#viking!harry

[its-julia-in-outer-space]

Early Mornings

Y/N woke to the feeling of a calloused hand running down her bare back, sliding from her neck to the dip of her hip. Lips pressed to her temple, the shape of a smile against her skin.

She shivered and stretched like a cat, the heavy fur covers shifting with her movements and uncovering more of her body. The hand on her hip took advantage, sliding lower and gliding to the globe of her ass.

“Good morning, my love,” Harry said, voice low. “The sun has just risen.”

Y/N hummed, eyes still closed. “So it has. Is that a reason to disturb my sleep?”

“The children are not up yet. Forgive me for wanting the full attention of my wife, if only for a few moments before the mayhem starts.”

Harry pressed his chest to her back, pushing her gently onto her stomach. Clever fingers delved deeper beneath the sheets, and it was an instinctive reflex to open her legs as they reached her core and pushed in.

“How wet you are,” he whispered in her ear. “What would your people say, Y/N? What would the royal court of Lothian think, should they know their princess lets a northern invader defile her all day long?”

“Damn them and their opinion,” Y/N breathed out shakily, a low moan climbing out of her throat as Harry curled his fingers inside of her.

He pressed open-mouthed kisses down her throat, sucking at the junction between her neck and shoulder. His other arm slid under her waist, hand settling on the pouch of her belly.

“Will you let me have you, little doe?” he asked, pushing his hips into her ass, the hard line of his cock nestling between her cheeks. “Give me another child to dote on?”

She breathed out a laugh, pushing back against him. “You must be out of your mind, husband. The four we have are already running us ragged.”

She turned in his arm, his fingers slipping out of her core wetly. In the pale morning light, the angular lines of his face seemed soft and tender. She pressed a kiss to his lips, one hand burying itself in his thick curls, the other sliding down his chest to his cock.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Y/N said, her fist pumping slowly. Harry groaned, his hands gripping her ass to a nearly painful point. “You have more heirs than you know what to do with.”

“I will always want more, so long as I have them with you.”

He pulled her left thigh over his hip, sliding lower. As she guided him to her entrance, he pressed a hard kiss to her mouth and pushed in, swallowing her cry. He shushed her, smoothing down her hair with the tenderness only she knew he had in him.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “How perfect you are. You take me so well.”

“More,” she asked.

She did not need to beg. Harry started thrusting, slowly, steadily. On every thrust, he went deeper, until it felt like they were no longer two separate individuals but one entity. 

With a groan, he slid out of her and pushed her onto her stomach before she had time to complain. A fraction of a second later, he was back inside of her, one arm under her hips as he lifted her ass up. The pleasure came in relentless waves and Harry kept going faster, kept going stronger.

“Everything,” he said in her ear, each word strained. “I will give you everything.”

Y/N cried out at a particularly harsh thrust, the pleasure ramping up. She was no longer in control of anything, her body nor her mind. Harry’s name came out of her lips like a prayer, a plea to the only god she knew in this bed. The tsunami inside her veins was growing and growing, its collapse only seconds away.

As her walls clenched around his cock, Harry’s hand came to the front of her neck. It did not squeeze, never would. But he held her, bringing her head up.

“No,” he said. “Not yet. Hold on for me.”

“I- I can’t, Harry, please.”

“You can, and you will,” he replied, his tone like steel.

She could have cried from the frustration, the denied pleasure. He held himself still, long enough for the growing wave inside of her to settle down. As always, he was more aware of her limits than she was, and only when he knew she was no longer about to come did he start thrusting again.

He went at her with all the strength he had, the muscles he had spent decades carefully honing for war now used in her service. As fast as it had gone down, the wave of pleasure rose back up, aided by the fingers he pressed between her legs.

The rhythm he had set started to unravel. He bit down on the tender skin of her shoulder, burying his groans in her skin. The twinge of pain only added to the intensity of the pleasure in Y/N’s body, and the wave crested, then broke.

Every part of her body seized, as if she had been hit by lightning, and she went blind from it. Harry thrust once, twice, then buried himself inside her with a deep cry. They might have stayed that way for hours, for all she knew. Joined together, muscles weary, lungs settling.

“I love you,” Y/N said.

Harry cradled her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Love of my life.”

With an exaggerated sigh, he then stretched an arm over her head to the bedside table and the contraceptive serum the midwife made her take daily.

As she swallowed the bitter liquid, Harry stood and slipped on his pants. He turned to her as he laced them up, treating her to the beautiful sight of his bare chest.

“One day,” he said. “One day, when our children are too old, you’ll plead for another.”

“Should that day come,” she smiled. “I will not need to beg.”

“True,” he leaned over, kissing her lips. “Odin be my witnes, you have made a slave of me.”

A sharp cry echoed then from the next room, impatient and angry.

“Well then, slave,” Y/N laughed. “Seems like your other master is calling.”

With a disappointed sigh that was betrayed by sudden joy in his eyes, Harry left the room. A moment later, he entered again, their daughter in his arms. Sigrid had been born only three moons ago, and she looked tiny and vulnerable still. Yet out of all their children, she was the one who resembled her father the most, from the green eyes to the thick brown curls on the top of her head.

“So fussy,” Harry said as he gazed at her frowning face. “As if she has been starved for weeks.”

“Hm, I wonder who she gets that from. Give her here.”

She settled the squirming baby against her chest, and Sigrid latched at once to Y/N’s breast. She did not look pleased, frowning at her mother as she fed. Harry settled at their side, sliding an arm behind Y/N’s back to support her.

“She will be a shieldmaiden, this one,” he said. “Her grip is stronger than the boys’ already.”

“Not strong enough yet for a sword, husband.”

“A dagger, then.”

Y/N did not argue. There were many cultural differences she had had to get used to, when she first came to Kaldagr. Their cult-like love for weaponry had been one of them.

She remembered the early days, how fearful she’d been, how angry. How much she had hated the man that had now given her the baby in her arms. 

“Funny how things change,” she said under her breath.

“What was that, my love?”

“Nothing,” she replied. “I’m just happy.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, watched her daughter feed and hoped her sons would wake up soon. Happy, indeed.

Thanks for reading! Don't hesitate to let me know what you think!

MASTERLIST

[axelsagewrites]

Contains: GoT ♡ HotD ♡ HP ♡ Mauraders ♡ Ted Lasso ♡ Vikings Tv

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【P】Platonic【P】 🆇Smut 18+🆇

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This time her eyes met Harry’s. She smiled just for him, and said a silent prayer to the Maiden. Please, he doesn’t need to love me, just make him like me, just a little, that would be enough for now. Alayne I, The Winds of Winter.

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What Ivar loves and needs from his wife - Ivar the boneless - A drabble about some favorites of Ivar /nsfw and fluff

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[its-julia-in-outer-space]

Our Love Eternal - Part 1

Prompt: Harry is a Viking, and invades Y/N's land.

The Demon was taller than Y/N had expected him to be. Dressed in fighting leathers and a heavy fur coat, he stood alone before her father’s throne with both hands on the pommel of his greatsword. He had no beard, no visible ink staining his fair skin and his thick dark curls were free from any braid or decorative bead.

Had she not known any better, Y/N might have thought him an English mercenary, come to offer his services to the kingdom. But she did know better. The stories of the northern invaders had reached her ears long before they came knocking on Castle Branagh’s doors. 

A furious storm was raging that night, said the stories, when three ships emerged from the mist. Twenty men on each ship, rowing to the shore to the relentless sound of drums. One man did not row, people said. He stood still as stone, at the bow of the foremost ship, staring ahead. Jarl Harald, his countrymen were said to call him. Demon, did the people of Lothian.

The invaders did not know hunger, thirst or weariness. They marched on, day and night, taking all the riches and valuables they could get their hands on. An unstoppable wave, heading straight for the castle, the heart of the kingdom.

Neighbouring lands had faced the northern invaders before, and fallen before them. But this group seemed different. They took no lives, so long as people did not resist. Women were left unabused, homes unburnt. From the monasteries, they seized the gold, but left the monks alone. From the fields, they took what food they needed, and cared not to ruin the rest.

Men had been sent to stop them, of course. The strongest warriors in Lothian had been torn from their homes, lifted onto brave steeds and sent off to lay down their lives for the kingdom. And lay down their lives, they had, cut down like children by the northern beasts.

Y/N had seen them appear over the horizon one morning, a shifting mass darkening the path to Castle Branagh. Standing on the battlements, she had watched them approach as the castle erupted in pointless chaos. There was, after all, nowhere to run.

Nowhere to run, she thought again as she stood behind her father’s throne, the Demon before them.

“Ask him what he wants,” said the king to the translator. Her father wore his best finery, the Antler Crown placed proudly on his balding head. Slightly crooked, as always. Y/N could see beads of sweat running down his neck, and hoped that the invaders could not. For dignity’s sake.

The translator, a short and plump spice merchant who had apparently done frequent business in the invaders’ northern lands, spoke then in a strange, rhythmic, melodic prose. The Demon tilted his head to the side, bright green eyes on the Antler Crown, as he replied in that same strange language.

“He asks if you are the one called the Stag King,” the translator said.

“I am King Roderic of Lothian. Like my father before me, and his father before him, I am called the Stag King by the people of my lands.”

An old title, its meaning forgotten. Undeserved.

The translator translated. The Demon’s eyes narrowed, his gaze leaving the crown to travel the crowd of stoic soldiers and cowering nobles. He spoke then, his tone sharper.

“He asks if you have a child,” the merchant said. “No - a daughter.”

Y/N froze as, one by one, each member of the royal court looked at her. Following along, the Demon’s green eyes settled on her figure. She was covered from head to toe, gloves on her hands, cloak around her body, veil over her face. Yet she felt naked as he watched her, watched every tremor, every shiver that racked her.

The Demon spoke again, his chapped lips curving into a predatory smile. Spoke to her.

“He says hello,” the translator said. “He says not to be scared.”

“Scared!” her father scoffed. “The nerve! Has he come to mock us? Is this why he asked for an audience? To make fools out of this court before they slaughter us? We know his men stand ready! We know who waits in the darkness!”

The Demon’s eyes went cold, flickering to her father as he bit out two short sentences.

The translator hesitated. “He says - he says he was not speaking to you, Your Highness. He was speaking to Lady Y/N.”

Her father opened his mouth, fury reddening his skin. Before he could speak and possibly damn them all, Y/N took a step forward.

“Why?” she asked. She sounded frightened, and cursed her lack of control. It was impossible to ignore the smile that blossomed on the Demon’s face. “What does he want with me?”

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she listened to the translator’s wheezy voice, and the Demon’s deep one in return. Air turned scarce as she watched the merchant’s eyes widen, his shoulders tense as he turned to her.

“He’s offering a deal, my Lady. He says he and his men will depart Lothian at once, and not harm a single soul. He swears not to return in ill spirit, lest the deal is broken. He says he is ready to make a solemn oath to you, and to the gods of his faith.”

“What- what does he want in return?” Y/N asked.

Time seemed to stop, seconds stretching into centuries as she waited with bated breaths for the translator to speak. The Demon stood still, his green gaze boring into hers through her veil.

“He wants the Stag’s Daughter to come with him back to his land. To Kaldagr. My Lady, he wants you.”

-----

The northerners’ longships were called drakkars, Y/N learned.  Their word for sword was sverð, the one for shield, skjold. Come was koma, and skynda was hurry. To her, they said nei most often. She needed no translation for that one.

She was told the crossing would be dangerous. Depending on the winds, it would take them three to six days to reach their homeland. Three to six days of cold winds, harsh waves and unpredictable weather. 

They asked her if she could swim, and laughed when she said no. They opened her sole bag of belongings and threw away all three of her dresses, and ordered her maid to pack men’s pants instead. They never left her alone. Never.

As if she could have run from them. As if she wanted to. 

The Demon’s audience with the Stag King had ended ten days prior, with the signing of a treaty between the kingdom of Lothian and Kaldagr. The treaty was simple: there would be peace and friendship between both lands, so long as the Princess of Lothian remained in the great city of Kaldagr. It was not stated what she was expected to do, once in the north, and she did not dare to think about it for too long.

In the end, what did it matter? If it saved her people, she would endure.

“My Lady, you must drink.”

Robben, the merchant turned translator, was handing her his waterskin. They were sat pressed together from hip to shoulder, at the back of the longship. They had departed from the Lothian shores almost four days ago, and the open sea surrounded them on all horizons.

There had been rain, there had been wind, and waves so tall they seemed like mountains. Every now and then, weather permitting, the northerners would pack the oars and let down the sails. 

“Thank you,” Y/N said as she took the waterskin from Robben. She lifted the bottom of her veil and drank a few mouthfuls.

As ordered, she had put on men’s clothing, the pants an unfamiliar feeling on her legs. She had too large hunting boots on her feet, kept in place by leather laces around her calves, thick socks underneath. Two cloaks had been placed around her shoulders, and still the cold wind passed through.

If the courtiers of Castle Branagh saw her, they surely wouldn’t recognize their princess. She looked like a vagrant, and smelled like one too after days at sea.

But still, she kept her veil over her hair and face. Not out of modesty, or out of respect for her father’s orders. She’d never cared much about those, even if she’d obeyed them for her entire life. But keeping her features hidden felt safer, the veil almost a shield against the northerners’ eyes. It was the last thing she owned, the last thing that was truly hers. She already dreaded the time when she would have to remove it.

She was still surprised she hadn’t been asked to take it off yet. Thought she would have to, that day on the beach.

On the morning of their departure, her father’s men accompanied her to the shore where the drakkars waited, already prepped for the journey home. A single row boat waited on the sand, two men sat inside with oars ready.

The Demon stood before it, his boots lapped by the waves, the rising sun over his left shoulder. The soldiers who brought her to him stayed back at the end of the dirt road, standing in a line as she walked alone towards the monster who now owned her.

As she approached, she noticed first that his arms were bare. Dark ink covered his fair skin, swirls and strange symbols running from his shoulders to his wrists. His dark curls were braided back, silver beads holding the ends together. The greatsword he’d carried at the audience was now accompanied with twin axes at his hips, a dagger at his belt and a bow across his back.

Now, he truly looked like a demon. Y/N’s heart faltered, an age-old instinct to run rising in her bones. She was smart enough to recognize that if he was the predator, she was the prey.

But she was the Princess of Lothian. She may have been going to her death, but she would go with pride and dignity. So she kept walking, stopping three steps before him. Even though he could not see her eyes, hidden behind the veil, she refused to look down.

A small, secretive smile on his lips, he bowed his head in a show of respect that made her want to spit in his face.

“Y/N,” he said. Her name did not sound the same coming from his mouth, his accent distorting every syllable. Then, he gestured at his own chest and said in broken, exaggerated English, “I am Harald. Harry.”

“You know my language?” she asked. He frowned, confusion in his eyes, and she took it as a no.

He spoke then rapidly in his own dialect, his hand pointing to the longship behind, then to her. He repeated the same words a second time, while she looked at him blankly.

“Kaldr,” he said. “Cold.”

Y/N looked down at herself, and the coat that had been given to her. It must have belonged to a hunter, stained with old blood and dirt, but she had no clothes of her own for extreme temperatures.

“This is all I have,” she told the Demon - Harry.

He clicked his tongue, muttering under his breath. Then, to her horror, he pushed back his cloak. Truthfully, calling it a cloak was doing it a disservice. Made of white, immaculate fur, it must have belonged to a wolf, but one larger than Y/N thought existed. It looked wonderfully warm and soft.

“No,” she protested as he took a step closer to her, the cloak in his hands. “I don’t want it.”

“Cold,” he said again. “Death.”

“I’ll be fine!”

He snarled, teeth bared at her. Such an animalistic behaviour, a savage show of dominance. But her protests died in her throat, her muscles locking up in fright.

His gaze turned softer at her reaction, and he looked almost regretful. But he said nothing, and stepped into her space. As he draped the heavy garment around her shoulders, his arms on both sides of her head, she kept her gaze on his chest.

“No cold,” he said, stepping back. “Varmr.”

“Warm,” she guessed. “I suppose I’m no good to you if I die from the cold before we even get there.”

“Warm,” he repeated, struggling on the w. “Já.”

Then, his hand lifted towards her face. As the tip of his fingers brushed her veil, Y/N startled backwards.

“Don’t,” she hissed. “Nei.”

He inclined his head in surrender, and sighed.  Then, without stepping closer, he gestured towards the row boat. 

For a moment, Y/N debated staying put. Digging her feet in the sand, the soil of her homeland. Would Lothian hold her, she wondered? Would her kingdom grip her ankles, her thighs, her waist, keep her with it no matter how hard the northerners pulled at her?

She entertained the fantasy for a few seconds. Breathed in. And walked to the row boat.

“We will reach Kaldagr before nightfall, I believe,” said Robben, his wheezy voice startling Y/N out of her memories. “Only a few more hours to go.”

“And then what? Will I be locked up? Beaten and raped? Made a slave to my enemies?”

Robben sighed.

“I don’t know what will happen to you, my Lady. But I do not believe you will be harmed.”

“Why not? Isn’t that the Viking way?”

“If they wanted to hurt you, they would have done so in Lothian.”

Y/N scoffed.

“That’s assuming there’s any kind of logic to their actions. Do you know them so well, sir, that you can assure me of my safety?”

To his credit, Robben seemed to take no offence to her sharp tone and biting words.

“I am not so arrogant. But I have spent time with the northerners, and with Jarl Harald himself.”

“Harald,” she repeated. “Or Harry?”

“Harry is a nickname of sorts, one he uses with foreigners. Perhaps because it is more familiar to them, less…”

“Northern?”

“Less threatening. Many in the world believe the Vikings to be savages, conquerors, people with little thought who steal, and rape, and kill. We imagine they live depraved lives, uneducated and beastly.”

“Do they not? They certainly behave like animals.”

“No. They are warriors, certainly. But you will see in Kaldagr that there is tradition, art, laws, commerce, and all the same complexities that you have in Lothian. The culture is different, yes. Very much so. But I would say the same of Francia, of the Byzantine Empire or Flanders.”

“You are a well-travelled man.”

Robben nodded, looking at the horizon with a distant smile on his face.

“I thank you, my Lady, for what I believe is a compliment. But do not mistake me for a learned man. I am no wiser than a child.”

“Do you truly not know, then?” Y/N asked, fear slipping into her tone. “What he wants with me?”

“The Jarl? No. But he is a private man. I do not believe even those closest to him know why he took you from Lothian.”

“Well,” Y/N said, hugging the white fur coat closer to her body. “I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.”

-----

As Robben had said, land appeared on the horizon hours later. Cliffs that seemed to reach the clouds rose before Y/N’s eyes, grey rocks topped by emerald green grass. Forests of spruce stretched on and on, dark and imposing.

The longships sailed to a narrow opening in the cliffs, which Robben said was called a fjord. They followed the river for some time. The further they travelled, the more the northerners smiled. The men had been quiet, focused and sullen during the crossing, but now, they laughed and joked, sang songs. Ale was distributed, caskets passed from one ship to another.

Even Harry, who had not said a single word the entire journey, now sang with his men from his place at the bow of the ship. He looked younger somehow, his green eyes lit up with barely restrained glee. Happy to be home, Y/N supposed, while she felt she was getting closer to her grave with each passing minute.

As dark as her mood was, she could not hold back her gasp when Kaldagr came to view at last.

It was the largest city she had ever seen. It stretched from the end of the fjord to the top of the hills beyond, an army of timber houses with thatched roofs pressed close together. No walls surrounded the city, but the forest around was so dense that Y/N realised they did not need one.

All of the homesteads were low to the ground, made of one story. They looked barely discernible from one another, an extra window here, slightly wider walls there.

There was one building, however, that contrasted with the rest. It was built from the same timber and thatch, but its length and width far surpassed that of any other building. It was also much higher, towering above the city.

“That’s the longhouse,” said Robben. “It’s where the Jarl lives, and where the northerners hold their meetings and gatherings.”

“Like a castle?”

“Not exactly. Castles, like the one you grew up in, are meant for the nobility. Longhouses welcome everyone.”

“Are there no upper classes here?”

“No, there are. But the gentry is not so separated from the rest of the people, like you might see in Lothian.”

“How strange,” Y/N said, looking at the longhouse. Her father would have never allowed the lower class to step foot in Castle Branagh. When he spoke of the common people, it was always with disdain and mockery. As if the very bread he ate hadn’t been made from their hands.

But then, her father had always been a selfish, greedy man. The veil Y/N had borne her entire life was yet another example: how much he’d loved that only he knew what she looked like, how he’d basked in the curiosity of the other nobles, of the neighbouring royalty. She’d been yet another jewel in his coffers, to be kept hidden, under lock and key.

“Ah,” said Robben. “The welcoming party has arrived.”

Y/N looked to the docks. A crowd had gathered, men and women of all ages cheering and waving at the approaching ships. At the end of the longest dock, three women stood.

Two of them had dark hair, and wore long, thick dresses of the same burgundy colour. Golden jewellery adorned their necks and wrists, their hair pinned up. They could have been twins, had one not been considerably older than the other.

“The Jarl’s mother and sister,” Robben explained. “Hedda and Astrid.”

The resemblance to Harry was more evident the closer they got, from the shape of the mouth to the colour of the hair. But Y/N’s eyes were drawn to the woman in between them. She was as tall as a man, her figure toned. Blonde hair fell from her scalp in wild curls, the wind blowing them in front of her icy blue eyes. Freckles decorated her skin, like stars in the night sky.

She was not wearing a dress, but fighting leathers. A large axe hung from her waist, the woman’s hand resting on the handle as if she might draw it at any moment.

She was beautiful, stunning even, in the way that a snake is before it strikes.

“What about her?” Y/N asked.

“Ah,” answered Robben. “That would be the Lady Saga. Eldest daughter of Jarl Thorvald of Skolstrond, to the north of here.”

“The Lady Saga has quite the weapon.”

“Yes, she does, and she knows how to use it. Does that surprise you? A woman fighting?”

“No,” she said, and shrugged at Robben’s doubting look. “Why would a woman be incapable of fighting? We have arms, don’t we?”

“Do you not believe females are weaker?” asked Robben, throwing up his hands with a smile at the sudden tension in her body. “For the sake of argument only, my Lady.”

“No,” she replied. “Not when I look at the Lady Saga.”

At last, the longships reached the docks. Ropes were thrown to secure them and a human chain was formed to unload the many bags and crates, filled with the northerner’s plunder.

Y/N’s name was called, and she looked up to see Harry before her, his hand stretched out. There was a wild smile on his face, victorious. A man who’d gotten what he wanted, although she still wasn’t sure what exactly that was.

She looked at his outstretched hand, those long, calloused fingers. The hand of the enemy. The joy in Harry’s eyes faded, replaced by apprehension. He spoke softly.

“He says not to worry,” said Robben. “He only means to help you off the ship.”

Y/N took a shallow breath in and placed her hand in Harry’s. He gently closed it around hers, pulling her up to her feet and guiding her to the edge of the longship. Stepping off first, he grasped her elbow and supported her as she stepped onto the dock.

“Thank you,” she said, her words barely audible.

“Þökk,” Harry smiled. A translation, offered like a gift.

He did not let go of her hand as he accompanied her down the dock, as if she was an honoured guest and not a prisoner of war. As they reached the trio of women, his mother and sister kissed his cheeks and forehead, tears pearling at the corner of their eyes.

The sister, Astrid, couldn’t have been older than fifteen. She was bouncing on the heel of her feet, wide brown eyes flitting between Harry and Y/N. The mother, Hedda, had a bit more composure and only snuck glances here and there.

“Saga,” said Harry, drawing Y/N’s attention. The warrior had approached, bowing her head respectfully. Harry clasped her forearm, as one would a fellow warrior.

They exchanged a few words, before Saga’s cold blue eyes settled on Y/N.

“Y/N,” she said. “Welcome to Kaldagr.”

Her voice was melodic, surprisingly high. Most surprisingly was how seamless her English was, her accent nearly indiscernible. 

“Thank you,” Y/N said tentatively. Robben hadn’t said who Saga was to the northerners, and she was unsure of the level of deference that was expected. “I didn’t think many would know my language.”

“Most do not,” the warrior replied. “But I had a good teacher.”

Saga said nothing more, and Harry took this opportunity to softly pull at Y/N’s hand. He led her down the docks to the city itself, his mother and sister falling in step behind them. Robben had joined them, and as Harry gestured at some buildings here and there, he translated.

They passed the armoury, the butcher’s shop, the sick house, the forge. There was a school, training grounds and a tailor. They walked through two different markets, both overwhelming from sights, scents and sounds. 

Men and women hurried down the busy, narrow streets, many clasping Harry’s free hand with sincere joy in their eyes. He knew most of their names, and always introduced them to Y/N, though she understood very little of what was said.

At last, they reached the longhouse. While not as tall as the smallest tower of Castle Branagh, the longhouse was daunting in its sheer length and width. The large doors were thrown open, and through them, Y/N could see a large room filled with tables and benches. At the centre was a firepit, and against the room’s back wall were two thrones perched on a dais. The floor was covered with thick furs and carpets, the walls decorated with tapestries.

Harry walked straight through, pulling Y/N along. They passed the tables, the firepit, the dais, and walked through an opening to the side. She saw the kitchen to her right, many closed doors to the left. At last, they reached another door, more ornate than the rest. Harry opened it and guided Y/N through.

At once, she saw the bed. She whirled around as the door closed behind her, realising with dread that she was alone with Harry. His mother and sister, the Lady Saga, Robben, were all gone.

Instinct took over. Harry blocked the path to the door, so she bolted to the other side of the room. Her eyes passed quickly over the desk, the chests and wardrobes, the bed, and widened as she saw the weapon rack. She grabbed the handle of a sword and pulled. But she hadn’t realised how heavy it was, and her grip loosened as the sword fell with a great clatter to the floor.

She cursed under her breath, and strained, lifting the sword off the wooden planks. Her arms ached, muscles screaming in pain.

“Stay back!” she ordered, air coming out of her lungs in panicked wheezes.

Harry hadn’t moved from the door. He stared at her, eyebrows raised high, his mouth slightly open. 

“I will kill you if you touch me,” Y/N hissed. “I will cut your head off, I’ll split you open, I will - I will rip out your lungs!”

Gone were her promises to her people, the treaty, her father’s orders. If this demon put a hand on her, she would bite it off. Or, at the very least, she would try.

Harry laughed.

“What?” she asked, baring her teeth. “I will!”

With an amused smile, he shook his head. He spoke, but she understood none of the words he said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she said, her tone rising. 

His brows furrowed in concentration.

“No hurt,” he said. He was looking at his hands, like a boy trying to remember his lessons. She realised then that this was exactly what was happening, as he continued in English. “You - are safe. No danger.”

“But - why,” she stammered. “Why did you bring me here?”

She gestured to the bed, and his eyes widened.

“Nei!” he said. He spoke in his language, and his face twisted in frustration as he struggled to find words. He pointed at her, twice, then at the floor.

“Are you…,” she began, looking around the room. “Are you saying this is my room? Just mine?”

He nodded, pointed to the closed door and the hallway beyond. “Mine,” he repeated.

His, over there. Hers, here. Separate bedrooms, because he was not going to touch her. Y/N deflated, the sword sliding a second time from her grip and falling to the floor. She ignored the wince on Harry’s face and leaned against the wall, her legs shaking.

“Safe,” he said again. “Safe.”

There was honesty in his eyes, his features devoid of any sign that he might be lying, trying to trick her. How stupid could she be, to want to trust him? He had taken her from her land, her people, her family. He had forcefully brought her to this city full of strangers, to his home, and she was supposed to believe he meant her no harm? What else could he want?

But there was something, in the bottomless green of his eyes. In the tilt of his full lips, in the shyness in his gestures.

“Okay,” she said. “Safe.”

With shaking limbs, she lifted her hands towards her veil. Part of her was screaming not to do this, not to let go of her last defence. But it felt like a show of trust, a step in his direction. She would see what he’d do with it.

She pulled at the clasp that held the veil in place, and felt it fall from her hair and face with a whisper. It pooled at her feet, the heavy lace stained from the days of travel.

Harry did not blink. His eyes pored over her face, the shape of her jaw, the tilt of her eyes, the colour of her hair. It seemed as if he looked at her for centuries. She dared not move, dared not breathe. She was afraid, but did not know of what. His judgement? 

“Þökk,” he said, his words soft as a morning breeze. Thank you.

Then, he bowed his head and stepped back to the door, leaving the room. As soon as the door was closed, Y/N’s legs faltered and she slid down the wall until she was sat on the floor, the fallen sword next to her feet.

She looked at the room properly, at the rich furniture, the open wardrobe in which many dresses were hung, the finely woven tapestries and the bed fit for an empress. She may have been a prisoner, but it seemed she would be a comfortable one. The luxuries she’d been awarded at Castle Branagh paled in comparison.

So many questions filled her head. But the fatigue of the past days caught up to her at last and she dragged herself to the bed, falling down on the furs without bothering to undress herself. 

The moment her head hit the feather pillow, the world turned dark.

-----

Thanks for reading the first part, let me know what you think!

Masterlist

[fantasydreamland]

Welcome to my little dreamland 🏰

This blog is 18+ only !!!

Here to share the fantasy worlds I love and sometimes write a little smut, there’s simply not enough wlw fanfics. Im bi so I love to share all my favourite fictional crushes 🖤

My stories:

My Saviour - Jon Snow

Handmaiden - Margaery Tyrell

Gossip - Margaery Tyrell

Secret Admirer - Margaery Tyrell

Lonely Nights - Khaleesi

Unspoken Love - Rhaenyra x Alicent

(always open to requests - any shows/movies listed in the hashtags)

🇬🇧🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🇨🇦🇮🇪🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🇵🇱

[shion-ah]

LOOKING FOR NEW LONGTERM RP PARTNERS(:

Doubling Welcome!

Hello yo everyone who sees this! I am posting again and I know it's been awhile but I would love to find some new rp partners for the listed fandoms as well as doing fandomless stories (details can be found below). A little about me I am 25+ looking for 25+ partners, I can usually write a few paragraphs and be quite detailed however that is not a dealbreaker if your replies are shorter just no one liners or two sentences in response. I do have certain limits which can be discussed in DMs and I do primarily use Discord for rping as well. I am fine with rapid fire responses or some time to pass between them (life happens and I completely understand that not everyone can respond right away). I do write NSFW but it cannot be the main reason for the storyline and be balanced with what is going on.

FANDOMS

Peaky Blinders - My female OCxThomas Shelby

Bridgerton - My female OCxBenedict

Stranger Things - My female OCxSteve

Walking Dead - My female OCxRick

The Boys

911

Vikings

Harry Potter - My female OCxGeorge (will also do marauders era)

LOTR

Game of Thrones

House of the dragon

FANDOMLESS

I love high fantasy, mafia/crime, and everything in between. If you would like to go our own story I am good with coming up with plots and world building and we can great something together.

Please like this post or send me a message if you are interested!

[thepaperpanda]

💘FLUFFEMBER🐑 Masterlist

🐼Hiya! 🐼 We are pleased to present you with our Fluffember 2022 Masterlist ♡

Essential information:

♡ the following post will serve as the masterlist for this event and will be updated with the links upon posting

♡ all works are SFW

♡ following the cut, you'll find the full list of the fics written for Fluffember 2022

Picnic [Moon Knight]

Stargazing [Vikings]

Dinner Cooking [The Hobbit]

Bed Sharing [Genshin Impact]

A Helpful Ally [Peaky Blinders]

The Emotional Reunion [Harry Potter]

A Little Nervous [Moon Knight]

Bad Hair Day [Genshin Impact]

A Rainy Night [Don't Worry Darling]

[kingdom-of-sins]

Fandoms I will write for and post here (very rarely):

The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Percy Jackson

Twilight

Harry Potter

Supernatural

MCU

Vikings

The Last Kingdom

Ask box open. Taking requests. Slow updates

[crowsandmurder]

Okay, I have a Math test tomorrow, that will determine if I pass or fail this stupid class. But, I'm going to throw out a starter call for ALL CHARACTERS. I'm going to try to write them while studying. They're all listed on my muse page and 60% have bios.

The ones that don't, I follow all canon material so I could still write a starter for any of them. I hope to write a bunch tonight but if not, they will come quick, hopefully.

You must specify who you want, and if you're a multi, tell me who you want to use.

CARRD

[novella-writers]

Helllooo! 27 year old lady in the EST, looking for a fun, laidback, maybe spazztastic, at least adv-lit to novella roleplay partner (since I love to write 1k-4k responses, but will match my partner at any length!)

Please be 18+, or closer to my age is preferred . Don’t write with anyone below 18. (In addition, all characters portrayed are & must be 18+) Only searching for girlies, because I don’t feel comfortable writing with men! (Sorry fella’s!) I only also write females in FxM romances (it’s what I’m most comfortable with) but am down for many fun added little side characters to add to our plots!

I’ve been roleplaying since the Twilight franchise opened a website where I fell in love with writing and creating fun characters and drama filled stories! I then took to tumblr (theboylenqueenn here, if you know me plz say hi!) I took a hiatus for a long while and am looking to get back into this as a fun hobby! I RP mainly on discord with the same screen-name.

Dos&Donts:

Do- Spam with ideas, inspo music, pictures ect! I love to be giddy over our characters!

Do- Tell me if you’re not interested in the RP or if you’re late on replies. I’m super laid back, we all have lives and I understand interests change!

Don’t- Pester me. I have a full time job and am married, so I will always reply when I can. Also, this is an escape. Let’s just have fun with the plot and characters at hand!!

Fandoms that could turn into plots. (We can play canon or enter OC’s or base plots off of these!)

•Game of Thrones / House of the Dragon

•The Vampire Diaries

•Vikings

•The Walking Dead

•Harry Potter

•Outer Banks

I also have the deepest want for a mafia inspired plot with either a dark forbidden/enemies to lovers romance or something southern gothic. (Think Ethel Cain song vibes) Maybe even highschool sweethearts who find their way back to eachother?! A stripper and a struggling fighter make a seriously tragic and beautiful couple! I have loads of ideas, let’s brain storm together!!

Throw me a DM if you wanna connect! :)! Xo Happy Writing!

Message if interested!

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

If you want to be tagged in any future imagines of these characters, reply to this post and let me know which character

[ifuckinglovefingerlingpotatoes]