#floki

Being loved by Ivar was both a blessing and a curse in many ways.

He was fiercely loyal to you, after all, you were the first person to show him what it is to be truly loved and seen.

You loved him through everything; his anger, disability and insecurities. Due to this, he was entirely devoted to you.

Yet this devotion was partly fuelled by the fear of losing you….

Losing you to someone who could walk.

Losing you to someone who could give you children.

Losing you to someone he deemed a ‘better’ man.

This insecurity manifested itself as extreme jealousy and possessiveness.

He hated seeing you interact with anyone outside him, especially other men.

He was always looming nearby, watching your every movement.

Ivar would banish, torture and kill any man that tried to flirt with you - though he’d only do this once he was sure you weren’t around to witness it.

You couldn’t leave his side for five minutes without a slough of questions:

‘Where are you going?’

‘With who?’

‘When will you come back?’

‘Will there be other men?’

And if you did happen to go somewhere without informing Ivar, he would damn near lose his mind.

He would pace in his room until you got back - even if his legs were aching and in agony.

He’d become a nervous wreck, but he would only display that through angry outbursts.

When you did get back home, he’d be both relieved and furious.

He’d never be mad at you per say, he was more mad at himself for being so insecure and jealous.

He’d question you relentlessly. He’d need constant reassurance you weren’t with another man. He’d need reassurance you still loved him.

One way Ivar would make his claim on you visible would be by marking your neck in love bites. To him, this was a physical indicator to others that you were his.

When you were in public he’d always have you sitting on his lap or by his side. It was a constant reminder you were his. The weight of you on his lap seemed to ground him in ways words couldn’t.

During a feast in the Great Hall, he saw you laughing at one of Floki’s jokes; something innocent enough. But to him it sparked a jealous fire.

Throughout the night he couldn’t take his eyes off you and Floki laughing and joking around.

Hvitserk even commented that Ivar would shatter his horn of mead due to how tightly he was gripping it.

Ivar knew that you and Floki were just friends and there was nothing going on between the two of you, but he hated that you were happy in someone else’s company.

Ivar hated it because he felt less than.

He felt insecure.

He already hated large feasts because they were loud, there were too many people and the worst part...constant glances and whispers about his legs.

That night the whispers and remarks about him being a cripple was particularly bad, so seeing you and Floki giggle together about some stupid gnome story sent him over the edge.

Once the feast had ended, Ivar practically dragged you to his chambers.

He knew he was being irrational but he needed you alone, all to himself.

He needed you.

He needed to prove himself to you.

He needed you to remember that you were his.

As soon as you were dragged into his chambers, his mouth would be on yours, fiercely kissing you.

His fingers would grip your hips tightly as he held you in place, nipping at your lips.

‘Mine! All mine!’ He’d growl into your lips.

Before long he’d have you on the bed, your legs wrapped around his neck with his face between your soft thighs as he hungrily and desperately ate you out.

He couldn’t make love to you due to his legs (which was one of his biggest sources of insecurity), so he taught himself to be the best at pleasuring you in other ways.

He wouldn’t stop until you were shaking, fingers gripping his long hair and yelling his name loud enough for everyone to hear.

‘Say my name!’

‘You belong to me!’

‘You look so pretty on my tongue.’

‘No one else can have you.’

He’d relentless thrust his fingers into you, just the way he knew you loved while sucking your most sensitive spots, forcing you to look him in the eyes the entire time.

He’d only begin to calm down, his jealousy subsiding when you came undone on his lips.

He’d lap up your juices with a smug grin.

Once his jealousy had completely dissipated and the high of pleasuring you wore off, he’d need lots of reassurance.

Despite the jealousy leaving, the insecurity lingered like a constant dark cloud.

You’d spend the night holding him in your arms, kissing his head tenderly and whispering comfort into his ear while he clung to you, as if you’d disappear at any moment.

And deep down, he knew you meant everything you said.

Deep down he knew you’d never leave him.

And over time, with a lot of love, reassurance and doting from you, his jealous outbursts would subside…or rather he’d just learned to hide the bodies better.

Vikings Taglist:

Rollo

A loud protester

He insists he can take care of it himself, flinching away when you lift his shirt and gasp at the wound, telling him off

You leave him be, not wanting to push him, but only wander over when he's muttering and hesitating when putting the disinfectant on

"Just let me... please, Rollo. I can help."

He huffs and hands you the pouch

His hands fly to your waist to grip you when you tend to a gash on his shoulder, his head tucked to your chest as he hisses in pain

He eventually relaxes in your touch, feeling his eyes droop in exhaustion until you tap his head to get his attention

He mutters a thanks as he parts from you, but you notice he does not wander far from you that night

Floki

He is all for letting you tend to him

He actually thinks it's worth getting hurt to get the attention from you

Every sting comes with dramatics: a heavy groan or a small curse to the gods

You soothe him with a soft hand in his hair or a comforting whisper, telling him you're nearly done

His hand rests on yours while you're working, squeezing slightly when it begins to hurt, but immediately apologising each time

He trusts you completely, and knows that he can always come to you when injured and knows that he will get treated right

Once you're done, he curls up to your side, smothering you in affection for the rest of the night as a way of saying 'thank you'

Smitten he is

Lagertha

Her pride is quite high, and so she is hard to convince to let you tend to her

She swats your hand away at first, insisting that she will be okay and knows how to handle it herself

But when the bruises begin to throb too much, she crawls back to you sheepishly, asking if you'd check on them for her

She lets you press poultice to her wounds and massage her sore shoulders, never exactly saying thank you but leaning into your touch and not turning away

She does enjoy having your attention in the bath, though, and having you run your hands through her blonde hair to remove the blood seeping through

Later, she does not flinch when you return to check on her wounds, but only gives a half smile and a gentle rub on your arm to assure you that she's okay

Athelstan

He is quiet and cooperative during it

He lets you tend to every scratch and scrape, always trusting you to know what you're doing

And he simply does not have the skill to take care of them himself, so he appreciates the help

He winces from your touches but never complains

His hand finds your wrist at times when it hurts particularly bad, but you kiss his forehead and apologise as he nods in acknowledgement

When finished, he leans back and thanks you greatly

But his blush remains, especially when you pull him to bed to get him to rest beside you

Bjorn

You sit beside him, cleaning along the cuts on his forearms, which hold a heavy stench of metallic blood

You try your best to be careful over the worst wounds, but he does not flinch as you wipe over them

He gives you attitude at times, especially when you lecture him about returning so battered

"I fought, didn't I? If I had come back unhurt, then it wouldn't have been worth it."

He likes to be difficult sometimes, telling you it doesn't hurt at all, even though he's biting his lip as you pour disinfectant on

But you only smirk and pretend not to notice, worried that if you call it out, he would not let you tend to him like this

Ubbe

His ribs are bruised and ache from a heavy blow

You have to remind him to keep still as you hold a cloth to the wound; he likes to flinch away

He tries to distract himself from the pain by teasing you, but that facade quickly fades when you only press harder, shutting him up

You ask him to lie down and insist he rests his head in your lap while you apply treatments to the scratch

He stares up at you with a stupid grin on his face, making you smack him slightly on the head

"Ubbe, I'm trying to concentrate." "Please... don't mind me."

His hands find you mid-task, running along your neck and face, fingers twirling your hair

Once he's all cleaned, he remains in your lap, laughing at how reliant he becomes around you

Hvitserk

Bro cannot sit still at ALL

He is still twitching from adrenaline, muttering to himself, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his leg

You have to physically grab him and force him to sit and relax as you roll up his trouser leg to see his bloody wound

You whisper nonsense to him as you work, trying to distract his mind and calm him

He flinches occasionally, but eventually lies back, allowing you to finish your work without much complaint

When you stand, having been finished, he pulls you on top of him quickly

And you protest, telling him to be careful of his leg, but he only ignores you and presses his face into your neck, muttering thank yous

Sigurd

Stubborn as ever

He hides his worst injuries from you at first, insisting that he is fine and did not get injured too badly

But once he undresses later and you see the carnage, you only sigh, trying not to make a big scene and instead walk over slowly with some treatments

He mutters under his breath as you start, but does not pull away, accepting that he does need the help after all

He gradually closes his eyes and relaxes into your touch, letting sleep take him over slightly from your soft touches

When you're done, you find that he's been lulled to sleep, leaning against you

Ivar

Of course, he insists he's fine

But each flinch as you press the cloth to the cuts on his arms only proves him wrong

You ignore his grumbling and avoid his glaring gaze when you press particularly hard on a scratch

"I'm doing this to help you, Ivar. Quit being a brat."

You swore you could hear a hint of gratitude in his heavy sighs, but even that might have been a stretch

When you press a cold, wet towel to his forehead, you catch him leaning into the touch

An acknowledgement of trust that he'll never voice

Afterwards, he sits silently, but each time you move, he glances over, asking where you are going