summary: Ivar is the Sergeant at Arms in the Devil’s Vessels MC. You are his girlfriend and he tries to keep you out of his deals but they are going through a particularly nasty one with the English, and the club decides that it is safer for their women to know instead of remaining in the dark.

WARNINGS:swearing, mentions of physical and mental abuse

A/N:I’ve been working on this for two weeks now, hoping you guys like it. I was kind of thinking about doing a miniseries about the brothers and their women in this particular AU if this is popular enough, also THIS IMAGINE IS PRETTY LONG (9 pages on google docs)

Ivar’s eyes wandered around the table, looking menacingly down at the newly patched in members. He didn’t trust them, the last new member that they patched in had ended up betraying them, given he didn’t get very far with their secrets, and Ivar killed him without a second thought. It’s not like devotion to the club was a new concept for him, and in fact he didn’t mind doing the dirty work. On occasion, he craved blood, and conflict was always welcome, so long as confidential information about the club did not escape the confines of the members minds, and as long as you were a safe distance from harm. Ivar admired how you always understood that he didn’t want to talk about club business with you unless the situation permitted, and you never asked him to stop doing the dangerous work. You knew that without the club, Ivar wouldn’t really know what to do with himself. 

Bjorn cleared his throat suddenly, drawing Ivar out of his thoughts. “Ivar, the English are demanding more guns. You’re my Sergeant at Arms, do we have the means to provide?”

Ivar folded his hands in his lap. “We have the means, but I think our time would be better spent elsewhere at this point. We cannot have them thinking that we will be at their side as soon as they ask it, after all.” 

Ubbe nodded in agreement. “I hear they have a civil war brewing, we do not want mass murder connected to our guns.”

“We’ll have to deal with their wrath when we tell them that we are no longer going to provide. Therefore, I think we should tell our women about what has been happening. It is better for them to not be in the dark. If it does get nasty, we need to move everyone into the clubhouse. We’ll take a vote on everything before we leave.”

Ivar came home to you that night exhausted. He hung his kutte up on the coat rack and walked to the kitchen, where you were sitting at the table, coffee cup clutched in your hand. You looked up and smiled, kissing him before he sat down across from you. “We have some business to discuss, my love. Club business.” 

Your hands clenching down on the mug did not go unnoticed by Ivar, so he reached over and took one between his fingers, squeezing lightly. “Am I the only woman that is being involved?”

He shook his head. “No, all the old ladies are being brought into the loop in case something happens.” It was hard for him to tell you about anything. You were strong, stronger than any woman he knew, but he kept you out of this for a reason- to keep you safe. His biggest concern was if telling you would help or hurt the situation, but he didn’t have a choice in that, Bjorn had decided, and that was final.

So he started with how the club got into bed with the English in the first place. It had started with their father Ragnar looking to expand the club, and you knew that, but you had thought the business with the English to be done when Ragnar died. Ivar told you that it never ended there, the sons of Ragnar killed Aella, and then went to business with his rival in England. The trading started off with a small order of fifty guns, and then the demands became larger. “We have received intel that our guns are being used in civil street warfare. Innocents have been killed, and we have decided not to supply them with the means to kill anymore. The women have been brought in because we think the English will retaliate, and I need you to be ready to get to the clubhouse and stay as soon as I tell you to.” Your hands were shaking in his, he brought both to his mouth and kissed one knuckle on each, then motioned for you to stand. Ivar’s arm circled your back and swept under your knees, carrying you down the hall to your bedroom.

“You have to come back to me, Ivar. If a deal goes south, you have to promise to come back.”

Ivar’s hand cradled the back of your head, kissed your forehead, and pulled you closer to him, his strong arms keeping you in place while he whispered to you. “I’ll always come back for you. Nothing and no one will keep me away. Do you understand, kitten?”

That night was stuck in Ivar’s head as he pulled up next to his brothers in the old warehouse the English had agreed to meet them in. Bjorn, Ubbe, and Hvitserk all looked a bit distracted, their faces plastered with a hard expression to remain strong. Ivar pulled his helmet from his head and glared in the direction of the open door. “How did Margrethe take the news, Ubbe?”

He chuckled half- heartedly, like he was trying to relieve the tension that would only get worse once he said something. Ubbe stared at the ground for a good minute before he ran his index finger and thumb across his eyebrows to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I think she’s gone fucking insane.” All of the brothers looked at him for a moment, trying to assess if he was serious about what he was saying. “She did not talk to me the rest of the night, she wouldn’t even make eye contact with me. It’s like I broke her.” Hvitserk patted Ubbe’s shoulder in comfort and then they looked to Bjorn, who answered without having to be asked.

“Torvi has been involved in sour deals before, but that was previous to our children. She has arranged for them to stay with her parents on the East Coast until the smoke has cleared, she is worried about them having a father after this is done more than anything else.” Before they could say anything else, they were surrounded by black pickups and SUV’s, but only three people stepped out: Aethelwulf and his two sons.

The brothers did not move from their bikes save for Bjorn and Ubbe, who came to the center of the gathering with their arms crossed over their chest. “Why did you need to meet with me? Do we need a change of transport?” Aethelwulf kept his hands folded in front of him, his two sons stepping back so that their father was at the front. Everyone became silent, not trusting what would happen next. “Is there a problem I should know about, gentleman?”

Bjorn was the first to speak, his eyes darting from Aethelwulf to his sons. “You made a demand rather than a request last time I spoke with you. The Devils Vessels MC does not bow to demands.” Aethelwulf stepped closer, his eyes narrowing menacingly. Sigurd and Ivar stepped forward now, flanking Bjorn and Ubbe, who placed their hands on the guns that were nestled between the waistband of their jeans. “Do not get closer. It will end badly, Aethelwulf, I warn you.”

“You will not deny me my guns, my ammo, the spark that I need. I have to ask why the sudden change of heart? Besides the demanding.”

“We didn’t realize you were using the guns to fight a civil war, and to kill innocent people.” Ubbe said, and Aethelwulf glanced in his direction, nodding.

Aethelwulf stepped back to his sons, and the Lothbrok brothers folded into themselves, lining up to get back on their bikes now. The boys straddled the motorcycles and watched Aethelwulf as he stopped at the door to one of the SUV’s. “Boys!” He grinned. “I always get what I want, whether it be by force or will.” Before they could blink, he produced a gun and aimed. The brothers shouted warnings, but before they could duck down, the bullet rang in the air.

One hit Siguard’s shoulder, the other in between his eyes. All Ivar felt was the warm spray on his neck. His brother was hunched over his bike beside him, the blood pouring down the sleek paint from the wounds. Bjorn screamed out in rage, tears threatening to spill over, fists clenched and raised at his sides. Ubbe drew his weapon, firing shots while the vehicles pulled away, the bullets taking out the glass. The motorcycles fired up just moments later, and the boys rode with guns pointed in the direction of the caravan. Ivar felt numb, his brothers blood was coating the backside of him, and somehow he was out here with Bjorn, Ubbe, and Hvitserk. He felt nothing, how was that possible? Ivar was not at all close to Sigurd, but shouldn’t he have felt something other than empty? He wasn’t mad, or unhappy, he was just indifferent.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what you would say, what the look on your face would be when he showed up at home looking like that. He was sure you would be horrified, ask what happened, what went wrong. And he would have to tell you, because war was brewing even now, as they sped down the roads at the highest speeds they could handle to catch up with demons. Ivar felt that he had failed at protecting you from his life in the club, couldn’t shelter you from the horrors and the loss that living this kind of life came with. But what else could he do? He couldn’t stand to be without you, and you wanted to take these chances for him. Who was he to control you?

Ivar threw his kutte down on the laundry room floor and joined you in the shower after stripping himself of his clothes. You shuddered when the rush of cold air hit you, but it was immediately replaced by his warmth. Ivar turned you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks as he brought you up to kiss him. When he pulled away, you grabbed the loofa from behind him and turned his back to you. You tried to hold in the gasp when you saw the blood that was now washing down his back. Ivar’s shoulders tensed and you continued onto the task, putting soap on the loofa and rubbing it across his back.

Lounging on the couch later on, Ivar cradled you between his legs, his arms resting on your chest. He knew you would ask him what happened at some point, why all that blood was there, but you started off with a question he didn’t expect. “What happened at that deal today?”

Ivar went silent. “How did you find out about that?”

“Torvi called before you got home. She told me to ask you about it.” You spun and faced him, adjusting your legs so that you were straddling him, your arms around his neck, his hands resting on your hips. “So what happened?” Ivar considered for awhile. How was he supposed to answer that? When a few minutes passed and he still didn’t say anything, you put a hand on his shoulder. “Ivar, it’s okay to tell me. Let me protect you for once.”

“Sigurd is dead. We told the English we wouldn’t sell them guns anymore, and Aethelwulf shot him. Twice.” You knew he didn’t harbor any love for his late brother Sigurd, but you still leaned forward and embraced him, pressing him close to your chest, as close as he could get. “We’ve made the decision to move our women into the clubhouse. I need you to have your stuff packed because we are leaving tomorrow morning, plan to stay for a week.” He held you tighter.

“Do you think they will come after us?”

He knew that you didn’t want to hear him say yes, even if that was what he thought. One of his hands moved up higher to hold the nape of your neck, the arm fitting snugly around your waist. He only wanted to comfort you, but with a question like that, he wasn’t sure how. Finally, Ivar sighed and kissed your shoulder. “I’m going to do my best to protect you, Y/N. I’ll kill anyone that lays a hand on you, that’s a promise.” Ivar kissed you, capturing your lips in a sensuous, slow burning fire, his hands caressing your face gently, like he would break if he pressed on your skin just a little bit. “I’ll always take care of you, angel.”

You weren’t allowed to leave, that was all you knew. You were more vulnerable if you left, especially without Ivar or one of the boys to protect you. Ivar made it his personal rule that you wouldn’t leave the clubhouse without him or one of his brothers, but you were not to leave with a member or a prospect, he didn’t trust them with you that much.

Torvi was sitting at the bar with a drink in her hand, you behind mixing more. It was only the girls right now, all the men were out riding, finding more help to deal with the English that were breathing down their necks. Margrethe was sulking on the couch in the corner, some of the groupies hanging around with her, hoping to become an old lady like her. Torvi was not fond of Margrethe, and you were on the fence, but in the end she just needed help. The two of you were trying to remain strong, be role models for the other girls, but it was hard to do so when you weren’t sure if you would see the men that you loved. “Do the kids know why they are going with their grandparents?”

Torvi shook her head. “I told them that it was because I would be very busy for a few weeks. My parents know, I made sure to prepare them for anything that could come. My father is chief of police over where they live, so they will be living with a protective police detail.” She swirled the small black straw in her drink for a moment, and then sighed, blinking back tears. “They just love Bjorn so much. I can only hope he is spared in this fight.”

You nodded. “He’ll be okay. Bjorn loves his children more than life, he will make sure to get back alive.”

“What about Ivar?”

You poured yourself a drink then. “We have a life to build together. He promised that he would come back to me, that he would protect me.” You looked up at her then. “I have to hold onto that.” The two of you remained silent while the groupies continued their worried chatter, expressing their concern for the men, even the ones that were taken. You didn’t mind though, Ivar only had eyes for you, and the rest of the women were too scared to even look at him. When the chatter finally stopped, it was quiet, eerily so. Torvi stood from the bar and looked out the window for a moment, her eyebrows crinkling while she stared intently. “What’s going on?”

Her eyes widened and she began screaming commands. “Get in the rooms, go!” You glanced to see what she was so worried about. The English had broken into the compound, their guns were poised at the clubhouse as they approached quickly. “Y/N, we have to go.” You nodded and took the gun from underneath the counter, grabbing a knife to give to Torvi. “We have to go now!” You began to run down the hallways just as they burst through the door, bullets blazing trails in the walls.

You grabbed Torvi’s arm and pulled her to you. “They can climb out the windows, Margrethe can start getting them out. Go!” Torvi went to start the mission while you stayed back, your finger pushing down on the trigger more times than you could count. The men were advancing quickly, one person with a pistol was nothing compared to five men and machine guns. You shot a good few dead, and when the gun was empty, you ran. Ivar’s room was low to the ground, if you could get there and get out, you would be okay, you knew it. The noise of the men shouting at one another was deafening, and they were getting closer, they were faster than you. Your breaths were getting faster and more ragged, your legs tired and unsteady.

A hand reached out and grabbed your arm, swinging your entire body back to theirs. Your hand gripped the pistol tighter and smashed the butt of the gun against his temple, but his strength kept you pinned to him as he fell. The men took the opportunity to grab your arms and haul you up, even as you fought against them, they didn’t stop walking. “Let go of me!” You kicked and screamed but to no avail, they were too strong for you. Finally, they stopped in front of a black SUV, a man with curly hair and a beard grinned.

“I’m Aethelwulf. Your name?”

“Kiss my ass.” You finished off the sentence by spitting in his face, scowling while he wiped at it with his sleeve.

“Boys, shut her up, won’t you?” Your eyes widened and you started kicking again, hoping to get free of them. One man held you while the other raised his gun and smacked it against the back of your head. “Put her in the back, and bind her hands and feet. We can’t have her escaping on us.”

They had been torturing you for days, leaving a deep gash at the top of your cheek that was identical to Ivar’s. They also gave you a busted lip and left you badly bruised. Aethelwulf was relentless about getting information from you, beating you until you were screaming but not badly enough so that you would die. He kept you on a 24 hour watch, so no one could get to you except him and his sons. He made sure you were completely at his mercy all the time, and you didn’t know about the trick he had up his sleeve. The last time he interrogated you, he made sure he got in your head. “You really think you aren’t going to tell me?”

“Since I’m not a rat, you won’t be getting anything out of me.”

He nodded and sighed. “Ivar knows you’re here.” He smirked when he saw your eyebrows raise. “You were the prize in that raid. He had an old debt, you were the payment.” You dropped your head, tears welling in your eyes. Was this true? No, Ivar wouldn’t trade you, he loved you too much. “We’re still figuring out what to do with you, since you are ours to do with as we please now.”

He raised his eyebrows suggestively, a smirk playing on his lips. You scoffed, “I won’t be your whore.”

Aethelwulf chuckled a bit. “Sweetheart, you might not have a choice.”

Ivar, Bjorn, and Ubbe worked tirelessly to make a deal with the English to get you back. Ivar barely slept, he always tried to reach for you in the night but came up empty. When he was by himself, he cried at his loss, fearing he would never see you again, or you would come back in pieces- whether your mind was in pieces, or your physical state. His work in the club got more intense, he rode alone at night, worked on the bikes or cars in his free time, anything to keep himself distracted.

Now, sitting at the table with just his brothers, they waited for him to look at anything but the wall. Ubbe glanced at Bjorn every now and then to see if he would say anything. When a few minutes passed, Bjorn put a hand on Ivar’s shoulder and brought him out of his daze. “Ivar, we are going to get her back.”

He nodded. “I just don’t want her to be abused. I am so worried her mind will come back to me broken.” The brothers didn’t respond to that, just assured him that they would get you back. They planned for days, negotiating back and forth with the English while Aethelwulf taunted them over the phone about what he was doing to you. As each day passed, Ivar got more and more aggressive and vengeful, wanting you back so badly. Now, today, Bjorn had news for Ivar. “What’s happening in the negotiations?”

“We’ve come to an agreement.” Ivar moved to the edge of his seat. “We will provide them with five more shipments of guns and they will find a new supplier, in return, they will give us Y/N back.”

Just days later, you were sat in the back of the black SUV, Aethelwulf’s sons sitting on either side of you, inspecting you while you shrank further and further into yourself. “Where are you taking me?”

“Shut up.” Aethelwulf barked from the front seat, and you let the rest of the ride pass in silence. The driver pulled up to an empty lot, save for the line of motorcycles on the other side of the field.

Your breath caught in your throat when you saw three of them approaching the SUV, guns hung at their sides. “Ivar.” You breathed it like it was a prayer. He had come for you, he was here. The two boys beside you scoffed, but you paid no mind, all you could do was stare. His hair was braided back, his sharp and handsome features standing out, his leather kutte clinging to his shoulders in the sweltering heat of the day. Aethelwulf knocked on the back window and the boy scooted out, reaching back in to pull you across the seat and out into the light. Aethelwulf cut the bonds on your hands but held onto your wrists, leaning in to whisper in your ear. You could hear Ivar protesting him touching you in the background.

“You’re lucky they had the guns, you would have made a great meal for my men.” He growled it to you and then shoved you toward Ivar. You ran to him, across the dusty field to his open arms, crashing into him. His strong arms held you up and spun you around, his fingers digging into your skin to keep you in place.

You were crying, holding onto him as tightly as you could. He dropped you onto the ground, his back bending to accommodate your height difference. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” Ivar held you tight while he held your face in his hands, kissing you hard and feverishly, your hands dropping to his waist. You were finally home, finally there with him, and you could never be happier to be with this man.

Words into Smoke

The Night You Cared Sequel.

Pairing: Modern!Ivar Lothbrok x Reader

Summary: As a part of his therapy, Ivar writes letters to unwind and keep track of his mental health progress. He writes to his mom, he misses her. He writes to Sigurd, sometimes he regrets his departure. One night, he writes about her.

Warnings: Angst

Words: 3864

A/N: (3/5/20) I had this idea in my head that I simply could not let go. 

(10/4/21) P.S: Can’t promise I’m back, but I’m definitely turning to writing as a way of winding down. I hope you guys are alright.

Part I/Part II /Epilogue

Some nights, while the city sleeps, Ivar stays awake. Like an owl looking for a prey, the Ragnarsson remains seated upright at the edge of his bed, his now heavily tattooed chest exposed to the world through the panoramic window, heaving. Beating.

Some nights were amazing. He got his drivers license, and Freydis got him an adapted Bentley as a gift. He would spend the nights driving by himself down the empty streets of Kattegat, not worrying about speeding tickets or angry neighbours. 

Not so long ago, he learned his wife was finally carrying a child, her round belly reminding him that he had a legacy to keep, now that the Lothbrok dynasty seemed to be more fragmented than ever. After spending thousands of krone on in vitro fertilisation, the universe seemed to work in his favour. Their favour. If the gods were unwilling to bless them two, science would. These were the nights that were made for celebrations, champaign showers and water for the mother to be.

Some nights were alright. Ivar would come back after a long day of meetings and getting his ass kissed, to find Freydis immersed in her little personal projects. He would tell Erik to pick up some takeaway while he washed away the power and wrapped himself in mundane clothes. He would eat in silence, elbows propped on the counter and eyes on the horizon, watching the sun kiss the skyscrapers goodbye as he mindlessly put food in his mouth. Then he would take his new baby for a ride, to the bar he now owned with his brother Hvitserk. 

Ivar would go there, check the inventory and the register, ask the employees how everything was going and what could he do for them. Sometimes he would also find Hvitserk at the bar, practicing the cocktail skills he had been mastering since he took over your share of the bar. Ivar would simply walk past, not entirely avoiding making contact with his sibling but prefering to keep a healthy distance from the person that substituted you. He started visiting the local more often after you left, feeling the responsibility to continue what you started. He found peace in the simplicity of managing a bar: at the office, he was a tyrannic boss, voice always booming through the walls, keeping both employees and investors in check. At the bar, he was just the young lovestruck Ivar he once was. He understood then, why you wished to escape from it all. You are just a memory now, but sometimes he still feels you around, checking on the girls, checking on him.

Some nights were… Painful. Therapy had a big presence in his life. He no longer needed a cane thanks to nurse Hansen, his physical therapist. But on some days, the stress and the weather would simply take a toll on his legs, forcing him to carry around that metal stick that reminded him that he was, in fact, human. 

Before you left, Freydis figured out a question that would calm Ivar down and make him focus: “What would Dr. Nielsen tell you to do?”. That was how she got him to control himself and open up the last time he was onstage, the night she met you. They were just engaged back then. Oh, how quick did time pass. Ivar no longer organised events like that. He was too consumed by his two jobs. There were nights where Freydis would be on business trips, or out hanging out with friends until the next morning, nights where absences were felt more than presences. But he was coping now. Dr. Nielsen helped the youngest Lothbrok greatly since his great breakdown. 

Ivar had thought he physically felt his heart break the night he got down the stage to find you, only to figure out you were gone after most of the guests had left the hotel ballroom. He felt compelled to call you dozens of times to ask for an explanation. After his calls went unanswered, he decided to drive around town in search of you, not knowing where to start, not knowing where to ask, anger poisoning his brain and taking over his actions. That night he stayed at Loki’s after barging in to see if you were hiding there like “the coward you were”. He hated the fact that you could make him feel that weak. It felt like he was putty and Freydis was fire, hardening him the more he was exposed to her. You were water, turning him into a pliable being, at mercy of your actions.

For five days in a row, he found himself staying at his office until late at night, observing his office telephone with attention and indecision, silently praying for you to pick up the phone, practicing the rage filled words he was about to rain down on you the moment you uttered a response. He prayed with ill intentions, but he prayed nonetheless. It was his last resort. 

The earth seemed to crack open and swallow him whole the moment he gathered all his courage and dialed your number, only to hear an automated voice telling him that the number no longer existed. He sat there, phone on his hand as a white noise took over the voice message, thinking about the different possibilities that could have happened for you to cancel your line. Maybe, he thought. Maybe I really asked for too much this time. 

“Fuck no,” Ivar reflected out loud as he tossed his phone away, “In no fucking way this is my fault.”

“Ivar?” A distant voice reverberated through the glass corridors. It sounded familiar. The youngest Ragnarsson frowned, weirded out by the fact that one of his brothers was still in the office this late.

It wasn’t just one of his brothers, but the three of them.

“Freydis called us asking where you were. You’ve been out late at night for many days in a row, she literally just confronted each one of us asking whether you were having an affair.” Hvitserk said, arms crossed as he leaned on the door frame. “That woman nearly dragged each one of us out to look for you.” Ivar pursed his lips, outraged by such accusations from his then fiancée.

“Well, tell her I’d never do such thing.” He answered, swatting his hand in annoyance. “I am surprised she came to that conclusion, knowing how busy I always am as the bloody CEO!” He exclaimed, letting the following silence fill the room as he flashed a disdainful look towards his brothers.

“Why are you here, brother?” Ubbe finally dared to ask, observing his youngest sibling sway in his chair from side to side.

Ivar looked up for a brief moment, like a puppy who lost his favourite toy, and decided to tell them the whole story. That the had the hunch you were back from a strange event where someone knocked on his penthouse door. To that, Ubbe awkwardly shifted in his place, still listening intently. Ivar explained that he sent you an invite to his inaguration gala and how he asked you to stay for his speech so you could have a dance afterwards, unaware of the utterly personal turn his speech would take just because an old man decided to drink a bit more than usual that night. How he waited for you, called you and looked for you tirelessly, frustration filling his voice as he talked about how you had been avoiding him for a week now, changing your phone number in the process.

“If she thinks she can avoid me by changing numbers she’s dead wrong. We’re business partners, for fucks sake!” He complained, registering the situation as a burden. “I’ll find her new phone sooner or later.”

Unbeknownst Ivar, tension had been gradually building up as he spoke, his three brothers standing still in their places, not knowing how to break the news. Sure they knew this day would come, but none of the three expected to be trapped with the ticking bomb. It was way too soon. Too recent. 

Hell, it was about you. It was most likely no amount of time would soften the blow.

Ubbe took a step forward, leaning on the hardwood desk. With a resigned tone, he mumbled:

“She’s gone, Ivar.” He swallowed. “(Y/n) left Kattegat.”

Already motionless before, Ivar remained still. He darted his eyes to look at his brother, confusion and fear brewing within him, fueling a fire he thought it was extinguished the day he made Sigurd leave. With trembling lips but a determined voice, he asked how did he know. How did Ubbe Ragnarsson, the brother who would stab his youngest sibling in the back at the slightest opportunity, know the whereabouts of his woman, while he sat there completely lost, disoriented.

With an attempt of a soothing voice, Ubbe confessed that months ago he offered you a job position to work on a humanitarian project he had running in Haiti. Aslaug had stated in her will that she wished to expand the non-profit organisation she created to other countries and Ubbe decided to make his deceased mother’s wish come true. He told Ivar that while you rejected the offer at first, you ended up accepting it the night of his gala. That you made him promise to make the process fast and discreet, and that, while you insisted on paying for the plane tickets, Lothbrok Inc. paid for your travel expenses and necessities. You left three days ago, unnanounced, with only Ubbe at the airport to bid you farewell.

Hvitserk, who remained silent all this time, let him know that you were no longer the owner of the bar you opened together. At that, Ivar panicked, his eyes wide open as he snapped his head towards his older brother. You simply signed a transfer contract, with Ubbe as the witness and five krone as the contingency, stating that you were returning the property to Lothbrok Inc., thus paying your debt to the family and releasing yourself from any ties to Ivar. He tried to soften the blow, letting him know that he didn’t know you gave him your share because you were leaving. He thought it was a rash decision that stemmed from seeing Ivar with a fiancée, that you’d come back and take back the business when you were ready. He promised he’d take care of the bar as well as you took care of it, that nothing would change under his management.

Ivar listened intently, motionless. His breathing was deep, yet steady. He never moved a muscle voluntarily, but his nostrils flared with every breath and his hand, hidden under the desk, shook incontrollably as he processed their words. His piercing gaze was focused on the oldest Aslaugsson, who was now relaxing and straightening his back as he regained his composure.

It felt like every action happened in slow motion, yet the blow came fast. In mere seconds, Ivar had propped himself forward from the chair, one of his hands grabbing the jacket Ubbe was wearing while the other, contracted in a fist, made contact with his right cheek. That is when Bjorn, who had been silent during the whole exchange, stepped in, grabbing the torso of his youngest brother as he struggled to keep himself standing, making sure he didn’t hurt himself.

Sometimes, Ivar still hears his own screams.

“YOU TOOK HER FROM ME!” Ivar accused, eyes absent of tears but voice cracking at the end of the sentence. “SHEWAS GOING TO STAY,” He roared, fists swinging towards his brother’s face. “AND YOU FUCKING TOOK HER FROM ME!”

He lost it that night. The screams he released came from the depths of his sorrow, his eyes only registering red while all his nerves could only feel the desperation taking over his soul. Ivar kept trying to reach Ubbe, unaware of how he repeatedly banged his legs against the desk as Bjorn tried to pin him down. 

But what started as a justified outburst gradually led to nonsensical, rage-filled accusations.

“You wanted to fuck her, didn’t you? You wanted her and you couldn’t stand the fact that she chose ME!” Ivar recriminated, grabbing a sharp glass ornament and throwing it to his brother. Ubbe pursed his lips, dodging the improvised weapon. “You did this to get back at me, hmm? YOU WANT ALL I HAVE, DON’T YOU?” He seethed, eyes and mouth wide open, exposing his teeth like a menacing predator as he let out a guttural laugh.

Bjorn was having a difficult time restraining him. Years relying on his upper body strength gave Ivar the advantage of resilience amongst his biggest sibling, while Bjorn struggled to keep him in place. Ivar managed to grab the second glass ornament, throwing it as he shrieked.

“DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?” his voice boomed in the room, palm pounding his chest as his free hand signaled the whole place. “YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME, I AM IVAR LOTHBROK! YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME!” Ivar kept shouting, cursing as he spat towards Ubbe.

Hvitserk stepped forward, having seen enough, ready to take on his little brother. To his surprise, Ubbe halted him, his arm creating a barrier between Hvitserk and Ivar as he observed with intent and horror etched on his face.

That night, Ivar lost the little progress he made. He broke his femur, dignity left behind as an ambulance carried him to the emergency room.

As if that wasn’t enough, he lost another family member to Lagertha that night.

With a reedy voice as he laid down in the hospital bed, he asked Ubbe one thing:

“Bring her back.” He whispered, his eyes stuck in the ceiling, pretty certain that if he laid his eyes on his brother, he would kill him. “She is working for Lothbrok Inc. now. Bring her back.” His request was met with silence. “That’s an order.” He swallowed, nostrils flaring with each ticking second.

“I’m sorry, Ivar.” Ubbe mumbled. “The Sigurðdóttir Trust is out of your reach.” He reminded him, reopening a wound that Ivar closed not so long ago. “That’s what mother wished.” Ivar snapped his head at the mention of his beloved mother. The brim of his eyes were red like his sclera, a menacing gaze stabbing his brother as Ivar grabbed his wrist.

“You have three days to gather your stuff and leave Lothbrok Inc.” Ivar seethed as he moved his face closer to his brother. “If you’re not gone after that, I will make sure you’ll leave the premises crawling like I crawled as a child.” Ivar swore, releasing his wrist as he let his head drop back to the sterile pillow.

Up to this day, Ivar still saw Ubbe’s action as a huge betrayal. He knew his older brother would return to his life as the new addition of Lagertha’s legal team, Bjorn granted his little brother this little backup plan.

Tonight, his thoughts weighted a little heavier. His eyes scanned the city before focusing on his bedroom, where he finds the clothes he wore today discarded on the leather chair. Behind him, his wife slept peacefully, her baby bumb protuding more and more each passing day. His legs were alright, but with the absence of physical pain he could sense his yearning looming over his head.

Ivar sighs and stands up silently, his bare feet and metallic support dragging on the tiles as he moved to his home office.

Dr. Nielsen taught him the importance of adapted emotional releases. She actively discouraged Ivar from indulging in his impulses and told him to write them down instead. For business meetings, Ivar was told to count until 10, 20 or even 30 if he was encountered with bad news. When it came to personal affairs, Dr. Nielsen told him to write letters addressed to the pertinent subject. Ivar could write them and discard them, write them and take them to therapy or he could write them and send them to the addressee. 

It wasn’t the most effective exercise, but it kept his flame at bay. He needed to learn to do that, now that he knew he had a little one coming soon.

Sometimes he wrote to his mother, asking her questions about ruling an empire he wished he had the answer to. Those he kept, as a tool to reflect later on when his ambition peaked. The more emotional ones he’d take to Dr. Nielsen, a proof of his progress on his journey to… normalcy. The ones he wrote to Sigurd, those he threw away. In those pages filled with guilt and rage, he found himself cornered in a bleak past that seemed to refuse to let him go.

Tonight, he thought about you.

It wasn’t like you weren’t a constant presence in his mind, like an annoying tenant in his brain that refused to leave or pay rent. Ivar just chose to remember the best parts of you, those who could be found at the bar you owned, or on his bed when Freydis left him for the night. If he kept you alive that way, he would also keep alive that part of him he thought he lost. You were inevitable, like the pain after a blow or the kiss after a reencounter.

He wishes he could blame you. For leaving, for stepping outside the gala without waiting for your dance. For silently giving away your shares to Hvitserk, who the only thing he knew about bars was how to empty the alcohol pantry. But there is a part of him that cannot physically repulse you.

Ivar sits down and turns on the desk lamp in front of him. He finds his precious pen and puts a piece of paper on the desk. Before starting, he hesitates.

Dear (Y/n),

He groans, crossing the two words with disdain.

Hello.

“Hello?” Ivar shakes his head, crossing the word again.

Hi, princess.

Ivar cringes. No.

Frustrated, he discards the paper. He had done it before. Why was it so hard to do it all over again now?

Just… Jump right in. Start from the beginning, start from the middle, start from the end if you prefer. He recalls the advice of his therapist. Sometimes, formalities are overrated.It may help when you have nothing to say, but it becomes a burden when you got too much to say. Ivar reflected. 

And so he did.

Every night I drive through the streets of Kattegat I find myself looking for you wandering around, looking for me to give you a lift, for the memory of our first reencounters were the ones that helped us find redemption.

It is weird, but I still have the need to find you even though I know you are no longer here. The idea of you lives in my head, that I am sure of. The feel of you, that is what I miss.

I guess part of me feels like I still need to apologise for something that I’ve done.

At the sight of his words written on paper, Ivar blinks. He never consciously thought much more ahead of his negations, his feelings dictating the perspectives he kept imposing to his reality.

He sacrificed so much for you. He tried to change for you. He went to therapy, he learned to walk. Ivar tried to become the right man for you, he really tried. 

He wished you were there to see it.

Ivar doesn’t really know what he did wrong. All he knows is…

And now that you’re gone for good, 

He shakes his head, crossing the last two words.

all I wish for is to be in the wrong this time.

Ivar huffs in frustration.

I wish I had been selfish, I wish I was the old Ivar. I wish I had begged you to stay, to manage this empire I never chos- by my side.

I know you would have never wanted this.

But I know you would have never said no to us.

Mindlessly, Ivar puts his pen in his mouth, a subconscious tick he developped not-so recently. Passing his hands through his hair, he sighed.

I started to smoke. He confessed. I know you never liked the smell, how it clings to my clothes, my mouth, how it lingered around the house when my brothers decided to have one one in their rooms. Ivar snorts at the memory. Not that you’re here to tell me off. 

Freydis has been buying candles, they’re all around the house now. The smell of the cigarettes blends with the essences and I technically get to have fire dispensers in every single room.

“Maybe I’m waiting for you to magically show up and tell me to fuck off.” He whispers.

Suddenly, Ivar shakes his head, as if the physical gesture cleared his mind.

I guess I’ll have to stop soon, I have a baby on the way. He releases an airy laugh as he re-reads what he just wrote. Who would have thought, (Y/n)? A baby. Me. Your Ivar.

The young Ragnarsson lets out a tired sigh, strenghening his grip on the metalling pen as he mindlessly tapped on the crystal desk. With resigned resolution, he decides to write his last lines, telling himself that he is finally starting to accept reality.

I know you’re not going to come back. Not to the place we grew up at, at least.

If you ever do, I just want to let you know, as sappy as it may sound, that my heart will always be open for you, even when my arms are not.

I miss you.

I miss us.

Take care,

Ivar.

Dropping the pen, Ivar stares at his letter. His hands blindly search for an envelope, a frown etched on his face until his fingertips brush against the soft surface of the letter. You don’t know, but he found your new address. He searched around Ubbe’s old files.

With a careful manner, Ivar writes down your address on the envelope. 

He stands up, walks to his living room and grabs a jacket as he makes his way to the exit.

All of the sudden he stops right on his tracks, his free hand almost reaching to the door handle. Freydis seemed to have forgotten to put out a lone candle, a tiny fragrance dispenser resting on the entrance drawer.

Ivar may not be aware of a lot of things in life, but one thing he was certain of: smoke traveled faster than mail.

His hand was trembling slightly, but it managed to follow his instructions. With a swift move, Ivar positioned the ephemeral piece of paper on the fire, watching intently how the flames consumed his words and took them to you. Discreetly, he threw the burning letter in the empty bin, the lid cutting short the trail of smoke escaping from the container.

He makes sure ashes are all what it remains from his indecent confession and makes his way back to the bedroom. Slowly but steadily, Ivar returns to bed, nesting himself between the sheets before holding his beloved wife in his embrace.

Tonight, he was human. Tomorrow, he’ll have to be a God.

The end.

Taglist:

Note: This is the old taglist I have noted from my past Ivar ficts. Please let me know if you want to be removed or added by sending an ask here. 

@aesstheticallypleasing@captstefanbrandt@unicornbaby741@fuckthatfeeling@huffelpuffers@yannii04 @collecting-stories @timber3@darkwolfpeanutskeleton@vampsclassiffied@lenafarn@yourpurplequeen​@youbloodymadgenius​@lettersofwrittencollective​