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It was already getting dark and the smell of dinner was already spreading throughout the gigantic house. There was snow on the street and the children of the neighborhood kept playing outside, throwing snowballs and making angels on the ground. The living room was illuminated by the lights of the Christmas tree and the gifts were scattered around it, too many to fit all under the tree. The whole family had gathered, and for the first time in a long time a whole day passed without a fight breaking out in the house.
Ivar wondered how much damage he’d do to himself if he jumped out of the window on the second floor, and if the snow would cushion his fall.
He watched as Ubbe ran through the living and dining room chasing Mason and Igor, imitating the sounds of a beast. At first Ivar thought it was cute, but after they tripped on his cane three times he was beginning to want to strangle them with the beard of Santa Claus's ornament.
It's not that Ivar doesn’t love his nephews; on the contrary, he adores them –though he will never admit it– but only the first thirty minutes of their presence. Like with almost all the children he has know in his life, the first hour or two are angels. Everything they do is tender or funny, something worthy of a suburban mother recording and uploading to the internet to show off her golden children.
But after the fifth time they throw something in your direction just to pick it up from the ground and put it in its place you start wanting to wrap them in wrapping paper and give them to the hungry forest bears for Christmas.
Or maybe it’s just Ivar who thinks that, who knows.
Right at that moment he was trying to relax in the armchair in the living room, facing the fireplace. The cold of December made her bones ache, and as often as the main door and the door of the terrace opened and closed, the icy air entered the house. The pain in his legs was making him even more moody than usual.
But one of his countless nieces and nephews –there are seven, in fact; three girls and four boys–, Gallett, had gotten bored with the Christmas cartoons and decided to go to keep his grumpy uncle Ivar company. His idea of 'company' was to throw bread rolls at him and stare at him blankly. Ivar likes Gallett; he doesn’t talk much and usually kept himself busy. But like every child, he’s still one, and after a while Ivar just couldn’t stand him.
"Stop that," he told him when another little ball of bread hit his cheek. Gallett ignored him and threw another, "If you keep doing that I'll hang you up on the balcony for three hours." Gallett stuffed a ball of bread into his mouth and looked at him blankly. Another thing about Gallett: he doesn’t feel intimidated by his threats. "I hate you."
"Grandma says that's what you tell the people you love." Gallett slowly ate the bread ball and threw another one at Ivar. Ivar caught it and threw it into the fireplace. "So I'll take it as a compliment."
Ivar sent him a cold, indifferent look. Gallett returned it.
"Gallett, leave your uncle alone. Go with your father; he's going to throw some fireworks, if you want to see." Aslaug went to the corner where they were and stroked her grandson's hair, nudging him in the direction of the hallway towards the patio door. The slightest expression of emotion crossed Gallett's face before he rose from the floor calmly and disappeared into the corridor.
Ivar watched as his nephew left and then turned to his mother. Aslaug sat next to him on the couch and leaned against him, a glass in her hand. "You had tamed the beast, there."
"I‘m learning, leave me alone. Surely it took you awhile to deal with children when you had us."
"Only with you, Ivar. You were a pain in the ass for years, throwing me pancakes and pulling my hair at every opportunity you had."
Ivar rolled his eyes and looked at the fireplace, but a smile crept over his lips. Aslaug sipped at her glass and curled up beside him, staring at the blazing fire in front of them as well. Ivar stretched out his legs and glanced at the contents of his mother's glass. He hesitated a few moments before asking the question that tickled on the tip of his tongue, "How's rehabilitation going?"
Aslaug exhaled slowly through her nose, thinking about her answer for a few seconds before turning to him, fiddling with the orange juice in her hand, "Better, actually. It was a good decision that of the psychologist too. It has helped me a lot. You should look for one too." Ivar huffed and Aslaug hit him on the shoulder, "It would help you with those anger problems of yours. Maybe even help you talk to, I do not know, girls, maybe?"
"Okay, we're in dangerous territory." Ivar stretched and stepped out of his mother's grip, moving to the other end of the couch. Aslaug giggled and put her feet up on the couch, tucking them under it. "We won’t have this conversation again. Not now, or ever."
Aslaug took another sip from her glass and rested her head on the sofa, "Oh, please. It's not like I'm matchmaking you with a girl I knew in the market."
"You never go to the market, and of course you do. You love your grandchildren and you want one of me, but that won’t happen." Ivar used his cane to point his mother accusingly. Aslaug just rolled her eyes and hid her smile behind her glass.
Aslaug pulled her legs out from under her and put her shoes on again, watching as the rest of the family entered the living room. The voices outside stopped and a few minutes later Ubbe appeared in the room, Mason, Igor and Gallett behind him. Passing the festivities with all the Lothbrok’s in one house was a strange concept to analyze.
Hvitserk, Margrethe, and Sigurd's girlfriend, Blaeja, were still in the kitchen, preparing the immense Christmas dinner. That could be one of the only reasons that Ivar was still in the house. That, and that his mother had insisted on having a peaceful and conflict-free meeting. Only for once.
Ivar could never deny something to his mother.
The family settled in the room and everyone kept busy. The children ran and shouted and played as they always did and nobody paid much attention to them. One of the TVs was still on on the second floor, the muffled sound of voices and music reaching the living room. The children left the tv on again.
Aslaug took a last sip of her juice before pulling the sleeve of Ivar's jacket, "Play something with me."
Ivar couldn’t say no to her, so he nodded and stood up, watching his mother's smile grow. His cane was a bit different today; that morning Igor and Malena thought it would be fun if they wrapped his cane with wrapping paper and glitter, sticking some Christmas decorations and Hello Kitty stickers. Ivar loves it, but he wasn’t going to tell them that. He still has some pride left, no matter how much Sigurd tried to deny it.
His mother sat on the bench of the black grand piano and made room for him, patting the padded surface of the seat. Ivar managed to put his legs under the piano and set his cane aside. Gallett took it and hid behind the sofa where Ubbe and Igor were sitting. Ivar ignored him.
Aslaug ran her fingers gently over the piano keys, feeling the soft texture. With a soft breath, she pressed a key and the sound echoed in the room.
Nobody was paying special attention to them, and Ivar doubted that it would change, so he played another key. Aslaug smiled at him and pressed another. Ivar pressed his lips together to keep from smiling, "What do you want to play?"
"Surprise me."
Ivar thought for a few moments before starting to play the song he knew by heart. Aslaug watched him press the keys, humming the song until it was her turn to play. It was a duet, a calm piece that they had been in the habit of playing since Ivar was a kid and his mother started teaching him to play the piano to give him a hobby. Of all the things of his childhood, this was one of the things that Ivar missed the most.
Ivar almost felt breathless when the song ended, his hands still hovering over the keys. His mother didn’t seem affected in the least, apart from the smile that stretched across her lips. Ivar was about to suggest touching another song when she interrupted him, "I have a surprise for you."
Ivar raised an eyebrow at the sudden statement, "Really? What?"
Aslaug bit her lip and looked over her shoulder, directing her eyes in the direction of the front door. "I invited Hvitserk's friend."
"Hvitserk has a lot of 'friends', mama. You'll have to be more specific than that."
Aslaug rolled her eyes, but she didn’t stop smiling, "The pretty 'friend', Ivar. You know who I'm talking about."
Ivar felt his cheeks heat up and fought against the feeling. He wasn’t going to blush just for the mention of Hvitserk's pretty neighbor, the pretty girl with a dazzling smile and captivating eyes and soft skin and sweet voice... And it's not as if he had some ridiculous crush on her, of course not. But yeah, he does have a ridiculous crush on her, but that is something he is not willing to admit. Not to himself, and not to his mother.
Aslaug tapped him on the forehead when he stayed silent, "Don’t panic, fool. She’s not going to eat you."
"I'm not panicking," he said, but the tremor in his voice gave him away.
It was his mother's turn to raise an eyebrow in his direction, "You Lothbrok’s are so dramatic. Nothing bad will happen just because you talked to a pretty girl, Ivar. It's not the end of the world."
"The end of mine, yes." Ivar tried to ignore the fact that he had practically confirmed what his mother told him. "I'm going to hide with Gallett for the rest of the night, bye."
"Ivar," His mother scolded him, but Ivar was already limping toward the white couch to his left.
Ubbe gave him a strange look when he dropped behind him, "What the hell are you doing?"
"Running from my problems." Ubbe just shrugged and continued talking to his eldest son.
Gallett made space for him in his hiding place and returned his cane, taking out a video game console from his jacket pocket, "Hard night, huh?"
Ivar watched as the console screen illuminated Mario Kart. "My turn is next."
"As you wish." Gallett shrugged and reached for a piece of cake from a plate beside him. The child knew how to form a good hiding place; Ivar had to grant him that.
After maybe an hour of passing the console between them –six wins for Ivar and nine for Gallett. Ivar owes him a piece of cake– Ivar's legs were starting to hurt and the food was gone.
"I'm bored." Gallett turned off the console and put it back in his jacket, leaning against the back of the couch.
Ivar imitated him, "Me too. I don’t want to go out."
"Why not?"
Ivar pursed his lips and refused to look at his nephew, "Someone that I don’t want to be here is coming soon."
Gallett was silent for a few seconds before reaching for his cane and beginning to fiddle with a Scooby Doo sticker, “You don’t like that person? Like uncle Sigurd?"
Ivar snorted at the mention of his brother's name, but ignored it in order to keep the thread of the conversation. "I do like her." Gallett looked at him oddly. "But I do not want her to come today. People don’t like me."
Gallett frowed and looked at him with his gigantic blue eyes. Sometimes it was so obvious that he was a son of Ubbe, the resemblance was chilling. "What's wrong with you?"
Ivar looked at him as if he had grown another head, "When you were younger and you didn’t want to go to bed, your father told you that Uncle Ivar was going to come and eat you."
"I think you're fine." Gallett shrugged and returned the cane, picking up the empty pie plate and standing up.
Ivar smiled at him from below, "Thank you, dwarf, but that's because I have a sweet spot for you."
Gallett smiled too, the slightest curve in his small lips, "Dad says you also have a sweet spot for Y/N, so I don’t think you’ll have any problems with her tonight." Gallett straightened his hair and came out of hiding, disappearing into the hallway that led to the kitchen. Ivar wanted to sink his head in the earth in shame; even his eight year old nephew knew of his oh-so-obvious crush.
He sat there for a few minutes, contemplating again his plan to flee through the second floor window. He was still planning the perfect escape when a small hand landed on his shoulder. Ivar was ready to turn around and tell one of the countless children to leave him alone, but he stopped when he saw the mop of curly blond hair staring at him with a candy-smeared smile.
Ivar exhaled slowly and smiled at the little girl, "Thora, you're full of candy."
Thora didn’t answer him and instead pointed her plump finger at something on top of him, sticking her other hand full of what looked like cotton candy –where the hell did she get that thing?– in her mouth. A small cluster of mistletoe hung above their heads on the wall, perched so innocently against the upholstered wall. That must have been Hvitserk's work.
Ivar looked at the plant poisonously for a while before returning his gaze to his favorite niece in the entire universe, "What's up, sweetheart? Do you want me to give you a kiss?"
Thora removed her hand from her mouth and pulled a milk caramel out of her dress pocket and offered it to him. Thora, like Gallett, was a girl of few words. But unlike her older cousin, Thora was an angel on Earth. Of course, she still throws tantrums and rages and cries and screams, but for Ivar's eyes there is no girl more perfect than her.
Ivar accepted the candy without hesitation and kept it in his pocket, indicating that he would eat it later. Thora smiled again, as widely as her face allowed, and closed her eyes and moved her head to the side, offering him her cheek.
Ivar let out a chuckle and pressed a soft kiss on his niece's plump cheek and pinched her stomach gently, earning a squeak and a giggle. Thora sank her hands in his hair and waved it.
"Thora, enough, your hands are dirty." Sigurd appeared in his line of vision and approached his daughter, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her away from Ivar. Ivar fixed his hair, feeling how the candy had stuck to the strands. The sensation made him shudder.
Ivar sent a bitter look at his brother, "You always kill the fun."
"She was ruining your precious hairstyle. You should thank me. "Sigurd rolled his eyes and pulled out a napkin from God knows where and began to clean Thora's hands and face. Ivar still couldn’t understand how his brothers had obtained that strange ability to have everything they needed when they became parents, and he doubted that he would ever understand it.
Sigurd pet his daughter on the back and sent her to the kitchen, where her mother Blaeja was still preparing dinner. It was already around seven in the evening and there was still no sign of you, but the dinner smelled amazing.
Ivar watched as his brother stood up and offered his hand. Sigurd rolled his eyes when Ivar didn’t immediately accept, "Don’t be paranoid, chicken feet, take it and get up. Dinner will be ready soon." Ivar ignored his hand and stood up on his own. Sigurd huffed and stepped back, offering him his cane hesitantly. Ivar took it reluctantly.
Sigurd's expression changed to a mocking one, "Also, Y/N will arrive soon. I don’t think hiding behind the couch is very seductive of you." Ivar sent daggers to his brother's back as he walked away.
With a defeated sigh, he left his hiding place and went into the living room again. His mother played the piano absentmindedly, her gaze lost in the snow falling outside. He was about to approach his mother again when the doorbell rang. Ivar froze, and he could see from his place how his mother's eyes lit up.
"I’ll go."
Ivar moved as fast as he could towards her, "Mama, no."
Aslaug stood up and sent him to the same look she gave him when he behaved like a little shit when he was six years old. Ivar groaned and collapsed next to Ubbe, watching his mother's smile grow and then disappear from his sight on the way to opening the door. Ivar sank on the couch, pouting. Ubbe patted his head the same way he did with his children when they were upset.
"You look stressed."
"Oh, you think so?" Ivar rolled his eyes.
Ubbe tapped him on the ear, "Relax. A friendly face would do you good right now, don’t you think?"
Ivar nibbled on his lip, "Y/N is not my friend."
"Well," Ubbe's lips stretched in that smile he always kept hidden from everyone except his brothers, "You could always end up being more than friends tonight."
Ivar growled and sank deeper into the sofa. There was more of his body on the floor than on the seat. "Not you too."
Ubbe opened his mouth to answer him, but the sound of the door closing and footsteps coming down the hall stopped him. Ivar tensed for what seemed like the fifth time that night and hurried to straighten up, and ignored Ubbe's gaze when he tried to make his hair look good. The cotton candy had stuck to his hair, and there was no way he could get it out before you arrived.
Ivar was having a mini panic attack when his mother reappeared in the living room, talking casually to someone who was following her closely. You entered behind Aslaug, taking off the giant blue coat and hanging it on the rack. You wore another sweater under your coat, and a bright green hat rested on your hair, which was slightly damp from the snow that melted on it. Ivar lost his breath.
"You're drooling, duck head." Ubbe hit him on the shoulder and laughed, bringing him back to reality, "If you're so worried about talking to her, just act like you're talking to me." Ivar grimaced. Ubbe rolled his eyes, "Well, as if you were talking to someone you like." Ivar's expression didn’t change. Ubbe sighed and patted him on the shoulder, "Just don’t be an asshole, Ivar. Please."
Now, that was something Ivar wanted to do, but he doubted he could do it. Ubbe gave him one last squeeze of encouragement on the shoulder and stood up to greet you, putting a sincere smile of welcome and talking casually with you. Ivar almost wanted you to talk to his brother for the rest of the night, no matter how much his stomach twists with jealousy at the thought.
Aslaug and Ubbe talked with you for a while, the children circling around him. Bjorn greeted you briefly before disappearing to God knows where –Ivar had to make a better effort to get to know his family–. Ivar entertained himself with his phone for a few minutes before Ubbe went to the kitchen, winking at him before disappearing from view.
Now his mother was alone with you. That's not good.
Ivar could feel it before it happened. His mother brought you closer and closer to him, chatting quietly about anything that came up. Ivar tried not to react every time you laughed or raised your voice a bit when they played a topic that excited you.
Finally, Aslaug stood up, "Dinner is almost ready, they must surely need help. Y/N," she paused, and Ivar couldn’t help but look up from his phone. His mother was watching him out of the corner of her eye, "I'll leave you in Ivar's capable hands." She paused again, this time looking directly at him, telling him with just her eyes that he couldn’t ruin it. "Ivar, behave." And she left the living room.
Ivar was tempted to just ignore you and keep fiddling on his phone, as he did with everyone he was left alone with, but he couldn’t do that to you. 'Don’t be an asshole.' Ubbe's voice echoed in his head. Yeah, right. He can work with that. Great, cool, okay.
You put your hands on your lap nervously, avoiding looking at him and instead observing the burning fire of the fireplace. You nibbled your lip with insecurity, and Ivar clenched his hands into fists. He wanted to be the one to bite that lip.
He leaned back against the couch and tried to act like you were someone else, "You look terrible." Suave, Lothbrok.
Fortunately, you had never been one of the people Ivar could intimidate. You raised an eyebrow in his direction, "What a lovely observation. Do you say that to all the pretty girls you meet?"
Ivar felt the corner of his mouth rise. Holy shit, you're amazing. "I never said that I think you’re pretty." Ivar has never doubted your charisma and kindness, but he knows that if he continues on that path your patience will end quickly. You had never been very patient with him, anyway. Maybe that's why Ivar was so attracted to you. "In any case, I don’t even know if I would put my efforts into conquering you."
You snorted and shook your head, your wet hair shaking gently, "Your efforts shouldn’t be very impressive, then. I've never seen you with a girl other than your mother."
"Excuse you, my mama is an excellent company, thank you very much."
You opened your mouth to reply, but there was no malice in your eyes when you answered. "I'm glad to know there's a man left in the Lothbrok family who values a woman."
Ivar shrugged, stretching his legs. His stomach was a knot of nerves, but he was managing it well. You still haven’t tried to slap him, that's a good sign. "Only one? What about Hvitserk? I've always thought he was a charming young man, don’t you think?"
You pressed your lips to hide your smile. That is another thing that Ivar likes about you; While you would never take his shit, you were not willing to fight forever either. Maybe it was because you felt that he didn’t really say anything to you for the purpose of hurting you, but Ivar could never be sure. Not with you.
"Your definition of 'charming' is very different from mine, Lothbrok."
"Oh, please, we've talked about this." Ivar allowed himself to smile, his usual arrogant facade surfacing for the first time since I heard your name that night, "For you, I'm Ivar, angel."
"Ew." A voice sounded behind them. From the threshold of the corridor, Gallett peeked not so discreetly and showed an expression of disgust. "They are flirting. Gross."
Ivar rolled his eyes when Hvitserk's voice came into the room, "You are the worst spy ever. You just lost your piece of pumpkin pie."
Gallett redirected his attention to the threat. Interesting, that's what scares him, lose treats. Ivar made a mental note.
The voice of his nephew and his brother disappeared quickly, submerged in a fight in the kitchen. By now, it must have seemed like chaos. There were still some children in the room with you and with Ivar –Malena and Mason, Bjorn’s kids, played cards in front of the fire and screamed every time one of the two changed the rules–.
You stared at the place where Gallett had been a few seconds before, "What was that?"
Ivar didn’t want to answer, "My family likes to play matchmakers, as you can tell."
"With us?" You asked. Ivar shrugged. You snorted, "That’s ridiculous."
Ivar tried not to take that statement too personal, "You tell me. Mama wants more grandchildren. Three is not enough. She wants at least one of each of us."
"Ubbe already has two; take one and you're tied."
Ivar let out a chuckle, "That would stop her from pressure me, at least."
You let out a ragged laugh –Ivar didn’t feel that shit of butterflies in the stomach,– and took off your shoes, tucking your legs under you in the same way that Aslaug had done almost two hours before.
You looked around, "It's nice here. I didn’t do much in my apartment, I just put a little plastic tree and that's it. It's nice to see a well-decorated house."
"That's what everyone says, until they have to remove the goddamn lights."
You gave him an incredulous look, "Like you had ever untangled the christmas lights." Ivar hid his smile behind his hand, and shrugged his shoulders in defeat.
"You caught me. I'm a spoiled brat."
You laughed, this time a real laugh, and you reclined on the couch. Ivar stretched out his legs and stroked a spot on his knee. The cold was no longer affecting him as much as it had in the day, and his legs didn’t hurt anymore. Maybe that was the reason why his mood changed so suddenly.
He was still leaning on his legs when you directed your attention to him again. Ivar saw how you opened your mouth to speak and then you closed it abruptly, looking at something on him.
"What?" He asked.
You had eyebrows together in confusion, "Is that mistletoe in your hair?"
Ivar imitated your expression and brought both hands to his head. Effectively; there was something stuck to his hair just above the nape of his neck. His eyes widened. "Fucking shit."
You tightened your lips to contain a smile and stood up in front of him, "Let me see."
"No, go away." He refused to lower his arms.
You sighed and hit him on the forehead. "Do you want to have a branch of mistletoe in your hair all night so that your whole family can see it?" Ivar thought about the question for a few seconds before shaking his head, "Then let me help you. Put your hands down."
Ivar did hesitantly, and immediately you went to work. He had to tilt his head so you could easily check his hair, so Ivar had his forehead resting on your abdomen throughout the process. He would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the moment.
"Here it is! The intruder has been removed." You waved the mistletoe in front of you. Malena and Mason saw the movement and rushed to scream.
"Kiss!"
Ivar sent them a poisonous look, "Keep playing poker, little beasts." He growled, but none of them backed up. His threatening magic was fading; he had to work on it later.
"Kiss!" They repeated. God, Ivar hates children.
You raised a mocking eyebrow in his direction and lowered the mistletoe, "What? Don’t you want to kiss me, Lothbrok?"
"You would like it so much you would never want to stop, angel. I don’t want you obsessed with me." He lied. Ivar wanted to kiss you more than anything in the world, but not right now. Not for a stupid mistletoe, and not with his nephews watching him.
"Only one?" You held your finger in the air. The mocking smile that spread across your lips let him know you weren’t serious. The idea made him angry.
Before he knew what he was doing, Ivar pulled on your arm and dragged you close to him, you stomach against his chest. You gasped with surprise when he pulled you again, bringing you to the same height. "Remember that you asked for it."
Ivar hadn’t kissed anyone in a long, long time, so he didn’t really know what the fuck he was doing. He thought about what he would like to feel when a person kissed him and tried to imitate it, but the very sensation of your lips against his made his head spin. He could hear the screams of disgust from his nephews in the background, but he couldn't care less.
The kiss didn’t last long, maybe five or seven seconds, but Ivar's heart was beating a thousand times per hour by the time they separated. He searched your face for some sign of discomfort or anger, but you seemed as breathless as he was. You just stared at each other for a few seconds before you raised your hand and hit him with the mistletoe branch.
"You're an asshole!"
Ivar paused, "Ouch," he said blankly.
You let the mistletoe branch fall to one side and pushed him gently. "The next time you're going to kiss me I'd like you to let me know before!"
Ivar was still too stunned to react correctly to your words, "You... kiss... what?"
You rolled your eyes and pressed a kiss on the corner of his mouth, "You know, take me to dinner, watch a movie, take me home and then kiss me at the door. Is it that none of the Lothbrok knows how to treat a lady?"
"And you say that while you hit me with a mistletoe?" Ivar was slowly returning to his senses, and he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
You crossed your arms and gave him a look of 'Try me, bitch.' Ivar did not dare to mess with you right now. Not while the opportunity of his life was presented in front of him.
"Okay, if you want it." Ivar pretended that his stomach wasn’t doing a gymnastics show and shrugged, straightening. "Y/N, would you like to have dinner with me so I can kiss you all I want afterwards?"
You let your arms fall to your side, but the corner of your mouth rose in a small smile, "It's not what I expected, but I know it's the best I can get from you. Wednesday, at six, in my place. A movie and pizza, you think that’s okay?"
Ivar fucking loved it. "Yeah, sure."
Ivar tried to not smile like an idiot in love but he knew he was failing. He hoped that the brightness in your eyes was the same feeling as his and not mocking, because his poor and cold soul couldn’t stand that.
Hvitserk shouted from the kitchen, "Dinner is reaaaaaaaaaaady!"
Mason and Malena got up from the floor and ran to the kitchen, completely forgetting the romantic statement they had just witnessed. You looked in the direction of the kitchen. "We should go before the good seats are taken."
Ivar wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close, sinking his head into your stomach, "Yeah, in a moment."
You laughed and fiddled with his hair, pulling gently. "You're the strangest person I've ever met, Lothbrok."
Ivar thought of the way his heart skipped a beat every time he saw you, and how he had managed to have a decent conversation without insults with you for several minutes. He thought about how he had kissed someone for the first time in years and how he had scheduled a date for next week.
"The feeling is mutual, angel."