Ivar Ragnarsson Imagines | Vikings

this is how you please a woman | smut

spoilers | slow burn | words: 2512

It was only a matter of time before everyone found out Ivar could not please a woman, Magrethe had no right to talk about such personal issues, it made you angry. But since you were also a slave, you had no right to talk about it yourself, you wanted to scold Magrethe, yell at her for diminishing Ivar's confidence, a man whom you so admired for it, respected the fact that fear never consumed him.

You stood in the great hall, jug of ale in hand, ready to re-pour the Lothbrok's family their drinks. Ivar, as usual, sat at the head of the table, Ubbe and Hvitserk onto the left, Sigurd and Queen Aslaug on the right. They were chatting amongst themselves, plotting to avenge Ragnars death, Ivar being the most passionate about the topic.

Sigurd only rolled his eyes, "Only you would care about how we avenge fathers death, we'll just attack England and nothing more." Sigurd never showed his fear for Ivar as Ubbe and Hvitserk did, always making himself prone to the mighty wrath of Ivar.

"Is that what you suggest we do, brother?" Ivar narrowed his eyes, "Are you the leader of the Great Army? Are you the one to make every single decision?"

"No," Sigurd replied flatly, "We lead this army as equals, we all decide what we do to avenge fathers death."

Ivar only stared, his ice blue eyes almost pierced into Sigurds skin, "I will be the leader of the Great Army," he paused, holding up his cup, staring at you, "and you have not say to that."

You straightened your back, walking faster than usual, making sure not to upset Ivar. You poured his drink, focusing on the cup, only to feel Ivars haze loom over you, so you looked up, connecting your eyes with his. What a mistake that was, you over filled the cup, having some of its contents spill onto Ivars lap, making him groan in anger, glaring at you.

"I'm so sorry, master," you shivered, grabbing the cloth hanging from your pocket and rubbing the spill on his lap. The whole family watched you, the other three brothers staring in amusement as Queen Aslaug sent a disapproving stare to you. You froze, only realizing that your rubbing was so close to his manhood, Ivar looking at you, mostly embarrassment rather than anger, you turned bright red.

You jumped back, "Sorry again master, it will not happen again," you whispered in fear, grabbing the jug of ale and walking back to your corner in the hall.

Sigurd chuckled, "did you feel anything down there?" He asked sarcastically, starting to laugh more.

Flaring his nostrils, Ivar stabbed his knife onto the wooden table, "Be wise with the words coming out of your mouth, Sigurd, you do not want to say anything you regret."

"And what is there to regret, Ivar? Magrethe told me everything," Sigurd smirked in arrogance.

"Sigurd, that's enough," Ubbe hissed, his dark blue eyes stared angrily at Sigurd, who so greatly knew how to upset Ivar.

"No, I do not think that is enough, Ivar the Dickless does not know how to pleasure a woman, that is why he did not feel anything when that slave was cleaning his lap," Sigurd only laughed harder. "Us, Men," he gestured to himself, Ubbe and Hvitserk, "truly know how to satisfy a woman, and greatly may I add."

"You shut your mouth, Sigurd!" Ivar roared, hoisting himself up, eyes blue as ice as he glared in raging anger, "I will cut off your arms, making you sit there, also not having the ability to pleasure a woman, and then, I will slit your tiny throat, coating myself in your blood as the gods laugh at your pathetic death, I assure you brother, Valhalla's doors will be locked once you die, I swear it!"

Ivar threw his knife, landing so close to Sigurds head, it cut off some of his blonde hair, falling slowly on his shoulders. Sigurd flinched, throwing a weak glare, standing up abruptly, making the chair fall over as he stormed out of the hall and into his sleeping chambers.