𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 ✩ Ivar The Boneless

✩ chapter VII, act III ⓲

"My lips are still learning that you are a revolution."
chapter VII, act III ✧ 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒚

Nero had gone to the bathhouse early in the morning, wishing to rid herself of all sweat and bring herself completely pure for the upcoming raid. Once she returned to her cabin Ivar was shuffling his boots into his feet and she leaned on the door just after she opened it, enjoying the view.

His face was scrunched up in pure concentration as he tugged at the shoes impatiently, pulling them over his pants. She smiled before walking towards the bed and crawling behind him, hugging the boy's back and resting her chin on his shoulder, her legs on the outer side of his knees.

He scoffed in annoyance as he finally managed with the boots. She breathed out softly, and though it sent shivers up her neck, he spoke no words to her, still fully concentrated on his task. The wolf pulled away, running her fingers through his hair and braiding it.

Doing so brought her simple content. The type of happiness you earn when you go picking flowers, or when you admire the night sky. A type of happiness that is essential, carnal, primal.

The boy relaxed while she intertwined his strands with ease, a tiny smile on his face as he tried his best to not acknowledge how lovely her touch was, how lovely she was.

When he was done with his shoes, she was also done with his braid, and she had to contain herself from squealing proudly at her work.

Nero climbed off the bed and stood in front of him. Her heart jumped out of her chest at the sight.

The boy looked up at her, his face filled with anger, annoyance, menace. He hated how his legs made him completely useless, how he could barely dress properly. But as he looked at the girl's eyes his own softened, yet his thoughts became even more bitter, how could someone so perfect love a cripple such as himself?

His eyes skimmed through her figure. The tiny freckles across her cheeks, the dangerous, lustful but lovely gaze on her eyes, the dark mane that was always perfectly braided.

She was a goddess, had to be. She was the snap of jaws and flashes of silver, she was all war, she was all love, but only for him.

He looked dangerously handsome, the mad glint on his stare made her bite her bottom lip in contemplation. Should they really conquer York on that day? Couldn't they, instead, spend time in bed?

She shook her head, cursing herself and him a bit for being so... would there be any other description beside perfect? The poor girl was already too sore, every step she took made her almost groan at the dull ache in between her thighs.

"Nero..." he trailed off, reaching inside of his pocket. Her neck and collarbones were dark with his hickeys, and though that already showed the world to whom she belonged to, he still needed to know she was fully his and no one else's.

He wanted the world to know that the wolf finally had his leash around her neck.

He needed her to be his and his only. Oh, how he refused to share. Ivar always had to share with his brothers, but not this time, not this girl. She was Nero Lothbrok now, his wife, and Odin forbid whoever tried to take such title from her.

Most of their people weren't oblivious to their affair at all, they were always bound together since childhood, bound by the gods.

They were always by each other, and the bites on their bodies didn't go unnoticed either, "You are mine, and I am yours, and no one will ever take that away from us."