#ubbexreader

in the theatre of these lush green woods, under the canopy of trees, they put on shows for me with their wooden swords and blunt axes

he is lithe, bending and ducking away from his brothers’ swings. but when he strikes, it is considered and thoughtful but not careful - no, there is nothing careful about it

the force. swords collide like a thunderclap, the sound making me and whatever other mice who roam in this forest flinch

the boys laugh at me for some of my timidness but ubbe says, in private moments, that i am stronger than all of his brothers combined- “quiet strength,” he says, cupping my cheeks in his hands, “they know nothing about quietness” and we laugh because it is true

these are my favorite moments - the private ones when he stares into my eyes - because my pupils blow out and my face becomes like the moon - lit up, reflecting the sun’s beams.

today is a private moment. we are walking in the woods - it is spring and he picks berries as he walks, gathering handfuls and giving them to me to eat. sweet.

eventually we reach a calm riverbank and rest, sitting on the grass in front of each other

“you are beautiful today,” he says to me.

i smile, “what, am i not beautiful every day?”

“you know what i mean,” he tucks a stray hair behind my ear. his fingertips linger on the side of my head and i lean into his palm, humming at his touch. i close my eyes for a moment in peaceful bliss but only for a second, for i cannot bear to not look at him. his face.

his dark eyebrows that quirk in electric conversation, furrow in confusion, rise in amusement, harden in frustration

they frame his eyes. his special eyes. they are blue like rolling tides, and they are revealing. all one need do to peer into the emotional world of him is look into his oceanic orbs - they harbor his pain, confusion, sadness, anger, disillusionment. but today they are calm like a roman bath, and i wish to float them, suspended in weightlessness

he has sloping cheekbones, and gravity pulls my eyes down towards his lips

his eyes trace my movements, burning a path of desire across my face and he stares at my mouth too

and then, in this forest of calm sunshine, to the sound of a babbling brook, his soft lips meet mine. he knows when to push and pull, softly biting my lower lip and suckling as if he were pulling all of the juice out of a fruit. i melt into him, a pool of water at his touch. his tongue enters my mouth and gently dances with mine, teasing and joyous. his hands cradle my face and pull me even closer to him. we are so close that we are breathing in sync, the molecules of air divide into an atom for each of us before we exhale in gentle liveliness. we pull away only just to let in room for more air and his forehead rests against mine. there is a string of delicate spittle between our mouths, like a golden line drawn through the air, tracing our kiss, reluctant to part.

he sighs contentedly. “what are you thinking?” he asks me. “hm?”

“i think i love you.”

His breath was hot on your back as you sat between the bushes to peep out through the ovaline shapes of leaves at Ubbe. Where he once practiced with bow, he rested with his fingers wrapped around his cock. Frustration manifested in the beads against his forehead.

“Who do you think he’s beating off to? Hmm?” Ivar teases your nape with his hot words. The goosebumps soar across your nape as Ivar hangs over you, his hand slipping under your skirts. His fingers slip between the slit of your lips, sliding past a pellucid shine that coats his fingers like a second skin.

“It can’t be Margrethe. He’d just take her— but then, who else could it be?” Ivar hums. His words are thin whispers on the billowing excitement he incites. It is confusing to see your brother in this bizarrely new sexual light where Ubbe often took up.

But the star of course is your Ubbe, dropping down to the grass with his cock fully erect in his palm. From the distance you can hear him moaning in husky puffs. Your body was in complete awe of his body arching into his palm, fucking his makeshift hole of a hand.

You wonder what it is that has him so hot in the middle of a field. Is it Margrethe’s trim body undulating in the figments of his imagination? Or could it be… by chance…

“I think he heard you call for him last night, sister.” He mocks, letting his fingers take to the most intimate areas of your sex. His fingers dig into the nub from the other night and immediately you gasp, holding his hand in place.

“Ivar…” You moan, buckling your slick cunt onto his fingers for more friction.

“Good girl. Louder.” Ivar chides, glancing over your shoulder. Ubbe’s murky eyes turn to your line of bushes, catching the rustle while leaning his hand down to brace himself on the grass. He’s close.

So are you, grinding Ivar’s flickering fingers with great excitement.

“But he’ll hear.” You say with equal parts of excitement and dread. He’ll know you were watching him! Watching his braid slipping from the curved muscles of his back as he rutted into nothingness. How divine he looked, but of course he would, he was a son of Odin.

“Was I not clear enough?” Ivar’s other arm came up behind your skirts, abruptly filling your clenching walls with his thick fingers. Your cunt is still sore, but clenches around his prodding fingers.

You shriek at his intrusion louder than intended. “Yes Ivar!”

And Ubbe must have heard because with a choked gasp, his hips stutter. The ground is slickened as he spills his seed over blades of grass, distantly aware of your presence watching him groan.

“(Y/N)...” Ubbe husks, using his fist to drag out the last of his pesky excitement from his cock.

You never saw something quite as beautiful, hanging in Ivar’s arms as his fingers work for your orgasm. As much as you want to cry out for Ubbe, you can smell Ivar’s musky scent on your back, reminding you time and time again who he was. Then just like that, his fingers evaporate from your aching wet walls. The build up of your orgasm becomes nothing more than stitches that are undone by the lack of his presence.

“Ivar!” You growl with pupils so blown up, you might as well have been a cat.

“You’ve been nothing more but a manipulative, cock hungry slut today. Why would you think I would let you cum drooling over Ubbe?” Your intended takes his fingers between his tongue, sucking off your moist juices.

Your fingers knit through your hair desperately. Your eyes are pricked by the bubbles of excitement, so pert with need that you could explode. Your nipples were pert, womb ached by a slick that you knew only Ivar could remedy.

“Take your punishment tonight and we will see if you can come.” Ivar says, turning back onto his forearms to crawl out of the forest. As you push the branches away for a last glance at Ubbe, the space where he once was had been abandoned.

Wedding planning was proving fruitless. You couldn’t think underneath the pulsing of your slicked thighs or the memory of Ubbe. But it had to be done. There were conflicting smells, honey and meats, fruit and vegetables. So many flavours that you could not decide.

“Make Ivar’s favourites. I’m not so picky Mother.” You sigh.

She turns to get a good look at you as if she already knew what had happened. Everyone knew what happened. She followed closely behind you with the lightest of smiles in his serpentine eyes.

“You’ve slept with him, is it true?” She asks.

Your hands form a crown. “Yes.” You say. “That is why I need this wedding to come soon.”

Lest I back out, you want to say.

She hums. “Next Friday.” She turns to stand in front of you. It wasn’t as if word had not already spread like raging flame, but, it was not the image you wanted everyone to have.

You smile. “And… and this ache?” You ask motion to your skirts. The pain was still present but more in that anytime you walked you could feel it. Aslaug comes forth to hold you in a swift hug, the scent of her perfume a permanent etch on your brain.

“It will pass. You are a woman now.”

Dinner was tense. Ivar’s hand hardly left the back of your neck as Aslaug and Ubbe bantered playfully among one another. Much like Hvitserk, you would have rathered melt into your food. Not once that night did you look into Ubbe’s almost electric blue eyes. At last Sigurd broke through the tension with surprise-- more tension.

“When is the wedding?” Sigurd asks on the other side of you.

“Next Friday.” You answer first. You lean away from the hand that sits protectively around the back of your neck to lean over the table in a whisper. Across the table, Ubbe heard every word of the conversation.

“What is the rush for you to be married?” Ubbe interjects.

Weddings could take anywhere from months to years to plan and this one was not even being planned with half the scope of time. It was lucky that it was a good sort of year for weddings. Freyja would be pleased. You fold your hands into your lap, unable to stomach looking at him more than you have to.

“(Y/N) wants to marry sooner than later.” Ivar says dropping his hand to the side of your hip. His thumb strokes over your dress and you lean into him, setting your head on his shoulder. Even if you could try and explain your reasons to Ubbe, his surprise was full blown and on display.

“I should have been first to marry.” He says, his boot bouncing underneath the table with a repetitive ‘tack.’ You recognize the tactic. Ubbe was buying time. As it happens Aslaug is perked by her eldest’s objection to the wedding. She leans over the table to grasp his hands.

“You should have been. But if your brother is happy, let us be happy as well.” She consoles.

“What of (Y/N)’s happiness?” He counters.

Thump, thump, thump.

Your heart was screeching with uncertainty when Ubbe’s eyes trained on you again. He holds your gaze in his own, as if to ask the same of you. Were you happy? You couldn’t be happy now could you? His fist comes up to his mouth with a nod, flicking fingers at you. His lips part to ask something more when Ivar chirps up.

“Oh she was very happy last night, brother. Just like this morning, yes?”

You could die.