled back just like that. Large steps carried her back, her dark hair like storm clouds and a rosy veil hiding her piercing almond shaped eyes.

Impatiently he whined, and the King laughed at him. “This one is impatient!” He balked out his laugh at Bjorn. Bjorn set his hand to Hvitserk’s shoulder in his own laugh, clicking his tongue at Hvitserk as if he was Ragnar himself. Hvitserk gave a harsh growl.

“What is her name?” Hvitserk looked to the King. He glanced over her, then back to Hvitserk again.

“That is (Y/N).” The King said as her hips shimmied like the waves of the ocean. One collapsing another while her hands slid tauntingly over her head, grazing down her pointed nose. Her slender ring kissed fingers popped off of her lips, curling out towards Hvitserk. With a flick of her wrist, she motioned him closer.

“Go, boy, go.” The King teased with his dark eyes in glee, showing him on his way. Hvitserk didn’t need to be told twice. He hopped across the floor, led on as she shimmied her way back with wide steps and smaller, internal spirals of her torso.

“What is your name?” She said, her voice heavy with a foreign tongue. He didn’t care. If she could speak his language, that was all he needed. By Odin, even if she didn’t speak it, he would probably still be here. She twirled with her fingers along

“Hvitserk.” He said, coming closer. She stopped just in sight of the king.

“Hvitserk…” She said, chopping his name into bits and pieces. But he didn’t care. All he was interested in were her kohl lined eyes. Her hips kept a modest shimmy. “Would you like to learn to dance, Hvitserk?” She said lowly, lining his lips with her painted nail.

“Yes.” He answered like a babbling idiot, not even sure of what he was saying.

“Good.” The coins of her hips stopped. She leaned her toes to push at his boots, separating his legs one from the other. Her fingers drifted down in a line up his firm thighs. “Bend your legs, Habeebi.”

He bent.

“Good, good. Now, straighten your leg. But without letting your heel touch the floor. Think of a pulling of the leg to the hip.” She says, patting his legt. Hvitserk worked his hips slowly but found that it was harder than it looked, and fuck, it looked hard to begin with! From behind him, the King was chuckling. He threw out some words, loud and rippling through the hall when she threw some back. They must have been familiar with one another.

She hissed softly, grasping Hvitserk’s hands in her own. Her tongue clicked, “Slower. Ignore them, they’re fools.” She said, leading her hands to his thighs to guide the motion. It clicked slowly, and the more confident he grew, quicker the motion became. She hummed in approval for him, watching as his hips quipped.

Bjorn’s sassy whistle rung out, effectively dropping his hips again.

“You get distracted so easily. Here, let me be your shield, Viking.” She hums, dropping her hips in front of his. As she hides his body, she leads his hands to her waist, tickling the belly jewelry there. “Slowly first.” She reminds.

As slowly as he could manage, his hips shift, side to side. The curve of her hips is just barely out of touch against his, effortlessly shimmying coin and beads alike. One after another, her legs pop quicker and quicker against his, side to side with Hvitserk struggling to keep up. He could almost hear the laughs already, but yet again, she pulled him into focus. Her body arched back onto him, all the while shimmying, all the while the master of this dance. She rose one of her hands to his head, teasing him by and by until she simply stopped.

“That is how you dance!” She smiled. Yes, that was how he danced, but now he couldn’t deny the itch under his skin. Or as she pulled away, the blatant erection tenting his pants. Hvitserk groaned as she moved away, a laugh on her lips as she disappeared into the halls of the palace.

He never got to ask her to come home with him. But he would. He chased after her.

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Dark!Hvitty for a sequel of stealing her?

Drunken Words

Drunken Words: After taking his bride out for a romantic evening, Hvitserk wakes up in bed with twin blondes. Now having to deal with what he’s done, he attempts to turn his wife back to him. The twins have another idea.

Warnings:

Adultery.

Chapters

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Updated

Do it, Princess

A/N: This was a personal request made by @michaeliskindahot. Here you are baby! Also the credit for this picture is also to her, she’s made some really cute moodboards! If you can’t tell, this was a little inspired by The Absent One.

Warnings:

Murder

Violence

Jealousy

Exhibitionism/Humiliation

Dark!Hvitserk. ( I MEAN IT)

The defeat of Lagertha changed Hvitserk.

It wasn’t for the better. As his wife, you noticed the way he was acting. Your sunshine boy had gotten darker– more heated, more angry. He was still your sweet Hvitserk when you were in bed with him, but if you were being honest, you felt as if you were on a leash. One so tight that at times you felt like you were choking near his hand.

“Let me help you with that.” A man with sunshiney fresh locks came beside you. His hair swept under the glittering light of Kattegat’s sweet sunlight as you walked up from the beachside waters.

“Please, Tyr. I asked you to stay away from me. Didn’t you learn last time?” You say with hurried breath as you run back for Kattegat’s gates that were being constructed. Your hands kept a hold on the pole which held water on either side.

“You think him punching me out is gonna do shit?” Tyr bounded ahead of you on his heels, walking backwards as you walk up.

“You don’t know what he can do.” You say. Tyr snuffs that knowledge, dipping around you to swipe the pole off your shoulders in one hand. His other hand swipes up your waist.

“Yeah whatever. C’mon baby.” Tyr slides you close.

“No, Tyr please give me that back.” You reach upon your tippy toes to reach. Tyr bends his head to bump your noses together, the silvery grey hues of his eyes catching yours. You want to scream at him– explain how you don’t want this when your suddenly relieved of looking into those eyes that are sharp as Hvitserk’s blade.

“The fuck are you doing around my woman?”

The voice is a deep hiss. You don’t need to look to know who it is. Hvitserk’s fist has dug so deeply into Tyr’s blonde locks, twisting him around to shove him into the arms of another Viking man that accompanied you. The thralls around quickly take note of when to make themselves scarce, heading back toward the gates of Kattegat.

“Hvitserk that wasn’t what it looked like!” You call out to him, finding that he’s purely ignoring your presence. He’s been dying to do this since the last time your little ex, Tyr, tried to corral you in the marketplace.

“You’ve been looking at her, you little fuck. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Hvitserk bites again when the other Viking man twisted the pole around in front of Tyr’s throat, causing Tyr’s breath to cough up his throat as he thrashed. Hvitserk looks to you, standing behind him as he sways in front of Tyr.

“You want his ass, princess?” A daring low whisper. You’re breath swells out of your chest when Hvitserk lurches forward, yanking your wrist over to  him.

“Do you?!” He snarls– and you know you’re about to be in trouble.

“No!” You shriek. “Of course I don’t want him, I never did!”

“See?” Hvitserk trills. “She’s happy.”

Hvitserk’s firm grip leaves your wrist, tugging you in to gingerly kiss the top of your head. “Of course you didn’t want him.” Hvitserk says, and again he would ball his fist up, veins popping when he whirls around to punch Tyr square in the face. The first time garners a grunt– but the second, the third and so forth get sputtering coughs of his blood. His nose cracks at an odd ankle, telling you that its likely broken.

Like a coward, you say nothing. You watch Hvitserk’s knuckles crack, bleeding to as he beats the man. Eventually the other Viking thrust him onto the ground when Hvitserk’s knuckles were at their limits. On the ground his boot crushes the man’s crotch, digging in with an irritable mash. With a few thrusts of his boot to the man’s ribs he finally looks up. But he’s not done, crunching the Tyr’s throat under his dark boot and unsheathing his sword with a whirring his of its sheath.

“(Y/N), princess come here.” Hvitserk’s voice is like that of a still wind, light and refreshing on the constant grunts of agony and blood that sweeps through the grass. You obey, knowing better than to enrage him. Your hands stroke over your wedding ring, glancing up to Hvitserk’s towering frame.

“I want you to do it.” Hvitserk holds out the grip of his sword– that has met many an enemy on the battlefield. He conquered his countrymen, saxons and anyone in between. Your digits are trembling as you take the sword with two hands.

The man’s lower body twists, rolling in bloodied blades of grass. You’re sure he would have tried to kill you if not for Hvitserk’s black haired friend that pulls his wrists straight down his chest as he sits on his lower stomach.

“It’ll just be a little whack.” Hvitserk shifts behind you. His hands slip over your waist while another caresses your stomach. The red of his hands blends with the crimson dress you wear, but likely, your cincher will stain. Your eyes screw shut and force little wrinkles to form. It’s just once. You can do it for him, you think.

“Do it!” Hvitserk snarls. His boot shifts to the man’s head to pin him in place. You force yourself to block out Tyr’s pathetic sobs of please, please, please– I want to go to Valhalla. You snuffed them short when you swung your beloved’s blade over his exposed neck. There’s a nasty noise, sword meeting bone. Blood soaks you being so close to him– and Hvitserk laughs as he lets go of you, doddling around to admire your work. The blade would thud in the grass. You did it– and it fills you with dread to see his silvery eyes opened with adamant horror.

“You really didn’t want him!” Hvitserk jumps in glee. His friend dismounts Tyr’s body, slipping off his armring. The two are slick of blood and your hands, just as much. The two set off for Kattegat as you take in the sight of the deadman.

“Princess! Bring me my sword!” Hvitserk howls back to you. When you don’t move, Hvitserk stops midturn. “Aren’t you coming?”

A warning or a laugh, you’re not sure. You bend down to take the sword and run after Hvitserk and his strange new Viking friend. You don’t have to ask about burial rights for the boy. No, not at all. The birds would have him.

It was Saturday.

A Saturday where you bathed the sin off your body in a warm bath. No matter how much you washed with herb scented soap you felt red. Your appetite was null, still bothered by the sight of a limp and lifeless body in the fields of Kattegat. Now in the hall with your brother-in-law and husband, you felt as if you couldn’t stomach much.

“You are not eating. What is wrong with you?” Hvitserk held bites of chicken between his fingers.

“It’s nothing.” You answer quickly.

“It does not sound like nothing.” He draws his arm over your chair. You garner a glance of Ivar who likely thinks the same. “What can daddie do to make it better, hm?”

Daddie? Ivar says beside his brother. His lips are pulling up into a smile under the fingers that are in his mouth as he chews. It’s all very amusing to him. Hvitserk looks to his younger brother with a nod, smiling and looking back to you. You’re hardly convinced, looking away from Hvitserk when he reaches over, taking your hand to his lips for a soft kiss.

“C’mon pretty princess. Tell King Ivar what you want to do.” Hvitserk’s satin lips pull off of your knuckles, holding your hands in his calloused ones. Heat soars to your face in dread when you realize what Hvitserk means. Your exhibitionist qualities. The ache you felt in wanting to be more free– like Margrethe had been. You want to play. It just so happens that its fine with Hvitserk. So long as he is the one in control of who entered his bedroom. You try to ignore it, but Ivar leans forward to look you with wild eyes gleaming. Your thighs slicken in the awkwardness of such excitement.

“Tell your king what you want.” Ivar hisses, far too amused for his own good.

“I… want to fuck you.” You murmur, finding it easier to pull away and drink your ale than deal with the consequences of his words. Ivar’s tongue caresses the corner of his mouth. Hvitserk’s hand has shifted up your skirts, caressing your moist folds. Hvitserk tests the waters by slipping a finger into your cunt.

“But she behaved badly today by making me jealous.” Hvitserk remarks, pulling his fingers away from you when Ivar leaned back. He looks to his throne as he takes his crutch up.

“Let her king teach her a lesson.” Ivar commands, making his way up to his way up to his throne. Hvitserk follows and holds his hand out to you. Maybe you could have ran– but this seemed like a perfect way to wash away the guilt. Hvitserk shoves you in front of him, standing behind you and beginning peel away your overdress, then the undress goes along with it. It’s to the pleasure of the eyes of those in the Great Hall. Your naked flesh was cool against the air and hot against the eyes taking you in.

“Shh, shh, shh! We must see what punishment this entitles!” Ivar holds up his hands, willing down the excitement brewing in the hall. “What is it you did?”

A moment of pause. “I… excited Tyr.” You supply. Normally of course, that was Tyr’s own fault. He should have been the one to suffer for it and he did– terribly.

“In front of your husband?” Ivar tilts his head. The laughter of the crowd stopped altogether. Everyone had heard of what Prince Hvitserk had done.

“Apparently.” You snap.

“Careful.” He grins wickedly, slapping the dark heavy wood of his throne. “It is decided… a public humiliation is in order. Bind her wrists.”

The man from earlier stepped forward, puling and tying them with a flaxen rope. You grunt as he winds the knots tight then step aside. Hvitserk grins from behind you, walking you back and back until the back of your legs hit Ivar’s trousers. He reaches out to grasp your nipples between thumb and index finger and tugs them forward.

“Sit on him.” Hvitserk orders, tweaking them painfully in his fingers. You do as he orders– but instead of the flat surface of his hips, you feel Ivar guiding himself within your wet walls. His hands at your hips snap you back onto him and he fills you, reaching the end of your tight channel that holds him tightly inside. A wanton moan rips from your chest. The great Ivar the Boneless, son of Ragnar Lothbrok and descendent of Odin is deep within your folds. Hvitserk relinquished one of your nipples long enough to slap your tit, then the other. You’re well trained, avoiding any cries as Ivar sets out a brutal pace to fucking you, guiding your hips up and down his cock as if you are his toy alone. Your eyes seal shut as you battle with your noises, desperate to show no pleasure, but its failing. Of course it is, that is what Ivar wants. He fucks into your cunt with hips shifting each inch in and out of you.

“Open your eyes.” Hvitserk’s smooth voices washes over your body with a thick clench to Ivar’s cock. “How does he feel?”

“G-Good!” You cry out with a line of drool slipping from the corner of your lips. “So fucking good!”

Ivar’s strong arms shift to grasp you, arms below or above your tits, yanking you back against him. A foreign pleasure teases you of being unable to stop his hips from shifting forward. He claims you with smooth thrusts, in and out– and gods, he is definitely not your husband. Hvitserk’s hand digs into your hair as he yanks out his cock, pressing the tip of his member to your lips.

“Suck me off.” He commands. Your plush lips part to welcome him into your warm mouth. His taste is familiar to you– but the firmness of his cock thrusting in and out of your mouth at an unforgiving pace is what shocks you the most. The crowd below is watching with jovial roars and bright grins, waiting for their king and prince to explode. Hvitserk’s hips undulate, taking his time with your mouth around his member. He uses your hair as a lead, whipping you down to take him fully.

“Agh!” Ivar hisses below you. “What a good little princess, squeezing my dick!”

You moan in response, causing reverberations of pleasure to ripple up Hvitserk’s cock. He tugs in swells of air nearly at his peak. He narrowly misses tugging out of your mouth on time when Ivar barks at him to pull out, tugging the skin of his shaft harshly. Pearls of white spill over your naked breasts, exposed to the audience whom laughs jovially. Then it is their King whom hits his peak, squeezing you with his muscular arms. His seed spills into your walls as you pull him through his orgasm, hardly meeting your own.

Your cunt is still sticky when Hvitserk leans down to kiss you, guiding your cunt off of Ivar’s softening member. Hvitserk lifts you over his shoulder, cracking his hand upon your ass. Your used cunt seeps the King’s seed as he tucks his cock back in place and turns down the stairs. Somehow, Hvitserk always manages to outdo himself.

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