Devotion. Hvitserk Lothbrok

devotion. hvitserk lothbrok

PAIRING ➨ hvitserk lothbrok x freyja

GENRE ➨ (somewhat) smut, historical fiction, fantasy.

SUMMARY ➨ the goddess of war, freyja, is put onto kattegat to aid the lothbroks during their future raids. both the seer and aslaug have seen her coming, and the queen welcomes her with open arms. catching the eye of hvitserk lothbrok, she treats him as no one has done before; as an equal, instead of a dog.

WARNINGS ➨ smutty themes (no actual smut this chapter)

WORD COUNT ➨ 

SELENE NOTE ➨ this was a spur of the moment fic, so there might be some misinformation, though i tried to do as much research as i could on freyja!  in this fic, freyja is blonde and blue eyed. according to the myths, she is described as having “long flowing blond hair, blue eyes and a gorgeous figure which she doesn't mind flaunting, as she often appears naked to her worshipers.” i also imagined her face claim to be emilia clarke as daenerys targaryen, but much taller. here’s what she wears this chapter: https://www.pinterest.de/pin/304485624800233705/  for the norse terminology, i used both @honestsycrets​‘s references and from this site: https://www.vikingsofbjornstad.com/Old_Norse_Dictionary_E2N.shtm !

MASTERLIST

feeling something press against her ankle, freyja’s eyebrows furrow, creating deep creases on her glabella, pressing her cheek deeper into the pillows she rested on. her foot flicked up, almost like a cow’s ear flicking away a fly, trying to knock away whatever hovered over her. however, it continued, moving up her calf, up to her thigh, then to the softness of her hips, and feeling it tickle against the exposed skin, she realizes of what it could be. “good morning,” hvitserk’s voice was tranquil in the still air of dawn, his hand moving down to the velvety folds in between her legs, middle finger circling her bundle of nerves, freyja’s mouth opening in a silky sigh. “no one but us is awake,” he whispered into her ear, nipping at the satiny skin of her neck. 

“is it that early in the morning?” she moans, arching her neck to give him more room to continue his assault. 

“you said that you’ll be here for me in the morning!” he whines, actually whines, his hand landing on her neck, fingers wrapping around into they could touch the back, where her spine was, his pointer finger on top of her ear as his middle finger felt the lobe.  the goddess’ lips quirk up in a smile, “i guess i did, hvitserk.” her left leg wrapped around his waist, using her strength to roll them both over, hvitserk landing on his back as if he were deadweight. “then i have a promise to fulfill.”

when hvitserk walked into the great hall, a hush falls over the waking individuals, a pep in his step as he made his way towards the table where his family sat. they had all heard everything. the thump of the bed against the wall, the soprano moans that verberated out of the room into the halls, the guttural groans that accompanied them, and then, the call of the names within the room.

hvitserk and freyja. 

when the prince walked towards the table to fill his belly with the warm breakfast the thralls had cooked, they noticed slight differences in him. his gait was jovial, his hair perfectly laid with braids freyja had taken her time to place, his skin glowed, his eyes held a euphoric look. “it seems as if he was fucked to valhalla and back,” sigurd calls out, the men in the hall cheering the second eldest on, some clapping his shoulder as he pulled the chair from under the table. he didn’t dare look his mother in the eye, afraid of what she would do since hearing him fuck the goddess she worshipped. would she congratulate him? punish him? he didn’t want to know the answer to that last one. 

“i heard you had sex with freyja,” aslaug’s voice boomed in the great hall. hvitserk nodded, twirling his fork in his fingers as he continued to eye the food placed on his plate. he tensed, readying himself to earning a slap to the face or a fork thrown in his direction. instead, his mother’s face eased into a smile, her hand reaching out to hold her son’s hand in hers. “it seems as if my son hvitserk has been chosen by the goddess of war, freyja!” the others cheer, raising their cups or horns in the air. “but, it also seems as he was chosen to help her bring forth more kind!” more clamor, people smacking hvitserk on the back, the lothbrok feeling the small pangs of discomfort from underneath the green kyrtill freyja had helped him put on. hvitserk sighs heavily when one of the slaps he received caused the torn piece of chicken in his hand to fall, landing on the wooded ground below him, someone else stepping on top of it. it was no longer salvageable. 

freyja stepped into the great hall, her falcon feather cloak seeming as it if were floating behind her, and as she moved her arm to pull away the right side of it from her body, two cats walked out and meowed, their coats a blue so subtle it was almost gray, emerald green irises looking around the halls. bygul and trjegul wandered around, the latter of which jumped up on one of the tables, staring directly at a man simply known as solveig, squinting his eyes as he waited to be fed. solveig tears a piece from the chicken leg he had, placing it in front of him.

purring, trjegul eats, licking the table clean after the meat had been eaten, his eyes closing slowly in happiness. he leaps off the table, walking gracefully along the floor towards freyja. reaching her hand out, trjegul jumps, taking her arm in his paws. quickly turning her arm around so he was upright, she presses him against her chest, her left hand coming up to stroke the fur behind his ear, purrs pouring from his mouth. freyja walks from the doorway of the hall to where hvitserk sat, watching him as he petted bygul, the cat tilting his head in content. placing a hand on hvitserk’s shoulder, she sits down on the empty spot next to him, chin resting against the top of her hand. sitting made her feel uncomfortable, feeling the all too familiar ache between her legs leaving a feeling of want, the goddess crossing her legs at the ankles to help alleviate it. “he’s never let anyone else touch him,” she softly remarks, she presses a kiss at the junction where his neck and shoulder meet. 

hvitserk shudders lightly, biting his bottom lip to stop a wanton moan from slipping out, but a few of the men that stood close laughed, knowing that the simple kiss gave him a reaction that he tried to hold back. “i’m glad that i am the first,” he turns to face her, taking her chin gently in his hand, leading her to his lips. hearing loud cheers coming from the men around them, freyja chuckles into the kiss. placing her free hand onto hvitserk’s soft cheek, she deepens the kiss for a second before pulling away, “we are still at the table with your family. i don’t think that it is proper.” 

his cheeks flushing a bright pink, he turns away from her, stabbing his fork onto the fish his mother’s maids had cooked. ivar, while still remaining a bit jealous that it was his brother the goddess favored, still chuckled at the fool he had made of himself, the deep blush on his cheeks, the awkward silence he had taken on. 

just that small comment from freyja made him stumble over his own two feet, so what made him so special that she had chosen him for procreation? hvitserk was the quieter of the brothers, always following the strongest, which was why he was margrethe’s second choice. he was always after ubbe. ivar didn’t care that he wasn’t even a choice for her. it meant that he was unattainable, something his brothers knew nothing about. almost every woman in kattegat has had a taste of them, and someday, they’re going to realize that they didn’t like them, and would all want ivar. 

but a rage burned deep inside of him. ubbe was always said to have been an exact copy of ragnar, their diplomatic father that had led them to rich lands, hvitserk now laid with the goddess of war, said to be the most beautiful in asgard, sigurd was born with the serpent-dragon fafnir in his eye, and ivar. . . he was born with frail bones and imponent. hvitserk must have had many unidentified children running around kattegat with how much he had slept around, and ivar. . . he could barely stand on his own. 

that thought alone made him want to kill his brothers. 

𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗲𝘀𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗲𝗿. austin butler

PAIRING ➨ austin butler x f!reader

GENRE ➨ fluff

SUMMARY ➨ inspired by that one tiktok of the kid stealing the girl’s chipotle queso dip. i like to think austin would find it hilarious. 

WARNINGS ➨ none that i can think of.

𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

ever since austin has finally finished filming elvis, the two of you seemed to have flown everywhere, from france to attend the cannes film festival, to attending the met gala in new york, going back to australia for a much-needed vacation, and so much more. now that you were back home in l.a., however, you both decided to settle down for a bit before austin had to go anywhere else for filming projects. it seemed like every day he was taking you on a date, visiting new lunch places the two of you have never gone to before, old dinner spots you were regulars at, and even different diners that still held on to their traditions from when they first opened.

sometimes, however, you two just wanted a quick meal, and so that afternoon, you both held hands as you walked down to chipotle to eat whatever you both built. you, of course, bought a burrito filled with your favorite toppings and even decided to pig out on the chips with queso dip, which the two of you would share. you asked for two separate containers of queso, knowing austin loved dousing his chips in the dip.

taking a sip of the watermelon limeade you had poured, austin telling a little story from the set of elvis, you see a little hand reach onto your table and grab the little plastic cup of queso you kept on your side of the metal tray. "uh -" you stutter, feeling flabbergasted at the occurrence. "oh wait. . ."

"bye," the kid held eye contact with you, turning around to go to an empty table, where you could barely see him put the container down. from right in front of you, you hear austin laugh, putting his hand in front of his mouth as he stares at your shocked expression. "did he just steal my cheese?" you ask him, pulling more laughter from his plump lips. he nods, "yeah, he did."

"okay," you stood up, seeing that the kid had just left the area from where he put down the dip, and you hurried over to steal it back. you made eye contact with him, and with a swiftness you never had before, you snatched the container back and were about to go back to your seat when you see him steal austin's. "huh?" he all but shouts, staring after the kid that stole his, and you break into a fit of laughter. the cheese in the container jiggled, and you put it back down on the table before it spilled on the floor.

"oh okay, you. . ." austin struggled to say. "you can have it."

I've been so inactive here I'm sorry. I'm mostly on Instagram (austinbutlerupdates) sorry 😭

Mistaken Identities

Thought I would post this fun drabble for my first fic. This funny little scenario popped into my noggin today watching everyone melting down over a picture of Joe speaking with a female. If you like, please reblog! Joe Quinn x F!Reader Summary: Joe spots something ridiculous in the daily tabloid. Warnings: RPF, vanilla, non-smut, bit of cussing, mild fluff, weed mention, adultery mention, Joe is pouty, reader is amused Word count: 687 (just a wee thing)

🌟

You’re just getting ready to take the first sip of your morning coffee when the freshly-printed tabloid of the day slaps down on the table in front of you with a light whup, making the wispy hairs around your face flutter.

You gingerly pick it up as you turn your head up to look at your husband, who is standing above you wearing an expression of total exasperation.

“Look at that shite,” Joe sighs, gesturing vaguely at the tabloid he just dumped in front of you.

You turn your head back to the paper in your hands and see, in the middle of the page in large bold letters, “Y/N SPOTTED SMOOCHING STRANGER, CHEATS ON HUSBAND!”

The photo below the headline was a grainy, too-zoomed photo of you standing at the top step of your rented flat, leaning down to plant a kiss on the lips of a tall, slim man standing a couple of steps down. His face is mostly obscured by long dark curls that cascade past his shoulders, but he’s wearing a white basketball tee with black sleeves, tight black jeans with a torn right knee, white high tops, and a silver wallet chain dangling from the back to front jeans pockets. His lean forearms rest on the railing of the front steps you are standing upon, dotted with tattoos, and his head is tilted up to yours, the ghost of a smile on his lips barely visible beneath the long tresses. Overlaid in the upper corner of the photo is a round bubble featuring Joe’s face, pulling an overdramatic pout. You burst out laughing.

“This is so not funny,” Joe scowls in reply to your peals of laughter, looking a bit like his picture in the paper, the one in the bubble. He huffs down in the seat perpendicular to yours at the table, putting his chin in his hand. He scrubs his hand across his face in frustration, but you can see that he’s fighting back a tired smile.

You flick your eyes back to the page, and begin reading the byline.

“Is there trouble in paradise with it-couple Joseph Qinn and Y/N?” you begin, and Joe audibly groans. You ignore him. “While hubby is away shooting for the hit Netflix smash Stranger Things, the naughty wife will play!” You hear your husband snort to your left. “Are they shitting me with this,” you squeal, half laughing, half in disbelief.

“It gets worse,” Joe says, burying his face in his hands.

You read on. “The proof is in the pudding with this pap snap, showing Y/N planting a salacious smooch on this mysterious headbanger. Will cuckold Joe give wifey another chance?” You bark out shocked laughter.

“I’ve been called a cuckold today and I’ve not even had my coffee yet,” Joe said matter-of-factly, making you laugh harder. “You know,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. “This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t make me visit you during lunch every day in costume.”

You hold your hands up in mock surrender, letting the paper fall to the table. “Hey, don’t blame me,” you say, giggling. “You look hot as hell in that outfit.”

Joe slouches down in his chair, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “No more nooners with Eddie, love. Now my wife is cheating on me…with me. Fabulous.”

“You can’t withhold Eddie,” you say, eyes wide in hyperbolic panic. “This isn’t his fault!” Your husband finally laughs at that one.

“I’ll make some calls and sort it out," you say with a conciliatory tone. "Don’t worry, everyone will think this is hilarious. I’ll post some pictures of us while you’re in costume and you can actually see your face.”

“If Netflix will let you. I’m fully expecting to be shot by a sniper at any moment,” Joe replies, smiling.

“You should relax more my love,” you tell him, picking up your cellphone to call your publicist and standing up. You plant a kiss to his forehead. “Get Eddie to sell you some weed,” you say, before heading out of the room and down the hall.

“Oh fuck off,” Joe calls to your departing back. “I have my own weed.”

jujutsu kaisen ep 14 icons ❦-

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