#hvitserkxreader

Maybe it was your presence that night, but after three near failings, you expected him to be lifted and chucked like a hen across the farm. To your shock that time, your skinny Viking latched his hands around the fluffy bearded man’s side, lurching and fighting, until he finally managed to flick him into a raised bench just to the side of the crowd where a pregnant woman recently left. There’s a loud crack, a pop of something in his back, decimating his spine. The crowd erupted in jovial laughter, even in the face of the young man who groaned that something was broken.

“Well, that wasn’t what I expected…” you mutter out loud as Hvitserk bounced around the arena, laughing and hopping like a happy rabbit, stripping himself of his jacket, until he spots you from the corner of his eyes. He grasps your elbow, swirling you about like it was one big show. Even as you shrill in surprise.

“Hvitserk! You– is he dead?!”

“I won! You said you would kiss me if I won.” He says pointedly, flicking off the fact that yeah– the other man wasn’t getting up. Your arms slip from your chest, dropping from the long braid of your chest. “Would you kiss me, already?”

“But– he’s dead!”

A side effect, really, Hvitserk snatches your waist, slipping his hands around your waist for a sneaky little squeeze. When you shriek, his lips snatch the opportunity to take his prize– one sweet, hungry kiss. Gentle as his full lips press against yours, hungry when his tongue begs for more of your taste. It’s just like him– Your hungry, sweet Viking.

Only tonight, the sweet part was highly debatable. 

That seemed extensive-- you have a mind to think that Aslaug had something to do with this. Of course, Asta had been locked up before. For drugs, but nothing major. Your voice runs dry along the other line. She clears her throat after a brief amount of time and so you correct yourself.

“Take care of the milkshake okay? Come visit me.”

“Okay, Asta.” You clear your throat, fiddling with a book off the shelf. Breast is best? You tilt your head. “I’m sure you’ll be out sooner.”

“Not with Hvitserk on the stand.” She laughs dryly. “To think I thought he loved you once.”

It’s too soon. Your stomach recoils as you replace the book back into its rightful place. When they open and turn down, you recognize the steel toed boots that stand just to the right of you at the end of this end hall within the library.

“Ah… I’ll talk to you tomorrow Asta, Far is here to pick me up.” You lie. “Yeah, love you too. Bye.”

“Now I’m ‘Daddie’ too, mm?”

The second you turn off your phone, Hvitserk moves against you. He smells of menthol cigarettes that burnt the pungent odor perfume from his collar. Hvitserk must have stopped for a cigarette before coming to visit you.

“Move.” You say, eyes skimming the cords of his black hoodie. You don’t want to look into his eyes. It was bad enough that he had you cornered within this stuffy aisle between the tacky wall beside you and parenting books to the side.

“No.” He states.

“Hvitserk, move.”

“Nope.” He muses. You duck underneath him to escape but tricky as he was, he went with you, grasping your wrist to spin you into his arms. His grip tighten around your slightly swollen stomach.

“I will fucking scream Hvitserk.”

“You won’t, princess.” Hvitserk turns his nose into your soft hair. He fingers the lock of hair you have dyed around his finger. “C’mon, don’t tell me you’re mad at me.”

“Mad doesn’t even cover it. Do you have any idea what you did? To Asta? To me?” You whisper under your breath. A sweet little bubbly haired teen bobs by, quickly catching the message to get lost when Hvitserk shoots a look up to them. As they make themselves scarce, you turn around to face Hvitserk.

“She’s the one who jumped me.” Hvitserk reiterates.

“Because she saw you with her! While I was pregnant!” You all but shout at him.

“I don’t know why you’re getting so offended. It was just a kiss.” He snorts. “It’s not like I’m sleeping with her.”

That seems to be what makes you snap. You snatch his wrist from your hair, yanking him out of the library with no other explanation than the rage behind your steps. Darting down the steps and across the concrete plaza you shove him into a line of bushes. Hvitserk staggers on the other end of the bushes, opening his mouth to speak when you shove him onto the dusty ground. He leans up on his forearms when you pose him a question that he can’t really ignore.

“Are you fucking her?”

His face goes blank. Of course-- he had been expecting that you would be upset, but for different reasons. It was his fault that Asta wasn’t here by your side.

“The fuck are you talking about?” He rumbles-- the wrong answer. Your hand digs into his jeans, unbuckling and pulling his cock free. He looks down to his half hardened cock that you tug to excitement, toes curling in his boots until he’s fully at attention for you. Hvitserk doesn’t speak as you spit upon the tip of his cock. You mount him, sliding him into your warm pussy with a harsh twist of your hips upon him. The swirl knocks Hvitserk’s dick around pleasurably within you.

“This is mine.” You say. It reaches his ear and so he leans up.

“Say again?” He hums.

“Your dick is fucking mine.” You give a small shout, causing him to flinch as if unsure if anyone else would be listening. Then without error you squeeze him tight, pushing your palms on his chest to shove him into the grainy dirt. Hvitserk turns his head up, a laugh threatening to spill over. He holds it, biting his lower lip in favour of not pounding your pussy for you.

“I couldn’ hear that.” He rasps just for the fucking hell of it. At the wrong time, too. You’re in no mood to play any of his fucking games and so you snap your palm across his cheek with so much force that it snaps his head into the dirt. Then your hands alternate down onto the preexisting marks left by Asta, crushing her marks with your own. He can’t speak and much less actually fight you with your insistence on riding him for all he was worth.

“Say it.” Your fingers loosen their bruising grip just enough for your bad boy to actually speak. Hvitserk’s throat burns yet remains otherwise wordless.

“I needa cum--”

“Say it.” You glide your hips up, swirling just his tip inside of you. He thinks that this will be another one of those stupid practice sessions where he would reprimand you for not having the correct amount of dick in your pussy so that he wouldn’t slide out. But you have it this time, jamming right back down and riding him with the precision he could only dream of teaching you. Maybe buying those dildos for you was a good idea-- even though he much rather it if he were the only toy you used!

“Say it you STUPID FUCK!”

Oh god, there’s no way no one heard that! Hvitserk bites down on his lip hard, eyes wincing. He can feel your sweet juices squelching over his balls and coating the honey coloured tuft of hair at the base of his pubic mound.

“Ah shi-- Fuck, I’m yours!”

“You want to cum don’t you?”

He nods, eagerly so.

“Then you’re not going to speak against Asta at her trial if they ask you to.”

His eyes widen as you still your motions, making him kiss underneath you. This whole fuck was a ploy! He was sure of it! But then, he did the same damn thing to you.

“Are you fuckin— you li’lbitch!”

“I’ll get off you right now.” You hiss. He’s gonna cum-- and hard. His balls feel heavy as fuck with the cum he hadn’t gotten rid of since you broke up with him.

“Fuckin’ fine!”

Despite the ruffle of leaves and biting roar of Hvitserk Ragnarsson by one of his favourite teachers, fuck, he wasn’t gonna let that bitch get the drop on him! He barely even looks over as he fills you up, eyes instead deciding to shut.

“Hvitserk RAGNARSSON!”

Shit, the bitch acted like he wasn’t the one getting strangled.

Man, this was all some fresh ass bullshit.

“Do you know what having unprotected sex can lead to?”

Hvitserk sat with you in Mr. Andersen’s office. Aslaug was on the way to come get him, but until then, he was stuck with his arm lazily thrown over your chair. Compared to your guilty face, his was far more relaxed.

“Yeah, pretty sure I do.” Hvitserk snorts. “Mr. Andersen. Lemme lay it on you. I’m a put it in and eat it out kinda guy but I can’t get her any more knocked up than she is already.”

“Hvitserk.” You hiss.

“So the rumours are true.”

Two banging cracks upon the black lined window cause everyone in the room to jump. Not only because well, it was loud, but on the other end he can clearly make out the booming voice.

“Can someone open the door?!” It’s your mother’s deep, but feminine voice. She doesn’t mean to play with anyone by that tone.

Hvitserk blinks deliberately slowly, leaning in with his arm still around your chair. Your teacher raises to get the door for your mother who walks in with a hot and heavy brewing expression. Her scrubs reflect that she had planned on going to work if not for the fact that she had been called. You weren’t sure why, you were an adult! Your head hangs unable to look anywhere but your lap.

“Hey, Ellisif, how are you?” He waves with two jaunty fingers.

“(Y/N) up. We’re going home.” Your mother says with a stone face frown. Her hands clutch a rosy pink envelope purse while you look down to your backpack. It was already after hours and no one wanted to be there, much less the counselor who cleared his throat.

“Uh, ah, Ms. (L/N) please have a seat. We were about to speak about options for the child.”

The expression on her face goes from bad-- to worse. Before you were sure she was going to speak but now, well, she might have exploded if not for fact that the counselor was right in front of you. Your counselor rolls over toward a hanging folder to pull out a few pamphlets. He tugs free a bright pink paper and hands it to you.

“First thing is first.” The counselor clears his throat. “Have you made a decision on what option you would like to take?”

Options:

Keep the baby-- single parenthood.

Terminate pregnancy.

Marriage.

Adoption.

Fostering.

“Marriage?” Hvitserk glances down, letting his hand massage your shoulder. “What kind of option is that?”

You glance over the questions-- then look to your mom. The disappointment is visible across her face. She tucks a lock of her bob behind her ear before she urges you to pay attention to the counselor to speaking to you.

“I… can’t abort.” You whisper. “But I was about to graduate.”

The counselor weaves his fingers together patiently.

“You won’t deliver until after you graduate.”

But then, you think, what about college? If you kept it, that was a sacrifice you’d have to make. At least for the time being. Hvitserk leans over to look through the pamphlet and all that it would offer: resources for donated clothes, emergency food cards and other things.

“You can do online school until the child is old enough.” He suggests. “Assuming Hvitserk will be here to help out--”

“Of course I’ll be here.” Hvitserk brings his fingers to your hair, affectionately tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear.

“We’ll keep it.” Your mother cuts through, effectively taking the decision out of your fingers. It is the same as you were thinking. She makes you feel robbed of your choice as she insists it. Mr. Andersen motions to the other document.

“This one will help you find resources for low income hous--”

“That won’t be necessary.”

From the wooden doorway-- you spot the woman that you had met in the Ragnarsson’s home. The matriarch Aslaug with her hand wrapped in the loop of her husband’s arm: Ragnar himself. The counselor stiffens visibly and your mother, not at all pleased, looks up.

“These weren’t the circumstances I thought we would meet under, Ellisif. Ragnar, Hvitserk’s father.” Ragnar holds out his hand toward your mother. You look out toward him, gazing over his body. He reminds you lightly of Hvitserk. His black v-neck sits smoothly over his top, dark blue jeans stuffed into steel toed boots. Tattoos wrap around the side of his cropped hair-- and the rumors were right. He was a little bit of a sight.

“I had no idea we were supposed to meet anyway.” She takes his hand.

“Well…” Ragnar’s lips purse together, looking in the direction of a chair by Hvitserk. He pushes Aslaug to sit with her patient little Yorkie in her arms. She leans in to kiss the side of your cheek. “There are worse ways to meet.”

Your mom perks her eyebrow as if to ask what, on earth, could be worse when Ragnar reclines against the frame of the doorway. His tongue cuts across his pearly upper teeth.

“Hvitserk will handle being the breadwinner.” Ragnar says. “Anything else?”

“I… I only wanted to… ask if they could not have sex on campus.”

“I’m sure they are not the only ones.” Aslaug cuts dry, her long legs folding one over another. “Is it really that much of a problem?”

Mr. Andersen remains quiet on the issue.

“That will be it then.” Ragnar turns his head toward your patient yet inpatient mother sitting in the corner of the room. Hvitserk stands up and offers his hand out to help you up. His mother leaves the room followed by your mother whose sneakers squeak across the thin faux tile. You notice that Ragnar has stayed behind. Once outside, your mother beelines towards her car. She is already in before you are.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Hvitserk leans in, kissing the top of your head.

“I don’t forgive you.” You say. “Asta could be facing charges now.”

“You better after I bail her ass out.” Hvitserk says negating the fact that Asta was in prison. “She did attack me.”

“Oh, like you attacked Magnus?”

This again.

“And now he is with Bjorn probably learning how to get his dick sucked by two different blondes at the same time.”

“Really?” You hiss. “You’re really going to justify it?”

“You’re the one that fucked the shit out of me say what, two hours ago?” Hvitserk snorts. “It doesn’t bother you that much.”

“I…” Then again, he cuts you off.

“Look, I didn’t fuck her. You’re my baby mama now. I’m not letting you go so easy. So, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He tugs open the car door and situates you in the car that was so tense you could probably not even cut it with a knife. She’s deadly silent as she drives past your favourite sweet shops.

“Are you mad?” You whisper to your mother, clutching your backpack in front of your stomach. She shifts with a sigh.

“I’ll tell your father.”

It began to feel really lonely.

With the Ragnarssons, Hvitserk’s worries were far beyond any that you might have had. Having kids, he had no issue with that. His mother was the stay at home wife that he always dreamed of having himself. Except-- he definitely wanted a better one. All things considered, his life wasn’t so bad right now.

And besides-- having a kid? You would be stuck with him. It was one thing to keep you entranced by his body. It was another to have something as permanent as a child with you. There was no option. He pops open his phone to look at old messages.

Thora

How did it go?

Hvitserk

Gotta meet up to tell you, you won’t believe it.

Where are you?

“How much did he owe you?” Hvitserk asks as he tacks out another response to Thora. Blaring sirens whizz by. Hvitserk peeks out the window, twisting his head curiously at the ambulance making its way by.

“Few grand.” Ragnar answers. “Call Uncle Rollo to set you up.”

“Okay, Far.”

“She did?” Thora brings him a bowl of ærter which he looks to blandly. For once, he had no appetite after that spicy ramen. He stares down at his cup.

“The fuck am I gonna do? She’s pregnant.” He runs his hand down his face. His mother’s face contorts on his flat phone as Hvitserk hovers eyer it, drops of wet tears plopping onto the screen. “Bet you she’s gonna hold this whole Magnus bullshit over my head and I’ll never see my kid either.”

Thora plucks up the fluffy cat, dropping back onto the couch beside Hvitserk. She combs down the wily mane, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Abruptly Aslaug cuts in on the middle of her conversation.

“We will make her jealous.” She says from the phone on his lap.

“What?” He says in response. “Is that smart?”

“Women are always territorial when they are pregnant. I doubt she’ll be any different.” He states. Hvitserk makes a small humming under his breath, throwing his arms behind his head. It had been a while since he played any games.

“It’s not going to be Margrethe. She’s off her meds.” Hvitserk agrees.

“I can do it.” Thora says meekly.

“You?”

“I am your ex. It shouldn’t be too hard.” Thora agrees with a nodding of her head. Hvitserk glides his arm around her shoulders, tugging her in to kiss the top of her head. The fluffy kitten jumps out from between them.

“You’re amazing, Thora.” He worships his friend-- best friend if he had one. Then he turns his eye down to the phone on his lap. His mother sits with her little yorkie, combing down the wily strands of hair. He hears Ivar shuffling around in the background about his engineering program.

“Thanks, Mor.” He grins, pulling apart again with Thora’s father comes into the room. “It’s a plan.”

Whining at home would have tipped off mor and far. You hadn’t told them yet, and honestly, you were afraid to. Even though you were eighteen years old and free to make your own decisions-- it would have been easier to have their support.

“I told you!” Asta hops ahead of you. Your gloved fingers held a warm hot chocolate, smiling under your breath as Asta broke apart the bagel she had brought to school just for you. It made you feel better since you ran off Hvitserk the prior weekend. She hands you a garlicy chunk.

“I didn’t think it was true.” You mutter softly, nuzzling down into a fluffy red knit scarf. “He didn’t seem like the type.”

“What type?” Asta asks.

“Fuck boy.”

“Are you kidding me?” Asta hops on the last concrete step, bending so that her hair might tickle the sides of your face. “All the Ragnarssons are total fuckboys. Except Sigs and Ivar.”

With her hair tickling your face, you shake your hand to flutter her hair away from your face. Then bringing your hot chocolate to your lips, you take a warm sip. The twinge of chocolate sauce on top of fluffy whipped cream warms your lips in the breaking cold of the day.

“That doesn’t make me any less… you know. What about the milkshake having a daddie?” You say as a group of girls darts by, full of their giggles.

“Milkshake?” She prompts. You shoot her a look and at that she realizes what you mean. Asta reaches out to tug you at the elbow onto the last step, winding her hand around your arm.

“Well if you want to keep the milkshake, I can be daddie milkshake and you can be mommie milkshake!”

Right, like that would work! You laugh about it as Asta tugs open the dull metal blue door open. The warm air hits your skin, warming it-- but that’s not the only thing that it reveals either. The Ragnarssons have a table. All the brothers tend to sit at it. Ubbe, Sigurd, Ivar and the one you really didn’t want to see: Hvitserk.

You expect him to jump off his chair after you. You expect him to look at you, text you, beg for you to come back. But no, there’s nothing. He doesn’t move an inch from where he is in your direction. Rather his arm slinks around the pale shoulders of Thora, his ex-girlfriend. You’re familiar with her during their break up. But they don’t seem at all broken up anymore, motioning his fingers to Thora’s lips just after turning her chin toward him.  

“(Y/N) ignore it.” She says.

But you can’t ignore it. The sight of their lips sliding against one another, Thora’s eyes sliding to a shut while Hvitserk’s own catch you out the corner of his eye. Out of some spiteful reaction he only deepens the kiss, ever keeping his eye on you the whole time he does so. You know that this is all a show to him in that instant.

“Looks like you’ve lost your shiny new sticker.” The voice belongs to Margrethe. She stands with her hands in a fuzzy black jacket, glancing off to where Thora’s hand grips the metal lining of Hvitserk’s jacket. As if almost instinct, the hand over your belly tightens. You lose the enamoured moment between Hvitserk and Thora and glance over your shoulder where Margrethe is, twiddling an unlit cigarette between cleanly manicured fingers.

“I guess it was always going to happen, (Y/N).”

God, someone shut her up. Asta glares over her shoulder as if to tell Margrethe to beat it. She doesn’t give a shit about the warning. Even more than that-- she actually dares to keep on speaking.

“After all, you were just friends.”

It’s not supposed to hurt this much. You threw him out! So why… did it hurt to be replaced? It hadn’t even been more than a weekend! Could he have really gone to Thora’s all weekend after you kicked him out?

“Beat it Margrethe.” Asta growls at her side. Margrethe’s blue eyes narrow a bit, looking out toward where Thora was looking for a monitor. None there so she tips him into another sweet kiss.

“I…” You swallow-- hard. “I have to go.”

You’re distantly aware of Asta calling your name as you speed off in the direction of the bathrooms within the cafeteria. As you speed to the safety of dull, tiled walls Asta throws a heated glare toward Hvitserk. It’s almost as if it’s magic because Hvitserk leaves Thora’s lips with the deepest of smirks upon his handsome young face. Then again he lowers his head to return to the game of mancala on the table, laughing even.

That fucker.

Her feet carry her in Hvitserk’s direction. Harsh stomps that carry Asta to the table where Hvitserk and Ubbe were playing with a bit of mancala. Asta is the easy one to ignore. The one that normally is too mild mannered to do anything about what Hvitserk would do to you. This time, however, she’s had enough.  She forces herself between Sigurd and his sweet girlfriend Blaeja, lurching over the table.

“Asta--” Ubbe sees it coming first.

Her balled up carried her body weight as it connects to Hvitserk’s defined cheekbone. He’s thrown off enough at his bench that he tips over onto his back. With a heavy thud, Hvitserk falls onto the faux tiles. He gives a harsh grunt, snapping his head around just in time to see her coming right after him.

“What the fuck, Asta?!” He barks out, bringing his hand to his busted lip. He honestly thought it was the end of it after one good punch. He’s sorely mistaken as her hands come over his throat and god, he doesn’t remember her being so close that she can actually choke him out! Clearly, she’s made it sitting upon his chest. Under other circumstances he could have found this kinky.

“Miss Nilsson!”

Except she was ringing his neck and shaking his neck so hard that he was going a little splotchy eyed. He gasps under her hands, the lack of oxygen making everything go hazy and black. Before he could dig the knife out of his pocket though-- he’s granted relief by way of one of his teachers standing over him. With Ubbe’s help, Finehair has tugged her off of him and Magnus joins his friend’s side. Within moments of the incident other students are turning around from their tables and looks toward their table.

“You fucking piece of shit!” Asta roars. “How could you knock her up and throw her away?!”

Thora appears beside her to help him to sit upright. Her fingers trace the outline of Asta’s upon his neck, fussing over the change in colour. Finehair is as curious as everyone else however. Given the other day, he knows just what is going on.

“Are you okay, Hvit?” She asks sweetly.

“What are you talking about?” Sigurd asks standing up beside him. “(Y/N)’s not pregnant.”

“Hvitserk?” Ubbe prompts his smaller brother to speak.

No one speaks. Not Asta who is led off by Principal Ingstad, who slipped through the front doors. Nor Finehair who has kneels below by Ubbe and Thora. He assists Hvitserk in standing up and as you peep out of the bathroom door rubbing wet tears from your eyes. Harald takes Hvitserk’s shoulder in one arm despite the stagger towards where you were.

“We should talk in my class.”

“You got miss (Y/N) pregnant?”

Why was it that everyone told him that? Hvitserk stood with his hands jammed into his jeans, leaning forward with the slightest roll of his eyes. Finehair slips behind his desk, jangling the drawer open.

“That was what the other day was about.”

“Yeah.” He says. “It was.”

“Don’t use condoms?” Harald holds up the foily package of one. Shit, why was everyone always on him about condoms! Hvitserk digs his hand into his pocket, unwrapping the plastic around another cherry lollipop. He had been binging them lately. Hvitserk began to wonder if it was a stress result of coming unraveled. Without your stability there-- everything was starting to to slip back… and back… and back.

“Na.” He says.

“If you’re sleeping with many women--”

“I’m not.” Hvitserk interrupts. “(Y/N) broke up with me. I was trying to get her back.”

“You couldn’t just buy her flowers?” Harald presses. Cute, Hvitserk thinks. There’s a reason that only Lagertha seemed to have been with him. At that, even, he’s heard rumors of Lagertha being a dominatrix in her free time. Rumors that could not be confirmed or denied. In that absence, he has to agree.

“You haven’t been with women, have you?” Hvitserk rolls his tongue around his candy as he comes closer to his teacher. “You wouldn’t know.”

“Know what?”

“What they’re like.” Hvitserk sets his hands to Harald’s shoulders. “They don’t want fucking flowers. They want attention. And by this time tomorrow, the whole school will be buzzing about my baby mama.”

Harald lifts one of his eyebrows, shifting to look at the young Ragnarsson behind him. Ragnar Lothbrok was more than an ordinary man. Lagertha was no ordinary woman. For years he’s considered what it was about their family. He looks up toward Hvitserk with blank expression; unsure of why this Ragnarsson is even going to school.

“It would be wise.” Hvitserk pats his shoulders, snatching the condom from Finehair’s fingers. He inserts it back into the front pocket of Harald’s shirt. “If you just stayed out of our business. Or I’ll uncover yours.”

The bells sung.

Hvitserk collects his notebook and green pencil back into his lazy black backpack. Physics had gone well and his guilty little shit Magnus was working out perfectly to his advantage. What a stupid shit his brother was… but that was okay. They could fix that. Floki could even see it on him, giggling at the imperfect answer from another student while they collect their things.

“A-Are you gonna see (Y/N)?” Magnus mutters shakily. It was lunch. Margrethe butts in between Thora’s arm to take Hvitserk’s, shoving her out of the way particularly roughly.

“He’s going to take me to the cafeteria.” Margrethe chirps-- ignoring her presence. “I ordered pizza.”

A rictus of a smile keeps on Hvitserk’s face as he unpeels her hand from his elbow. Then turning his gaze down to his phone on his table, he shakes his head. Thora keeps to herself as confident as she ever had been.

“I’m out to see my woman. She’s probably all alone and depressed with Asta out of the way now.” Hvitserk presses his forehead against hers, rubbing his forehead against hers in an affectionate motion. Their noses brush like cute little pups. He pats his little brother’s shoulder on his way out the door. Then with sardonic heat, Margrethe turns back to Thora.

“You took him from me, you little-- little whore!”

Floki tsks his tongue to catch Margrethe’s attention.

“Not in my room, Margrethe.”

And when she turns back around, Thora is gone.