Having a Crawling Race With Ivar

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He wins. Of course, he wins. And as he does so, he rejoices as if he had won the grandest battle for the throne of a glorious kingdom. He turns to look at you in his arrogant triumph, smirking. Just a small pouting of the lips, and a tilting of the head.

"You can never win against me, my dear (Y/N)." He states as you stand up, wiping the dirt off of your pants as if it were going to make any difference at all.

"Yes, of course. How foolish of me to go against a Ragnarsson." You reply sarcastically.

Ivar shakes his head, his features still baring an amused expression. "No, it was foolish of you to go against Ivar."

"Right, my sincerest apologies, Your Royal Highness." You reply, curtsying before your handsome beloved. He reached his arms out to you and cooed, "Now, come to me, darling, I need to claim my prize."

"What exactly is your prize?" You asked, looking at him puzzled.

"You and your lips."

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