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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

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Common Knowledge 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Harald Halfdansson, tall & plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

With your thesis proposal submitted and marked, the real work lies ahead of you. You’ve claimed your spot in the library, a stack of cue cards with your arguments laid out in columns. It’s the easiest way to sort out your information and narrow down your key arguments. It’s a bit messy but you like the visual diagram to parse out your own thoughts.

You receive a few shaded looks from those who pass by looking for a spot of their own. You don’t mind moving over if they do want to sit but none approach. You bend over the table and switch two cards. You’re standing, circling the table as you’re swept up in getting just the right flow.

You back up and hum. You grab another card, jotting down a new point to add and a sudden slam makes you jump. The thump of the large book on the table sends the cards scattering in a whirlwind. You sputter as you look up at the figure across from you.

You can’t hide your surprise. It’s been a week since the smoothie shop incident and not close to long enough. That man stands on the other side of the table smirking, his white eyes eerily calm but smug. What are the odds he’s a student here?

You shake your head and roll your eyes. You step forward and start gathering up the cards. Your dorm room bed would be just as good as a table. As you reach to swipe up a card, he grabs it first and reads your writing, letting out a scoff.

“Hmm, how cute,” he muses, “you’re trying.”

You ignore him. Whatever, he can keep the cards. You close up your books and slip them into your bag. He plants his hands on the table and leans forward, gaze boring into you.

“Running away again?”

“Do you not know how to take a hint?”

“As much as you,” he counters, “I just wanted to show you that I found a copy of my own.”

You glance at the book in the middle of the table and furrow your brow. Really? This is some weird battle you don’t want to fight. You blow out between your lips and keep tidying up your things. Your laptop is closed and slid away before you can nab it.

You grip the edge and try to pull it from his grasp. He easily dislodges it and tucks it under his thick arm. You hiss and look around, flabbergasted. You turn your frustration around and reach for that coveted book. He stretches his other arm in front of you, blocking you as he looms closer.

“Not so fast,” he holds his large hand up, “would you stop and listen?”

“I’m not interested in listening to you,” you puff out, “give me my computer.”

“Would you let me say what I came to say–”

“Bro, no. How did you even find– you know what? Don’t care. It’s weird. And creepy. Give me my computer and leave me alone. I’ll scream.”

“Relax, you’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? You want to see dramatic–”

“Would you stop?” His voice rises, drawing looks from a few other students and some hushes. His throat bobs as he peers around, “I’m trying to apologise, alright? I thought…” his eyes meet yours with almost a sheepish tint, “I’d buy you a coffee and we could talk about mythology.”

Your lashes flutter as you try to keep your eyes from rolling so far back they get stuck. You don’t know that you’ve ever met anyone so oblivious. College has introduced you to several characters but nothing like him.

Your mouth falls open and you shake your head. You step forward and latch onto your laptop. He lets you take it. You’re very aware he could keep it from you easily. For all his flaws, he is clearly in good shape.

“I’m trying not to laugh in your face,” you back up and put the book into your knapsack, “so I’ll be very honest and clear with you. You are the most rude, obnoxious person I’ve ever encountered. Free coffee couldn’t even make me spend a single second with you.”

He grits his teeth as his jaw squares, the cleft deepening as he tilts his head. His frustration is laced in confusion. His eyes search you.

“Oh,” is all he manages to get out.

“Right, so, goodbye.”

You swing your bag over your shoulder and snatch your jacket from the back of the chair. You go to step by him and he moves with you. You are actually about to scream.

“Can’t we start over?” He asks.

How many ways can you say no?

You look left and right and your eyes meet an unexpected pair. Oh, you’re not sure if that’s good. Professor Halfdansson raises his hand to give a small wave as he diverts his strut in your direction. You clamp your lips together and turn back to the man in front of you.

“I don’t think so,” you say bluntly.

“Ah, studying are we?” Halfdansson approaches, coming up perpendicular to you and Geralt.

“Uh,” you look between them as the professor gives a thoughtful look to the other man. “Just leaving.”

“This is a friend?” He wonders.

“No,” you answer as Geralt says “yes.”

You have to hold back a snort. You don’t get this. Any of it. Neither of these men seem to have any sort of self-awareness. At least not a concept of reality.

You bite your tongue and rein in the smart retorts flashing through your mind. You make yourself smile, or at least try to muster one. You take a deep breath.

“I have to go,” you say crisply. “Excuse me.”

Geralt is kept at bay by the presence of your professor, though Halfdansson appears astounded by your abrupt dismissal. You’ll have to apologise in class but most importantly, you need to get this goddamn paper done. Without a man hovering around and distracting you.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt x reader #dark!harald #dark harald #bookstore au #au #series #drabble #common knowledge #the witcher #vikings #harald finehair #harald finehair x reader

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author-morgan · 10 months

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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!

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bjornswoman · 1 year

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Shieldmaiden's Secret

Requested by none.

Author's note: Hey people! I found this in my drafts, changed it a bit and finished it. Sorry for any mistake, I wrote quite fast and I will correct them. I promise. Anyway, I hope you will like this one and I have some more work ready for you. Stay tuned! Until next time, have fun and take care! Bye!

Pairing: Harald Finehair x Fem!Reader.

Genre: Angst, drama, fluff, romance.

Summary: King Harald and you have a secret relationship.

Warnings: Spoilers from season 5B, jealousy, strong language, drama.

Your hands were working on your long hair, braiding it tightly for the upcoming battle with the Christians as you were walking through the camp to catch up with the strictest person you knew – your mother.

Your mother was one of the mightiest shieldmaidens of the shieldwall. She had achieved that long ago by working really hard and alone.

Brunhild – your mother – was one of the best woman warriors, but she wasn't a good mother. Not even close to that to be honest.

She acted like a commander when you were a child, pointing out rules and what you must or mustn't do. She would usually point out the stuff your mustn't do.

You had no father and that worked its way for your mother to despise men. All you could remember was her talking about how better were woman at everything and how you should avoid men, or trick them for your own benefit.

All you knew about your biological father was that he was a rich man – a jarl or a king maybe – and that when she told him about you, he sent her away. She raised you all alone, not to be a woman, but a warrior. You had been training since you were able to walk and carry sword and shield.

Back to her rules, you mustn't talk to men without her being around. She said you were easy to trick and manipulate, so she didn't leave you alone around any man. You were sick of it, sick of her manipulating you. You wanted to leave your life as you wanted, even if that meant that you would get hurt.

When her eyes met you, she started walking your way. You couldn't spot the blue of her eyes because she had narrowed her eyes. You knew it was coming a fight with her, more likely an interrogation coming from her.

"Where have you been?" Her voice was cold as your gaze and her hand grabbed your arm tightly. Your eyes met hers. You weren't afraid of her, at least not anymore.

"What is that supposed to mean?" You asked her trying to free your hand from her tight grip. Your mother didn't let you and tightened the grip more than before.

"Answer me!" Her tone was even colder than before and you could sense her blood boiling inside her veins. It became worse any minute that were passing and you weren't giving her an answer.

"Calm down." You whispered at her and finally freed your hand from hers. "You should really stop this. It's sick you know and by the way I was getting ready for the battle." You spoke, hands gripping your sword.

Her eyes looked at you suspiciously, it wasn't like she believed at you, but she didn't get to continue the questioning, because someone was standing nearby, looking at you. Well, not just someone, king Harald Finehair himself.

"Brunhild." He spoke to your mother smiling and she forced a fake little smile on her face to greet him. You could spot the times she was lying or those she were faking her attitude around others.

After all, it wasn't a big of a secret that she hated powerful men and Harald was one of them. A king.

"King Harald." She responded.

Before she even speak to him, his blue eyes were on you and, of course, your own were studying him. You tried not to look over-excited or suspicious around your mother. She had the ability to caught you lying and pretending as well.

"And you are (Y/N)." He spoke to you this time, but fastly turned to face your mother. He was good to this game. Better than you. "Your daughter, right?" Harald asked like he wasn't sure about that himself, like he didn't know you by hard, all of you.

"Yes, my king." You were the one to answer and his eyes met your figure once more.

"Good." He said and was about to say something again, but a voice distracted him.

"My king!" One of his most loyal men run his way and Harald turned to look at him. They were speaking for a little amount of time and then Harald turned back to you.

"May the Gods bless us to win today." He spoke before both of the men disappeared in the camp.

"Stay away from him." She warned you. You didn't respond to her, or looked at her. Your mind were on the older man, speaking to you just moments before. "Look at me!" Your mother grabbed your face and made you looked at her in the eyes. "Stay away from him!" Her tone was firmer this time and you nodded annoyed by her.

According to her all men – especially those who had the power – were bad and wanted to seduce women and then leave her behind like they were a toy or garbage. She believed that all men were like your biological father who sent her away and even tried to kill her when she was pregnant and their relationship took a serious way.

Well, men could be like that. You knew that for yourself too. But Harald wasn't like that. You knew it. He had been hurt by women before. First, princess Ellisif and after his wife queen Astrid. He was unlucky when it came to women and love. He wanted to have someone by his side, he needed to be loved. Apart from the women, he had lost both his beloved brother and his unborn child. After those tragedies, you came in his way. A woman he cared about.

It was unexpected the way and the fact that you met. You didn't want to start any kind of a story with him, at first. You tried to avoid him, but as everybody knows he is very stubborn and wouldn't let you escape like that from him.

Back then, you were afraid of your mother's wrath when she would find out about your relationship with Harald. She would be furious. She would try to take you away from him even if that meant that she would have to kill him or he kill her. You didn't want that. You loved Harald and your mother, she had raised all alone and you couls understand her, but didn't want to live like that. You wanted your life to be your way, not hers.

And Harald. Harald would give you everything he owned, only if you let him. Your relationship was happening all in secret, because you had asked him to be this way. He wanted a real life with you, one he didn't have to chance to live with anybody else. He was a grown man and knew exactly what he wanted.

After your mother's warnings about the king, you didn't have any time for her lessons about men because you had been called from the other shieldmaidens to participate in the shieldwall, the battle with the Saxons was about to believe.

The battle didn't end up the way you wanted because Bjorn Ironside, Lagertha and Ubbe son of Ragnar were fighting for king Alfred and Wessex, that ended up with you retreating back to York.

"King Harald has joined forces with Bjorn Ironside to overthrown Ivar the Boneless from Kattegat. This means we go back to Norway to fight." Brida, a shieldmaiden, spoke to you and she placed her cup on her lips, sipping from the ale it contained.

"I heard he is fond of Gunnhild, the former wife of late Jarl Olavvsonn, but she is with Bjorn Ironside." Revna said laughing and felt your blood boiling inside your face and your hands starting to shake, but you had to remain calm because you were among many shieldmaidens and mostly because your mother was sitting next to you.

"I heard that too! Bard told me he noticed as well." Runa mentioned and all of them laughed and drank. On the other hand, you felt bitter. The wound you got from the battle earlier felt nothing opposed to the pain in your chest after those news you received.

Your eyes met the ones you didn't want to meet, not now, not after the news the girls delivered. When your eyes met, you looked at anything other than him.

You placed your cup on the wooden table, feeling sick being in the same place as him. You couldn't bear watching him after that.

"I will retrieve back to tend. My leg is quite hurting and as I've heard we are going back to Norway so I'll some rest." You said as you stood up from your seat. Your eyes were on your mother, asking for her permission to leave.

You left and walked back to your tend to be on your own for a while. All the lessons and words your mother spoke about men came inside your head replaying themselves over and over again.

Harald wasn't the man you thought he was at the end of the day. You tried to keep your tears from falling when you remembered all the words Harald whispered to you when he thought you were sleeping. The promises and everything.

"Stupid girl." You told yourself in an attempt to forget about him, about all nights in Tamdrum when you sneaked at nights to see him.

"I disagree with you." You heard a raspy voice coming from the shadows. If it was for another day, you would be all happy, but not this night. Not after what you found out about him.

After his statement, Harald came out of the shadows he was hiding and placed his hand on a spike, after he leaned his body on his hand and looked at you playfully.

"If you say so, my king." You spoke formally, like you had no other relationship with him, like he didn't know you and you didn't know him. But it wasn't like you knew him. If you had, you wouldn't have gotten involved with him. "Have a good night." You bowed and turned your back at him.

A move that Harald didn't like at all. He couldn't understand the reason you were acting like that. You were trying to avoid him it was too obvious. He moved away from the spike and came closer to you – who had started to walk away from him – his hand grabbed yours and forced you to stop and turn to look at him. You opened your mouth to protest, but he spoke faster than you.

"Why are you avoiding me? This morning you were alright but now you are not, what is it?" He was frowned and his tone was confused. His eyes were studying your face for any kind of response while you were trying to keep your tears once more. You to be brave and proud, that meant that you shouldn't let yourself be that weak in front of him.

"I am not avoiding you, my king. I am just really tired because I have this wound from the battle and word spread that we are going back with Bjorn Ironside and his company, so I think that I'll need some rest." Your words came faster than you wanted them to. They had to come out naturally, but they did not. You couldn't form proper words when you were that close to him, your heart was beating so fast and his eyes were watching at you like that.

"Don't lie to me." He growled, quite angry and pulled you closer by your arm he was holding.

"I would never dare to lie to you, my king. This Saxon came from behind me while I was fighting another Saxon and he stabbed me on my thigh. The healer said—" You were rambling nonsense, trying to defend yourself and not saying what you learned just like that on his face. But Harald stopped you.

"I know. I know exactly what happened to you and what the healer said. But what I don't know is the reason you are avoiding me and don't tell me it's about your wound because we've been together before when you were wounded and as I remember, I treated your wound myself that night. So tell me." His voice was firm and he knew you were lying, but you didn't want to say the truth. You didn't want him to see that you were that hurt because of him.

Harald was playing with you all this time. So you didn't want him to see that you believed all this could be serious and he meant that one day you would be his wife, that he would give the world.

"I don't want my mother to notice that we – you know." You spoke again and you noticed him getting even more angry.

"I don't get the reason you keep lying to me! I thought we were clear with each other!" He yelled and you feared that somebody heard. Your eyes run around and luckily your saw no one confessing this moment between the king and you.

"I am not lying. You know the problem with my mother. You've known about it since the beginning. Also, my leg is hurting very much. Truly. There is no lie in my words." You ensured him which was partially truth. Your leg wasn't hurting that much, but it hurt and you mother, everything you told about her was truth.

Harald closed his eyes for a while out of his anger and then opened them again. He could read you so easily, because he knew you very well.

His hand left yours and both of his hands touched your cheeks. It was the first time you confessed Harald being like that. He seemed so desperate, he broke your heart. You closed your eyes and then opened them again and they were wet. The tears were ready to fall from your eyes.

"I know those things, but they have never been a problem. It's something else I can see it inside your eyes. Tell me what it is. Tell me I can fix it." His voice was soft after the sight of your eyes. His fingers caressed your cheeks wiping the tears – that fell without you noticing them – away.

"You can't fix it." You broke and finally let the rears fall from your eyes without any care. Your didn't care that you were crying in front of him anymore. "You can't fix it because it's not something that can be fixed." You continued ready to tell him about the things you found out some time ago. You pulled him away from you and he walked to come back closer – confused by your actions – but you raised your hand to stop him. "I heard some very disturbing things about you that hurt me, Harald. I heard that you were very displeased when you heard about the new lover of Bjorn Ironside, a woman named Gunnhild. A great shieldmaiden, I hear. They say you desire her and it's very obvious. So, that means, king Harald Finehair, that you were playing with me all this time. That you didn't mean anything from the things you told me. So my mother was right for you and I did exactly what she told me not to." You confessed. Tears were streaming from your eyes like waterfall. Harald wanted to speak to defend himself, but it wouldn't mean anything. It didn't matter. You moved your hands on your cheeks and wiped the tears away. "That is my problem, do you think that you can fix it? Because I don't."

"That's not the truth! I don't know who spoke such lies to you but I ensure that there is no other in my heart! I love you! Everything I told you it was truth. I want you and only you. Gunnhild is a strong woman and good shieldmaiden, I admire her but not love her. Believe me. I only love you." He was yelling at first, but stopped his speech whispering his last words. The words he admitted his love for you.

You closed your eyes and shook your head. You couldn't believe him, not when everyone had noticed and had spoken about it. You took a deep breath and opened your eyes to look at him. He seemed hurt as well and this image broke your already broken heart.

"I don't believe you. You-you know you won't have Gunnhild, so you come back to the easy option the stupid little girl. I loved you with everything I had. I wanted to prove to my mother that you were different, I wanted to be with you even if that meant, I would go against her, and you proved her point about you." Harald tried to reach you but you stopped him again. He didn't listen at you this time, he grabbed both of your arms with his strong hands and forced you to face him.

"I love you! Why is that so difficult to understand because of some rumors about me? You don't trust me and that's even worse than anything! You just want to find something against me and prove your mother's points of me. That's it, nothing else. I have never made false promises to anyone, especially to you. I had promised Ellisif, the first woman I ever loved, I would be famous and great king for her and I kept my promise, she was the one who betrayed me. I promised you to give you everything I have, you were the one who wanted to keep our relationship secret. I am tired of this game. I won't beg anymore, (Y/N). I have treated the women I desired with love and loyalty, but no one have done the same for me, even you. I thought you were different." His voice was softer than ever before. You had hurt him deeply.

Both of you had hurt each other.

Harald let go of you and moved some inches away from you. You couldn't form a word. You were angry with yourself and with him. You didn't know what to think and what to believe. Harald seemed to say the truth. He seemed deeply hurt.

"I will find who spread those rumors and I will let you know just to prove you that I have never lied to you." Those had been the last words he had spoken to you before he disappeared in the dark of the night.

You stayed on your place for a couple of moments and cried to yourself under the night sky. When you calmed down, you retrieved to your tend trying to find some peace before your mother come in.

When she burst into the tend you were awake. You couldn't sleep at all, you mind was only on Harald.

The first thing she did was to come in front of and started to yell about you talking with Harald. She said someone had seen you talking and Harald being really close to you. You were trying to find a good excuse, but you were sure thag she wouldn't believe you. Although you didn't care anymore about it. After all, it was over.

"King Harald helped me. He was carrying me back here because my leg was hurting and bleeding. He made it stop. That's the reason we were close. He was the only one out there to bother himself with me." You spoke angrily, sick of her questioning and all. It wasn't fair to speak to her like that when she wasn't at fault, but you couldn't help it.

"It sounds too good to be true. King Harald helped you? He wouldn't help anyone without a cost. What did he ask for repayment?" She asked as she sat next to you on the ground.

"Nothing. He didn't ask me for anything. After all, I don't think he wants to lose any warrior. A battle is coming with Ivar the Boneless, one of the cleverest strategists, if not the cleverest one, and he needs us. He needs every blade he can master." You spoke and treated yourself your bleeding wound.

"That's a fair point." Was the only think she said before she laid on the ground to get some sleep. On the other hand, you couldn't find peace inside your mind, so you couldn't sleep.

It was after midnight when five men burst in out tend, you stood up and grabbed your mother's axe. Your mother grabbed the dagger she had hidden under her belt. She was fast and cut the arm of one of them, but the others took our weapons and they grabbed us.

"What the fuck is happening?" Your mother yelled at them, as she was kicking, trying to break free as you did.

"Shut up!" The one who was holding her told her and kicked her knee.

They took us out the tend and threw us on the ground on our knees, out hands were behind our backs. You didn't know the reason this all was happening, until Harald showed up.

"What is this supposed to mean?" You were the one to yell when the king was in front of you. "We did nothing wrong!" You yelled again.

"I am not sure about one of you." He told you when he were just inches away from you, his hand caressing your cheek. You tried to move away, but one of his men kicked you on your wound. Harald glared at him and moved closer to the man. You didn't get to hear what he told him, but considering his face he was angry. Then he turned back to your mother and you. "Brunhild, do you want to share something with us? With you daughter maybe?" Harald spoke to your mother and you turned your face at her frowned.

"My mother did nothing!"

"Brunhild, tell your daughter what you did." Harald placed his axe on your mother's throat and caressed with it softly her neck. It wasn't enough to hurt her, he did it just to threaten her. "Tell her." He tone was cold, he was getting enraged.

"I did what I had to do to take my daughter away from a man like you." She didn't sound a bit afraid. The quite opposite to be honest.

You were at her confused.

"Continue. I would to be the one to tell her what you did, but I prefer it to be you." Harald spoke again and you saw your mother greeting her teeth out of anger. "Tell her that you knew about us." Your mouth was wide open when you heard.

"What-what are you saying?" You couldn't understand what was happening.

"Did you think that I wouldn't know it? I had known it since the first time it happened. I knew it every time you sneaked out of the house to meet him. You did exactly what I was telling you your whole life not to do. I couldn't let you waste your life like I did." She didn't hesitate a moment.

"I was the waste of your life, right?" After this question of yours you started to understand what was happening in front of you, what she had done.

"That's not what I said, but I didn't want my life to end up this way and, of course, I didn't want your life to end up like that. So, I was the one who spread the rumour about that shieldmaiden and your lover. I needed – you needed him out of your life. I did what I had to do for your sake. I hope you are understanding me, (Y/N)."

"Shut up! I can't hear you anymore! You are the only person who is wasting and destroying my life. Your life isn't miserable because of me or the way you have been treated by my father, but because of you. You, your ambition, your hate towards males, that's what wasted your life all those years. But I won't let you manipulate and destroy me anymore." You were really angry with her and all her scheme. You stood from ground and nobody stopped you. "I must admit though that you are a good manipulator. You knew exactly the way I would react and you found the right time to start with your plan." You stopped in front of her and kneeled to be equal with her. "This is the beginning of my life, Brunhild." You whispered at her, before the men took her and she became Harald's prisoner.

After a while it was just the two of you standing in front of each other, but no one tried to start a conversation. You were just eyeing each other.

"Now what?" You were the one to start speaking first.

"I think you owe an apology for you've told me earlier." Harald came closer and his hand moved a strand of loosen hair behind your ear.

"About that, I think I owe you an apology for that and I am sorry that I didn't believe you, but I was really hurt and I owe you an apology for what my mother did. So I am really sorry for everything." You spoke truly. You didn't want this moment to end.

In your mind, this was the last moment you had with Harald. You couldn't be together again. You didn't believe him when he told you the truth. You broke his heart. And he. He did everything he promised. He said that he would find who was the one who spread the rumours and he did.

"One apology is enough." Harald said in a playful tone.

"I wish that night would never end." You whispered at him and smiled. He looked at you confused, but he smiled genuinely.

"What's so special about this specific night?"

"It's the last I see you. The last time you are that close to me." Each word you spoke, each tear threatened to fall from your eyes.

He frowned, but the smile was still on his lips. His hand made it on your cheek and he caressed your skin softly.

"The last time? Who said that?" He asked smiling and you were the one who was confused this time.

"I thought you didn't want me after what I told. After-after I didn't believe you." You confessed and he chuckled. Both his hands, now, caressing your flesh of your cheeks.

"I told you that I love you and this can't change. Also, I have told you in the past that I wanted you to be my queen and I intend to make it true. I really love you and I know that you love me too." Harald said and his lips touch yours.

It was the first real kiss between the two of you, the first that you weren't afraid to give. It was the most passionate one you had ever shared and Harald was a skilled lover.

Your hands wrapped around his neck, as your lips were on his. His teeth were biting your bottom lip here and there. When you moaned, his tongue moved inside your mouth and started dancing along with your own.

"So what do you say? Will you be my queen?" The man you loved the most asked you when you two stopped kissing and his muscular hands were wrapped around you tightly. When you heard his question you smilled.

"I thought you knew the answer." You answered when your eyes met his.

"I want to hear it."

A wide smile formed on your face.

"I would love to be your queen." You said and he kissed you again. His hands were holding your even tighter and you laughed.

#king harald #harald finehair #king harald finehair #harald x reader #harald finehair x reader #vikings x reader #vikings imagine #vikings fic #vikings fanfiction #vikings au

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woahhhgwendolyn · 1 year

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Dating King Harald Would Include...

-Him loving to say ''I love you'' all the time to you knowing you get shy and nervous whenever he says it to you.

-Him being so protective over you because he hates the thought of losing you.

-Him getting jealous when other men talk to you for too long so has to tell himself that you would never cheat and never betray him. And he decides to go over to you whenever another man is talking to you.

-Him only trusting you around his brother because he knows he will never do anything to you and actually want to protect you and not take you away from Harald.

-Him always cuddling with you in bed because he loves the way you feel and also loves feeling you breath when he is against you.

-Him always pulling you on his lap when you are eating together just because he wants to protect you from everyone else.

-Him loving when you put your head on his chest when you two are cuddling in bed at night because it makes him feel special.

-Him always wanting to show off your relationship to everyone. Like Holding hand in public and even making out in public.

-Him being always being so passionate during sex so he like to go slow with you but also likes to go really fast in you so you can scream his name for him.

#king of norway #king harald #harald fairhair x reader #harald x reader #harald finehair #harald finehair x reader #norway #nordic #scandanavia #scandanavian #dating

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queenfinehair · 2 years

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A Cut Above the Rest

Chapter One || Chapter Two

Warnings: Violence. Violence against women. It's nothing too severe though.

Song mood

Disclaimer: gif not mine. Found online, ask for credit, please.

Then

There was something so perfect at the start of today. The way the sun had slowly risen over the tops of the trees, the way the chickens gently clucked as they pecked at their food you had just thrown out for them, it was perfect.

A full and hearty breakfast was being prepared by the rest of your family, but with the days coming on sooner and so much warmer, you wanted the air. The winter had been cruel, much sickness had come about that year and you were so lucky to have the whole family.

Hay was being sorted out for the horses at the moment, the cows having already been fed. You had just flung a fork over before the first scream had violently rang through nature. Far enough away that at first you had merely thought it was a rooster in the distance shouting out his "good morning". There's not a single thought in your head about danger.

And then they scatter. The chickens had enough sense to realize that danger was near and you picked up on this. Ears perked towards the distance as the smell of smoke begins to fill your nostrils. Looking up, you see thick, black smoke climbing up towards the Gods. A hideous, ugly arm snaking to reach them and signal the intruders.

Horses hooves are the next sound you hear from the distance, closing in fast as they make their way to their next pitiful destination. Your parents were away in town and only aunties, uncles and grandparents remained with you, but it was far too late to signal your own warning because in minutes the beasts had made their way to your village. To your farm.

"Kill them all!" A harsh, deep voice comes to your ears as you scuttle back into the barn with your pitchfork in hand. Sweat had already been beaded on your forehead but it seemed to freeze on your skin that instant. You see men, around ten of them in total, as they dismount their panting horses and only then do you realize it's far too late to warn your family.

The house, close to you on any normal day, is the first and farthest thing they ransacked. A large gulp of drying saliva slides down your frightened throat as you watch the youngest of the women in the house be drug out by her long, blonde hair. Screams fill the air and only then do you turn into the far corner of the barn, by the hay, on top of the straw.

You know what they're doing... or going to do to her and tears sting your eyes at the thought of your closest aunt being violated for the sake of a king and his wish to conquer the land you call home.

Helplessness fills your core as men's shouting comes into the mix and you recognize the voice of your grandfather before a startling gurgling replaces words. Your bladder is on the brink of release out of fear but you manage to hold it, all the while keeping a hold of the pitchfork in your trembling hands.

"Check in the barn." Another voice fills the air and you try to shrink into the hay, try to blend in but you know your time is near. Heart pounding, you have never known fear and today you're filled.

Laughter, cruel in tune, calls into the air as another woman begins to scream. The men call out slurs, "Save some for me!", and you can only just hold back the vomit in your throat before footsteps begin cracking the straw in the barn.

Oh father, you plead in your head, fright taking place over the bravery you wish you had just then. You're young though, a fledgling in life still learning to fly from the coop. The nest, your home, was a place of safety. Until now.

You quiet your breathing as much as possible and look up from your shelter in the hay, seeing the back of a head. Long and auburn brown, plaited into a single braid down his back, his hair would be one of beauty in another life.

A single slice and your dairy cow goes down without a fight, without a hint to the end of her precious life. A solitary moment of peace follows after the body hits the straw flooring.

That's when you release your bladder, unwilling but the close proximity of this horrible man is too much. Embarrassment would never follow this moment.

The smell of fresh smoke fills your nose and you know that your house is gone, the people gone with it. Women's cries are all you hear now apart from the crackling of burning wood.

Footsteps, nearer now, and you shrink your body into the precious shield of straw and hay. Bales of it block the front of your body and, oh, if only you could bury yourself like the bugs do.

"What have we here?" The low voice of the braided man appears above you. With tear stained eyes you look up with defiance, as much as you could muster up, and decide then that you'll fight. Fight for your mother and aunties. For the men too old to fight.

"Are you planning on using that?" He asks in a sarcastically gentle tone before plucking the tool/weapon from your hands. Defenseless and at the whim of such cruel men, you can only dart your eyes back and forth, pleading for escape. Trapped and overwhelmingly alone do you finally lock eyes with the fiery blue in front of you. Another hard, dry swallow and you find your nerve, "I will die for my family. I will gladly die before you decide my fate."

A chuckle, low and deep and the man squares his shoulders. He continues to stare you down, taking in every inch of your body. He reaches down to smooth away a piece of hair from your forehead, what was he doing? Or getting ready to do?

The screaming is slowly fading outside. A sporadic yelp from a woman is all you can here after. A single tear is shed after such a sound and you-

"Brother?" A shout takes you back and a gasp comes quick from your mouth.

"Harald!" Another voice calls out for their leader.

The man, almost startled himself, looks back and stands to his full height, dropping the pitchfork. He looks down, watching as you shrink further away.

"Nothing in here." He finally calls before you watch his foot kick a bale of hay on top of you. A small "oof" escapes your mouth as you listen to footsteps retreating.

The only thing you can remember after that, is the sound of hooves galloping away.

"Harald..." You test the name out as you shakily stand up, "I will find you and I will repay you for saving me."

Tags: @naaladareia

#harald x reader #harald finehair x reader #vikings fanfic #fanfic #my writing #vikings x reader #fanfiction #vikings fandom #vikings fanfiction

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thyris-saga · 2 years

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[masterlist]

• • •

ASSASSIN'S CREED: VALHALLA

Eivor Varinsson

Prompts: 50 Types Of Kisses

• • •

VIKINGS

Halfdan The Black

Prompts: 50 Types Of Kisses

---

Harald Finehair

Prompts: 50 Types Of Kisses

#assassins creed valhalla #eivor varinsson #eivor wolfkissed #male eivor x reader #male eivor #eivor x reader #vikings #halfdan x reader #halfdan the black x reader #halfdan vikings #harald vikings #harald finehair #harald finehair x reader

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aikaterini-drag · 10 months

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Behold, the fierce Harald, draped in fur, a warrior's warmth amidst the cold winds of the North! 🌬️🛡️❄️

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alicedopey · 21 days

Note

Random thought: Harald pulling you close on a cold morning, asking if you're willing to spend the day keeping each other warm under the covers. - Zombie

In Bed with the King

(gif credits to its creator)

Fandom: Vikings Pairing: Harald x (Wife) Reader Genre: Smut(-ish) Words: 614 (Drabble) Warning(s): It's a little bit smutty people so don't like it, don't read it. A/N: I wanted fluff but Harald would not cooperate so it turned naughtier than I thought. Hope you will like it @thezombieprostitute

Your eyes fluttered open as the soft hues of the morning sun lightened the royal chamber. The snowstorm that has started yesterday evening was apparently done. It was still very cold though, you thought as you slid out an arm to rub the sleep from your eyes. A faint shiver ran through your body and you quickly put your limb back under the furs, meeting the hand of your husband resting possessively on your middle. You smiled and tenderly stroked his skin, enjoying the contrast between the two of you. He grumbled but pulled you closer and kissed your neck. The tickle of his beard made you giggle and you tried to get away from him.

“Stay still, woman. Let me enjoy my morning kisses”. His lips followed a path down your neck and along your shoulder, sending shivers of pleasure through your whole body. His hand slowly glided along your upper body and stopped on your breast before kneading it.

“Harald, we have to stop”. You whispered though you did nothing to stop him and your body even started oscillating against his.

“Why is that, my Queen?” Harald asked between kisses, never ceasing his sweet torture. His hand left your breast to travel down your body and you found the strength to stop him just as he was about to reach your sex.

“Because, my King.” You inhaled deeply, fighting your own lust. “We have some duties to attend.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do.”

“No, we don’t.” He intertwined your fingers and kissed your shoulder again. “In fact, we are going to spend the day under those furs and keep each other warm.”

“Must I remind you there was a snowstorm yesterday and that our people…”

He cut you off with one of his hoarse and seductive chuckles. “Who do you take me for, woman? I’m not a heavy sleeper like you. I have been up since dawn with several of my men.”

You let out a mock outraged scoff and managed to turn around so that you were facing him. “Really? An old man like you?”

Harald laughed heartily. He did not take any offense on this recurring banter between the two of you, especially because he only was a few years older than you. “You did not think I was an old man last night”. He pulled you close and rubbed his nose against yours. “You even praised my stamina, if I remember correctly.”

“I admit you are insatiable.”

“Only with you, my Queen. Only with you.” He kissed your nose tenderly. “As I was saying, my men and I checked the surroundings as much as we could. Most of us are stuck inside because of the snow. There is nothing we can do for the moment but keep each other warm. What do you say, dear Queen of mine? Shouldn’t we take advantage of this opportunity to work on our most important project: making an heir for the throne?”

His hand under the furs traveled down your body and hooked one your legs on his hip. You could feel his leaking tip against your dripping center which clenched around nothing. Letting go of your leg, he grabbed his cock and rubbed it against your cunt. A needy whimper left your lips and you slid your hand between the two of you to grab his sex and put it inside of you in a swift motion. He groaned as you let out another whimper, this time filled with want and need. Your breaths mingled as you got even closer and put your forehead against his. Your eyes met briefly, full of lust and naughty promises.

“Anything for you, my King.”

Tagging (feel free to ask to be added or removed): @naaladareia @gearhead66 @flowers-in-your-hayr @medievalfangirl @girlonfireice

#vikings #drabble #harald finehair #harald x reader #smut

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ryuzakemo128 · 2 months

Text

Vikings Writing Prompts

Trigger Warning:

Mention of Death, fighting, miscarriages, suicide.

If anything mentioned above triggers you. Please remove yourself and continue with your day. Your mental health is just as important as your physical health. Vice versa, as the mind can affect the body in equal measure.

Prompts for either imagines, headcanons, one-shots, anything you possibly desire. As long as it is clearly stated as to what character you want it written for. Otherwise I will not be able to satisfy the particular itch you might or might not want itched and scratched.

Characters from the Vikings Show that I am willing to write for as follows:

Male Characters

Rollo Lothbrok

Ívar Ragnarsson

Björn Ragnarsson

Ubbe Ragnarsson

Athelstan

Hálfdanr Hálfdansson

Haraldr Hálfdansson

Female Characters:

Lagertha Lothbrok

Aslaug Sigurdsdottir

Personal Note: I would also preface that I will not write things that trigger me. Things like Cheating and Affairs. At least not in incredible detail as it will harm and hurt my mental health in the long run. And if you respect my mental health, you will respect my personal boundaries as well.

If you would like to peruse my previous works in the past feel free to do so. I will not prevent nor shame those who would want to read them.

Here is a link to two masterlists that contain them.

Masterlist 01 / Masterlist 02

Prompts

Listed below are prompts to choose from if you want to make a specific request for a specific character. First list being SFW and the second one being NSFW underneath the cut.

SFW - Dialogue Prompts

"Whatever souls are made of, yours and mine are the same. As much you might dispute that fact."

"You could just tell me things instead of insinuating them. Communication is important."

"Let me eat my feelings in peace and quiet. Otherwise we are going to have many, many, many problems."

"I know I can't go I'm the one getting nearly all the time."

"I don't trust anyone who would place value of one child above another. Regardless of what someone else may or may not have said."

"For a mother you play favourites quite a bit."

"Depends on what you consider to be fair."

"Aim better! Stop trying to hit me and hit me!"

"You are not my problem. You are theirs. I plan to keep it that way. So neither begging nor pleading to me will not work."

Canon Character x OC/ Reader - Dialogue Prompts

"I am well enough to fight. I am well enough to move around do things myself. Do not coddle me as I were a child and I will not do the same to you."

"I was in exile, I did not abandon anybody, least of all my brother."

"I don't ask for your understanding, I don't ask for your trust either and quite frankly I do not want either one from you."

NSFW - Dialogue Prompts

[TBD]

Vikings Headcanons - Link

Food for the heart and soul - Halfdan the Black x Female Reader - Link

Tarnished and Unveiled Intentions - Bjorn Ironside x reader - Link

Life After Death - Bjorn Ironside x female reader - Link

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blakeswritingimagines · 2 months

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Wiping away their kisses

Ragnar: He'll laugh and smile, then he'll jokingly chase you around, trying to kiss you again, though he's pretty much pretending to put in any effort into it. Once he's caught you, he'll wrap you up in his arms, and kiss you on the neck instead.

Athelstan: "What are you doing?" He can't help but ask as he frowns at the act of wiping away a kiss. He is not happy about you being playful, especially when it comes to something as intimate as a kiss. He sees this as a sign of you not valuing the connection you have, and it bothers him.

Floki: His grin spreads wide at this like he's finding the situation hilarious. He lets his lips curl into a lopsided smile before leaning back slightly and playfully sticking his tongue out at you, teasing you. He winks and giggles, "I guess you're just not into it, huh?" His voice is teasing but playful.

Lagertha: She'll chuckle to herself, secretly entertained by the playful gesture. She'll lean forward and press her lips against yours once again, enjoying the feel of your skin against her own. When you playfully wipe it away again, she grins and says in a teasing voice, "I'll keep kissing you until you're too overwhelmed to wipe them away anymore."

Aslaug: She'll laugh after knowing it was a joke, and give a teasing look, then pull you close again and softly kiss your lips. She'll whisper, "Who said I was done yet?"

Bjorn: Is annoyed at first, but he quickly becomes playful and grabs your hands, preventing you from wiping away any more kisses. He leans in and slowly kisses your cheeks, lips, and finally neck. He'll release your hands and trail his fingers along your body, gently squeezing your hip before backing away.

Ubbe: A look of playful annoyance crosses his face. But that quickly turns into a devilish smirk. When you go to wipe away another kiss, he gently grabs your hands and pulls you closer so you can't.

Hvitserk: If you playfully wipe away a kiss, he would playfully pretend to be offended, then he would playfully grab your arms and pull you into another kiss while saying in a playfully playful tone, "You can't get rid of me that easily."

Sigurd: "What are you doing?" He'll laugh to hide his embarrassment and playfully reach for another kiss. He moves closer to you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you in close. With one hand, he'll cup your chin and lean in close. He'll gaze into your eyes and gently kiss you again, taking his time and letting your lips softly brush against each other.

Ivar: He gives you a playful glare, letting his lips curl into a small smirk. "Oh, you're asking for it now." He leans forward, putting his hands on your hips, and starts kissing you again.

Halfdan: He smirked at the little trick you tried to play on him. He then leaned forward and wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed you passionately, deeply, and repeatedly as he runs his fingers through your hair, leaving strands of it disheveled as he does so.

Harald: He would look you in the eyes and smile, leaning in to kiss you again. He takes your hand and gently pulls you close. He'll whisper in your ear: "I couldn't help myself, darling - your lips are too irresistible to resist." As he kisses you again, more deeply this time, and gently bites your bottom lip before pulling away. He looks deep into your eyes and whispers again, "Let's not be play tonight, shall we?"

#ragnar lothbrok x reader #athelstan x reader #floki x reader #lagertha x reader #aslaug x reader #bjorn ironside x reader #ubbe lothbrok x reader #hvitserk lothbrok x reader #sigurd lothbrok x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #halfdan the black x reader #harald finehair x reader #vikings fic #vikings

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hc-geralt-23 · 11 months

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The Viking King and the Shieldmaiden: A Tale of Love, Courage, and Perseverance.

Once upon a time, in a land where the sea was blue and the sky was grey, there was a great Viking king named Harald. He was a fierce warrior and a just ruler, feared by his enemies and beloved by his people. However, there was one thing missing in his life: true love.

One day, during a battle against a rival tribe, Harald caught a glimpse of a fierce warrior woman fighting alongside her fellow shieldmaidens. She was a sight to behold, with long golden hair streaming behind her as she swung her sword with deadly precision. Harald was immediately smitten with her and decided to meet her after the battle was over.

However, when he finally approached her, he found out that she was not interested in love or marriage. Her name was (y/n), and she had been traumatized by a past experience that left her with trust issues and a deep fear of commitment. Nevertheless, Harald was determined to win her heart and he courted her diligently with kindness, respect, and patience.

At first, (y/n) rejected all his advances and kept him at a distance. But he persisted, visiting her after every battle, bringing her gifts, and talking to her about his dreams and ambitions. Over time, (y/n) began to open up to him and they became friends. Then, one day, they shared their first kiss, and it was magical.

However, their love story was far from easy. (Y/n) had many enemies and rivals among the shieldmaidens who envied her skills and her beauty. There were also Vikings who disapproved of a king marrying a warrior woman, especially one who was not of noble birth. Besides, (y/n)'s past eventually caught up with her, and she had to confront her demons and face her fears of intimacy and vulnerability.

Despite all the obstacles, Harald and (y/n)'s love only grew stronger with time. They fought together, laughed together, and cried together. They shared their hopes and fears, their triumphs and failures. And when the time finally came for them to get married, they did so in a grand ceremony that united their tribes and their hearts.

After the wedding, they settled down and had children, three boys and a girl. They built a farm by the sea, where they grew crops, raised livestock, and fished. They also continued to lead their people and defend their land from outside threats. And every night, they lay in bed together, holding hands, and looking at the stars, grateful for the love that had brought them together and the family that had grown out of it.

In the end, Harald and (y/n)'s love story became a legend among their people, a tale of courage, perseverance, and devotion that inspired generations to come. And even today, many years later, their descendants still tell their story with pride and joy, knowing that their family was built on a foundation of true love.

#vikings x reader #king harald x reader #harald finehair imagine #king harald #King Harald Finehair x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months

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Common Knowledge 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Harald Halfdansson, tall & plus-size reader

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You untangle the strap of your knapsack from the folding desk. Somehow you always manage to caught up on something. Always a bit too tall, always a bit too much. You stand and leave your books on the empty seat next to you to unhook your bag.

You stand straight, the shuffle of students dispelling down the center aisle and out the doors. You reach for your books as a shadow approaches you. You look up at Professor Halfdansson as he approaches casually, a thumb in his front pocket.

Before you can grab the Norse Encyclopedia, he has it in his free hand. You stand straight, clasping onto the open mouth of your knapsack. You give him a tight-lipped smile, but it probably looks more like a sneer. You've been told your resting bitch face can be intimidating.

"Ah, you found it," he smiles, cradling it like a precious child against one arm and fluttering the pages. "I thought to offer you my own copy should you not."

"It's fine. No big task," you assure him.

"Humble," he praises, "so have you decided on your thesis?"

You push one shoulder up, "still thinking."

He grins and his blue eyes flick up from the book. He has a way of looking at you that makes you want to disappear. As if he's seeing right through you.

"Sorry, Professor, I have a class coming up--"

"You must be in Turner's class."

You hold out your hand expectantly. He glances at it and slowly hands over the book. You slip it through the zipper of your bag.

"How'd you know?"

"Birds of a feather," he says.

You nod and shoulder your bag. You have nothing to say to that. He watches you and steps back, waving you past him. You sidle around him in the tight aisle.

"Next week," he calls after you, "I think you'll very much enjoy the readings."

"Thank you, professor," you say as you turn down the steps, "I'll be sure to catch up."

You leave without looking back. He is an odd duck but many of your professors have their eccentricities. Professor Turner often can't figure out the projector. Funny how those regarded as so smart often have such glaring blindspots.

📖

You sit down among the stacks, ready to tuck into a full day of studying. It isn't ideal and frankly fills you with anxiety. College wasn't made for you, nor were you it. Frankly, your interest in history is better sated in books off the shelf than the ramblings of scholars with an attachment to their overinflated titles.

History is vast, you can never know it all, and there are parts which hold little interest to you. Nordic myths left you indifferent. Never a subject you would choose for yourself but as you delve into it, not entirely dull.

You tap your pen as you wait for your laptop to update. Always at the best times. You flip open your notebook and flick through your notes. Right, focus, you just need a straightforward statement. It's not very difficult.

"Ah, a young aspirant on her journey to knowledge," the booming voice is much too loud in the hush of the library.

You look up as Professor Haraldsson approaches, he worn leather bag under his arm and a travel mug in the shape of a stein in his other hand, "very busy in here, do you mind if I invade your space?"

You give him a look between blank and surprised. You probably look dumb. You shrug and gesture at an empty chair. You suspect it was rhetorical.

He drops his bag unceremoniously and puts his cup down with a clank. You flinch and look back to your laptop, urging it to update faster.

"And so the Norns bring us together once more. I am starting to feel Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld's hands upon us."

You narrow your eyes and give him a look. You know the Norns but not by name. You try to smile and force out a scratchy chuckle.

"I guess…"

"May I?" He points to the large encyclopedia.

"Go ahead," you sigh as the login screen appears and you type.

He opens the cover and searches the table of contents. He finds his place among the many pages and leans in to read. You focus on the screen and your own work. Only a thesis statement, easy, right?

"I do find the illustrations rather immaculate," he comments as he runs his hand over a picture, a man with a sword before a woman of great stature. "Have you found it very useful?"

"Mmhmm," you hum and pull your notebook closer.

He slides the open book towards you and you place your notebook atop it, "and have we chosen a subject?"

You shake your head and look down. The small caption of the photo peeks out around the corner of the notebook. The professor slurps noisily from his cup.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out…"

Your voice trails off as you read the description; 'Frey declaring to the giantess, Gerd, that he will curse her to an eternity in Hel should she reject him.' You frown, many of these stories are dreadfully depressing. The womanly counterparts rarely meet a kind end.

"Well, should you have any questions," he offers as he pulls open the flap of his bag, "I do consider myself a bit of an expert."

"Thanks," you cup your chin as you lean forward, staring at your desktop.

You can feel him watching but refuse to acknowledge it, wondering if maybe you have something on your face. As with most people, you tune him out, pretending you are alone. You're always most comfortable that way.

#harald finehair #harald halfdansson #dark!herald #dark harald #harald finehair x reader #geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt x reader #au #drabble #series #common knowledge #the witcher #vikings

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author-morgan · 10 months

Note

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!

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