Dragomermacorn

Someone hadta do it

Part One | Part Two

Series/Fandom: Vinland Saga

Character (x reader): Thorfinn, Askeladd, Canute, Thorkell, Bjorn

Relationship to Reader: No Reader-Insert (Feel free read as if you are they’re child, though if you’d like).

Reader Specifications: No Reader-Insert / None

Word Count: 751

Warnings: Slight Angst, Mentions of Trauma, Slight Neglect, Slightly Overbearing Parenting, Slight Manga Spoilers

Requested: No

A/N: My motivation gave out maybe 1/3 of the way into writing this so I hope these headcanons are still decent enough. I plan on making a Part 2 with Einar, Snake, and the others eventually when my head doesn’t want to explode. There are no Reader-inserts! These headcanons only talk about the characters and their children who’s appearance, gender, and sex are unspecified. Feel free to put yourself in the position of their children, though if you’d like. (Click the photos for better quality).

UPDATED A/N: If you recognize this piece on a different blog under the name @iwritesinsandsins it’s because Tumblr silenced all my posts there so I’m starting over again. (／ˍ・、)

~

⏝◞⠀ྀི synopsis: thorkell has taken a liking to you.

⠀ ⨟ cw — fem!reader, fluff content, reader is apart of askeladd’s crew, 18+ reader, y/n context, thorkell has a big fat crush on you ♡

⠀ ࣪ › wordcount — i lost track

Subtlety was never Thorkell’s specialty. Not in the slightest. Not to say he was too overly grandiose and stupidly obvious with his gestures—no, forget that. He was obvious. Painfully blatant. For such a giant, terrifying man, he could be downright toddler-like at times. Endearing, really—and you only noticed it once the gestures started. The first thing he did was offer you a daffodil he’d plucked from a meadow. It came out of nowhere. His face carried this doe-like expression as his massive hand extended the delicate flower toward you. You took it, walking off with confusion tugging at your features.

Askeladd found the whole thing hilarious. He’d warned you often enough—being the only woman around, you were bound to be hit on by warriors who hadn’t felt a woman’s touch in years… or ever. A female warrior, but a capable one at that. It wasn’t something Thorkell had ever seen before.

Maybe that was why he was so captivated by you. Or perhaps it was your h/c hair, cascading in subtle waves down your back, with loose strands framing your war-scarred face. Or maybe it was the way your eyes caught the spring sunlight, gleaming bright. Or the way you sat in the grass, poised just so, sharpening your sword. How you spoke to Canute so gently.

In the short time you spent around Thorkell—alongside Askeladd, Thorfinn, Canute, and the others—you began to notice the little ways he behaved with you. The way he watched you, eyes fixed with a curious expression, as if he were observing something rare and precious—something entirely new to him. And if your eyes happened to meet his, he’d flash that daft grin—the kind that tugged at the corners of your lips. It was ridiculous, really, yet it still made your heart flutter, just as his did.

One afternoon, you sat on a tree stump, grumbling to yourself over something Askeladd had said. His teasing was nothing new, though at times it grated on you more than you cared to admit. Thorkell noticed. Before long, he was standing behind you, towering over your smaller frame, head tilted slightly and brows drawn as he studied your back.

Slowly, you turned your head, the corners of your lips tugging into a frown. Half horror, half surprise—whatever it was, your face betrayed it.

“What’s wrong?” Thorkell crouched down to your level, a soft pout on his face. This was how he communicated with you—clumsy, a little awkward—but by now, you’d grown used to it. “Was Askeladd mean to you?”

How were you supposed to respond? Your throat ran dry, and nothing was uttered for a good minute. Until something did. “Yeah. But he’s a bastard—through ‘n through.” You didn’t expect his next response. “I could squeeze him into a pulp for you.” “Please don’t.”

Endearing, yes. Mildly horrifying—also yes. That was Thorkell. His intentions with you were always pure, though often buried beneath the… little things. Like this. Then he flashed a small, almost quaint smile, and the nerves twisting in your stomach eased at once. For all his bloodshed and brutality, Thorkell gave you a sense of security—something you’d never truly known before.

And he wanted to show you the world. No matter how bloody it was, no matter how much he relished the thrill of war—he wanted to choose you above all of it.

He let out a hearty chuckle as his colossal hand landed on your head. His fingers nearly spanned the whole of it, and for a moment you half-worried he might crush you like a grape. But his touch was gentle—surprisingly so. Then he smiled, gaze warm and loving, nothing like the bloodthirsty grin you were so used to seeing on him. “You fascinate me.” “How so?”

“You’re too beautiful to be apart of all of this.”

His words caught you off guard, but they sank deep, tugging a small smile to your lips. Maybe he wasn’t all that terrifying after all.

“I want to show you a different world outside this.” “Where on earth is this all coming from, Thorkell.” “Let’s be husband and wife!”

Thorkell really needed to work on his blunt sense of humor. Still, the thought wasn’t so bad. Maybe—just maybe—you liked the idea.

“Hah, maybe, Thorkell.”

Thorkell x fem!reader This is written with my self insert OC in mind, who is only 5’6 (167cm) while Thorkell is canonically 7’6 (233 cm) But honestly, you can be 6’5 (196 cm) and you would still be small woman with big man. Same rules still apply.

-there is mention of murdering as this is a fic about a giant Viking man, but nothing graphic, mentions of rough sex, f!receiving oral, marking, f!fingering, p in v sex, battle couple stuff, mentions of aftercare WC: 694 ‼️MINORS AND AGELESS DNI‼️

-A/N: I am fully aware that these may seem out of character for Thorkell, but in my silly little unhinged mind we live a happy life together. I love and respect the official release. Please just let me love my psycho beast of a man in peace! Thorkell x OC fanart here

Your plate had barely hit the table when it vanished.

One second it steamed before you, the first proper meal you’d had all day. The next, a great hand swooped in, brazen and unhurried, plucking it away as if it had been meant for him all along.

“Oi!” you snapped, fork stabbing at wood.

Across the bench, Thorkell leaned back, your plate balanced carelessly in one paw, grinning like a thief caught red-handed. His side of the table looked like the aftermath of a feast—bones, greasy platters, mugs scattered like rubble. He’d eaten half the kitchen and somehow decided your meal was fair game too.

“Thork—”

“Mm-mm-mm!” He hummed as though to test the flavor, already tearing into the meat with his teeth. A low groan of satisfaction rattled out of him. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?!” You lunged across the table, seizing the edge of the plate with both hands.

The big man chuckled, lips shiny with grease, holding it just out of reach. “Easy there.”

“Give it back!”

He stretched his arm higher, barely moving, and suddenly you were a child jumping for sweets. He shoved another piece in his mouth and smirked, cheeks puffed as he tried to chew.

You jabbed your fork at his wrist. “Drop it!”

Thorkell leaned away, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, eyes glittering. “Tch, tch. Not very lady-like.”

“Oh, shut up!” You braced your heels and yanked with your whole weight. For a breath you thought you had him, his wrist bent, the plate tilted—then he gave the smallest twist of his arm.

The plate popped free. You stumbled back with nothing in your hands.

Thorkell popped another bite in his mouth, laughing through his nose, muffled around the food.

A couple men down the bench had started watching, ale halfway to their mouths. One nudged the other with his elbow.

“She’s gonna kill ’im,” he muttered, grinning.

-

You stared him down, jaw tight, then let out a long, defeated sigh. The fork clattered from your fingers to the table.

“Fine,” you muttered, brushing your hands on your tunic as though you were done with the whole business. “Enjoy it.”

Thorkell blinked at you, chewing, a little thrown by your sudden calm.

“…Eh?”

You turned and started walking away.

For a moment, he almost felt bad. Almost. Then he shrugged and scooped up another fistful, humming to himself as he shoved it into his mouth.

But the rhythm of your boots on the floor shifted. He frowned.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Heavy, deliberate.

He had just enough time to glance over his shoulder, cheeks still full, when your battle-cry split the hall.

“RAAAAH!”

You charged. The warriors burst into laughter, shoving back from the benches to give you room.

“Gods save him!” one barked.

You vaulted onto the bench, then onto his shoulders, legs locking around his neck. The whole chair buckled under his size as you drove him back, and the two of you went crashing to the floor in a storm of splintered wood.

“BAHAHAHA!” Thorkell’s laugh exploded, muffled around the food still in his mouth. He rolled half onto his side, trying to swallow, shoulders shaking so hard it rattled the floorboards.

“Spit it out!” you barked, hair falling wild across your face as you clawed at his jaw.

He slapped one massive palm over his mouth, the other bracing against your forehead to keep you back. His eyes were crinkled shut, laughter spilling through his nose.

“Mmmffhh—hrrhhfhh!”

“Don’t you dare swallow it!” You pinched his nose with one hand, prying at his lips with the other.

The men were howling now, some pounding the tables with their mugs, others bent double with laughter.

“Get it, lass! Take his tongue too!”

“By Odin, look at her go!”

Thorkell tried to say something, but it was just garbled noise through a mouth full of food and your fingers forcing their way in. You managed to wedge your hand past his lips, digging like a madwoman.

“Ghrrhhk—BAHahaha—st—stop, you’ll—hrhhkk—!” He gagged, tears streaking his face from laughing too hard.

But you didn’t stop. You wiggled your fingers deeper, nails scraping his teeth, until you hooked something soggy.

With a triumphant yell, you yanked it free — a dripping, half-chewed mess.

The hall erupted in a thunderous roar.

“By the gods, she’s got it!”

You stuffed it into your mouth before he could react, chewing furiously like it was the spoils of war.

Thorkell was still flat on his back, chest heaving, choking on laughter. He tried to push himself up on one elbow, still holding you draped across him like a cloak. “Y-you—hah—little fiend—”

“You started it!” you snapped around a mouthful, cheeks puffed like a squirrel’s.

The men’s jeering hit a fever pitch.

“She ate it! She bloody ate it!”

“That’s fouler than Fenrir’s arse!”

“I’ll never kiss a woman again after seein’ that!”

Thorkell finally gulped down the last of what he’d been hiding, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. His face was red from laughing, beard wet with grease and spit, but he was still grinning wide as ever.

With an arm hooked around your waist he sat up, hauling you up with him like you weighed nothing. His voice boomed over the din,

“Ha! Did you see her? Fought me like a wolf for a scrap o’ meat! Fiercer than any of you soft-bellied bastards!”

The hall roared back, some raising their mugs in salute, others whistling.

You were still chewing stubbornly, glaring at him like you hadn’t just made half the longhouse piss themselves laughing.

-

The waitress— A lean English woman, had set a fresh plate down for one of Thorkell’s men, he leaned forward to hand it to you with a crooked grin. “Here, lass. Guard it with your life.”

You snatched it immediately, elbows tucked tight, pressing it to your chest like a shield. Your legs kicked lightly, instinctively curling against Thorkell’s sides— still hoisting you effortlessly in his massive arms. His grin stretched wide, low humming vibrating through his chest. “Eh… think that’ll stop me, little firebrand?”

“Hands off!” you barked, shoving a chunk of meat into your mouth before he could snag the piece. Grease glistened on your fingers, dripping slightly onto your chin. Thorkell’s gaze flicked from your lips to the food, eyes gleaming with mischief. He leaned closer, just enough that his chest pressed against yours, and nuzzled your temple with the tip of his nose. “Full of fire… and a bloody appetite,” he murmured, teeth flashing in a grin. One enormous hand hovered near the plate, twitching like he was deciding which morsel to snatch first.

You squealed around a mouthful, twisting your body just enough to shove him gently with your elbow. “I am eating this! All of it!”

He laughed, deep and rumbling, as he tipped the plate slightly with a playful nudge, trying to snag a bite.

You squirmed, twisting against him, knees braced against his sides, shoving the plate between you to keep him at bay.

Finally, with a groan of amusement, he eased you down to the bench. You pressed your back against the table, straddling his lap, knees planted against his chest for leverage. The plate was angled protectively between your knees and chin, as you began shoveling food into your mouth like a woman on a mission.

He leaned closer again, chin pressing into the top of your head, sniffing your hair, and tried to brush his fingers across the edge of the plate to snatch a roll. You hissed, shoving him away with your thighs trying to keep him from stealing another bite, He chuckled, warm and teasing, continuing to lean closer so your forehead brushed his chest. “Careful, lass… you’re making it hard to keep my hands to myself,” he murmured, nibbling gently at your fingers when they strayed too close to his jaw—quick, teasing, affectionate — and you swatted at him with a laugh, twisting away, trying to keep each bite.

-

Soon your fingers were scraped clean of crumbs, the plate empty but for smeared grease. You leaned back, triumphant, cheeks full and flushed, as his hands settled lightly on your waist to keep you snug.

You swallowed the last bite, with a victorious smirk. “You’re insufferable,” you said, half teasing, half breathless.

“Aye… but you love it.” He hummed, pressing you closer, and wiped the grease from your chin with a gentle thumb, eyes lingering on you just a fraction longer than necessary, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Mad, stubborn woman… I like you best this way,” he murmured, leaning down so his forehead brushed yours. arms snaked snugly around your waist.

The hall faded around you, the men quietly shaking their heads, mugs tipped, bemused at the tiny, feral woman straddling the tallest man alive. You were victorious, plate empty, pressed against him — the only person alive who could say they’d wrestled a meal from Thorkell the Tall, and won.

-

Tag list under the cut

pairing: Thorkell x f!reader

word count: 4.6k

contents: NSFW. cw: significant age gap, mentions of violence and alcohol, time-period accurate misogyny/mentions of marriage, time-period inaccurate slang used. Size kink, hand job to completion (m!receiving), possessive language used by Thorkell toward reader including calling her "my wife", romantic smut with a lot of talking.

notes: this was a blast to write and i hope i did our big sturdy tree of a man the justice he deserves. this has been finished for a while but i actually added like 2.5k+ words to it so...yeah! <3

The winter of your village’s invasion has passed and given way to a glorious spring. 

Not long after the first snowfall, the first pillaging occurred. At first they only took sheep and cows, sacking homes for necessary supplies including the meager weaponry farmers must have to keep their families and animals safe. They returned a second time after the snow had accumulated, invading during a storm to cover their tracks. Fluffy white filled in footsteps that could alert the evening watchmen and they came after nightfall to collect once again, dragging off more animals and some able bodied men to work for them. 

The third time is when your father - the village leader - fell to his knees and pleaded with the band, including their leader. He offered them safety and warmth in the dead of winter in exchange for the safety of his villagers. They agreed to cease the violence and sacking as long as their demands and needs were meant. 

Despite their presence things seem strangely peaceful. You believe most people have chosen to ignore the ever present threat as a means to stay positive.

Or they’ve opted to focus on talking about you and the task you’ve been personally assigned thanks to your father - attending the scariest man most of your fellow villagers have ever seen. The madman who is missing an eye and swings an axe nearly as high as the sun. The leader of the group that has decided they needed to be here to choke a trade route that leads to an enemy encampment.

“Thorkell?”

Water splashes around him when he turns to look at you. The candlelight is blazing, recently lit, shining over his shoulders and the definition of them. “Yes?” 

Opting to gaze at the flame rather than what is so beautifully highlighted by it, you clear your throat to gather your courage.

“May I ask you a few questions?”

He sighs, which captures your attention. You look up to witness him bringing his hand up to cup his chin in a comically dramatic gesture for a man nearly too big for the washtub that was custom built to fit his excessively large frame. 

“I tend to believe once a woman has seen the parts of you that you’re to hide with clothes that she can ask you anything.” You roll your eyes. He chuckles, pulling his eyepatch down and back over its empty socket for your comfort. “Speak freely. I won’t punish you unless that’s what you’d like to ask for.”

It pains you to laugh at him though it’s futile to stop yourself. He’s quite charming for a complete oaf, full of affection and brightness that many of his counterparts who scowl at you while you make your way into the quarters where your mother and father used to sleep that have now been commandeered by the visiting viking lack. 

The only reason you’ve been coming for all of these months is to attempt to keep him happy to stave off attacks. You were given permission to do whatever is necessary by your father. Nothing uncouth has happened so far but the longer time has passed the more curious you find yourself becoming about the leader of the group specifically. 

You believe you may have developed a bit of a fondness for him, as dangerous of a prospect as it is. 

That very prospect has led you to believe that questioning him is the right way to change your feelings. Getting to know him will surely only grow the hatred time has doused. You simply need to remind yourself of how terrible he is and always has been.

Clearing your throat, you look up at him through your lashes to find him already gazing over at you, lazing about in his tub. 

“Why do you fight?”

He sits up instantly, grinning. “Because there is little else to live for besides the thrill of battle.” 

You cannot hide your dissatisfaction with the answer despite his glee, a sigh escaping. 

“Yes, yes you’ve told me this more times than I can count. The thrill of battle, the spilling of blood.” 

Fighting is wrong, a lesson you’ve been taught since you were old enough to remember. It’s wrong to harm others and certainly without reason. There’s no telling how many people Thorkell the Tall has harmed against this belief. 

Part of you is sure he keeps a tally somewhere in his shockingly vacant head. He cannot hide how your frustration delights him so he spurs you on.

“Why do you believe we fight, young lady?”

Shaking your head, you toss a well loved linen cloth into the water. He scoops it up and wrings it out, placing it over his shoulder so it doesn’t float away. 

“Thirst for blood trickles downward, my lord. They see how much you love it and it only makes them lust for a taste of it themselves.”

He tilts his head at you, touching his fist to his chest as though he’s touched by your words.

“You think me a lord?”

You snort humorlessly, tipping a little more water out of the bucket in your hands while daring to let your cheek rest against the lip of the tub, placing the bucket down next to your bent knees. 

“My father has instructed me to regard you as one despite your presentation and I cannot defy.”

The Goliath grins at you, blonde facial hair damp with steam from the water you continue to pour into the wooden basin. “Ah, I always knew he was a smart man.” 

Sighing and settling back into the water now that the temperature has risen, he opens his mouth to speak.

“It’s all I’ve ever known from the time I was a boy.” He closes his intact eye like he’s lost in a reverie. “The glory of victory and the bitter encouragement of defeat. I would be half a man without them even if you see it all as beneath you.”

The viking now makes a show of placing his hands on the back of his head, arms bent yet still so wide you almost collide with his elbow when it passes over your head just before you can duck. 

“You mustn’t kill me or else you’ll have no chambermaid.” 

Your tone remains flat though an amused smile rests across pretty lips dappled by fading candlelight. 

⏝◞⠀ྀི synopsis: thorkell x gn!reader headcannons

⨟ cw — gender neutral reader, fluffy headcannons ♡ྀི

𓏴 ꕀ thorkell is massive compared to you, and he loves it. he’ll constantly compare your hands to his or just grab your whole face with one hand and laugh like he’s discovered something amazing.

𓏴 ꕀ super obvious with affection. he’ll throw an arm around you in front of everyone, toss you over his shoulder without warning, or just plop you down in his lap like you weigh nothing.

𓏴 ꕀ he’s not the best at “soft” gestures, but he tries in his own way. his version of comforting you is ruffling your hair, booming out that “everything’ll be fine!” and pulling you into one of his crushing hugs.

︵︵ sometimes thorkell gets so caught up in the chaos of a fight that he forgets just how scary he looks. you’ve had to tug on his sleeve more than once, reminding him to tone it down before he accidentally terrifies an ally. the first time you did it, he just blinked down at you and barked out a laugh. “scary, me? nah—look at this face!” he grinned wide, bloody and wild-eyed, and you couldn’t help rolling your eyes. “exactly,” you muttered.

𓏴 ꕀ no concept of personal space whatsoever. if he’s tired, he’s laying on top of you. if he’s excited, he’s scooping you up and spinning you around. if he wants your attention, he’ll literally block your view until you give it to him.

𓏴 ꕀ loves bragging about you to literally anyone who will listen. mercenaries, enemies, random farmers—doesn’t matter. they’ll know you exist and that thorkell thinks you’re the greatest thing alive.

𓏴 ꕀ he secretly likes when you fuss over his injuries. he’ll pretend it’s nothing, but deep down he melts when you scold him for being reckless while wrapping his wounds.

︵︵ after a long battle, thorkell finally flopped down on the grass beside you, groaning dramatically. “ahhh, i’m exhausted. but i fought well, didn’t i?” he turned his head toward you with a grin, expecting praise. when you only raised a brow and started dabbing at the cut on his cheek, his grin softened. he sat there, strangely quiet, watching you work. “…you’re real gentle, y’know that?” he rumbled, voice unusually low, before chuckling and tugging you into his chest.

Optimus Prime! The magical anime girl robot!✨

silly lil idea....❤️✨💕

(inspiration under the cut 😌)