#harald finehair ship

[msphagime]

Me, seeing a rerapair with five(5) posts on tumblr and one(1) fic on Ao3 in a dead fandom: Wow! Perfect thing to make fanart for!

There's surprisingly little content for a ship who actually literally kisses on screen (even the subtitles agree)

[therealvikingstrash]

Happy Birthday @ulfrsmal 🤗

[author-morgan]

Title: Riverside Rating: M Pairing: Harald Finehair x fem!Reader (and Halfdan the Black) Summary: Harald Finehair may be a fool, but at least he has his brother, and at least he has you. ❤️plot bunny that's been collecting dust for two years by @mrsragnarlodbrok ❤️

down by the river by the boats, where everybody goes to be alone

“YOUR BROTHER IS a fool,” you remark, watching Harald Finehair slip away with the princess who once promised to be his queen—the woman whose husband had only just been murdered in the early hours of the morn. Halfdan the Black watches his brother too, lips twitching as he lifts his cup of ale, taking a short quaff of the weak brew. He’ll be glad to leave England—an army of this size meant dwindling supplies, game, and ever-weakening ale and mead.

He picks off another hunk of meat from a roast pheasant. “Is that meant to be news?” Halfdan asks in turn, smiling as he flicks his stringy blond hair aside and out of his eyes—his dark gaze flitting back to you. Harald’s always been a fool when it comes to women and love, and Halfdan doubts time and age will ever change that.

“Halfdan,” you chide. Harald is a fool—a fool for thinking Ellisif would wait for him, a fool for killing Vik so crassly in the heart of the camp. You both know he is, but watching Princess Ellisif slip away with her husband’s killer makes you uneasy. Grief and the thought of vengeance would not have left her mind yet. And such things can drive people to act in unpredictable ways. “You don’t think it’s odd she wishes to seek a private audience with him only a few hours after he killed her husband?”

Halfdan raises his brow—the blue-black ink of the tattoo on his temple and forehead twitches and wrinkles. At the moment, he’s more content with filling his belly and entertaining your company than fretting over his brother, yet you won’t let the subject rest so easily, and deep down, Halfdan knows you are right, as is the feeling of dread in his liver. “Had it been me, the thought of retribution would not yet be gone, nor the fog of dolor.”

You make a convincing case, and with a sighing frown, Halfdan pushes away from the table and you, heading toward Harald’s tent—hand resting on the hilt of his sword, knowing already he will have to serve as his brother’s protector once more. A moment later, Halfdan emerges from his brother’s pavilion. The sword in his hand is coated with blood, bright and red. And it would seem, after all, he knew women far better than his brother—or at least how to listen to you. 

He frees a cloth from his belt and slides it down the blade, cleaning it with a single long swipe as he looks at you, watching and waiting. Halfdan doesn’t have to say anything as he approaches for you to know, but regardless, your lips quirk upward. “Told you,” you declare, and he makes a low sound of agreement from the back of his throat, taking the cup of ale you offer. You knew Ellisif would not have so easily nor quickly forgiven Harald for his transgression, especially after not upholding her promise to wait for marriage. 

Harald’s curses and fit of rage ring out in the brisk air. You know there’s little that can soothe his heart and pride, but if anyone in the Ragnarsson encampment can make an earnest attempt, it is you—Halfdan knows this too. “I’ll see to him,” you breathe, taking one last drink of ale. Halfdan grips your arm before you can go to his brother and leans close, offering a soft, quick kiss over too soon.

THE RIVER FLOWS slowly, given its breadth near the encampment of the Sons of Ragnar—a hundred longships are pushed up against the banks and moored in the water. Together, you and Harald walk along the water’s edge, heading north, where fewer ships and wandering eyes and ears are. The blood on his hands and chest is nigh dry, and it makes his red woolen tunic stick to him and stiffens his silver-tinged beard.

Harald Finehair looks at you but cannot dispel what you must think of him, of these circumstances—your expression is only a cool mix of solicitude and what he thinks is annoyance. Yet again, he finds himself failing to understand the mind and heart of a woman—one he has known since childhood, no less. “My brother is lucky,” Harald admits, feeling a spike of jealousy stab at him as he thinks about you and Halfdan, “to have only ever loved you.” But had he ever truly loved Ellisif beyond his desire for her beauty? Even he is not sure of the answer.

You stop near the prowl of one of Jarl Olavsson’s ships—his shields and sails marked by white and dark green—and stare at Harald, aghast and confused by his insinuation. “Do I no longer have your love?” You ask, reaching for him and the leather ties at the neck of his tunic.

“I had thought–” his voice trails off as he looks at the flock of blackbirds flying overhead, unsure if it is a sign from the gods or just an ill omen. He lets you draw him nearer, but it’s only when the flat of your hand connects with his bloody cheek that his gaze and attention return to you—his stormy blue eyes filled with bewilderment and indignation. He stares at you, nostrils flared. 

“No, Harald!” You’ve finally grown exasperated by his foolishness—you could tolerate his laments about love and marriage, but to nigh let himself be killed by a recreant woman under such circumstances? “You didn’t think!” You tell him, and Harald steps back, hands curling to fists at his sides. He needs to hear this, though, if not from his brother, then from you. “And if you did, it was with the wrong head.” The same head all men think with first when it comes to women.

“You speak to a king,” he reminds you, puffing out his chest—a weak reply, and you both know it.

You shake your head and reach for him, hands settling on either side of his blood-spattered face—thumbs following the blue-black scrollwork of the tattoos on his cheeks. “And I am also speaking to one of my oldest friends,” you remind him. King or no, Harald and his brother are among your oldest and dearest friends—they could be little more than farmers or simple whalers, and you would think no less of them nor love them less. There’s a shift in Harald’s expression then, as though he realizes the error of his ways in disregarding your and Halfdan’s counsel, and hubris fades to humility. “One whom I care for and love very much.” Love, the word catches him off-guard. Then an ephemeral smile returns to grace your lips. “Even if he is pigheaded at times.”

He forces down the growing knot in his throat. “My brother–” Harald starts, but you press your fingertips to his weathered lips, shushing him and chasing away any apprehension or fear of driving a rift between the three of you with what comes next. “Halfdan knows,” you tell Harald with airy unconcern—fingers slipping down to comb through his silver-tinged wiry beard. Your trysts had never been clandestine, even before whatever this unspoken thing with his brother began before the first raid on Paris. “He’s very astute,” you remark, the corner of your lips quirking upward again. “You could stand to learn a thing to two.”

He huffs, then goes to the river, shrugging off his tunic, and kneels at the water’s edge, splashing the cold water on his face and chest—scrubbing the drying blood of the woman he once intended to marry. He stares at his reflection, shoulders falling forward, accepting his ill-fated pursuit of marriage and defeat, alas. “I’ve been a fool,” he grumbles. You crouch next to him, dipping your hand in the river to help wash the blood from his shoulders and the back of his neck, humming your agreement—gladdened to know it is no longer a whispered secret between you and Halfdan. “You’re not supposed to agree with me,” he admonishes, mirth slipping back into his tone.

There’s a scar on his shoulder, and without thought, you lean toward him, placing the gentlest and quickest of kisses on the raised patch of silvery skin. You can recall how he and Halfdan have gotten most of their scars, but the history of this small mark evades you right now. When you meet his eyes, you see him staring at you with a look of raw hunger and desperation you’re entirely unprepared for, and it sends a wave of heat washing over you. But he’s so gentle when he handles you—even in all his lingering anger and hurt.

He holds your chin until his thumb swipes across your flushed cheek—always touching you like you’re some fragile, precious thing and not a shieldmaiden—and then his lips part, and he exhales a shaky breath, waiting for your permission, spoken or otherwise. You give it with a breathy sigh of his name. Harald. His warm breath hits your cheek, followed by the faint tickle of his scraggly beard at your jaw before his lips are fully on yours. “Let me have you.” His plea is soft against your mouth—and you cannot deny him.  

Skirts rucked up around your waist, Harald grips your hips, drawing you closer to him until his wool and linen-clad thigh presses between yours. His touch is fervent—hot palms, calloused from years of battle, scrape over the bare skin they touch. His tongue sweeps across your bottom lip before kissing you—languid and soft. Your hands grasp at his back to pull his chest to your own. And then he fumbles to loosen his belt, but you knock away his hands, and Harald curses and groans when your hand slides into his undone britches, fingers wrapping around his half-hard cock—stroking him.

Your stomach flutters as his fingers caress you briefly, fleetingly—but gone far too soon. Your hips move towards his touch, but now is not the time for drawn-out caresses and teasing. In truth, he's not focused on your pleasure but more on his desire.

Harald pushes forward, rocking his hips slowly until his cock is fully sheathed inside the warmth of your cunt, and his hips meet yours. You gasp, somewhere between a whine and moan, head tipping back, and Harald takes the chance to press his lips to the base of your neck. He’s gentle as he trails a hand down your side and holds your waist—he and Halfdan have always been two sides of the same coin as lovers.

You lay back—letting him do as he pleases. He needs this moment, this release, far more than you do. His thrusts start slow, lazy almost, as though you’ve all the time in the world—like you’re back in Tamdrup on a spring night in a patch of wildflowers or bale of loose straw in a stable, not lying on a muddy English riverbank on the verge of another battle—not knowing if tomorrow will be the day Valhalla beckons you home.

He looks down at you—splayed beneath him and his gut twists with a sickening realization. I’ve been a fool, Harald thinks again, cradling your cheek, the rough pad of his thumb pressed against your parted lips, chasing a woman who could never love me. But you. It did not matter what misfortunes or victories the gods bestowed upon him. You were always there—never faltering from your place at his and Halfdan’s side. He’s only ashamed not to have realized or acted sooner.

Your legs spread wider to welcome him, squeezing at his shoulders to urge him to move faster. Every push and pull of his hips brings him deeper inside you. Harald pants at your ear, his breathing ragged and strained as his pace falters—thrusts growing quicker and rougher as he seeks release. Beneath your palms, the muscles in his back ripple, contracting with each thrust. His lips find yours again, and you pull him down closer until his bare chest presses against the rumpled wool of your dress bodice—nails scraping across his shoulders and the patchwork of tattoos on his shoulder blades.

The look in Harald’s eyes is nigh unsettling—a mix of emotion you do not wish to think about in this moment of lust and carnality—and you squeeze at his biceps, urging him to move faster, and when his trance breaks, he obliges. He breathes hushed praises against your neck and strokes a thumb over the racing pulse in your neck as he rolls his hips up into yours—strokes long and deep. 

You whine and squirm for him, grinding your hips into his. The next time he moves, his cock strikes the place inside you that makes you cry out without thinking, and your toes start to curl—he does it again and again, thrice over. “Harald.” He works himself deeper still, pelvis rubbing against your clit, and he doesn’t miss the shiver that goes through you or the way your muscles tense—cunt squeezing his cock tighter. His breathy, open-mouth kisses grow sloven as you fumble to keep in rhythm, your movements slack—distracted by the fog of ecstasy in your head.

Breath hot against your lips, his eyes drift shut in unison with yours. Behind closed eyes, all that triumphs is the feel of your bodies sinking into each other. He will not last much longer. Harald barely manages a coherent rasp of your name, teeth gnashing, when his entire body shivers and he stills deep, deep inside, cock twitching. 

His livid eyes are dark, like a stormy sea when they open once more, and there’s a crease between his brows that you have a yearning impulse to kiss away—and so you do, and in the wake of your lips, you smooth your fingertips over his brow. “I do love you, Harald,” you tell him—a breathless whisper—and suddenly, the knot in his throat and the offbeat feeling in his heart is back. “Just as I love Halfdan.”

He says nothing, only rests his forehead against your shoulder and shivers when your hand runs along his back, finding his dark braid to run your fingers along. But there’s a new dampness on your flesh—tears for love lost and love found.

HIS TEMPER IS quelled upon returning to the encampment, even if his heart has yet to mend. Halfdan rises from his spot at one of the fires, leaving the waning conversation with Björn Ironside when he sees you and his brother approach. The whispers around the camp of what happened between Harald, Vik, and Ellisif have already faded with new discussions of the army’s next move in Mercia—steadily creeping closer to Wessex and retribution upon King Ecbert for his part in Ragnar’s death. Harald swallows his pride and glimpses you before turning his attention to Halfdan. “Thank you, brother,” he says. “Yet again, I owe you my life.”

“I’ll always watch your back,” Halfdan replies, pressing a cup of ale into Harald’s hand before clasping his shoulder—then his gaze flits to you, and he smiles, a glimmer shining in his dark eyes. “But next time we tell you to kill someone, you should listen, yeah?” Harald shakes his head, looking down into the cup of ale with a dry laugh. You both told him to rid himself of Ellisif before setting sail to England. He should have listened then—knows he was a fool not to have. But once more, it is the three of you, and maybe that is how the gods always intended it to be.

[Harald & Halfdan taglist: @ahotmesswithprivilege / @alicedopey / @certifiedlittleshit / @charming-merlin / @elluvians / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @gearhead66 / @gossamarnie / @hc-geralt-23 / @kaexiao / @midnightmuze / @moonlightsspirit / @n0sferatus / @naaladareia / @queenfinehair / @queenyalo / @savagemickey03 / @xinyourdreamsx / @yalos-writing ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Vikings taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

[bumblesimagines]

Under The Moonlight

Part 11

Request: Yes or No

~~~

Novgorod was what he expected and more. A fairly sized city protected by tall stone walls. Surrounding the exterior of the city sat ships on sleds, collecting snow as they waited to be used. (Y/N) noticed the tall buildings peeking out from beyond the walls with domes resting on top. Such an odd shape for a roof. Within the city were many merchants and traders, calling out offers and the services they provided.

(Y/N) stopped briefly, watching two men ride past him on a sled pulled by a bulky horse. Harald chuckled and patted his back before approaching one of the sellers and offering his silver ring in return for three bowls of broth. (Y/N) took the small wooden bowl into his hands and brought it to his face, letting the steam warm his face before he drank and chewed on the chunks of meat floating in the broth. 

"What are they doing?" Leif asked and (Y/N) turned to look at him, following his line of sight toward two men in front of an old wooden building. One of the men sat on the snowy ground, slumped over and looking half-dead. The other man stumbled about before leaning back against the building and sliding down to the ground, head limply going from side to side. 

"Opium," Harald answered, pitifully looking at the men and shaking his head. "They say its smoke enters your body and steals your soul." 

"Why would they do it?"

"To escape this Earth. To talk to the dead." Harald shrugged lightly, finishing his broth and using his sleeve to wipe the snow and remains off his lips. (Y/N) hummed lightly, drinking the last of his broth and turning around at the sound of loud cheering coming from a large perched tent behind them. Harald grinned widely and nodded toward it, eagerly walking forward. The brothers followed him inside and (Y/N) took note of the multiple shirtless sweaty men of varying ages hanging about. Many with bruises. Wooden beams for lanterns and seating areas had been built within the tent. Toward the back of the tent, perched on a wooden stage of sorts, sat a middle-aged man drinking from his goblet. In the middle was an open area where two men connected at the wrist by rope swung at each other, blood dripping down their skin and bruises littering their bodies. Some men walked around the seating areas with bowls, taking coins from the spectators. 

"That's him," Harald whispered to them, motioning to the middle-aged man (Y/N) had noticed minutes prior. Harald walked along the sidelines as the fight ended with one of the men roaring in victory. Before Harald could get to his uncle, two guards stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Frowning at them, Harald scoffed. "Let me by. I'm Prince Harald Sigurdsson. I'm here to see my uncle!" The guards refused to budge, even shoving Harald back when he got too close. 

A gong sounded off and (Y/N) looked back at the middle, noticing two new shirtless men fighting each other. Suddenly, Harald handed Leif his sword and rushed forward, kicking the man holding the other down. The second man scrambled to his feet and stood up, only for Harald to whirl around and punch him. Turning to face his surprised uncle, Harald spoke despite being swarmed by guards, "What this fight needs is a Viking named Prince Harald Sigurdsson of Norway, great-grandson of Harald Finehair and blood relative of the esteemed Yaroslav the Wise!"

"Stop!" Yaroslav ordered, standing from his seat. He stopped and squinted down at Harald, hooking his fingers into the belt around his waist and raising a brow. "Harald?"

Shoving away the guards, Harald panted and greeted him. "Uncle."

"Look at you... What has brought you to Novgorod?" Yaroslav questioned curiously, eyeing the worn clothes on his body. Harald looked far from princely with his long snow-covered beard and messy hair. Unlike his nephew, Yaroslav appeared well-put together. He wore black clothes with gold designs embroidered on them. He had short curly black hair that swooped delicately over his forehead and a neatly trimmed beard. From everything Harald had told them, Yaroslav was a reasonable and hospitable man.

"It's a long story, Uncle. One told better over food and drink." Harald responded and a large smirk spread across Yaroslav's face.

Everything afterward passed by in a blur. They were taken to the finest inn in the city and given rooms where they bathed and changed into fresh clothes before being taken to a brightly lit room. Many colors covered the walls and the fabrics the people wore were eye-catching. (Y/N) supposed when one lived in a barren land, it was only natural to want to stand out. They sat at a long table with other guests, though Harald sat near his uncle. They were served a lot of food and given wine to drink. Harald spoke with his uncle and another man while Leif listened in on their conversation and (Y/N) occupied himself with the food.

"Greenlanders!" Yaroslav called out to them and (Y/N) paused mid-chew, turning his head toward the ruler. Yarslav grinned at them. (Y/N) wondered if everyone related to Harald was so friendly. "They have language at the edge of the world, don't they?"

"Last time I was there," Leif responded as chatter at the table ceased and eyes turned to look at them curiously. (Y/N) swallowed down his food and licked his lips, glancing at Harald. The prince smiled at him encouragingly.

"And tell us, what is it like to live so removed from civilization?" 

"Greenland is quiet," Leif answered again and shrugged lightly. Yaroslav stared at him, slowly nodding as his gaze flickered between the brothers and then to Harald. Not a good enough reply to quench the ruler's curiosity. 

"Quiet, and...?"

"Gives you time to think about things. At night, we would watch the norðurljós. Colors of all the heavens would light up the sky." Leif smiled, looking across the table at his brother, gaze turning fond as he spoke. The woman beside Leif watched him with a warm smile. "We heard stories when we were younger that they were the reflections of the Valkyries' armor. (Y/N)'s mother had a different story, though. When the moon is low, and the sea is sleeping, you can hear the songr of the hvlar swimming at the bottom of the ocean. And then, all at once, they explode from the darkness. Mouths open wide enough to swallow ships." (Y/N) smiled. He could still remember when his mother sat them outside to watch the dancing lights in the sky while she told them the story.

"I hated Greenland when I lived there," Leif confessed with a grimace, gaze falling onto the table. "Now I miss it. I miss the people I knew there." 

"I understand that," Yaroslav said with a hint of longing in his voice. Reaching for his cup, he lifted it in the air and smiled widely. "Welcome to Novgorod, where, unfortunately, quiet does not exist." Laughter scattered across the table and the guests raised their cups in turn. (Y/N) sipped on his wine and returned to his food, finishing his plate, and then hearing Yaroslav raise his voice at Harald.

"I cannot risk upsetting him or his crazy father just so that you can fight for something you never had!" He shouted and Harald looked away from him with a frown, leaning back in his seat as silence fell over the table again. Never taking his green eyes off Harald, Yaroslav continued more calmly. "As I see it, beloved nephew, you have two options: return to Kattegat and swear fealty to Olaf-"

"No."

"-Or do what Vikings have always done. Reivent yourself." His words made Harald's brows furrow but an interest blossomed in his eyes. 

Once Yaroslav finished eating, the dinner was considered finally over and most quests excused themselves to their lodgings. (Y/N) bid his brother goodnight and headed to his own lodgings, looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed that wouldn't make his muscles ache. Pushing open the door and stepping inside, he couldn't bring himself to be surprised when he noticed Harald sitting on the edge of the bed with his arms on his knees. With his gaze on the floor, (Y/N) couldn't get a clear view of his face. (Y/N) closed the door and stepped further into the room, slipping his dagger off his waist and setting it down on a chair before walking closer to Harald. He gently began running his fingers through Harald's soft locks, feeling Harald nuzzle against him and sigh heavily.

"My uncle is well within his rights to refuse me in favor of Canute. He claims the southern river trade route is blocked by a group of brutal nomadics called Pechenegs. Trade is what keeps Novgorod flourishing. He cannot risk going to war with Canute and losing his northern trade." Harald explained quietly, arms slowly slithering around (Y/N). 

"What will you do then? Reinvent yourself?" 

"Yes." Harald tilted his head upward, pressing his chin against (Y/N)'s stomach. Chuckling when (Y/N) gave him a puzzled look, he explained. "I cannot keep expecting others to help me. I need to work for it. I just need to find something that will sell for a good price."

"And what will you do then?"

"I will gather an army and take Norway," Harald answered confidently and (Y/N) hummed softly, tucking a brown strand behind Harald's ear. Harald smiled lovingly, leaning into (Y/N)'s hand and pressing a fluttery kiss to his wrist. (Y/N) shifted slightly, pressing the front of his feet to his ankles and carefully slipping out of his boots. 

"I hope you have a proper plan this time, Harald. We do not need a repeat of Kattegat." (Y/N) murmured, shedding the first layer of clothes and stepping around the bed. Laying down, he moved under the many warm blankets and snuggled into the pillow, watching Harald take his boots off and get comfortable. 

"I know, my love." Harald reached out and tugged him closer, rubbing his hands against the fabric of (Y/N)'s tunic. 

"Harald, we should talk about what I said back in-"

"We've had a long day, love," Harald interrupted quietly, kissing his forehead and pulling him further against his chest. Resting his chin on top of his head, Harald stared forward at the dim lantern keeping the room lit as his mind desperately tried to scrub away the words that made his heart ache. He'd found a love that made him stronger. He couldn't lose that. Not after the betrayals from Canute and his own brother. "Get some rest."

                    ➸        ➸       ➸       ➸       ➸       ➸

Stepping out into the cold, (Y/N) felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. For a split second, he could see the icy ocean in the distance and hear the roaring wind slipping between the sparse trees near their home. But those visions were replaced by bustling crowds and the sound of chatter. With a sigh, (Y/N) headed down a staircase, easily finding Harald amongst the crowd. He spoke with a man selling all sorts of furs. (Y/N)'s brows furrowed at the sight. 

"Sleep well?" His brother asked as he approached, voice gruff and slightly shakey. His head turned back in the direction of the old building where opium was given, gaze lingering on it for far longer than (Y/N)'s liking. Taking Leif's arm gently, he pulled Leif's attention off the building and onto him but Leif averted his eyes upon seeing the frown on (Y/N)'s face.

"Leif-"

"What is Harald up to?" Leif cleared his throat, tugging his arm free and quickening his pace to greet the prince. (Y/N)'s frown only deepened and he followed after him, eyeing the furs bundled up and scattered across the tables. Harald grinned widely when he spotted them, stepping away from the seller and extending his arms to either side of him.

"I have a new plan!" He declared, slinging his arms around their shoulders and bringing them closer to the tables. "I must fund my own army since Yaroslav will not back one for me. I intend to buy as many furs as possible here and sell them in Constantinople."

"And how do you plan to get there?" Leif questioned, looking at his brother and quirking a brow in question. (Y/N) only shrugged in response.

"I will worry about that detail tomorrow, my friend." Harald chuckled rather sheepishly, tightening his hold on the brothers again and dragging them away from the table and toward the large fighting ring tent. (Y/N) grimaced, hearing an eruption of cheers slip out from the tent. "Today, we must make money doing what we're good at." 

Just like the prior day, the tent had been packed with both spectators and fighters. The fighters all dressed similarly. They wore no armor and carried no weapons. The only article of clothing on them were loose pants, leaving the rest of their body exposed to their opponents. A quick way of painting one's body in purple and green. The next fighter had been the victorious one from the day before. He was a tall dark-skinned man with short dark hair braided back tightly against his skull. When he turned slightly under the lantern light, (Y/N) spotted the scars littering his body. He carried an air of confidence, searching the crowd for any fighter bold enough to step up to the challenge as another man, his partner most likely, stepped forward.

"Who wants to bet against Kaysan, the great African warrior?" His partner called out, cackling when no one stepped forward. Shorter than Kaysan and less muscled, the man had fair skin and big brown eyes filled with arrogance. His hair had been cut short and trimmed even shorter on the sides. He seemed particularly proud of Kaysan, exchanging smirks with him when the other fighters looked away. "No one wants to bet against Kaysan?"

When no fighters stepped up, the man looked toward one of his own, motioning for him to step forward. "Maybe some of you will bet against Kaysan now!"

"I'll bet against both of them!" (Y/N) blinked, head snapping in Harald's direction. The prince stepped forward, turning sideways to point back at Leif. (Y/N) scoffed softly. "Two against two."

"Harald," Leif called quietly, lightly shaking his head and glancing around as the crowd grew louder and tossed their coins into the bowls the collectors carried. 

"Come on," Harald breathed, walking toward them and clapping his hands over Leif's arms. "We need the money."

"You need the money." Leif chided and frowned. 

"We're not gonna fight for the entertainment of these people, Harald." (Y/N) told him, gaze hardening. Harald looked at him, taking in the disappointment on his face. Pursing his lips, Harald nodded and sighed, looking back toward the three men. 

"I have a better idea!" Harald called and approached Kaysan's partner, smirking at him. "If this man accepts my bet of 100 hryvnya, I'll fight against both of his fighters." Harald looked back at the brothers, meeting (Y/N)'s eyes. His lover shook his head at him but Harald ignored it, giving him a small smile instead and looking back at the man. Kaysan chuckled softly under his breath as Harald and his partner shook hands. Harald walked off to get dressed and Kaysan powdered his hands, rubbing them together and walking by the two brothers. 

"Don't worry," He smirked lazily. "I'll try not to kill your brother."

"I can't promise he'll return the favor," Leif murmured and Kaysan chuckled before strolling back toward the center. (Y/N) folded his arms over his chest, feeling every muscle in his body tense. The crowd shouted Kaysan's name and poured more coin into the bowls. If Kaysan had so many fans, it meant he fought pretty often. And won. Harald's carelessness would get him killed, (Y/N) just knew it would.

Harald returned and powdered his hands, looking at the brothers with a confident smile. When the gong sounded off, he reared up his fists and charged first, punching the second fighter in his stomach and then connecting his fist to Kaysan's jaw. Kaysan stumbled back from the hit and Harald turned, swinging at the second fighter who blocked most of his hits. Grabbing the man by the arms, Harald turned and threw him to the ground, causing Kaysan to trip over him. Taking advantage of the moment, Harald kicked Kaysan in the face and stepped back, waiting for the men to get back onto their feet. 

Kaysan stood first, snarling as he swung at Harald. Harald dodged and blocked, landing a hit on Kaysan's side before pressing his forearm to Kaysan's chest and pushing him back against a support beam. Kaysan swung at Harald's stomach and Harald grunted, baring his teeth and punching Kaysan's cheek. He turned in time to see the other fighter close to him and ducked before the punch could land. Harald grabbed the man's leg and tossed himself onto the ground, rolling over and forcing the man to fall back. As he moved to stand, Kaysan charged, kneeing him in the stomach. Harald fell back, grunting softly and quickly moving onto his hands and knees. Kaysan grabbed his long hair and pulled him up onto his feet, grasping the sides of Harald's face and bringing his head down while also bringing his own knee up. (Y/N) grimaced when Kaysan's knee connected to Harald's face. 

Breaking free of Kaysan's grip, Harald dodged the punches thrown by both fighters and caught Kaysan's forearm, tossing his leg up and nearly hitting Kaysan in the groin. He punched Kaysan's face again but before he could turn, the other fighter, wrapped his arms around his waist and heaved him up, tossing him down on the ground. The weight of Harald forced the fighter to fall as well and the two men took big gulps of air as they recovered from the fall. Once orientated again, Harald moved forward and got on top of the fighter but the fighter quickly rolled over, shoving Harald off of him and right next to Kaysan. Harald tried scrambling back but Kaysan loomed over him, large hands reaching for Harald's throat. (Y/N) wrapped his fingers around his necklace and winced, almost looking away when Harald was picked up by the throat and tossed back down on the ground. With that, the gong rang again, signaling the first round was over. Leif reached back, taking the cup of water someone offered him for Harald.

Harald staggered onto his feet, drenched in sweat. His hair stuck to his face and trickled down from his lips. Harald walked toward the brothers, panting heavily and chuckling breathlessly. "See what you're missing?" Harald laughed, taking the cup and drinking.

"You're gonna get yourself killed." (Y/N) muttered, running his thumb back and forth over the bones and listening to the hollers from the crowd. He didn't miss the way one spectator shouted for Harald's death.

Tugging at his own necklace, Harald's grin widened. "I've got my lucky charm." He reminded him, chugging back more of the water and cringing at the taste of metallic. Leif eyed the other two fighters as they drank and gathered themselves again.

"Watch the left of the big one. He's slow to defend." Leif quietly told him and Harald hummed, handing back the cup and taking in a big gulp of air before turning around and walking back toward the center. 

Once the gong sounded off, Kaysan attacked first and Harald dodged his first punch, only for Kaysan to throw another punch at him with his other arm and hit the side of his face. Harald notably staggered more, the exhaustion of the first match beginning to take hold. Luckily, Harald recovered quickly and dodged the next punch, rearing up and repeatedly punching Kaysan in the face before shoving him back to have some space when he backhanded the other fighter. He turned back to Kaysan and attempted to throw another punch but Kaysan blocked it and shot his arm forward, grabbing Harald by the throat again and sneering down at him. The other fighter came up behind Harald, repeating his move of wrapping his arms around him and tossing him to the ground, only this time he landed on Harald. With the man on his back, Harald elbowed his side only to get kicked down by Kaysan. The other fighter moved fully onto Harald's back and slipped his arm around Harald's neck, forcing his face up for Kaysan to kick. But Harald used his weight to push back against the fighter on him, rolling over and causing Kaysan to miss. Before he could land some hits on the smaller fighter, Kaysan kicked his side again, hitting him hard enough to force him away and onto his back. 

As Kaysan approached, Harald threw a punch at his groin and Kaysan instantly leaned over in pain, giving Harald a clear opportunity to punch his square on the nose. Kaysan fell back from the force and Harald rolled onto his belly but before he could get up the other fighter crawled toward him and grabbed his ankle. Harald easily kicked his face and got up, letting the two men gather themselves and stand. The other fighter moved first, stumbling forward with a bleeding nose. Harald wrapped his arm around the man and used it to hold himself up and kick Kaysan in the stomach with both feet. With his arms still around the fighter, he used his weight to turn and slam the man onto the ground. Getting on top of him, Harald punched him again and again until there was a sickening crack and Harald got off the heaving man. 

With his fighters losing, Kaysan's partner looked at his last fighter and motioned for him to get into the fight. (Y/N) glanced toward the man at the gong but he remained still, even as the new fighter grabbed Harald from behind and tossed him toward a support beam. With the fight turning into three vs one, Leif shed his coat as Kaysan got on top of Harald. Harald raised his arms up to block Kaysan's repetitive punches while the new fighter checked on the other man.

"Fuck!" (Y/N) hissed when Leif charged, tackling Kaysan off bloody and bruised Harald. He got a punch in before standing to face the third fighter and grabbing his arms. Leif shoved him back against a support beam, taking the side of his face and slamming it against the beam again. When the man fell to the floor, Leif wrapped his arms around his neck and rolled onto the floor so the man was on top of him. Wrapping his legs around the man's body, he squeezed his forearm around the man's neck, and then seemingly out of instinct, he snapped it. Kaysan and his partner quickly fled the tent, whether out of fear or not wanting to pay, (Y/N) couldn't tell nor force himself to care. Harald scrambled onto his feet and pulled Leif up.

"We won, Leif!" Harald laughed, holding Leif by the shoulders and lightly shaking him. Leif panted, breath going in and out in short bursts. His widened eyes stared down at the dead man at his feet and (Y/N) picked up Leif's coats, approaching them and handing them off. Leif slipped them on and quickly walked away, looking disoriented and panicked.

"(Y/N)-" Harald began, reaching out toward him but (Y/N) ripped his arm away when Harald's fingers grazed it. One would've thought Harald had burned him. Harald's throat tightened when (Y/N) didn't even look back at him as he walked away from him and exited the tent.

(Y/N) caught up to his brother, his heart cracking when Leif flinched. "Come, Leif." (Y/N) whispered, rubbing his hands against Leif's arms and guiding him back toward the inn. Leif's breathing slowly returned to normal but his gaze remained distant. Guilt clouded his eyes. (Y/N) headed toward Leif's room, opening the door and closing it behind them. 

"I... I killed a man." Leif breathed out, slumping down on his bed and burying his face in his hands.

"You saved Harald's life." (Y/N) pointed out softly, taking a seat beside his brother and rubbing circles along his back. But they both knew it hadn't been the act itself that had shaken Leif. It'd been the way he lost control of himself, just like their father did. For a man who spent most of his adulthood hoping to prove he wasn't like his father, flipping the switch so easily meant everything he worked toward was a mere mask. It meant a day would come when he'd fully lose himself to blind rage and bloodlust. 

Inhaling deeply, Leif pulled his hands away from his face and (Y/N) noticed the unshed tears in his eyes. "I did not need to kill him... it-it just happened so quickly-"

"I know, Leif." (Y/N) cooed, wrapping his arms around Leif's shoulders and pulling him close. Placing a hand on the side of Leif's face, (Y/N) kissed the top of his head and murmured soft comforts into his ear. He sat still on the bed, allowing his brother to weep for as long as he wanted. For months, Leif had been swallowing his grief and letting it eat him up inside. (Y/N) waited until Leif grew tired before letting him have a moment alone. 

Stepping out of Leif's room and heading toward his own, (Y/N) heard the distant clap of thunder. When he entered his room, he spotted Harald sitting on one of the chairs and tending to the countless bruises and cuts on his body. Harald gently dabbed at his skin with a piece of wet cloth, wiping away the dust and blood on his body. (Y/N) stared at him. No part of him wanted to help Harald with his injuries. 

"A friend of my uncle's has given us two thousand hryvnya to get him to Constantinople. I've already bought the furs. All we must do now is-"

"Leif killed a man for you... and you're talking about furs?" (Y/N) remained rooted in his spot by the door, watching Harald pause his movements and look up at him. Harald swallowed, squeezing blood and water from the cloth before setting it on the table and standing up. 

"I understand you're upset-"

"Upset? I'm exhausted, Harald. I've been away from home for almost a year, I've been forced into two wars, and my brother isn't well. You... You are so..." (Y/N) pressed his quivering lips together, tearing his eyes away from Harald and shakily exhaling. The disappointment and sadness washed away, becoming muddled with anger and exhaustion. A small chuckle escaped him. "You and your brother are the same, Harald. All you desire is power. You've spent your whole life wanting a throne that was never yours."

Clenching his jaw, Harald spoke, "My great-grandfather was Harald Finehair. My family has sat on the throne for many years. Olaf promised the throne would pass to me and it has been given to a boy instead. The throne belongs to my family, (Y/N). It does not belong to the son of an oathbreaker."

"It belongs to your family, yes. But not you. You were born too late. You never had a claim to it." (Y/N)'s tone turned icy and filled with irritation, teeth grinding together as his eyes shot back to look Harald in the face. The prince stared at him, disbelief settling on his face. "The throne would've been yours long ago if you had a proper claim."

"Not true."

"You think all this has happened for no reason? Canute's betrayal? Olaf's betrayal? Why else would the Gods stop you from sitting the throne? You were never meant to be king, Harald!" (Y/N) snapped abruptly and Harald flinched slightly, lips parting. His eyes flickered between (Y/N), his hands growing clammy and his throat tightened. Harald shook his head repetitively, collecting his shirt and coats. His gaze remained downcast when he walked forward, arm brushing against (Y/N)'s as he walked past him. The door slammed loudly behind him, nearly rattling the walls. (Y/N) felt himself deflate, staggering forward toward his bed and collapsing onto it. Curling into himself, he stared at the fireplace, listening to the fire crackle and the thunder grow closer. Pain and guilt flooded his veins like a wave. But he couldn't deny the trickle of relief.

[earthboundvalkyrie]

Vikings Valhalla Season 2, Episode 2 "Towers of Faith" Recap

New Post has been published on https://www.ebvs.blog/2023/02/01/vikings-valhalla-season-2-episode-2-towers-of-faith-recap/

Vikings Valhalla Season 2, Episode 2 "Towers of Faith" Recap

Caution:SPOILERS

The second episode opens with a series of brief scenes, catching us up with our key players. Olaf and Svein have chased down some Heathens, questioning one about the Jomsvikings, before Olaf tells Svein that to be King, he must bloody his sword. Svein kills the man.

Freydis arrives in Jomsborg where she is recognized by several people there and introduced to Harekr and Gudrid, a married couple who are the leaders of Jomsborg.

Leif and Harald arrive in Novgorod. Leif learns about opium and Harald finds his uncle Yaroslav. When Yaroslav’s guards won’t let Harald speak to him, Harald jumps into the fighting arena, and yells that the fight needs “a Viking named Prince Harald Sigurdsson, great-grandson of Harald Finehair and blood relative of Yaroslav the Wise.”

And in London, Earl Godwin is torturing a man who tried to assassinate Emma to find out who else was behind the plot. When the man says he knows nothing more, Godwin has them burn out his eye as the man says he heard someone call his contact “Bear.”

Back in Jomsborg, Freydis is admiring the way the Jomsvikings are being trained. Harekr asks if she’ll share some of her training. She agrees and steps into the practice area, where she quickly defeats several attackers. She and Gudrid start talking about families, and Gudrid says Freydis’ baby will be one to celebrate, explaining she knew Freydis was pregnant by the way she protected her belly while fighting.

Harald explains his situation to Yaroslav, who says he’s unable to help because a group known as Pechenegs have been blocking the route to Constantinople and right now, he can’t afford to upset Forkbeard. He suggests Harald should either go swear fealty to Olaf or “do what Vikings have always done – reinvent themselves.”

In Jomsborg, Harekr talks to Freydis and asks her to be the new Gudjia (priestess) of the temple. Freydis has her doubts because she ran from Kattegat.

Leif is looking out a window and sees a comet overhead. A woman named Mariam comes over to speak with him. She says she has come to Novgorod to find rocks that fall from the sky and explains to him how what the comet is. She then excuses herself, coughing, saying it’s too cold for her by the window.

Jorundr returns to Jomsborg with more refugees. Freydis notes that they are required to turn in their weapons as they get off their ship, before they are given food and clothing. Harekr points out they don’t know for sure who they can trust, indicating there may be Christians hidden amongst the refugees. He tells her they take the refugees to the forest where they have places to live and can work, helping make new weapons that will be needed to fight the Christians. Freydis goes back to her hut and finds the robes of a Gudjia laid out for her. She picks them up, wondering what to do.

King Svein and Jarl Olaf return to Kattegat, where they are greeted by Svein’s mother, Queen Aelfgifu. She looks at the blood still on Svein’s face, and Svein explains he killed a Pagan. Svein wants Olaf to eat with them that night, then leaves. Aelfgifu tells Olaf she won’t allow any dogs at her table.

Leif sees Liv entering the opium den and speaks to the proprietor before leaving and running into Harald, who has decided he wants to buy furs to take to Constantinople to sell, so he can raise cash to put an army together. To get the money to buy pelts, Harald needs Leif to join him in the fighting arena, where they can gamble on their ability to win. Leif balks at this, so Harald challenges two men, saying he will fight them himself.

Sam Corlett and Leo Suter

When one of the two fighters becomes is unable to continue, then promoter throws a fresh fighter in the ring. Leif protests, but when the proprietor stands his ground, Leif jumps into the fray, where he ends up killing a man. The men running the fight grab all the money that has been bet on the match and run out of the tent, leaving Harald with no money to buy his furs.

Later that evening, Yaroslav finds Harald and says that he has an idea to help Harald obtain the capital he needs. Yaroslav claims he has something he must get to the Emporer of Constantinople and adds he feels Harald is the man who can take it there.

Olaf joins Aelfgifu in her hall. She explains her son will not be joining him, as Olaf has exhausted him. She asks why he’s hunting the Jomsvikings. He points out it’s because they’re giving Heathens refuge, and he thinks Harald is amongst them. He then flirts with Aelfgifu, telling her Canute was wrong to throw her over for Queen Emma. When Aelfgifu says such talk is dangerous, Olaf replies its just the two of them there, a Queen and her dog.

Back in London, Earl Godwin and Emma return to the prison, where they find that all the prisoners have been “slaughtered like cattle,” including the man Godwin had been questioning.

Freydis leaves her hut wearing the Gudjia robes with her forearms painted white. Harekr is clearly pleased. Gudrid carrying Freydis’ sword, leads Freydis into the temple. Freydis then proceeds to the top of a nearby tower. A woman, vocalizing a wordless song, brings many people from the forest to the tower. Freydis then raises her blade and declares that to the people that Jomsborg is safe, and that it is their new Uppsala. The crowds cheer.

Leif goes to the opium den and partakes, hoping to see Liv again. When she appears to him, she asks him to come with her, so he follows the hallucination outside into a fierce storm.”She” leads him up a tower to its roof, where she calls for him to join her in Valhalla. She continues backing up, beckoning to Leif until she is standing off the roof, floating high above the ground. Leif continues to follow, until he finds the cross he was given in the first season in his coat. As he looks at it, “Liv” frowns and then disappears. Leif is distraught and starts towards the edge anew when he is struck by lightning and collapses on the roof of the tower.

[in-valhalla]

4// ship

Ask: “Can I have a male ship? I’m a 5’6 beach wavy brunette with green eyes. I’m a giant bookworm and fiercely loyal to my family and friends. I’m introverted and have a resting bitch face so when people meet me they are initially put off but once you get to know me I’m very smart, witty/sarcastic, kind and adventurist. I’m very self confident and self assured with who I am and what I want so I don’t really pay mind to people’s opinions of me. Thank you so much!“

Requested by: Anon

I ship you with Harald!

Oddly enough, it was your resting bitch face that drew him to you. While everyone else is too intimidated to talk to you or approaching you is the last thing they want to do, Harald found it very intriguing to say the least. He knew that there was more to you than what meets the eye and it wasn’t only a five foot six, green-eyed, wavy brown-haired beauty with a natural face that means business. He definitely wanted to know who this woman was. And surprise, surprise, after he got to know you well, he was blown away with how quick and sarcastic you could be.

He thinks it’s cute that you immerse yourself in stories and legends. You’re always eager to learn stories from outsiders or travelers just passing through. You use your knowledge to your advantage by creating adventurous tales to tell to children based on the stories that you hear. He never had any doubt that you are exceptionally smart in all the ways imagined possible. You know how to use that to your advantage with everything.

Being introverted doesn’t necessarily mean not associating with everyone and being a hermit but you would rather be at home and you don’t mind your own company for long periods of time. It’s not that you don’t like people but you would rather not have more social interactions than you need to and Harald understands that you don’t like overly crowded areas that force you to speak to more people than you would want to.

He cannot stress enough how much he thinks it’s so sexy that you’re confident in yourself. He loves the way you carry yourself with so much grace and your chin tilted up. Not in arrogance but in self-respect. You always know exactly what you want and you don’t sugar-coat anything. You might be the whispers of the town for a little while but you couldn’t care less what anyone has to say even when it comes to Harald. Not that he would ever put you down but he would try to talk you out of doing some things but you know how to handle yourself and you make sure he knows good and well that you will not be swayed. Sometimes your confidence comes out as defiance and he has no problem setting you straight later that night. ;)

Harald would never keep you from doing something and that includes traveling. He loves it when you both take a boat, just you and him, and sail somewhere for a few nights before returning home. Whenever he travels somewhere, you’re right there beside him, seeing the world.

One of his favorite things to do is to hold you in some way or form whether it be to his chest when you are sleeping, holding your hand while standing, or having a hand on your knee when you’re sitting side by side. He needs to feel you with him at all times. That being said, he always hates to leave you when you don’t come on raids with him. He’ll miss you terribly and he can’t wait to see you again. The moment you are reunited with your love is the happiest day. He immediately grabs you and whisks you away so you could spend your much needed time alone.

He wouldn’t ever trade you for anything in the world and if that means not being king, then so be it. He would never want to lose you and he would never want to live a life without you. He is so devoted to you and worships the ground you walk on. Unlike others, he will tell you he loves you any chance that he gets. You can always count on him to be on your side no matter what. He is loyal and protective and will shelter you from any harm. He will spend the rest of his life complimenting you until the day you both die. He just has so much love in his heart for you. He looks at you with literal heart eyes.

A/N: I’m literally so mad at myself. I thought I queued this but it was actually just sitting in my drafts. I need to set reminders STAT.

[laketaj24]

If this counts as a dirty secret.. Auralism is one of my many kinks. Sounds, music and voices makes me horny. So I am always horny. (Vikings or Peaky Blinders.)

Ooooo I can totally see Harald Finehair. I love to hear that man bust out in song. Like love it — and songs were dead to him so I’m certain that using his voice for seduction would be a perk ❤️

[forvalhallaandodin]

Requests and Ships

Hey, sorry I haven’t been on in a while. But I’m taking requests again but I stopped doing ships. Thank you guys for the support!

Much love,

Val

[ladylannister95]

Empathetic Ivar

[no-confidence-to-write]

Hi! I was hoping to get a ship for vikings?Im a Taurus, An INTP w/ reddish brown hair, i have 2 piercings &2 tattoos, im 5'9,&wear glasses. Hazel eyes &i love to show off my tallness.I love reading, traveling, video games, history,the unexpected, animals,&music. Loyalty is very important to me &i tend to wear my heart on my sleeve. Training for phlebotomy but in my heart ill always be an artist. Open minded, down to earth, stubborn, knowledgeable, &a secret romantic.Cant wait for your reply! :)

Sorry, it took so long for me to reply. I’m on vacation with my family. I could see you with Harald and Halfdan.

 They both want someone loyal in their lives. Your looks also attract them to you. They like your confidence.

- Halfdan wants someone who wants to see the world with him. He likes that you’re open-minded and down-to-earth.

- Harald likes your confidence and loyalty is very important to him. He would bring out your romantic side and spoil you with books, exotic pets, and art supply.

[imdancingintherain07]

[lordavanti]

Alliances - Part II

Part I Request: Will you do a part 2 of alliances where the reader is harassed by a Viking, she refused, hits her and Harald see what happens and defends her after he realized that he fell for her and decides to marry her? Words: 2275 Warnings: Harassment, murder

You lost your virginity to a Viking. Your whole life you were raised with one goal, to find a suitable man with a high rank and a devotion to god. This night had destroyed all of that. These weren’t games anymore. Now that these Vikings were back you all had to play it hard. They were here to stay. You forget about the rules the moment you found out they had arrived. So you didn’t regret it. You didn’t regret waking up aside from him, finding yourself wrapped up in his arms. How he had wished you a good morning with that deep hoarse morning voice. How he so easily kissed you before his lips traveled down your neck, between your breasts, and over your stomach. You never had found this kind of pleasure. And honestly, you had to admit Harald knew a thing or two about pleasure. He had left you that morning and nobody ever found out. Well, your sister did. But she wasn’t all that better. At the end of the road, there was nobody playing it better than you and Emma did.

A few days had passed since that night. Days that were filled with politics and dangerous actions. Your sister warmed the heart of Canute completely. And with the current threats in his home country decisions needed to be made. You leaned against the wall, looking over London and the courtyard of the castle. Emma seemed drowned in her own thoughts so you give her that time while looking down, finding Harald practicing with a sword. For a moment you enjoyed the view until he looked up. An unlimited smile came on his lips and you couldn’t help smiling a little back. ‘You should marry him.’ Emma said out of nowhere. Your eyes traveled away from Harald as you looked at your sister. ‘If Canute is planning on coming back here he needs somebody to take care of Norway. He is a prince, the great descendant of Harald Finehair, he is meant to rule,’ she paused while fixing her gaze on Harald. ‘you are meant to rule.’ She whispered. ‘You want me to leave London?’ You asked. It wouldn’t be the first move you made but this was different. It would mean there was a slim chance that you ever came back. It would mean that you would have to change your life. ‘If you are there satisfying this man and I’m here satisfying the other, wouldn’t that be the perfect balance to find peace between our people?’ Emma asked with a small smile. You signed, shaking your head as you looked back to Harald. ‘He is kind to me, but that doesn’t mean others would be.’ You reminded her. Here you were safe, because you had guards, your sister and Godwin keeping an eye out. There it would only be Harald. ‘Think it over.’ Emma smiled, squeezing your hand before leaving your side. ‘You are gonna marry him?’ You asked her. She turned and gave you a promising smile. ‘I’ll secure London the best way possible, by becoming its queen.’ She nodded. Your eyes went back to Harald. Could you really commit yourself to this? Where you this ambitious? You couldn’t disappoint your sister, but moving wasn’t something you had thought about. Yet she was right. It could bring peace between both lands.

Canute left London. You watched a large part of his army sail away. It left Emma in charge as the new queen. And you were proud of her for securing this. But Canute leaving left your people vulnerable. ‘What is on your mind?’ He asked. You turned your eyes away from the ships as you looked at Harald. ‘That I don’t feel that safe anymore.’ You honestly spoke up. You looked back away, shaking your head. ‘King Canute had everybody under control, now I can feel that,’ you paused, not able to describe the feeling his departure left. ‘I’m still here.’ Harald pointed out. You weakly smile before looking back at him. ‘Does that guarantee they will all behave?’ You asked. That playful grin on his lips faded as he looked over the water. ‘They will, they have nothing to gain if they plan something.’ ‘I’m not sure if Olaf thinks the same way.’ You pointed out. You turned away and started walking. But Harald was quick to grab your hand. ‘You are safe Y/n.’ He reassured you. You kept your eyes shortly on his before you smiled. You squeezed his hand and walked on. There was only one person who could keep you safe, it was your sister.

It was late when you returned to the castle. The darkness started sliding into London and people started to retreat from the streets. It was the first time you felt unsafe. You felt like eyes were prying on you, people were following you while there was no proof of that. It was only when you entered the courtyard that you felt like you could breathe again. ‘It’s the princess.’ Someone chuckled from behind the horse stables. Two Vikings approached you. One holding a cup of ale while the other watched you like a hawk. You ignored them as you kept a calm steady pace towards the castle. ‘Where are you going princess?’ He asked again. The other, more sober one, jumped before you and you halted. You recognized him as one of Olaf his men. ‘I’m not a princess.’ You kindly protested. The drunk one of them to touched your arm, feeling the silk of your dress. ‘You dress like a princess,’ he chuckled as he watched his companion. ‘would she feel like a princess?’ He asked, eyes greedy. ‘Let me go.’ You insisted. You wouldn’t lower to a level where you would have to beg them to stop. But you hadn’t been carrying a dagger either. So your options were limited. The drunk one touched your bare neck and you shivered. ‘If you do me harm my sister will make sure you endure days of pain.’ You whispered in a strong threat. But they both started laughing. They gave each other a look and just like that they grabbed you. The sober one covered your mouth before you could even start to scream, and the other pushed you towards the stables. You fought, with all the strenght that you had. But they were Viking and for that the stronger force. You tried to pull your mouth away from his hand. And in that small window of time where you succeed, it wasn’t your sister you called for. ‘Harald!’ You screamed into the darkness. He covered your mouth again and you bit down his fingers. As a reaction, he slapped you in the face before they pushed you into the stables. One firm kick in your stomach and you weren’t able to breathe again. You laid there, gasping for breath as the sober one pushed you down. Your fight was over. All the power your sister said you had just vanished under the strenght of these two men. He covered your mouth while the other drunk one got on top of you. And just like that things changed as you felt something warm touch your face. Your eyes opened to a slit throat as Harald pulled him from you. ‘Seize him.’ He commanded the two guards that had followed you. Completely in shock, you watched his dead body before Harald crouched down before you. ‘Y/n,’ he touched your face and you flinched. Your eyes went back to him. He seemed in panic, restless, concerned, and things you never thought a Viking could feel. Your emotions started seeping and the tears started rolling. Harald lifted you from the ground and carried you away. And just like that, you were safe again.

He had stood there, beside the door of your room as you cleaned the blood away from your face. He said nothing and neither did you. It was only when a servant helped you in a nightgown behind the dressers that he started talking. ‘I’ll leave you for the night.’ He announced. You appeared again, giving your servant a friendly nod before pointing your attention to Harald. You waited until the servant had left to speak. ‘Will you stay?’ You asked him. Never had you sound so little, so small. And it seemed like your words relieved him. He nodded and you forced an unhappy smile on your lips as you walked to the bed. Harald hesitated for a moment, but then he pulled out his shirt and joined you in bed. For a moment you just gazed to the ceiling before turning to him. ‘Thank you for saving me.’ You whispered. He lifted his hand and slowly stroke a strand of hair out of your face. ‘I’ll always safe you.’ He promised. You pulled yourself closer to him and he took you in his safe embrace. A shacky breath left your body as you closed your eyes. Sleep came, but it had never been this restless.

When you woke up the first smell was that of his skin. You laid against his chest, his arm still wrapped around you, yours crossing over his body. The second thing you felt was the pain. You tried moving but your chest and stomach turned in protest. Carefully you tried to turn on back. Offcourse, it woke him. ‘Hey,’ ‘Hey.’ You greeted him back. You felt insecure as you looked aside at him. ‘How are you feeling?’ He asked. ‘Like I have been kicked by a horse.’ You answered. You pushed your hands under your body to sit a little more up. Every inch of your protested and you hissed. ‘Careful,’ he stopped you from moving at all. You took in a frustrated breath before looking back aside to him. He was studying your face carefully. ‘I thought they would kill me.’ You said while fighting these strong emotions again. ‘All that time my sister said I had power. But I have nothing. She has all of that through her marriage with the previous king, through Canute. People fear her for her connections,’ you paused, shaking your head. ‘I have nothing.’ It was a realization that only seeped in now. ‘And as long as I don’t get that this will keep on happening.’ Another realization you rather didn’t have. It was quiet for a moment and you lowered your eyes to his chest. He laid his hand against your face, pushing your chin up so you had to look at him again. ‘Let me keep you safe.’ He offered. Something sincere was in his eyes. ‘How?’ ‘Marry me, become the future queen of Norway, let me give you that power you seek.’ He said. You kept your eyes on him. He meant it, he meant it with every fiber of his body. ‘Harald,’ you protested. ‘I’m falling for you Y/n, I have been since I opened that door. I’m here for you and only you. Let me protect you, let me fight for you.’ It almost sounded like he was begging it. At that moment you could feel everything there was in between you. And you nodded without overthinking it. You lifted your hand and pulled his face closer before kissing him. This kiss wasn’t like the ones you shared before. This went deep, slow, and passionately.

Later that day you stood in the throne room. You wear a red dress, your hair braided over your shoulder as you watched your sister on her throne. Aside from your sister nobody knew. You didn’t allow them your pain, they couldn’t see how easy it was to get you down on your knees. Everybody looked towards the door as it opened. A guard came in, pushing his prisoner, you offender forward. Followed by Harald. It was the first time you saw him like this. Cloaked in black, fur around his shoulders. He looked very king worthy. Shortly he looked towards you and you only lifted your chin, reassuring him that you were alright with this. ‘Queen Emma, I like to represent you the traitor.’ He announced as he kicked your offender down on his knees. ‘For the acts you committed punishment is death,’ Emma announced before giving him a small smile. ‘But given your actions, death is too kind to you,’ she followed. Godwin looked your way, he knew there was only one thing that could get Emma really angry. That was when one touched her sister or children. ‘Cut out his tongue so he won’t speak of his actions again. Cut off a hand so he won’t feel tempted again.’ She nodded. Harald bow his head before nodding to the guard who took him back out. He yelled all kinds of unworthy things. But it would probably be the last words he would say. ‘Prince Harald, I need to show you my gratitude for your actions on this matter,’ her eyes shortly went towards you before she stood up. ‘for that, we celebrate another union tonight. That of the future king and queen of Norway,’ she announced as she stepped down towards Harald. ‘Keep my sister safe.’ She warned him. And there it was, that rush, that feeling of power as Harald held out his hand. You took it as you stepped closer to him. You stood still aside from him. The intensity of his gaze made you almost melt. This was your future, spend alongside a man that could protect you, that could fuel you the way you wanted to be fueled. You smiled and already his people showed what they didn’t show before … respect.

[author-morgan]

i see your requests are open!! can you do something sweet with Harald? (and Halfdan if you’re comfortable with polyamory!)

Of courseeeee. Here is some Harald fluff (with a pinch of bittersweetness and angst). I was going to have this be polyamorous (bc those two come as a pair more often than naught in my fics lbr lol), but once I got started it just turned into something more Harald-centric. Hope you don't mind! (I went a little overboard for him again) Harald Finehair x fem!Reader

HALFDAN THE BLACK is the first to enter Tamdrup’s great hall upon returning from a successful raiding season. The doors swing open wide, and those gathered for the tribunal part, making way for the victorious. Rising from the seat of power, you go to him with open arms, smiling. “I see you brought my husband back,” you muse, watching Harald enter the hall at last, surrounded by a score of rowdy warriors and overjoyed denizens—rightfully so, they have returned with riches and have lost fewer than a dozen warriors during the raids.

“I fear what you would do if I didn’t,” Halfdan laughs, tossing down a heavy coin purse on the table before taking you into his arms.

“It is always good to see you again,” you smile, kissing your marriage-brother’s cheek. He is inclined to agree. After long days at sea and many weeks away, it is good to be greeted by a fair and familiar face such as yours. Halfdan clasps your shoulder as he steps around you, pouring himself a cup of mead—leaving you to his brother. “Harald,” you greet, and the hall falls silent as he approaches you.

His breath catches as he beholds you, standing before him regal as ever with a gifted silver circlet resting upon your brow. His wife. His queen. His heart. It is as though the rest of the world falls away when he stops before you, rough hands cradling your face with the gentlest of touches. “By all the gods” —he strokes his thumbs over your cheeks— “you’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

Harald’s kiss is slow and soft—save for the familiar scratch of his beard against your cheek and jaw—and speaks of the months of longing to return to your loving arms. You kiss him like you’ve done a thousand times before, falling into the rhythm as though you never parted. Your fingers comb through his beard as you part, foreheads resting together, but then your smile widens as you wrap your arms around him, holding him tight. “I’ve missed you,” you breathe. But now he’ll be yours again until the next raiding season comes.

THE WHEEL OF time does not slow, and the harvest season fades into winter and then to the first buds of spring. Nigh all the Vestfold gathered in Tamdrup tonight for the feast to celebrate sowing the first seeds of the new crop and seasoning the turned soil with sacred blood. But that is not the only reason the jarls and fighting men have come all this way. In the coming weeks, Harald, Halfdan, and anyone else willing to sail will make their way to Frankia to raid Paris with Ragnar Lothbrok. Festivities last long into the night, but Harald comes to you soon after you take leave.

He draws lines over the length of your spine as you lay with him, head pillowed on his chest, listening to the slow rhythmic beat of his heat, bare legs entwined, but then you twist in his arms and lean up to kiss him—featherlight and sweet as the mead still on his breath—fingertips following the blue-black scrollwork of his tattoos. Then he tilts his head back, letting you trace the curving lines on his neck and down to the ones on his chest—only your touch could ever make him tremble.

“Paris?” You repeat, following one of the silver scars on his ribs with your fingertips. He’s spoken of the city to the south and of Ragnar Lothbrok before, but with the night’s feast, it became official. Come the spring, he would prepare his ships and set sail to join the farmer-turned-king on his second venture to Frankia.

“Yes,” Harald says, his voice a low rasp. He sees it in your eyes, a flicker of hope that maybe this time you will sail with him and his brother—that you will be able to visit the distant lands so many speak of—but now is not the time for you to venture into the unknown. Your life is not something he can risk so easily and carelessly. Harald curls his hand around yours, then kisses the center of your palm and holds your hand close to his chest. “I need you here, my heart,” he tells you, but you already know that.

“I’ll plan a feast and a sacrifice before you and Halfdan depart,” you tell him—it is what any good queen and wife would do to see her husband and people return safe and with victory. And then he takes your lips and your breath, holding you close. You sigh into his mouth, letting his tongue brush yours, fingers slipping back into his unbound hair. His kiss is reverent, and you cannot help but miss the cracked softness of his lips against yours when he parts, but it is only so he can hold you in his arms.

TEN DAYS AFTER Harald Finehair first sets sail to Kattegat, his brother and the remainder of the fleet are ready to follow. The last of the barrels and crates are being rolled and loaded into the longships when you arrive on the docks to bid everyone farewell and good fortune on their journeys. Six hundred men and shieldmaidens from the Vestfold have gathered over the last two moons, all to leave on this day to join Ragnar Lothbrok in his endeavors—but Tamdrup will feel empty without their presence. Though, there is already a newfound hollowness in the wake of Harald’s departure.

You find Halfdan amongst the chaos, checking the yellow-red shields secured on the side of one of the ships. “Halfdan,” you call, and he turns on heel to face you with a half-bow—nigh teasing in nature, but you are, after all, his queen. Before he can stand upright, you reach out and rest your hands on his cheeks, and he bends a little farther, accepting the kiss you bestow upon his brow. “Be safe,” you tell him, hands moving to clasp his. “Look after your brother.”

Halfdan squeezes your hands. “You know I will,” he assures you. That is something you’ll never have to worry about—the bonds of blood and brotherhood run deep. You nod, and he steps back down into the longship. At your hest, they will set sail for glory and, if the gods deem it so, Valhalla.

One of your attendants hastens to the dock, stepping forward to present the gift commissioned from the blacksmith and jeweler—it's meant to be a surprise in celebration of another year of marriage, but alas, such care and detail took longer than expected. It’s a necklace of bronze and silver with a pendant shaped into the likeness of Mjölnir clasped in the mouths of two silver dragonheads on a chain of alternating links. “It was not finished before Harald left,” you explain, placing the necklace in Halfdan’s palm. “Give it to him, please.” Halfdan nods. “And all my love.”

RESOUNDING HORNS ANNOUNCE the return of Harald Finehair’s fleet in the dark hours of the evening. You rise from bed and make haste to the docks—handmaids following close behind with slippers and a cloak, but decorum is the least of your concerns. So few have returned, you think, counting the dwindling number of ships gathered compared to how many set off. The first wave departs one of the docked ships, and there is no air of triumph in those who press past you—eager to return to home and hearth and for solid ground beneath their feet. “Harald!” You call as he steps from the longship and onto the dock.

But he does not embrace you as he normally would after such a long voyage, and the spark in his stormy blue eyes is faded. It is only when you see who the men are carrying off the ship on a crude stretcher do you understand the cause of your husband’s sullen mood. “Halfdan,” you breathe, looking between him and Harald. You step to your marriage-brother and lift the pelt of fur covering his torso, grimacing—the wound at his shoulder is a festered, blackish mess, and the sweat on his brow in the first chill of winter speaks of the fever that’s set in during the return voyage.

You turn to one of your handmaids. “Call on Mjöll,” you instruct, “quickly.” The years have seen you clean and bind both Harald and Halfdan’s wounds, but this is far beyond your skill, and an herbalist will be needed to call Halfdan back from the cusp of the next life. The girl nods and sets off to the healer’s hut. Looking back at the stretcher-bearers, you point up the way to the great hall. “Take him to the great hall.” In such a state, Halfdan will need several pairs of watchful eyes.

Dark shadows cast from torchlight and iron braziers shroud Harald’s expression—he does not understand how it is you can stand with so much equanimity when faced with such loss. Harald steps to you, and his shoulders fall, then wordless, he slumps into your arms, resting his forehead on your shoulder—another weight you must bear—hands twisting into the fabric of your pale linen shift. You smooth your hand over his back, following the length of his braid-bound hair. “I thank the gods you have returned to me, my love,” you breathe, unwilling to let him part just yet.

Mjöll works to prepare a cataplasm of moss and herbs into the hours of the night, and you kneel at the prepared pallet of fur and pillows, placing a cool, damp rag upon Halfdan’s brow. There is little else you can do for your marriage brother besides trust the herbalist’s remedies, pray to the gods, and hope they are merciful. Mjöll nods for you to leave and tend to your husband. She and her apprentice will care for Halfdan.

He is pacing the length of the foot of the bed when you enter your shared chambers—hands flexing into fists at his side. You step into Harald’s path, hands going to the ties and buckles of his leathern armor. “If the High One truly sought Halfdan’s company,” you tell him, setting aside his vambraces before turning back, “he would already be feasting in the Halls of the Slain.”

To Harald, it is poor consolation but consolation all the same. And deep down, he knows you are right. Shrugging off his worn and stained tunic, he goes to the washbasin and splashes water on his face and chest, scrubbing away a mix of sweat and salt spray, and blood too. Harald returns to sit at your side on the bed—he stares ahead at the flickering flames of tallow candles. “What happened?” You finally dare ask.

“The magic of Ragnar Lothbrok failed,” he tells you. The lingering taste of defeat is bitter on his tongue—the gods had forsaken them on that river, had forsaken Ragnar. As it happened to be, he was just like any other man. “We were humiliated and pushed out of Frankia with nothing to show for it.” He does not remember the last time he returned to Tamdrup, to you, with nothing to show for his travels. It will take time for the Vestfold to recover from such a defeat.

You touch his cheek, fingers combing through his unkempt beard, drawing his gaze to you. “You live, as does your brother.” The rancor in his expression falters, his jaw unclenching, and he leans into you—his nose just barely bumping against yours. Yes, he and Halfdan escaped with their lives. That is more than can be said for many who embarked on the journey to Paris. Ragnar Lothbrok may have lost the favor of the gods, but they still smiled upon Harald and his brother. “That is enough for me,” you say, softly. He kisses you then, and you meld against him with a sigh and a slight smile that he can feel on your lips.

HE SITS ON his throne—slouched to the side and staring into the abyss, twisting his shark-tooth crown in his hands. Your king has returned, yet still, it is only you shouldering the weight of the kingdom. You stop at the dais and extend your hand toward him. “Walk with me.” It is not a request. Harald rises and follows.

The path through the forest is well-worn, both into the Earth and memory. It carves a winding route through the forest and up bare rock to a promontory overlooking Tamdrup and the mouth of the fjord—a place you frequent to look for sails on the horizon when the men are away, a place where Harald promised he would marry you one day what now feels like a lifetime ago.

But the morning fog has yet to lift from the land, just as the fog of bitterness in the aftermath of what happened in Paris has yet to lift from your husband and king. There has been no feast to honor the memory of those lost since his return several days ago and no promise or mention of what comes next for the Vestfold. It is as though he is lost in despair, mourning his brother already despite the day-by-day recovery—just yesterday, Halfdan’s fever broke.

You sit atop one of the boulders there on the promontory. There’s space enough for him to join you, but, for a moment, he lingers and stares. In the morning the light and mist, you seem like one of the winged women—ethereal. A sight that makes his heart twist and ache given the dark thoughts and mood which have taken hold of him since returning to Tamdrup.

Harald sits next to you and hangs his head, letting his hand rest on your thigh—a gentle weight and warmth. “I fear I have not been a good husband,” he confesses. It is never an easy thing for a prideful man to admit weakness and accept his faults, less so for a king. But the failed siege, his brother’s injury, and the long months spent away from you, from home, have been a heavy weight on his heart.

It does not feel right, leaving you time and time again, each longer than the last, to rule over his lands and care for his people—duties which are his. But you rule so fairly, and his people love you for it. “I have left you too often,” he breathes, a new softness and the tremble of guilt in his voice. “And I have left you to carry a burden meant to be shouldered by two backs” —his hand runs across your shoulders, down your spine— “not one.”

You never expected being wife to a king—being a queen—would be easy. Least of all, the wife of an ambitious man with dreams of uniting Norway under a single crown. Harald Finehair is vikingr. To deny him that would be to deny his true self, and even on the loneliest and coldest of nights, you could and would never ask him to be anything other than who he is—the man you love.

“I knew what was expected of me” —you card your fingers through his beard, the first tinges of silver beginning to appear, and he can find nothing but underserved doting affection in your soft gaze— “of you, when we married.” Harald covers your hand with his own, the rough pads of his fingers pressing into your palm as his hand curls around yours, a sigh on his lips. “And I happily said yes, remember?” 

He remembers the day you married well—the crown of spring wildflowers you wore, the blood-tinged kiss after exchanging rings, the bridal race with Halfdan and your cousins tripping over one another to get to the mead hall first. It is still the happiest day of his life—tied with every other day the gods let him wake up beside you.  

Shifting, you lean your forehead against his and gently slip your hand free from his. “You will always have my love and support, wherever you may be.” Harald closes his eyes and curls his hand around the back of your neck, thumb stroking the soft skin beneath your ear. And you press your hand against the center of his chest—feeling the outline of the Mjölnir necklace under your palm. “And I will be here or at your side,” you tell him, a soft whisper dancing over his lips, “wherever you need me to be.” And now he’s certain—you are too good to him.

[Harald-Halfdan taglist: @ahotmesswithprivilege / @alicedopey / @certifiedlittleshit / @charming-merlin / @elluvians / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @gearhead66 / @gossamarnie / @hc-geralt-23 / @hereforreadandwrite / @moonlightsspirit / @morganamayne / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @n0sferatus / @naaladareia / @queenyalo / @rigshak / @savagemickey03 / @xinyourdreamsx / @yalos-writing ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Murder Bro taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form! if I missed you, I am sorry! but make sure to mention it in the replies or fill out the linked Google Form!

[a-bang-for-your-bucky]

Kóngurinn Minn

Well! I have ventured away from the OICU for a minute and jumped head first into Vikings territory. I am almost done with the series and with the lovely encouragement of my twisted sister @mylifeisactuallyamess I wrote this one shot to process my emotions. SPOILERS AHEAD Turn back now if you have not seen Season 6 Episode 6, 7, and 8. SPOILERS AHEAD.

Pairing: Björn Ironside x F!reader

Summary: Björn returns home to Kattegat after losing the election for King of all Norway, to find that his mother, Lagertha has been murdered. As Queen and his wife, you do your best to console him through this trying time.

Warnings: SMUT, P in V sex, unprotected sex (its the Viking era), explicit language, murder, major character death, alcohol mention,

Six long months you had been waiting for your husband to return. He was a good man with a kind heart, wanting to do right by his small kingdom of Kattegat. He had set off to help King Harald Finehair regain Vestfold from King Olaf.

You waited day in and day out at the docks of Kattegat, hoping, praying to the gods for his safe return. Unfortunately you weren't able to do that on this day. Today you had the unbearable duty of giving Lagertha, the famous shield-maiden and Björn’s mother, a funeral fit for a goddess. With the help of Torvi and Ubbe, she was ready to enter Valhalla. You each said your goodbyes to a woman that had helped shape you into the queen that you were.

Waiting on the shore of the frozen fjord, you watched as archers set loose flaming arrows to release the burning ship into the icy waters. Murmurs broke through the respectful silence and you turned when you heard someone say “King Björn”.

Rushing to his side, you were met with sad eyes. “I know, ástin mín. I already know.” Björn staggered, exhausted from his battle and long travels, toward his mother’s burning body. You waited, letting him say his final goodbyes to her. When the time felt right, you went to him, kneeling in the snow. “I can avenge her murder. I can punish her murderer. Who was it?” He turned to you, tears and rage masking the blue of his irises.

You felt your own despair fill your chest, making it hard to breathe. “Björn,” You glanced at Ubbe, who nodded for you to continue, like he knew what was asked. You sniffled, a tear streaming down your face. “It was Hvitserk. Björn, It was Hvitserk.”

In all the years you had known Björn, you had never been afraid of him. You have seen him Slaughter countless Christian soldiers without batting an eye. You had assisted him and his brothers getting revenge on King Ælla, watching with love in your eyes as Björn executed a perfect Blood Eagle. No, you have never been scared of him, but the look on his face terrified you.

Björn sat on his throne in the Great Hall. His hands were gripping at the arms as he prepared himself to face his brother for the first time. Townspeople pushed through the small crowd gathered in front of him. The sound of rattling chains made your teeth clench.

Björn straightened up in his seat as Hvitserk was thrown forward to him, stumbling to get his footing. His lip curled as he snarled, "I wonder if you even know brother, why you have been brought here?" The chained man mumbled a response that none could hear. "Louder. I can't hear you."

Hvitserk stood there, not daring to lift his head. “I know why. I killed Lagertha.” He admitted softly. Björn leaned forward, placing his elbow on his knee, cupping his ear with his hand. Hvitserk lifted his head, looking up at his big brother. “I killed your mother, Björn.” The confession made Björn get out of his seat and stalk toward him. Roughly, Björn gripped Hvitserk’s face in his hand.

“Why?” Björn growled in his face. Hvitserk looked at him with blood shot eyes.

“I thought she was Ivar. I thought that she—” Hvitserk faltered before Björn slapped him across the face. “I thought that Ivar was coming to kill me.” Another, harder, slap. You already felt the needy heat blossoming in your stomach, but watching Björn, seeing this new side of him, brought it on tenfold.

The townspeople whispered, as Björn roared, “I don’t care what you thought! Being drunk is no excuse for anything!” His booming voice caused you to flinch. He turned away from his accused brother. “You murdered my mother. You murdered the most famous shield-maiden in the world!” Björn continued to show his rage toward Hvitserk. “You were not fit to kiss her feet.” He stopped to grab his face again, “And you are not fit to be called a son of Ragnar.” Slap. Slap.

Your heart broke; For your husband, for the loss of his mother, and now for the loss of his brother. Björn grabbed Hvitserk by the roots of his hair. “And when you killed my mother,” his voice was low and raspy, “You killed a part of me, too.” They were nose to nose, “And you have to understand, I can never forgive you.” Björn whispered in his ear. Hvitserk didn’t plead for his life. He agreed with everything his brother said. You watched on as your husband condemned his brother.

Björn returned to his seat next to you. You hoped he missed how your thighs squeezed together as he drew closer. It did not go unnoticed. "I will decide his fate tomorrow. Get this murderer out of my sight." He dismissed Hvitserk. The same men who dragged him in, drug him back out. "Be sure to throw cold water on him periodically, so he doesn't have time to sleep."

You let your gaze travel from his tattooed eye, to his heaving chest, all the way down to his cock, which was straining against the fabric of his breeches. Your breath hitched. The sight of it, even in confines, always took your breath away.

For a moment, you wondered if your impure thoughts were inappropriate given the current events. All doubts were wiped from your mind when Björn addressed the folks that were still littering the Great Hall. "I am going to fuck my wife on my throne, so I suggest you all leave. Unless you want to watch, I don't think the queen would mind." Björn cast a look at Ubbe, whose eyes widened before leaving the Hall.

The thought only furthered your arousal. "Come," Björn ordered, patting his lap. You complied, bunching up your skirts to straddle him. Björn looked at you, all signs of anger gone. He had sad eyes again, that pleaded with you. "Help me forget. Just for a little while." Tears were threatening to spill down his face as he begged, "please."

With deft fingers, you untied the strings of his pants as he ripped off his tunic. He lifted his ass, allowing you to wiggle them down enough to free his aching cock. You knew you were ready. You were always ready for him. He ran the head through your soaking folds before lining up with your entrance.

The burn as you sank down on him was pleasurable with just the right amount of pain. Björn groaned, already losing himself in the feeling of your cunt. His large hands gripped your ass, helping you lower you until he was fully seated inside. You hissed at the stretch.

He kept a hold on your hips, leaning forward to lay his forehead on yours. In that moment, the two of you were one. At that moment, Björn felt whole. "Are you ready?" He asked breathlessly. You nodded, lifting your lips to his. You kissed him passionately as you slowly started to roll your hips.

You made love slowly, your hands keeping purchase on his tattooed chest. Björn's eyes were screwed shut, his grip on you never loosening. He whispered in your ear in between guttural moans.

"You feel amazing."

"Please, don't leave me."

"I love you, takre."

He sped up your movements, not giving you a choice. "Björn, please." You mewled, begging for release, begging for his release. "Let go for me, my King."

The noises the two of you made were raw, animalistic as you chased your highs. Björn slammed you down onto him, shattering the wall holding back your orgasms. Groans of your name and I love you poured from his lips.

You moved your right hand down to your belly keeping your left over his heart. "May the gods bless us with our first child." You prayed before connecting your lips with his once more. "I love you, Kóngurinn Minn."

[ohoh-inmortal]

REQUESTS OPEN!!

I know I haven't post anything here but I want to take request to improve my writing skills and also to have fun.

I'm willing to write almost everything so just ask. If there's a character I didn't include within the fandom you want to ask, please do.

FANDOMS

Mcu

Bucky Barnes/The winter soldier

Loki

Thor

Vikings

Rollo Lothbrok

Harald Finehair

Outlander

Jamie Fraser

Stephen Bonnet (no non-con)

DYNAMICS:

💮 Female/gender neutral

💮 Platonic, romantic, and relationships

💮 Angst, fluff, smut, and all you can think of

💮 Headcanons, alphabets, characters reacting to specific situations or dialogues

💮 One shots, mini-series if the promt is good.

💮 Match-ups and ship requests.

[laketaj24]

Congrats to your 3k!You are an amazing author! I'd like to ask for a Vikings ship.Viking age. I'm 5,6 tall,long brunette hair,too old to fangirl around but still do,could loose some weight.I'm faithful,a bit short-tempered,affectionate,can be goofy but also serious,romantic,sometimes jealous.Love long talks,red wine,beach/forest walks,meeting friends,journeys,concerts,cozy time at home.Job:No shieldmaiden but any other"profession"is ok,No kids,No special place to live,Smut is okay?Hell,yes! Thx

Thank you so much!!! I love your support babe!!! ❤️❤️

I ship you with King Harald Finehair!

Reasons:

Harald is such a romantic! Oh gods! I just want him to find someone to walk on the damn beach with and confess his love to!! Dear gods!!! Give this man what he wants

Ship with Harald Finehair includes:

Understanding his need to show you off to everyone that arrives his hall

Hand holding, kissing constantly

He can’t keep his hands off you Public displays of affection are nothing for him, they’re basic life

You would be the Queen of all Norway and he’d expect people to honor you

bearing him sons,

him giving you any and everything you could ever dream of