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Read the previous:Expo,Part 1,Part 2,

Tags:

@youbloodymadgenius​,@poisonous00,@youaremyfamiliar,@castielsangelsx,@lol-haha-joke

TW: NSFW, execution. 

Ivar seemed to be taking his sweet time as the scenario unfolded before him. His face was almost expressionless, nonchalant, showing little to no emotion in those deep ocean eyes. They altered between the nun’s almost naked body and Erik’s terrified face - the man looked like he was staring at the angel of death right in the face.

But under the surface Ivar wasn’t as calm as he’d portrayed himself to be. Underneath the surface he was seething. Someone was trying to steal his beloved and most precious prize. Because that’s all she was to him, right? A tiny voice inquired in his head. Just a prize. A means to an end. A tiny lapdog or a lamb he could drag around on a leash, to keep him entertained when he was bored. No, Y/N was not just that - and Ivar has been lying to himself for quite some time now. 

Granted, he liked the stories. The tales about the Christian god and all the miracles he performed. His heathen heart sped up just a tad bit in her presence when he felt the strength of her belief whenever she clutched onto the simple wooden cross hanging from her neck. He allowed it because however insignificant this little piece of wood was - to her it seemed priceless. More precious than any piece of silver and gold they robbed from the temples. 

“I’m going to make an example out of you, Erik.” Ivar said eventually, his tone deceptively even. Almost musical. “Get up. Y/N. Get up.” he prompted the nun. An expression of sheer horror flashed across his face, but the warrior did not speak. “Walk out. Walk out now.” Ivar instructed, and Erik obeyed without another world, looking every bit like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

“Fix yourself, nun. Then join us. You should see this too.” Ivar said without even taking his eyes off of his new prey.

Y/N adjusted herself shakily, covering every bit of skin that was revealed to the lecherous man that was about to meet his ruthless end soon, for his crime. A part of her almost pitied him because overtime, she had learned to know Ivar and what he could be like when someone had tried to take away his toy. The thought that she was merely a toy to him hurt, a lot. But she had a feeling it was going to hurt Erik much much more.

By the time Y/N walked out, joining the roaring crowd outside, she could spot Ivar standing in the middle of the circle. His men stood behind him and Erik was kneeling on the floor. She had heard of the blood eagle before - terrifying tales of betrayal never going unpunished. Of lungs being pulled out and spines exposed, left out to freeze all night - only to be snapped like a twig at the crack of dawn. 

At first she couldn’t see too well, but Ivar’s hands were clearly preoccupied. She could see his face though. And his face wore an expression of great effort. The closer she grew, the more she could hear. The sound of cracking bones over the laughter and cheering of the people was barely audible at first. But once her eyes registered the sight before her - it was all she could hear.

Ivar was removing Erik’s fingers one by one. With each finger he tore off, another roar of agony pierced the cold night air. He threw them into a pile at Y/N’s feet without even looking at her. How strange. It was almost like he could sense her presence, somehow. 

Erik fell forward, the snow around him now stained crimson red. He sobbed, his long hair hiding a good portion of his face. “Good god.” Y/N’s voice betrayed her just when Ivar’s eyes found hers. All these contradicting emotions were raging inside her. Horror. Gratitude. Disgust. Mercy. Anger. 

Ivar’s eyes are hollow as he tears them away from her, raising his bloodied hands as if he was intending to hug his blood-thirsty crowd. They’re cheering for him. They love their fearless leader. 

He smiles for a split second. Revealing his lovely pearly whites that she’s learned to appreciate over time. But she knows his charm is just a beautiful mask. He is a killer.“Let every man, woman and child in Kattegat know!” He roared out of the blue, catching his crowd off guard. “This is the price you pay for trying to steal what is mine. And Erik’s end is nowhere near, although I’m sure he wishes it to be.” Ivar announced, stepping closer to the fingerless man bleeding on the ground.

“By the time I will be done with him, he will beg for death.”

At one point Y/N looks away, but Ivar makes her watch. His roar is more than enough to let her know he means business. So she continues to watch as Erik transforms into…something she can barely recognize. 

When his voice finally dies down every tear on Y/N’s face has dried off. His soul, as she believed, left his body - and all that was left behind was an exceptionally messy meat suit. The thought makes her want to hurl.

Once the crowd is dispersed Ivar takes Y/N’S hand, leading her back into the hall and through his bedroom. A slave girl soon rushes over with water and clothes. Noticing the cleaning tools, Y/N turns to look at Ivar, only to realize there is blood everywhere - on his neck, his forearms, his chest. Ivar begins to remove his blood-splattered clothes and for a few moments he acts like she doesn’t exist, like he’s all alone. Y/N watches silently. 

Eventually he speaks. 

“I would like to know what you must be thinking of me right now, nun.” He says, and the way he expresses the word “nun” makes her uneasy. Clearing her throat, Y/N speaks. “I…am in awe. Speechless.” she admits. Ivar doesn’t seem happy. His expression is unreadable, blocked. 

“Have you got nothing to say?” he asks after a long moment, his eyes looking like hard pebbles. 

Eyeing the slavegirl, Y/N is uncomfortable, unwilling to speak freely. Ivar nods and eyes the girl as she intends to move closer to wash him. “Leave us.” he commands and the girl scurries away. 

“I’m grateful…but…executions aren’t something to be taken lightly in my world, Ivar.” Y/N explains. The thought of a life being taken so swiftly, so brutally. An entire lineage being cut off as if one had merely plucked a blade of grass. Nothing more.

“Yes, we’ve spoken of this before many times.” Ivar muses, then eyes the cloth and pot of water that was left beside his bed. He sits down and eyes Y/N wearily for a long moment before reaching out a hand.

“Come closer Y/N. Help me wash away my sins.”

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​