𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 (𝟏/𝟓)

Mine •Ivar The Boneless•

She was only 16 when Ragnar had come with his cripple son, Ivar, to their gates. She had been forbidden by her father, Athelwulf, from interacting with either of the heathens. Being his only daughter, bastard or not, meant he was overprotective of her much to Judith's annoyance. He paid more attention to her and doted on her more than his sons. And this only served to deepen the Crack in his and Judith's relationship. It fueled Judith's hatred for her as well. But Skylark didn't listen to her father. She often snuck down into the dungeons to see the crippled boy. At first he was annoyed. What did the prim and proper little princess want to see and spend time with him for other than to gawk at his disability. But over time he was intrigued. The way she snuck around and rebelled. The way she was so eager to learn about vikings and his gods. And soon it turned into something more. Admiration? Love? He didn't know. All he knew is that it was with her that he learned he was infact a man, the same as his brothers. The night before he was to be sent back home, he had laid with her, taking her innocence without guilt. But it had only made him that much lonelier when he arrived back at kattegat to the news of his mother's death. But soon loneliness gave way to rage and she was just another fleeting though to him on his way to revenge and glory.

He was happy with Freydis, the slave he'd freed in York. She whispered sweet nothings in his ear and told him he was a god. That his legs made him so. That Odin himself favored him and he could do anything. And he believed her. He loved her. She was his everything. She was going to be his queen. So when he'd led the attack on Winchester, it was her that fueled him. Her and his revenge. He would give her the world. But when the city was found empty and the old King Ecbert rose from his Throne with a tired look on his face, he felt his rage bubble. This was supposed to be a glorious battle to apprehend the betrayer of his father. Not this. This was too easy for Ivar. So as the brothers argued over what to do with him, they almost missed the painful screams that echoed in the west wing. Almost. The brothers looked between them before Bjorn and Hvitserk took off towards the sound. And he watched Ecbert's face turn white with fear. He smiled viciously. The old man was hiding something he wanted them to not find out about.

When Bjorn and Hvitserk kicked open the large wooden door, they took in the sight before them and Bjorn shuddered. The maids in the room only spared them a glance before going back to work. "Please princess. He's almost here! You have to push." Bjorn pushed Hvitserk. "Go and get Ivar. Now!" He said sternly as he did the math in his head. This was a disaster. He knew his little brother to be irresponsible. But never in his right mind did he think ivar capable of this. No one did infact which the rumors that the thrall, Margarethe, had spread about him. But there was no denying it as he watched the princess sprawled upon the giant bed, legs up and bent, her white blonde hair slick with sweat and sticking to her forehead, her face scrunched up in pain as she sobbed, her belly protruding with the telltale signs of child. This was Ivars child. His son.

"What is the meaning of this? Surely it's nothing so important that you-" his words died in his throat at the pain filled scream of agony that broke throught the door where his brother was standing guard. And he knew who it belonged to. Bjorn lowered his head and winced at the sound. He moved quickly, shoving Bjorn out of the way and slamming the door open. He sagged against the wall at the sight he saw. "Princess. Once more. You can do this." "I cant. I can't." She sobbed and begged. "Yes. You must. For your son." The maid whispered. That seemed to fuel her as she braced herself on her forearms and pushed with a yell that was soon met with the cry of a newly born infant. "He's here princess!" Ivar was frozen in shock as he watched. He watched her sag back into the bed with relief and watched the maids pass him warily with a baby boy. Brunette, Thick, hair covered his head and he wailed with strong lungs as they cleaned him off and wrapped him up, handing him off to the woman in the bed. And it was then that he broke his trance, moving over to the bed, his crutch thumping as he moved, the maids stepping back as he took a seat on the edge of the matress, staring at the bundle in his once lovers arms. "Ivar?" She asked quietly and in disbelief. Through her pain she hadn't known he was even there. And she felt a sinking feeling at what it all meant. "Hes..he's my-?" He asked, his voice cracking as tears filled his eyes. "Yes. You're the only man I've laid with." She quietly admitted. He took another minute before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You've given me a son." He whispered in disbelief and awe. She stayed silent. "May i?" He asked her hesitantly. She gave a weak smile before fixing his arms and carefully handing him the babe. He looked down at his son with awe and love. He was a father. Something he never thought he'd ever be. And when his son opened his eyes, those bright blue orbs stared into his soul. "Elias Ivarsson." He whispered. And Skylark smiled softly. "Its fitting." She replied. He looked back to her, a gentle look in his eyes as he leaned forward to capture her lips in his own softly. Freydis forgotten instantly in the presence of his first love and their new son.

He sat upon Ecbert's Throne with a glare at the man infront of him and his brothers. "Im just curious as to what you thought would happen by trying to keep my son from me?" He finally broke the shocked silence. But the man only sighed and rubbed his wrinkled and rough face. "Forgive me Ivar. But the things I've heard about you are not pleasant. Your hatred for us Saxons especially. You cannot blame me for wanting to protect my family." He said and Ivar went ridgid in his seat. "I would NEVER hurt them." He growled. "Yes. You say that. But your reputation says otherwise." Ecbert retorts. Ivars face went livid and Ubbe intervened. "Enough. What's done is done. Ivar you have a son now. And Ecbert's death looms. Let us focus on that huh?" Ivar said nothing but his glare said this was not over.

He walked slowly with her through camp, holding her arm in his as she winced at the movement, their son in her arms, two of his men carrying her trunk behind them. He was reluctant to make her do such exercise days after giving birth for fear of hurting her further, but his brothers had insisted they needed to move. So he had padded the floor of his chariot with a pile of furs and had her sit in the nook infront of his bench before they took off and traveled. He made sure she was well fed and watered and wanted for nothing as they made their way back to camp. The same for his son. And before they'd left he had ordered a few men to ride ahead and make sure Freydis was no longer in his tent when they arrived. For he realised now that her manipulative ways were not something he longed for anymore. The gods had given him a gift. And he wasn't going to spit on it. He gently led her into the large tent and helped her to sit down on the bed. "Rest now." He said watching her body weaken against the furs. "I'll be back soon." He kissed her forehead and his sons before exiting the tent once more.

"Ivar." The soft bell like voice of Freydis called out to him as he reclined on the Throne like chair. "Freydis. I am busy." He muttered annoyed with her presence. "My love. Too busy for me?" She asked as she climbed upon his lap. "Freydis. I have a son now. The gods have smiled upon me and gifted me with a son and a queen worthy of me. I do not have time for you and your manipulative ways any longer." He growled. She frowned. "Can you not take two wives my love? Surely the gods will not be mad that such a man as yourself should need two. You are more than worthy." She said peppering his jaw with kisses. "Freydis!" He shouted in anger and shoved her off his lap and to the stone floor. She let out a whimper as she hit the stone. "If you touch me one more time or make such comments again, I shall ensure your head on a spike to gift to my wife. Do I make myself clear?" He growled harshly. She looked up at him with shock and crocodile tears in her eyes. "But-" "No! And you are forbidden from ever entering kattegat! Do you hear me?! I will have you burned at the stake should you ever step foot in my kingdom! Now get out!" He roared. And she ran as if hel herself was biting at her heels. He let out a deep breath and calmed himself. He would not return to his wife and son angry. Especially not over some useless woman he cared nothing about.

She sat on the Throne beside him with a grace and gentleness that was glaring in compare to his lazy and arrogant form in his own Throne. He despised court. Truly. Most of these matters were common sense and intervention was not needed. And there was little more he hated than wasting his time and stupid people. And court only held both of those. Skylark placed a small hand on his arm and he looked over to her as she faced the men arguing over farmland. He took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to it as she smiled softly at him breifly before returning her attention to the matter at hand. "Ok. So then you will both split the land 50/50 between the two of you." She announced finality in her voice. "But my queen-" "Are you questioning your queens declaration?!" He growled. Silence before "No my king." The man answered both scared and deflated. "Then get out! You have been given your answer!" He said angrily and glared harshly, sending the men almost running out of the great hall. He sighed in annoyance. "My love. You must be patient." She soothed as she stroked his arm. "How can I be? These problems are problems children could solve! It's a waste of our time!" She smiled gently. "Oh? And what would you rather be doing then?" She asked. "Spending time with our son, you?" He gave her a wolfish grin and she laughed softly. "There is plenty of time for the former my love. As for your son I think he's too attached to his uncle Hvisterks side at the moment." She said and he rolled his eyes. Hvitserk had always been Elias' favorite uncle. Especially when Hvitserk took him out to play with the wooden swords and ride his horse. It's all he would go on about now at 5 years old. And Ivar couldn't help but to feel jealous of his brother. Elias was his son. But he wanted to spend time with Hvitserk instead. He would be lying if he said it didn't hurt that he couldnt do the things Hvitserk did with him. But he had to remind himself that the boy didn't know that. He only knew that with Hvitserk he had fun. And what little child didn't want to have fun all the time? He sighed. Skylark took her husband's hands in her own, noticing his deflation in mood. "My love. I have something that might cheer you." She said. "Hmm? What's that?" She smiled and brought a hand to her stomach and his eyes blew wide. "You mean it?! When?!" "This morning. The healers confirmed it. She said I'm about a month now." She smiled. He hooked a hand around her neck and pressed his lips to hers. "I love you. You know that?" Pressing his forehead against hers. "I thank the gods every day for you and Elias. And now this little one as well." She smiled as she gazed into his bright blue orbs. "I love you too." "You're mine." "Forever." She agreed with a serene smile.

Angela Tellier, Willie’s Adventure.

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If you don’t reblog this, that ghost will come into your room.

and kill you.

The Heartbreak •Ivar The Boneless Modern AU•

Warning: ANGST!

She had met him through Sigurd. Sigurd was her producer for her music and was a good friend. She wished she had never agreed to attend a family party with Sigurd. She wished she never met HIM. Then her heart wouldn't be so broken and she wouldn't be so angry and hateful all the time. It truly wouldn't have been so bad an end to their relationship had he not have fucked HER behind her back whilst they were still together. If there was one thing she loathed it was cheaters. But she had been in love with him. And he swore he'd always felt the same until SHE came along. Freydis. Even thinking the name sent a surge of hatred and rage through her that she didn't know how to control. She hadn't thought anything of it when she moved in next to Ivar and Ivar became friendly. Super friendly. And Freydis was only too happy to flirt along with him. But she wasn't insecure and she had faith in her boyfriend not to cross a line he knew he couldn't come back from. What a mistake that was. No. But he started pulling away from her. Cancelling plans, not calling or texting, and she should've seen it as the giant red flag that it was. But she gave him his space. She knew Ivar wasn't good about showing affection or being consistent. It was something he said he was working on. But when Hvitserk posted those Instagram pictures and videos of Ivar and Freydis in the club after Ivar had canceled their date night because 'his legs hurt too bad.' Was when she withdrew. The truth had hit her in the face and she spent that night a sobbing mess in her bathroom with her new best friend smirnoff. She drank until she couldn't even think a coherent thought, and then she kept going. She was a mess the next morning. But she shut down completely when Sigurd showed up that morning with that stone faced look on his face and proceeded to Embrace her and hold her as if she was gonna disappear. That's when she knew something was truly wrong. She asked him what was going on and he simply showed her the screenshot of a text Ivar had sent to Hvitserk who then had sent it to Sigurd. "Freydis is pregnant. I'm gonna be a father." She had pushed Sigurd away from her and suddenly lashed out, throwing anything she could get her hands on and screaming in rage. Sigurd had stood silently and watched her let it all out until she had dissolved into heart wrenching sobs and then he has embraced her again and spent the rest of the night holding her as she silently withdrew into herself. And all the while, Ivar was radio silent.

It was a week later before her ex boyfriend had even attempted to make contact. She ignored all his attempts. 25 missed calls and a few texts asking to talk. The texts were what set her off. She sent him one last text. "Go fuck yourself. Hope she was worth it." And he had called a further 10 more times before he realized she wasn't going to answer and he just stopped altogether. From that day on he never tried to talk to her again and she proceeded to delete him and his family, save Sigurd who hated his guts just as much as she did, from all social media and blocked their numbers as well. She had trusted Ivar despite her hard time with trusting others and he took that trust and spit on it whilst ripping out her closely guarded heart and stomping on it until it was barely beating. Sigurd stayed by her side through her healing and helped her as best he could. But she went through truly dark times before she could even think about healing. She had developed a drinking problem which had resulted in Sigurd forcing her into rehab. And it had helped her immensely to see that she wasn't the problem. She wasn't the one that should be hurting. And so she took the step to attend therapy all the while Sigurd was cheering her on on the sidelines and she began to let out her rage in her music. Which topped the charts and only fueled her more. Her hurt had turned into her success. And whilst she was better now, still angry and hateful deep inside but no longer volatile, it had changed her. She guarded her heart even more, didn't trust anyone, didn't date, wasn't interested in relationships, she was done with love. It had scarred her too many times and Ivar was the last straw. And the media knew something bad had happened. They didn't know what. But they were great detectives. And it wasn't long after the whole ordeal that gossip sites and fans were talking about how her ex boyfriend had fucked another woman behind her back and gotten her pregnant. And she was right back into that depression when photos of the two backstabbers were posted along with the articles. Her shiny new ring and pregant belly were enough to undo the progress she had made. But Sigurd had quickly diverted their attention by announcing her nomination for a VMA at the upcoming award show a few months away, along with the news of a new album and an early release of one of the songs on that album. And that was enough to end the attention Freydis and Ivar were paid. And then they went to work on her again.

By the time the VMAs rolled around she had a solid grip on herself and her feelings and promised herself she would shed no more tears for the man that didn't deserve it. She had won that award and headed to the after party with Sigurd in high spirits. They had been there for a while before she saw him. Sigurd had tried his best to intercept him and Hvitserk before they both split off into the crowd and Ivar disappeared causing Sigurd to lose him. She turned her back to him after they met eyes and politely ordered a water from the bartender who passed her a glass of ice water with a smile as she tipped him. But Ivar hadn't gotten the hint clearly because he stood beside her and ordered a drink before turning his attention to her. "We need to talk." She scoffed as she took a large gulp of her drink. "No. We dont. You had your time to talk. You chose to fuck another woman instead. You've made your choices quite clear." She said and moved to walk away. He gripped her arm. "Please." She put a bright smile on and turned back around, taking him by surprise. "Ok Ivar. Talk. I'll entertain you this once because quite frankly I'm intrigued by what you could possibly say to me to make me want to even give you a bit of space in my brain for even a fleeting thought of you." He winced and opened his mouth. "Freydis is pregnant yes." "Well no shit. If she wasn't I'd be seeing a doctor asap." She rolled her eyes. "Please. She lied. It's not mine." She let out an amused laugh. "Lose them how you catch them eh?" He rubbed a hand down his face. "Lils-" "don't call me that. You lost that privilege. We are not friends. We are nothing. You made sure of that. Had you come to me and said that you no longer loved me rather than cheating on me, we maybe could've been. You have no one to blame but yourself Ivar. No one." She said sternly. She watched him deflate. "I DO love you." He said quietly. "You have a strange way of showing it. Let me make this clear, I feel NOTHING for you. Even my rage has depleted. You knew how hard it was to even give you a chance. You knew how guarded I was. And you not only begged me to give you a chance against my better judgment, you swore you would NEVER hurt me like others did. You swore you weren't that person. And then you did EXACTLY what you swore to me you wouldn't. You tore my heart from my chest after you mended it and you spit on it and stomped on it until it was dead. And the worst part was you didn't even have the balls to tell me what you did yourself. Sigurd did. You waited a WEEK after what you did to even bother to call me. You are nothing to me Ivar. You brought the worst out in me after that. And I have overcome all the demons and darkness that you left me with. So you don't get to come to me now that I'm finally better and moved on and pretend that what you did wasn't the worst thing anyone could do to someone they claimed to love and try and gain my sympathy that your situation didn't work out for you. You don't deserve it. Do not call me. Do not text me. Do not even look at me. Do you understand me? I want nothing to do with you. Go find someone else to fuck over." She said and slammed her glass on the bar beside him before pulling her arm from his grip and storming off towards Sigurd. She felt a weight come off her shoulders. There it was. The closure she needed. She said all she had been wanting to. All that had been bottled up. And it was time to wash her hands of it. "You ok?" Sigurd asked worried. But a dazzling smile overtook his best friends face and he relaxed, returning a small one. "Better than OK. Let get out of here and go get some greasy food from a sketchy place that will end up being the best thing we've ever tasted." He chuckled and offered his arm which she immediately took. "Sold. Let's go." Back at the bar Hvitserk patted a teary eyed Ivar. "You'll always be my brother but you fucked up big time and there's no coming back from it." He said softly. Ivar quickly wiped the falling tears and gave a stiff nod.

The sister •Ivar The Boneless•

Ivar walked side by side with Katia through the markets of Kiev silently as she smiled and greeted each and every merchant she passed with her breathtaking smile. He had been obsessed with her from the moment he'd laid his eyes on her. She looked exactly like Freydis had. But there was a clear difference. Where there was manipulation and obsession in Freydis, there was Geniune love and admiration in Katia. She told him the truth always. Even when it was something he didn't want to hear. And whilst he knew that Katia did not love him, she'd told him so on many occasions, she did treat him with such. And it only kept him captivated with her. And whilst Oleg was annoyed with Ivar's attentions to his wife, he was also a wise man and knew that it only kept him by his side. So he allowed it begrudgingly. And Katia enjoyed Ivar's touch and love. It was gentle and all consuming. Unlike Oleg's rough taking whenever and wherever he'd like. He treated Katia like property and a means to and end. Ivar treated her like a Goddess and worshipped the very land she walked on. So she was a selfish creature who continued to indulge. But as they rounded the corner into the town square, her eyes zeroed in on the two figures in the middle of the crowd surrounding them, swords clashing as they tangled themselves in mock battle. She stopped frozen in shock and Ivar only furrowed his brows as he stopped beside her. "Something the matter?" He asked. She took a deep breath and composed herself quickly, that serene smile finding its home back on her face. "No. No. Just surprised as all." She said still watching the two figures as the small one ducked under the larger ones sword at the last moment and swept their foot under the others, sending them flying into the dirt with a yell of pain and sending their sword flying out of reach. the small one pounced onto their opponents back, holding a dagger to the large ones throat and muttering something quickly causing them to cry out as their head was yanked back by the hair so the dagger had a clear place to rest at their throat. "I yield!" The small one let go roughly and jumped up, grabbing the discarded sword and sheathing it quickly as the gathered crowd cheered loudly. "You know them?" Katia gave him a coy look before making her way over to them. He followed after, the thumping of his crutch alerting the crowd who quickly parted for the two. "Sister!" Katia greeted happily and threw her arms around the woman who tensed under the touch as if it personally burned her. "Katia." She said stiffly. Katia only giggled as she pulled away. "Im sorry. I forgot you do not like to be embraced. It's been such a long time." The woman only gave a stiff nod and eyed Ivar who stood side by side with Katia as her equal. "This is Ivar Ragnarsson. He is Oleg's special guest here in Kiev." She said placing a gentle hand on Ivar's arm which made him blush instantly. The woman narrowed her eyes at the action and gave him a stiff nod as well. "Ivar, this is my little sister Tatiana." He nodded back at her studying her. She was Lithe and muscled slightly. Still nothing like the sheildmaidens back home. She was quite small and short. Her hair was raven black like Katia's but as the sun shined on it, it had almost a blue hue to it, her eyes were a Grey like a winter sky, rather than blue like Katia's and she had a wary air about her. As if always on alert. She was truly like nothing he'd ever seen before. And he could feel a stirring of something within him.

As Ivar walked with Igor to the great hall for dinner, the boy talked with his puppets about anything and everything and Ivar laughed along with him at his impression of Oleg. But the puppets were quickly forgotten once they turned the corner and Igor spotted Tatiana. He threw them down and ran towards her with vigor. "TATI!" He yelled as he barreled into her at high speed causing her to grunt. He wrapped his arms around her middle and crushed himself to her despite them almost being the same height. She quickly wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Igor." She said softly. "I missed you!" The boy whined, almost sniffling as the fat tears rolled down his cheeks. "Shh. You're alright Igor. I'm here. And I've missed you too." She said soothingly. Ivar watched the two of them with a softeness in his eyes. He loved Igor as a son. And seeing him so affected by someone else was heartening to him. Igor had been stuck to him since they'd met. He'd been the only one the boy felt comfortable with. The only one he said he'd loved. And now he had someone else on his side. And Ivar was happy for the boy. It was clear he could trust Tatiana. And he debated telling Tatiana his plan now that he was witnessing what he was seeing. He tensed as Oleg entered and sneered at the scene. "Sit down boy! And stop your sniveling! You are a man! Act like one!" He shouted loudly. Which only caused Igors sniffles to turn to sobs as he clutched at Tatiana even harder. Which sent Oleg into a rage. He stormed over with his hand raised as to hit Igor but before Ivar could open his mouth, Igor was behind Tatiana, who's sword was now out and held to Olegs throat as he glared down into her eyes and swallowed thickly. Katia stood in the corner and watched the two of them face off with a look of worry on her face. She and Ivar locked eyes for only a few seconds in which she silently asked him to intervene. He took a step forward and Igor rushed to him, clutching onto his arm not holding his crutch, like it was a lifeline. "You dare to disrespect me in my own home Tatiana Volkov?" He spit. A smirk passed over the woman's lips. "I do. Oleg of Kiev. You will not touch another hair on that boys head as long as I live." "Things can be arranged." Oleg said nastily. Ivar quickly cleared his throat and Oleg backed up still eyeing the woman. She sheathed her sword and gave him one last glare before turning and stalking from the room. Oleg then turned his rage filled eyes towards Ivar and Igor. "Come. Dinner is served." He proclaimed before sitting down at the table. It was another moment before anyone else dared to move.

He watched her cut down man after man on the battle field with vigor, never slowing, never tiring, as if it was the easiest thing she'd ever been tasked with. If her steel armor did anything to slow her down, she didn't show it. She moved as if it weighed nothing even though he knew it was hefty and knew even the strongest of his men would complain about the load on their bodies. Blood ran down the shiny surfaces like rain dribbling off the leaves of the trees, only leaving a slight discoloration behind. Her black hair flew in the air with every move and force of strike from its high ponytail, the hair on the top of her scalp braided in to two wave like patterns, disappearing beneath the leather strap that held the rest of the straight and loose hair together as it spilled down her back. No one dared to come near Ivar on the battlefield, giving him a wide berth and choosing to fight his allies instead. A few brave men would approach and be quickly dispatched from the land of the living. Oleg was losing. And quickly. Anyone with eyes could see that. And the coward he was, he refused to fight with his army, preferring instead to sit upon his horse on top of a hill and watch the battle instead. And he could tell the man was not happy at all. It wasnt long before three horns in quick sucession were blown. The call to retreat. And the fighting ubruplty stopped, what was left of the Rus army retreating back the way they came. This time when he looked back at Tatiana, their eyes met. They regarded each other silently before Tatiana nodded at him and moved to disappear into their own army of men. She was truly a valkyrie.

That night when they'd come to the gates of Kiev, they were met with a single soldier. Swords were drawn but the man simply opened the gate and welcomed the army into their walls. His guard was up and so was Tatiana's. The two of them leading the army into the town's square where people were gathered and looking up at a tower to where Oleg stood, drunk and delivering a speech about God and loving thy neighbor. He scoffed loudly and Tatiana tightened her hold on her sword. Igor stepped beside the two of them and looked up at his uncle and his oppressor with a look of fear. Ivar handed him a bow and arrow after seeing it. "Its time for you to stop being a cripple. Eliminate that which holds you back." He said. Igor notched the bow and pulled the string back, suddenly calm. Oleg caught sight of him and called out. "NO! Igor! Not you!" But Igor only took a deep breath to steady himself and muttered "I am sorry." Before letting the arrow fly. It whizzed through the air and hit its Target, Olegs heart. And they watched as he gasped before collapsing. Tatiana gripped the boys shoulder in comfort and Ivar patted his back. Between the two of them, he stood strong and tall.

Katia watched the two of them from across the hall. Laughing and telling eachother tales of battle and drinking deeply from silver goblets of wine and ale. She smiled. She couldn't be happier seeing the two of them as close as they had become. She settled a hand on her belly as she observed. She would be taking over Olegs responsibility of ruling as regent as Igor was still too young to take his rightful place. And she was carrying an heir. Not Oleg's. No. Ivar's. And whilst she knew this would complicate things for her his and her sisters budding relationship, she would be honest with the both of them about what this meant. It didn't change anything for her and Ivar's relationship. It had been a convenient one. One of pleasure and admiration and nothing more. And whilst she would make sure everyone knew this child was Ivar's and that her child knew who their father was, she didn't want anything deeper with him. They did not love eachother. And she did not want another forced relationship like she'd had with Oleg. And she also didn't want to ruin her sisters happiness. Not when she'd finally found it after so long of being miserable and mistrusting. No. She would make her intentions very clear and hope it would not ruin anything. Because Katia didn't lie. And she wouldn't start now.

"Why are you both leaving me?! I don't understand!" Igor yelled as tears rolled down his face. Tatiana softly grabbed his cheeks and wiped them away as they fell. "It won't be forever little moon. We will come back. But there are things that Ivar and his brother must take care of and he's asked me to help them. Should I abandon them in their time of need?" She asked quietly. He sniffled and shook his head. "Then I must go." He shuddered as quiet sobs wracked him. "Swear to me!" He demanded. "Swear it on your sword!" She nodded to him "I swear it on my sword that I will return to you. We will return to you little moon." He crushed himself to her and she kissed his head as he soaked her dress with his tears. She looked at Ivar over his head with sadness and he returned a sad smile. It had to be done. No matter how much it was destroying them inside to leave.

It was done. Kattegat was won back. But Ivar The Boneless would not be the one sitting on the Throne. Hvitserk Ragnarsson would. Ivar The Boneless had been killed in the battle along with his wife Tatiana. Atleast that is what everyone thought. Should anyone dig up their graves in the English countryside, they would be empty. A ploy. And if anyone had looked close enough during the burial ceremony, they would've seen the knowing smile on King Alfred's face, small, but there as the night before he'd helped to smuggle the two out of England and back on their way to the Rus. He bowed his head in prayer as a sacrifice was made to the pagan gods. But he prayed for their safe return to where they would now call home. Not to the place they called Valhalla.

Igor raced out of the castle and towards Ivar and Tatianna as they dismounted their horse, her helping him to the ground and to steady himself. She barely turned when a force barreled into her at full force, nearly knocking her to the ground. She grunted loudly as she was clutched to a taller Igor. "You've gotten taller little moon." She said as she embraced him. He was nearly taller than her now at age 13. He only clutched her tighter to him. Ivar snorted from behind them. "What am I? Fish guts?" He jokingly taunted. Igor released her and immediately slammed into Ivar, Causing his knees to buckle slightly and he gripped the crutch tightly to keep himself from falling. He laughed and wrapped his free arm around the boys shoulders. "I've missed you both." Igor whispered. "We've missed you too, son." He said softly. Igor snapped his head up and looked at him with awe. "You mean it?!" He asked. "If you'll have us." Ivar replied with a smile. "Of course!" Igor replied squeezing Ivar tighter "Father." And then looking over to Tatiana. "Mother." She teared up happily for the first time in a very long time. "Come on you two. It's cold. Let's go inside. Don't want to catch our deaths hmm?" She asked. Igor let go of Ivar and began to lead them into the castle, talking happily and animatedly about everything they missed whilst they were gone. Ivar entwined their hands as they walked side by side behind Igor into their new and final home. "Oh and Katia will be happy to see you both! Alexei has been quite the handful! He's always into something!" Igor sprouted off. Tatianna snorted and looked to Ivar. "Hes definitely your son then!" Ivar raised a brow. "I would expect nothing less from any son of mine. Look at Igor." They both smiled and Igor turned to both of them with a grin that could rival the sun's rays. Yes. They were both home.

The Interview •Alex Høgh Andersen •

A/N: GhostOracle is based on the band JINJER. And this one is short.

Alex and Marco sat on the couch across from the interviewer on the other side of the small wooden table answering questions. "Ok so last question for Alex." He said with a grin. Alex smiled back. "Alright. Shoot." "A little birdy told me you have a celebrity crush. Care to elaborate?" Alex glanced over to Marco who was smirking. "I uh..yup. I do." He said and leaned into Marco who laughed. "Ok. Who is this celebrity? Do we know them?" Alex squeezed his eyes shut with a smile. "Oh God. Um maybe?" Marco laughed loudly. "Just say it! Stop stalling!" "Shut up. I know the little birds was you. Always spilling my secrets!" He said jokingly. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. "Alright. So Marco showed me this band whilst we were filming season 5. I'm not too into heavy metal music. I like rock music but the screaming usually gives me a headache and I try to avoid those at all costs. But Marco loves heavy metal music. So one day he convinced me to listen to one of his favorite bands, GhostOracle, and I do admit it's good. I was really confused at first because I was like "how is that sound coming from a woman?" All three men laugh before Alex continues. "But then I was like 'oh this is catchy.' It was stuck inside my head all day so when I went home I decided to listen to more and then I got curious so I looked them up and yeah." He cuts himself off. Marco claps his hand on his back. "No no no. Tell them what you told me. You texted me not long after." He laughed. Alex went red. "I uhhh. Texted Marco and said the frontwoman, Lilith, was beautiful." He cleared his throat. "With heart eye emoji! And he follows her on instagram and twitter. I see him smiling like an idiot at his phone anytime somethings posted." Marco cuts in. And Alex pushes his face into Marcos shoulder to hide. "Hey now. We know GhostOracle here! They are actually one of our favorites to interview. So I do agree with you Alex. Lilith is very beautiful. And kind too!" The interviewer said trying to lighten up the embarrassment Alex felt. Alex righted himself on the couch feeling a bit relieved. "That being said. We do have a surprise for you before you go! A thank you for letting us interview you!" Alex nodded thinking the situation was over with. Until "Hello boys. Nice to meet you!" He froze at the Ukrainian accented female voice he had come to know. Marco nodded at her whilst grinning and moved over so she could sit between the two of them. She took a seat and smiled. "You are Marco and you are Alex?" She asked. Marco nodded happily and Alex nodded whilst blushing. "Im Lilith! Vikings is actually my favorite show! So this is an honor for me!" The interviewer laughs. "And who's your favorite viking on the show?" She smiled. "Ivar. Hands down. I like the chaos. Who doesnt?" Alex turned red again. "You've heard Alex has a crush on you. What's do you think?" She laughed softly and Alex rubbed his face trying to hide. "I think he's not so bad himself." She raised a brow and shrugged with a soft smile. Marco laughed loudly. "Im like cupid man." She laughed with him whilst Alex just grinned embarrassed. "Well I think this all went very well. It's time to end the interview unfortunately but I think we ended on a great note. As for the two of you, I now ship you. So I hope everything works out!" The three laugh.

And it did infact work out. They stayed friends for a while before actually dating and eventually marrying. All because of Marco and an interview.

James delaney imagine #2

This imagine is inspired by the movie 'MERMAID DOWN'

James snapped his eyes open. His mother appeared to him in his vision. She seemed frantic, anxious. Not at all how she usually was. She kept pointing through the trees as if directing him. He stood and pulled on his poncho leaving the manor and climbing onto his horse, pushing it to move as fast as it could through the london streets and eventually into the forrest. Moving through the trees at lightening speed he stopped abruptly when he heard the high pitched inhuman sound that radiated agony and fear. He jumped from the horse and silently and quickly made his way through the trees. He stopped short at what he saw. A man had a woman...no. she was a siren. Hung upside down to a tree as he swung the axe he was holding back and let it go making contact with the sirens tail as if to cut it off at the base. She let out another high pitched sound. And another as he swung again. James was frozen. This is what his mother wanted from him. To save this creature. Though he didnt know why. He wouldn't question it. He stepped out of the trees just as the man made the final strike, severing the siren from hair tail. She let out one last scream before going silent. Though now severed in half he could see she was still alive. The man grabbed her arm and made to drag her off towards a cliff but was stopped but the click of james gun. "And just what do you think you're doing?" He asked sternly. The man turned toward him, axe raised. "Who are you?!" The man demanded. "Im james K delaney and I won't repeat myself." The man glared. "None of your business." He spat. James leveled the gun against the man's head. "Oh it very much is. You see, these are my forests. Therefore you have no business here in the first place. Let alone trying to slaughter the creatures that dwell in them." He said. The man spit at james feet and he pulled the trigger, blasting the man back in a bloody death. He then holstered the gun and moved towards the now tailess siren. He eyed the tail still strung up and dripping blood. And then the woman severed in half at the waist but still alive and breathing heavy in shock. He moved to the tail first and cut it down from the tree. He eyed her severed body. It was useless now. He picked it up and tossed it into the river before turning to her. He approached her slowly and she growled at him showing him her teeth in a defensive manor. He raised his hands in surrender. "Its alright. I am not going to hurt you." He said slowly taking off his poncho. He spread it wide and bent down towards her gently wrapping it around her and picking what was left of her up. It was like he already knew what to do. As he walked back towards his horse he slightly wondered what the hell his mother had gotten him into.

------------------

He had left her in the bathtub. It was the only place he could think of. She hadnt said a word to him since the weeks he'd kept her here. But she had grown legs. Which was something he hadn't been expecting. But he didnt say a word to her either. But as he went on caring for her he started to notice that she would use her hands to tell him things. Sign language he figured is what it was. She just didn't spell things. More like pointed to things and make gestures. He caught on and soon it was easy to communicate. And soon he had a bought a wheelchair so he could take her out of the house when he went. He didn't know what this siren was doing to him but he was attached. And he knew that. And james delaney never got attached to anyone.

-------------------------

He pushed the wheelchair down the london street. He got a lot of looks. James delaney. The one they called the devil pushing a wheelchair with a young attractive woman in it like it was the most normal thing he'd ever done in his life. They whispered and gawked as they passed. He ignored it and continued to push her along towards the docks where his business was. She was looking around in curiosity as they went. The dress he had taken from Lorna and dressed her in, too big on her frame but it would have to work for now. He approached the docks and leaned down to speak in her ear. "I have business to attend to. But once its done we can visit the lake in the forrest." He said quietly. She moved her head to look at him. He gave a small almost not there smile. She pointed to herself and then to the water surrounding the docks. And looked back at him. He nodded. "Yes." He confirmed. She turned her head back straight and looked at the water as they continued to get closer.

-------------

He watched her shove herself out of the wheelchair and into the dirt, pulling herself with her arms down the embankment into the lake with a splash. She leaned back into the water with a sigh of relief and closed her eyes. He watched her curiously as she became entranced in the water. And within a minute she was under the water and out of his sight. He straightened up and watched the water intently. He was just about to follow her when a black tail came out of the water and then dipped back in. He let out a small smirk. She had done it. She had healed. He had done as his mother had asked him. But he was also disappointed. She wouldn't be coming back with him that much was clear. She didn't need him anymore. But as her head peeked out of the water to look at him he understood that this wasnt the end. It was only the beginning

Your Grace Masterlist

Your Grace Playlist (by @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog)

This is the fic I wrote for the Vikings Big Bang❤️ You can also read it on AO3. 

*Please remember to check the warnings at the beginning of each chapter! It’s sometimes very explicit and of course +18, do not read if any of the topics I put in the warnings could be triggering for you. And please tell me if I didn’t warn about anything properly so I can add it. Thank you!

Part 1: forever winter

Part 2: king of my heart

Part 3: tolerate it

Part 4: exile

Part 5: hoax

Part 6: peace

Part 7: evermore

(this fic was originally published on AO3 on February 15th 2022)

the empress (II)

MY MASTERLIST | PART ONE

This fic is inspired by the Empress card of the Major Arcana of the Tarot

pairing(s): helmut zemo x reader

summary: So You're Babysitting Your Ex's Pet Villain: How to Demoralize Yourself in 8 Easy Steps

words: 5,666

warnings: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI), smut, this part has all the good shit, dom!reader, sub!zemo, unprotected sex (no stated use of contraception), oral sex, cunnilingus, praise kink, degradation kink, roleplay, mistress & servant type thing, exhibitionism, riding, the reader makes zemo her bitch

additional notes: this is the second part of my 12k+ word fic that needed to be broken into two separate posts because it exceeded the word limit by A Lot. It is posted on AO3 in its original format, as a single chapter fic.

taglist blog: @rosemareblogs

.VII.

You don’t sleep that night.

You could blame the alcohol. Or, you could blame the screaming fire in your core, trying to pull you off your bed, out the door and down the hall to where you know the Baron lies in his own bedroom, probably half naked and wonderfully upright.

You slip in and out of consciousness, but never truly give in to the other side of sleep. It’s too hot beneath the sheets. You can hear Bruno’s asthmatic wheezing at the foot of the bed, and it seems like it’s booming throughout the cavern of the master bedroom.

When you rouse early in the morning to let the dog limp out of the room and down the hall, the alcohol hasn’t entirely worked its way out of your system, and has left you with the disorientation of a mild hangover. You’re not stumbling, but you’re parched, and so ravenous that the emptiness of your stomach lends itself to nausea.

Your movements are jerky and a little bit too slow as you move through the kitchen. By the time you rip open a fresh package of bacon, the pain in your stomach is so strong you think you might kill someone.

And that’s precisely when Artemis comes trundling into the kitchen, howling like she’s being tortured.

She hops onto the counter to investigate what you’re doing as you begin slicing the cuts of bacon, a frying pan already heating on the stove. She butts at your hand to try and get at the fragrant meat, giving you an indignant, “MRROW.”

You affect an unamused glare. “What, you think you’re the only horny one in this house?”

“May I offer some assistance?” comes the Baron’s voice.

Your ears start to ring with the rush of blood to your head as you turn to find Zemo standing two feet from you with a coy smirk on his face, holding a glass of water. When you blink at him, he opens his palm and gestures for you to give him the knife in exchange for the water.

You take the glass, and press the flat of the blade into his outstretched palm. He wordlessly nudges you to the side and begins to slice the bacon with such quick, careful precision that the fluid motion mesmerizes you for a second.

As you sip the water, your eyes follow the line of his hand up to his strong forearm, bared to you by his rolled sleeves, and further up until your eyes settle on his face. The scratches on his cheekbone are still bright red, but seem to have sealed up in the night.

The flapping of wings at the window heralds Dodie’s arrival, and you snatch up a piece of the raw bacon before Zemo can manage to cut it. The raven titters at you as you hold the scrap out to it, and you nudge your knuckle affectionately against its plumage. “Good morning, my love.”

You hear Zemo’s meditative hum from behind you. “So that’s who you presume to be meant for love.”

“Please, Baron. Animals are innocent souls,” you tell him easily as you stroke the raven’s beak. “They’re all worthy of love.”

“Whatever happened to ‘Helmut?’”

You pause as Dodie takes flight, feeling your blood humming through your veins with such a fever you think you may be turning red. His voice is quiet, much like it had been when he first spotted Nerissa, like he might not have meant for you to hear him say it.

But you turn to him, and he’s not looking at the stove or the knife, or anything else. He’s looking at you.

“Do you want me to call you ‘Helmut?’”

He considers you for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning you with growing warmth, like you can see a fire being lit within his irises. But then they go cold, and they drop to the stove without warning.

“What I want makes no difference,” he states with clinical detachment. “Perhaps it is best that you call me ‘Baron.’”

“Why is that?”

“Because, I made a promise to James,” he explains, and his voice has garnered a rough edge. “A promise that he told me to remember.”

Bucky’s parting snarl rings through your mind. ‘You remember what I told you, right?’

“What was that promise?”

“That I would remain a stranger to you.” He continues to conduct himself about the stove, tossing the bacon as if the conversation is of little importance to him. “And that if I don’t, it is with the understanding that he will, and I quote, ‘cut off my balls and use them as a hacky sack.’”

A litany of emotions bombard you at once, freezing you in space without any way to reply. First comes flattery, at the fact that Bucky still feels protective of you in some regard. Second, anger, because it’s not his place to be protective of you when he didn’t want to remain with you.

And third, frustration. Because now that he’s successfully gotten under your skin, Zemo’s doing the fucking right thing.

“And you intend to honor that?” It seems ridiculous that he would, considering Bucky’s “warning” sounds more like a schoolyard taunt and less like an actual threat.

But Zemo looks at you, and smiles warmly. “Yes, dragă, I do.”

You nod slowly, eyes falling to the floor, chewing on your lip because you can feel your frustration rising to the surface. “Are you trying to be a good man, Baron?”

He barks a laugh, and turns to look at you.

“In my life, I have been many things. A good man is not one of them.” Though he keeps his face evenly measured, you can see something pained within his gaze. “However, I shall make a valiant effort.”

You suck on your tongue as you watch him turn the stove off and plate the horrendous amount of bacon you’d decided to make in your stupor.

“I’m disappointed,” you say, just as he sets the plate beside you on the counter. He’s not a foot away from you now, and as you stare challengingly up into his eyes, you can see every little deviation his face makes.

“Are you, indeed?” He tilts his head slightly, and his lips turn up at the corners.

“Yes.” Taking the plate from him, you let your fingertips brush his, where they linger on the porcelain. “Here I thought I was supposed to be keeping a dangerous villain in line.”

You watch his pupils dilate dramatically, and a smile breaks across your face. That’s what you were looking for. Last night his eyes weren’t blown completely black because he was frightened of your pet snake. He liked that you were in control.

The low timbre of his voice vibrates through the air around you. “Didn’t you say that I do well when I listen?”

You hum, and slide around him with newfound purpose, allowing your fingers to trail innocently along the line of his belt. “Come to me when you decide who it is you want to listen to, Baron.”

You smile to feel his eyes scorching your back as you exit the kitchen.

.VIII.

The Baron is already out of breath.

You can’t imagine the inner dialogue he’s been through to get to this point, but the look on his face is earnest, like he’s two seconds from begging you on his knees. You allow yourself to smile at the thought.

You haven’t done anything to him. Not yet, anyways, but you can tell by the way he stands at the threshold of the conservatory with his fists clenched at his sides, his chest heaving and his eyes trained solidly on you, that it won’t be long before you do. Because he’s just played right into your hand, as you knew he would.

Bucky knew he would, too. Because the same thing happened with him, and history tends to repeat itself.

“Have you given up your valiant effort so soon?” You recline in your high backed chair, not unlike a queen upon her throne.

“It seems my villainy knows no bounds.”

Nerissa is asleep, coiled into a pile on the shelf of culinary herbs, but you don’t think he cares by the way he threw open the doors with barely contained desperation.

He steps into the room.

“Did I give you permission to enter?”

The Baron halts, hands flexing at his sides. “No, dragă.”

“Dragă?”

Behind you, rain dashes against the darkened conservatory windows, rippling down the glass like a waterfall. In the silence that hangs throughout the room, thunder can be heard echoing from the valley. You wonder how long it will take him to address you correctly, or if you’ll have to guide him there.

“No…  Empress.”

You incline your head toward the Baron’s rigid form. “Very good. You are a smart boy. Now,” you cross your legs to tease him with the fact that you’re wearing nothing beneath your robe, “have you decided what you want me to call you? Baron, or Helmut?”

“Helmut,” he says almost too quickly. He’s all too eager, likely from a culmination of years locked in a prison cell without any contact, combined with whatever internal crisis he’s been having all day to break his resolve so quickly.

For that fact, you’re just as tightly wound as he is, the pulsing in your core echoing the way his trousers are nicely tented below his belt. But you’re not going to rush things along. He strikes you as a patient man.

You’d like to test that theory.

“So, you don’t want to remain strangers.” You run the tip of your finger along your lip, mostly to stop yourself from nervously tapping it against the arm of the chair. In testing his patience, you’re also testing your own. “You seem to have an issue following orders.”

“That depends on who’s giving them.”

You raise your eyebrows. Normally you would bark at him for speaking without being spoken to, but you do love to hear his rasping voice. “Do you think you’ll be able to follow my orders, Helmut?”

His eyes glow gold in the dim light. “Yes, Empress.”

“Then you may come closer.”

It’s a dance, trying to hide your own need while also feeding off of his. He crosses the room slowly, trying to conceal how his hands twitch to reach out to you. He stops just short of your crossed legs.

“Tell me, Helmut,” you say, revelling in the way his eyes flutter at the sound of his name, “were I truly a queen, how would you approach me to ask for something?”

His face is darkened with lust, his breath coming in swift bursts. “On my knees.”

“Show me, then.”

Zemo falls to his knees before you, his gaze remaining trained on your face. You keep your expression level as you move your leg with aching slowness and precision, ensuring that it brushes teasingly across the Baron’s growing bulge. He hisses through his teeth, and his hand catches your ankle to hold it there.

You tut at him condescendingly. “Did I give you permission to put your hands on me?”

His nostrils flare with the impatient breath he huffs out as he releases your ankle. “No, Empress.”

“That’s right.” You continue to rub the length of your calf just barely against his hardness, smirking at the strained grunt he gives you. “Remove your shirt.”

His fingers hasten to unbutton his blouse, but once they fumble a few too many times in response to your gentle caress against his trousers, he roughly yanks the closure apart with a growl, buttons flying as the fabric falls from his shoulders and exposes the lean expanse of his chest.

You make no attempt to hide the impish smile that stretches across your face. “Are we in a rush?”

When Zemo remains silent, dark eyes glaring up at you defiantly, angrily, you stop the movement of your leg against him.

“No,” he chokes out weakly, leaning into you to find that friction again.

“I thought so.” Graciously, you resume your gentle teasing against his trousers, and he visibly melts into you. “Tell me what you want, Helmut.”

He hesitates. He seems to contemplate his words before finally saying, “I want to taste and touch every part of you. I want to feel you come apart around me.”

“My god. A poet.” You smirk, dragging your calf a little harder against his bulge. “Run that by me again, and say what you mean this time.”

He sucks a breath through his teeth at the added pressure against his hardness, his voice tinged with a new kind of hunger. “I want to fuck you until you can’t speak. I want to feel you cum on my cock so hard that you beg me to stop. I want to mark you as mine, dragă. And I want the Winter Soldier to know it when I do.”

Your leg halts of its own accord, because his lewd admission has you clenching pathetically on air, the heat of your slick dampening the satin of your robe where it’s seeped from your cunt. You could make him wait longer, simply because he dared to use his own pet name for you instead of the one you’d given him. But you don’t want to.

You uncross your legs before him, then lean forward to grip his chin in a similar fashion as you did to wipe the blood from his face. “You’ll be content with what I give you for now, yes?”

He nods obediently, swallowing hard against your hand before vocalizing, “Yes.”

“And then, if you behave yourself, I’ll allow you the privilege of feeling me cum on your cock.”

You restrain yourself only for a moment, but the sound of the Baron’s stuttering breath prompts you to lean forward and pull his lips against yours. He stays there, allowing you to drink in the small moan he makes into your mouth as his tongue dances between your lips. He tastes sweet, like bourbon mixed with ripe summer fruit, meeting your lips with a fervor you haven’t known in years.

Your own desperation seeps into your voice when you whisper, “Touch me, Helmut.”

He obliges without a second thought. His hands slide up each of your calves, running along the length of your thighs and back down again, as though testing the waters. You kiss him feverishly, drawing him closer to you, his torso slotting between your knees to press against the edge of the chair.

His thumb slides up your inner thigh to brush along your slit, and you nearly let out a noisy whine.

“You are eager, aren’t you?” you force through gritted teeth, tightening your hands on his shoulder and jaw. His mouth breaks from you with a gasp, forehead pressed to yours for a modicum of stability.

“Yes.”

“Such a smart mouth, and all you can say is, ‘Yes?’” The sound of his desperate groan at your words only serves to spur you on, your hips jolting forward on your seat. “Why don’t you show me what that mouth can really do, Helmut?”

He affords two wet kisses along your jaw before he forgoes all propriety, and pushes your robe up to expose you from the waist down, pulling you forward until your hips meet the edge of your seat. Then his hands rake down your thighs as he dips his head between them, and his tongue slides between the lips of your cunt.

You suck in a gasp unexpectedly, grinding against his mouth as your fingers weave into his hair like they’re made to be there. He takes to you like a man starved, his tongue spreading you open and his lips devouring, and a swift flex of your fingers in his hair draws a moan from his throat.

“Such a lovely tongue. It always gets you what you want, doesn’t it?” You release your grip on his roots and stroke gently through his hair, like butter against your fingers.

Zemo hums a response, his lips closing around your clit to suck hard against it. Your back arches, a loud moan finally falling from your mouth, and he chuckles against you just before flicking his tongue across the swollen bud.

“You fucking bastard,” you choke out, nails digging against his scalp as you desperately rut against his mouth. “You like to hear how good you are, don’t you? How much you make me fucking want you?”

Your head tilts up seemingly on its own, pulling you to look at him. He’s watching you from beneath his lashes, looking like an absolute devil as his tongue drags through your folds and pauses just shy of your clit.

You can’t help the way your mouth falls open in a needy gasp, your fingers tugging on his hair once again. “Don’t you dare stop, Helmut.”

He obliges you by sucking your clit between his lips with spiteful force. You’re all too aware that his eyes are still on you, watching your head drop back as the muscles of your core tighten, your legs shaking where they rest on his shoulders.

Your orgasm is ravaging. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since you’ve had a partner to bring you there, but the pulses seem to constrict every part of your body, hoarse cries stealing from your throat to mingle with the sharp sound of rain striking the windows. Your skin sings, breath shaking when the Baron draws away from you to rest his chin on your thigh.

Then, the fucker has the audacity to say, “Take your time.”

You don’t even lift your head up in order to watch how Zemo flies backward when you use the ball of your foot to shove him by his collarbone, hearing his soft grunt as he lands on his back against the floor.

“You think I’m not taking my time with you, you entitled little shit?” you hiss as you straighten yourself, your hands falling to the tie of your robe. He raises himself on his elbows, watching you with hungry eyes as you stand, shrugging the satin negligée from your shoulders and towering over his sprawling form. “No. If I wasn’t taking my time with you, you’d already be blissed out of your fucking skull. I want to hear you beg for it.”

The look on the Baron’s face is excitable, fearful, his sharp features looking younger and more boyish now as you bend at the knee and begin to crawl tantalizingly between his parted legs, running your palms along the inside of his thighs toward where he strains against his fly.

“Poor thing,” you coo, hooking your finger beneath the buckle of his belt to tug lightly against it, and watch him buck his hips along with it. “You really need me so badly?” You undo the buckle to slip the belt from his trousers, and use two fingers to release the button of his fly before sliding your hand across his bulge as you drag the zipper down. And then, the Baron surprises you.

He whimpers.

It’s not a sound you ever expected to come from him. Zemo is normally so regally composed, stoic and even-tempered with just a hint of malice below the surface. You expect growls and groans, deep, guttural noises with primal connotations. But not this. A pathetic little whimper high in his throat, so soft it’s almost like a sob.

You can’t contain your self-aggrandizing grin as you reach into his trousers to finally relieve him of his restraints, his cock swollen and hard and leaking against your fingers.

His hand comes up to grasp your shoulder at the contact, but you’re not about to let him guide you. You grab him by the wrist and pin his hand against the floor, watching him strain to hold back a moan as you stroke him. You can hear his nails scratch roughly against the floor when his elbows give and he falls back, bucking his hips into your hand.

“Oh, you like that.” You give him a languid stroke, feeling him rigid and pulsing against your hand. Beneath the pleasure of watching Zemo squirm against your touch is the undercurrent of, ‘I want to taste it,’ as your thumb drags the bead of precum down his shaft, and your mouth waters. And who are you to deny yourself the pleasure?

You lick him from base to tip, and feel him shudder against you. You know you’ve wound him up enough that he won’t last if you go at him like this for too long, but still, you close your mouth around his tip and take him in as far as you can, his hitching breath like music to your ears and his salty taste like heaven on your tongue. And then, you draw back slowly, giving him one long, hard suck between your cheeks before your mouth pops off of him, and he very nearly screams.

“No, no, darling, you’re not going to finish like this. Not before I give you what you asked for.” His chest heaves as you dip your head down and slide your tongue up the hollow of his stomach and the line of his ribs, pulling back just at the burst of hair on his sternum. “Do you think you deserve to be given what you want, Helmut?”

His hands land on your waist as you hover over him, staring down into his glassy, dark eyes and carding your fingers delicately through his dishevelled hair. He’s shaking, his skin is burning.

“Yes.” His voice is broken, like it’s been stolen from him and wrung so tightly that he can barely use it anymore. “Please.”

A smirk twitches on your lips. “What was that?”

“Please.” His eyes are searching, desperate, a look you’ve been familiar with before. He’s not above begging, at least not now. His hand brushes your cheek, stroking a finger along the side of your face with tender reverence. “Please, dragă.”

You take his hand, and press a kiss to his palm. “Since you asked so nicely.”

You skim your hands down the length of his body as you rid him of his shoes and trousers, not really trying to conceal your own haste anymore. Your need is already evident in the way your slick seeps down your inner thighs, wet against your skin as you move up his legs.

Zemo is sitting now, his arms outstretched and grabbing for you like he can’t be without you, pulling you against his chest because he said he wanted to touch all of you, not just your cunt, not just your mouth. He’s peppering kisses along your jaw and down your neck, sucking and biting, nails scratching, marking. He holds you so close it’s like he wants to intertwine himself with you entirely.

His hands find your hips. You make no move to guide them away. You run your palm up his chest as you rub against him, raising your hips to align him with your entrance.

When you sink down onto him, your name breaks in his throat like a swan song.

You, on the other hand, are so overwhelmed with the feeling of finally being filled, you’re clinging to him like he might float away from you, moaning against his neck as your walls tighten around his intrusion.

When was the last time you felt so complete?

Zemo’s hand strokes down your spine, raising the hairs on the back of your neck with the gentle caress, and his whisper is soft as velvet. “You’re divine.”

Your eyes flutter before you finally collect yourself, and you bite down on his shoulder as you rock your hips into his. He groans loudly into your ear, his chest vibrating against yours as you lift yourself up on your knees to pull back again.

And you push him flat down onto the floor once again before you drive yourself back down onto him with excessive force, biting your lip as he strikes deeper within you.

He gasps as you rake your fingernails through his chest hair, scratching deep red welts into his skin that mimic the ones on his face. He’s surprised, and delighted, and one particular swirl of your hips makes his face scrunch so preciously you’d dare to call it cute, if that’s a word that could be used to describe the Baron.

Zemo’s hands grip your hips, moving in tandem with them as you roll down onto him, a strangled whine leaving your lips. It’s been a long time since you’ve done this, and yet, you find that the movement and feeling is not something one easily forgets.

His hips erratically buck to meet yours, a tense sort of culmination building between you as you bend forward over him, your hand coming to rest on the floor beside his head.

“Is this what you wanted, Helmut?” The words fall from your mouth before you’re even able to process them. “For my cunt to be yours for the taking?”

His pants interrupt his words as he speaks. “I hardly think I’ve taken it.”

Your free hand closes around his jaw, a scoff issuing from your mouth. “That’s right. Remember that I gave you this.”

You’re so enrapt in his mouth as you kiss him, it takes a moment for you to register that the ringing in your ears is not, in fact, from your own sensory overload, but that it’s from your cell phone, which sits two feet away on a little antique footrest. You break away from the Baron with a frustrated growl, refusing to stop the rolling of your hips even as you knock over the footrest in your haste to shut the fucking thing up.

And then you see the caller ID.

“Well, well,” you laugh as you grind your hips into the Baron’s, your eyes flickering to his confused visage, “It looks like you really do get whatever you want.”

You push the phone into Zemo’s palm, as Bucky’s call continues to vibrate in his hand.

“Answer it,” you order, your eyes blazing into his as you straighten yourself, trailing a finger down his torso.

Zemo swallows, a hint of terror washing across his face before he clears his throat, eyes steeling and growing sharp. It takes you a moment to realize that you’ve just watched him put on the mask that he wears in daily life; he’s no longer Helmut, he’s Baron Zemo.

Nevertheless, his voice cracks when he answers the phone. “Hello, James.”

You can hear a vague chattering coming from the phone against his ear, his eyes staring up into yours with unadulterated lust as you continue to roll yourself down onto his cock.

“The phone was simply nearest to me.” Zemo speaks clearly now, but his voice is deeper than normal. “Is there something you wish to tell me, zimniy soldat?”

If you listen hard enough, you can hear the cadence of Bucky’s voice over the sounds of your own erotic gasps, watching the Baron’s jaw tighten when he drives his hips up particularly hard into you, like he’s trying his hand at warning you to shut up.

“Is that so?” he nearly growls through gritted teeth. “That didn’t take long at all. I expect you’ll be chaperoning me, then?”

Ah. So Bucky called to tell you that he’s coming to collect Zemo for whatever job he needed the Baron’s help with. It makes sense for that to be the reason he called, but similar to what Zemo’s apologetic expression attests to, you thought you’d have more time.

Might as well go out with a bang.

“Actually, she is right here,” Zemo says, his words coming out thick with anger and desperation. “Perhaps you’d like to tell her yourself?”

He quirks his brows at you, like he’s asking if you want to talk to Bucky. The little inquiry for your consent is almost heartwarming; as you reach to take the phone from his hand, you bend forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

And then you pick up your hips and slam down onto him as hard as you can, making him give out a moan that he strangles to a quiet grunt in his throat before it can be heard over the phone.

“Hi, Bucky,” you sigh into the phone, putting all your frustration into the two words.

“Hey, I know it’s probably late where you are, but I wanted to catch you before tomorrow. Something came up with the Flagsmashers, I need Zemo as soon as possible.”

“Well, that’s what you left him with me for, right?” Your breathing is coming hard through your nose as you try to choke back your own moans, because now Zemo’s hands are truly guiding your hips, and he’s ensuring that each time you fall down onto him, his cock is hitting that perfect spot within you that wants it most. “You don’t need my permission to come get him.”

“I just figured I’d let you know before showing up unannounced.” Bucky’s voice is tense, like he doesn’t like the prospect of seeing you again. “I’m sorry you’ve had to put up with him even this long. I hope he wasn’t too difficult to deal with.”

“On the contrary,” you gasp out as you sweep your hand up the Baron’s chest, taking in his face as he gazes up at you with what can only be described as adoration, “he’s been a very, very good boy.”

At your words, and a particularly well aimed rut of your hips, Zemo lets out a groan that you’re sure can be heard through the phone.

Bucky is quiet for a moment, before he says in the most disappointed tone you’ve ever heard, “You didn’t.”

This time, you sigh a quiet little moan of your own into the speaker. “Don’t be too hard on him, Bucky. He made such a valiant effort to resist me.”

You feel Zemo twitch within you as you rock down onto him, his fingers tightening on your hips as you toss your head back at the sensation.

Bucky’s voice is enraged now as he growls, “Empress…”

Your head snaps forward, and you stare directly down into the Baron’s dark eyes as you say, “I’m not your Empress anymore, Bucky.”

And you end the call as Zemo jerks his hips up ungodly hard into yours. You squeeze the phone in your hand just before your core tightens, and you launch it across the room and through the open door with a ridiculously loud cry, like everything you’ve been holding back all evening is coming out all at once.

You catch yourself on your hand before you can collapse against him, allowing your release to seize you entirely. You jolt forward into it, feeling your cunt pulse around his cock with your eyes screwed shut, searing heat exploding in your belly and sizzling through your veins.

You hear Zemo’s harsh cry at the same time as you feel his hands tug you further onto him, and then the warm rush of his release, sprung forth with the sensation of you cumming around him.

He hasn’t quite finished his orgasm when his hands slide up your sides to pull you down against his chest, his arm winding around your waist and his hand cradling the back of your head, hugging you to him as he continues to moan out his release. Your head dips into the crook of his neck, lips pressed to his collarbone while you’re lost in the aftershocks of your muscles pulsing against his hardness.

You lay atop him, breathing him in. It’s the only thing you can do. You can’t seem to form words. You suppose he’s managed to get what he wanted in that respect as well; you’re dumbstruck at the intensity of your orgasm, the fact that you’ve thoroughly debauched yourself in the proverbial face of your ex, and that in less than eight hours, the man holding you like a treasure will be whisked away by said ex, likely never to see you again.

You try to burn it into your memory that Helmut’s sweat-damp body tastes of salt, and smells of sandalwood.

You remain like that, with his arm hugging you to his body and his thumb stroking circles against the back of your head, while he slips from you and his breathing slows.

Eventually, you’re able to find your voice again when he croaks out a gentle, "Thank you."

“It isn’t always like that with me, you know,” you mutter, your voice echoing in the dip of his collarbone.

“Is that so?” His voice vibrates against where your mouth is pressed to his skin.

“Yeah. Sometimes, I like to be on the receiving end.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

You raise your head, your nose brushing the stubble on his jaw as you find his eye. “Next time?”

“Yes, dragă.” His thumb continues its gentle caress of your head as his eyes search your face. “There will be a next time, if you desire it.”

“Of course I desire you, Helmut.” His breath audibly stutters when you say his name, his arm tightening around your waist.

“It… relieves me to hear you say that.” His eyes flutter shut when you press a kiss to his jaw.

“But you have to leave in the morning. And Bucky might actually kill you.”

“Don’t worry about that. I believe I can talk down our zimniy soldat.”

“I have no doubt about that,” you say with a small laugh, and rest your head in the crook of his neck again. “But he’s definitely not going to be bringing you back here, that’s for sure.”

“Have no fear, dragă. I know where to find you.” Helmut’s hand strokes down the back of your neck, beginning a gentle descent along your spine. “One trait we villains have in common is that we know a good thing when we see one.”