#TLK Fanfiction

[aemondsbabe]

Love is Patient and Kind

summary: hand holding & dry humping || you aren't ready to take the next step with your monk, luckily for you he has the patience of a saint

pairing: osferth x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dry humping, very fluffy, osferth being cute and understanding and ruining other men for everyone, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.5k

a/n: welcome to day one of 12 days of smuff!! hope y'all enjoy this one! Can be read as part 1 to Wind’s Howling or as a stand alone!

12 days of smuff masterlist

gif creds to @thecruel!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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“Are you sure you do not wish for me to carry that, my lady?” Osferth asks for the millionth time, nodding his head at the basket, laden with various herbs and medicinal plants, in the crook of your elbow. 

For the millionth time, you merely shake your head with a crooked smile. “I wish only for your company, monk,” you glance over at him as the two of you walk through the forest, admiring the way the early afternoon sun casts a golden halo through his hair, “I told you as much when we left camp this morning.”

Osferth merely nods in reply; your man is one of few words. A soft blush blooms across your cheeks at the thought – your man, but it was as good as true. Osferth was the first man in Uhtred’s company you felt comfortable with when you joined their cause all those months ago when they’d stopped in your small hamlet in need of a healer; you’d been by their side ever since.

In the months since, your relationship with the monk had steadily grown from hushed whispers around the campfire in the dead of night, when sleep eluded the both of you, to heated glances, delicate touches, and stolen kisses. More recently, Osferth had all but insisted on accompanying you nearly everywhere you went, which is how he’d come to follow you as you walked through the forest to gather the variety of curative plants you need.

A content sigh passes your lips as you tilt your head up, taking in the way the tips of the trees stretch up toward the blue sky. “I had almost forgotten what the sun looked like,” you joke, your heart squeezing proudly in your chest as the monk chuckles next to you, “But hopefully this summer will be dryer than the last.”

“I have prayed many times for sun,” Osferth says with a nod, blue eyes soft as he gazes at you, “Unfortunately, the Lord seems to ignore those requests.” The corner of his lips tilts up as he huffs a laugh at his own joke. 

Suddenly, a branch snaps loudly not too far off the winding path the two of you have been strolling down. Osferth acts quickly, ever vigilant, and takes your hand to usher you behind him as he draws his sword. Your breath quickens as you peek around his shoulder, pressing yourself tightly against his back as your hand grips his; you’d been assured by Uhtred’s scouts that the forest surrounding camp was perfectly safe, but in these times danger seemed to creep up from every corner. 

A buck appears a little ways down the path, followed by two more deer, each sparing you and the monk only a quick glance before scampering into the forest once more. The two of you let out a collective sigh of relief as Osferth sheaths his sword with a shy smile. 

“Perhaps now would be a good time for a break, my lady?” He suggests with a soft smile, “We’ve been walking since morning.”

“I think we’ve earned a break,” you nod, gazing up at him through your lashes, the two of you still close enough that you could make out soft flecks of green in his blue eyes, “I believe I saw a clearing a few paces back.” 

“Lead the way.” Osferth nods, keeping in pace with you as you backtrack to where you’d spotted a lush clearing through the trees only moments ago. As you walk, nearly shoulder to shoulder, the monk silently takes your hand again, his rough fingers threading together with yours. Neither of you speaks, though you can nearly feel his pleased smile from your periphery, twin to your own. 

After only a few moments, you veer off the path as the two of you step into a sizable glade, the trees giving way to a field of tall grass. Your hands stay clasped as you walk together, basket still tucked in your elbow as you lift the skirts of your linen gown to prevent it from snagging on the high blades of grass; your chest tightens once more when you glance down and notice how Osferth takes great care to step over any flowers in his path, the ones that sprinkle the meadow with pops of yellow and lilac. 

Soon, you come to a spot where the ground seems to be drier, however the monk grasps your forearm to stop you as he slips the thin, grey wool cloak off his shoulders and drapes it over the ground.

“Osferth,” you gently admonish, though a smile does creep across your lips at the sweet gesture, “I am perfectly capable of sitting on the ground.”

“A lady should not have to,” he says simply, nodding to the cloak, “Please.”

With a final glance, and a good-natured roll of your eyes, you comply, setting your basket down before relaxing atop his robe. After making sure you’re settled, the monk joins you, setting his sword to the side as he sits and leans back on his hands, scanning the treeline. 

“It’s so lovely here…” you smile as you glance around, a soft breeze causing the grass to rustle around you.

Osferth sits up beside you, a relaxed smile on his lips as he takes your hand and pulls you closer to him. “I find the company to be far lovelier,” he whispers before capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, never taking more than you seem keen to give. The two of you easily fall into a lazy rhythm, your lips moving together as he guides you to lie against his chest. You lay your hand against his chest, right over his heart, thankful that he’s forgone his usual leather armor and chainmail today as you feel his warmth through the soft tunic he wears. 

He sighs against your lips, his fingers gently weaving into the locks of hair at the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine and making you cling to him all the more tightly, his other hand wrapping around your waist before settling in the small of your back, holding you to him. 

After a few moments, the two of you part to catch your breath and he studies you with a warm gaze as you relax against his chest. “We are meant to be stopping in a town tonight.” Osferth says simply. 

“That we are.” 

“We could get a room together,” he breathes, making you gasp as he trails kisses across your jaw, “Just the two of us.” 

Immediately, you tense up and untangle yourself from him, sitting up with a sigh. He quickly sits up next to you and you can feel him eyeing you with concern, though you dare not meet his gaze. 

“My lady, I didn't mean to offend you…” He says hesitantly, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“You didn’t offend me, sweet monk,” you turn to him with a bashful smile, “I am simply…I don’t know if i’m ready.” 

“Ready for what?” His head tilts to the side as he eyes you curiously. 

You chuckle nervously, unsure of how to broach the topic. “Osferth, I have heard enough tales of your…prowess around the campfire to know that my skills do not match your own.” 

The crease between his brows only deepens as he continues staring at you, blue eyes flitting between your own. “My prowess?” 

“With more…intimate relations…” You say slowly, glancing away from him. 

“Oh,” he says softly before his eyes widen comically, a dark blush cascading over his fair cheeks, “Oh!”

You can’t help but laugh softly at his dumbstruck expression, your lips quirking up into a soft smile despite your nerves. 

The hand on your shoulder tightens as he leans closer to you. “My love, you need not fret over it,” he whispers, blue eyes conveying a deep seriousness, “We can get a room at the tavern and not do anything at all.”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion – you’ve always been told to expect a very different answer from men. “What?”

He huffs out a soft laugh and pulls you back down to lie on the grass with him once more. “I mean what I say,” he says softly, one hand stroking your hair, “We can get a room and just kiss or cuddle or merely talk, I don’t care.” You look up from where you’ve had your cheek laying against his chest, the emotion in his eyes shocking you for a second, “I just want to be with you.” He whispers finally.

You can feel yourself blushing as he speaks, the apples of your cheeks heating up deliciously under his kind gaze. A girlish giggle erupts from your lips before you can stop it, which only makes him laugh too as you bury your head against his chest and bite your lip, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and campfire smoke. 

After a moment, the two of you calm down and you finally look back up at him, “Kissing sounds good…” you nearly whisper, suddenly shy as he surveys your face.

Osferth merely chuckles, low in his throat, and rolls the two of you over. Normally, this is when you’d be pushing any other man off of you with some mumbled excuse, but you can’t help but feel safe with the sandy haired monk, taking him at his word that whatever you were willing to give would be enough.

“We have time, and plenty of herbs already,” he rasps, his voice thick with an arousal you’d only heard on a very scant few occasions when the two of you had shared frantic kisses in the night once the rest of the men were asleep, “Why wait until tonight?”

A small giggle escapes you once again as the blush on your cheeks extends down, almost all the way to your chest, but you nod nonetheless, your arms coming up to snake around his neck as you pull him down to you. A small whimpery breath escapes you when his lips touch yours yet again, and he responds in kind with a low groan, the sound rumbling from his chest. His lips are soft against your own as the two of you move leisurely; once again, he lets you set the pace, only licking at your bottom lip after you do the same to him first. 

Your thighs spread as your kiss deepens and you moan again when he slots himself between your thighs, the linen of your dress hiked up just above your knees. A shiver rolls through you at the feel of him on top of you, so warm and weighty.

“Is this alright?” He breathes, navy eyes blinking between each of yours as he checks for any signs of discomfort from you, visibly relaxing when he finds none.

Wordlessly, you nod, bobbing your head eagerly as you pull him back down. His hands roam carefully over your body as your lips and tongues move together, breathlessly licking into each other's mouths. You whine into his mouth when you feel a hardness pressing against your center, a pleased hum emanating from your chest at the realization that you’ve affected him this much with only a kiss; the pride in your heart twists into something different, something deeper as a knot forms and begins tightening in your belly.

“My lady –” Osferth mumbles as he starts to pull away from you, an apologetic smile on his handsome face.

“Don’t!” You say quickly, tugging him back to you and surprising even yourself as you wrap your legs around his trim waist, “Please, I – It’s good.” You confirm breathlessly, eyebrows quirked up with need as you look up at him through your lashes. 

“Yeah?” He asks, unable to wipe the pleased grin off his face as he settles back on top of you, careful to keep most of his weight off of you as he presses against your center again.

You nod, already threading your fingers into the short hair at the back of his head to draw his lips back to yours. A breathy, high-pitched moan leaves you at the feel of his clothed length pressing against you, the ties at the front of his breeches only adding to the pleasurable sensations that zap through you as he starts rolling his hips against your own.

His pace quickens as he breaks away from you, panting against your skin as he traces wet kisses down your jaw to your neck. Your head lolls to the side as you whimper and whine underneath him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel his hard cock twitch against you, even through the fabric of your smallclothes.

You’re quick to match his pace, using the leverage of your legs wrapped around his middle to ruck yourself up into each thrust, earning grunts of pleasure from the monk. 

“My lady,” he groans, one hand fisting into your hair as the other trails down to run appreciatively over the bare skin of your thigh, “Y-You are bewitching.” He gasps, mouthing at your neck, his cock no doubt leaking into the leather of his trousers. 

Your only reply is a choked out moan of his name as your back arches underneath him, the knot in your belly winding tighter and tighter as the ties of his breeches rub over your pearl deliciously, your smallclothes no doubt soaked. 

Blessedly, Osferth seems to understand the desperation in your voice and movements and pulls back to look at you, both of his hands quickly grasping yours, fingers threading together as he holds them to the earth beside your head.

 “Sweet girl,” he grunts as he gazes down at you, a rosy blush cascading beautifully over his high cheekbones, “P-Peak, my lady, please,” he pants as his fingers tighten against your own, “I’m, God be good, I’m right behind you.”

You nod frantically, your only sound a choked out sob as you tense underneath him when his hips rut perfectly against yours, the knots of his pants catching against your sensitive bud in just the right way to tip you over the edge. You twitch underneath him, white knuckling his hands when you feel your center clenching helplessly around nothing as pleasure buzzes through you. 

Osferth reaches his end mere seconds after you, humping against you two or three more times before tensing, his eyes squeezing shut as his own high washes over him, cock spasming in his breeches as his spend leaks into the waiting fabric. 

“You’re beautiful,” you declare softly, the words tumbling from your lips as soon as you think of them.

The monk blushes somehow more heavily above you, though a soft smile graces his lips. With a soft sigh, he falls to his side, bringing you with him. Your cheek once again finds its home against his chest and you smile at the sound of his heart thumping wildly as he pulls you closely to him, one arm wrapping protectively around you as he tucks the other under his head, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“You flatter me, my lady,” he says lowly, a pleased rasp to his voice. “You are truly an angel,” he continues after a moment, “A beautiful, precious angel.”

You smile contentedly, his heart thudding steadily in your ear as you let your eyes drift shut, happy to stay in this still, safe bubble with your monk for as long as the outside world will allow.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc

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[arcielee]

Insatiable

Summary: Osferth finally has a moment with the barmaid he has been pining for. Paring: Osferth x Plus Size Reader Word Count: 1575 Warnings: AFAB Reader, kissing, titty sucking, grinding, pre ejaculation because baby monk is thrumming with life being tucked between your thighs, implied sexual themes. Author's Note: This was requested by the lovely, the wonderful @helaelaemond 💜 I hope this does justice to your request. Thank you @aemondsbabe for being my beloved beta reader for this hot mess I wrote at 1 in the morning and thank you @myfandomprompts for the title! 🥰 Dividers by @saradika

They prefer your tavern and its reputation, your wit and your hired help–always the loveliest of girls you gave sanctuary too. In return, you enjoyed both their coin and their company, which was something all encompassing whenever they would enter your establishment.

On this night, it was the tittering of your barmaids that alerts you before the bawdy Irishman announces their arrival. He fills the door frame, his dark eyes settling onto you and you returning his cheeky grin. 

“Lord Uhtred and his pretty boys,” you greet and he guffaws. You begin to pull empty tankards from the shelves behind. “To what do we owe the honor?” 

Finan pushes up towards the bar, his teeth bright beneath his dark beard. “My lady, tonight we are celebrating!” 

“What are we celebrating?” You fill up a mug and pass it over to his wide grasp. 

He begins to gulp it down, ale spilling the corners of his mouth before setting it down, his smile roguish when he says: “First bloodshed.” 

Osferth had slain the great Dane, Sigefrid Thurgilson, and its tale was already webbing throughout the cities that settled along the river bank of the Temes, rising from the ashes of Beamfleot. 

Your brow raises with your surprise. The warrior monk was a recent addition to the motley swart of men that shadowed Lord Uhtred’s steps. Osferth was a solemn addition, tall and lean, with piercing blue eyes that would cut through the crowd, searching for you whenever they visited. 

You could not help but favor him out of all the men that served Lord Uhtred. He was handsome with his sharp features, but you noticed how they softened with your voice whenever you spoke with him. You relish his reaction, the soft pink hues that stained his cheeks, his soft timbre to answer you, and you actually began to mourn him, assuming his inevitable demise at the end of a blade. 

But instead, Osferth showed himself to be so much more. 

The wooden walls begin to vibrate with the jubilation of surviving another day as the locals pour through the doors, adding to the cheers of their heroism. Lord Uhtred and his men preen under the attention, always adoring your pretty help, your girls flutter throughout to refill mugs or fall into an empty lap. 

You were watching, sipping at your own cup, dressed to complement your curves, the low neckline of your blouse to draw the eye to your heavy bust, aglow with the umpteenth retelling of baby monk’s bravery. Only then did you notice that Finan was trying to call your attention. 

“Please,” his lilt was thick as he began to beg, his ruddy cheeks burning and his dark eyes finally pulling away from your cleavage to meet with your own. “Osferth has been so hopelessly besotted with you. I was thinking you should give him a kiss to congratulate that he is now truly a man.” 

His words, partnered with the ale, warm your blood with the realization, flushing your cheeks and your cleavage. It propels your feet forward, pushing through the crowd towards Osferth, whose eyes were already trained to you. They widen, bright and beautiful and blue, to drink in the sight when you lean over, his skin prickling with your whisper to his ear, “Come with me,” and he is quick to stand and follow after you. 

The cheers of his comrades are drowned out with the call for another round, and you leave it to your help to tend and to fawn over the rest of the men as you pull Osferth away.  

The oak door shuts out the noise and you look back to see his lithe frame leaning against the wood. In the intimacy of the room, you could smell the musk of the battle won, lining his angular features, his sandy locks disheveled with the uneven new growth of his old religious style. 

You reach for his hand, pulling him towards the bed, and he follows, towering over you, watching as your hands pull at the collar of his alb; he helps you peel it off, showing the pale planes of his chest beneath.

Even as he sinks to sit on the edge of the bed, he is still so very tall, and you blush, turning to grab a clean cloth from the basin, coming back to touch his jaw and to wipe away the ash smeared across his face. 

Osferth hums with your touch, leaning into your palm, and your blood thickens beneath your skin with his close proximity. Your eyes watch the rise and fall of his chest as he tries to steady his breath, and when he finally looks back up at you, you can see the lustful black swallowing the cerulean coloring of his eyes; they wash over you, drinking in your curves, and a bashfulness stricken your bones with his heady gaze.  

You take a step back to return the cloth, and only then does Osferth dare to push up, towering over you. His large palm catches your elbow and pulls you back towards him. “May I–?” but his question stops on his tongue, your hands already moving to pull him close enough to kiss. 

The taste of ale is present, but not overwhelming, his mouth pleasantly warm and his lips soft to press against your own. You melt against his chest and a soft sigh escapes, allowing his clever tongue to curl, to deepen the kiss and find its tandem with your own. His large hands move, respectful but appreciative of the tactile nature of your figure, touching your soft waist, moving to settle on your hips with a firm hold as he continues to draw the very breath from your lungs. 

You break away for air, for who knew he would kiss like a man starved? You see his lips still pursed, kiss swollen, the hue now darkening to a red stain on his cheeks and on the tip of his nose. 

“Forgive me,” he says after a movement with the same sweet diction you were always fond of, and he grows shy with his admittance, “but I have thought often of how you would taste and I now find myself insatiable.” 

You close the space between, finding his mouth once again, and his palms roam, his stance staggering as he follows the pull backwards, until you both fall onto the bed. 

His arms cage you against the mattress and he dips forward for another desperate kiss; your blouse laces are pulled to allow the natural slope of your breasts, your hands rutting your skirt up so he can slot his slender waist between your plush thighs. You softly whine with the pressure of his length against your clothed cunt, and his deft fingers travel to remove your smallclothes. Osferth then pulls back with a pause, a moment of admiration with the enticing way of how you now spill from your clothes. 

You burn under his gaze, your fingers bold to loosen his ties, his length straining against the crotch of his slacks, now flush and upright towards his bellybutton. Osferth melts against you with his soft groan, your own soft sighs echoing with the delicious pressure of him against your slick folds. Your fingertips move to dig into the divots of his lower back, pulling him to rock against you with the genial glide of the underside of his cock against your warmth, rubbing your clit, and a pleasure begins to lick at the base of your spine. 

He is lost in the rhythm, the now crimson flush spilling from his face to his neck to his chest, panting and trembling against you; his eyes search for your face and you pull him in for another quick kiss. Osferth groans into your mouth, breaking away to return his attention to the tops of your breasts, his hot mouth leaving blooms of color as he suckles and savors every bit of your skin now showing. 

You squirm beneath him, your soft moans spurring his motion, and his brows knit with a focus on your pleasure, your sweet sounds, but it shatters so easily with your breathless whisper of his name that tickles his ear, “Oh, Osferth…” 

With a strangled cry, you can feel the hot pulse of his spend between your thighs. You tighten them around his waist, supporting him as he lowers his weight on top of you. “Forgive me,” he is panting against your flush skin, the ripple of gooseflesh in the wake of his exhale. “Forgive me, my lady, it is no excuse but I…have been thinking about this, about you, for so long…” 

You press a finger against his lips and Osferth is quick to kiss the pad. You smile with his gesture, your hand moving to curl the back of his neck, bringing his lips to your own for another sweet kiss. “Would you like to make it up to me?” Your voice is sultry, velvet, and you can feel the twitch of his cock in response.

His eyes are soulful and wide, with the returning blue a stark contrast to the flush of red that remains on his face. “More than anything,” he vows, “I will spend all night right here, if you wish it.” 

And you kiss him again, unable to help the giggle that spills from your lips. “I wish it,” you whisper and you can feel his smile in return. 

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Cross to Bear

Summary: A certain monk catches the attention of a woman that Uhtred and his men are gracious enough to rescue. Based on this request. Warnings: Brief mentions of cancer, illness, death, abuse and alcoholism. Slight angst. Eventual smut. Word count: ~3.4k

She is sixteen when her mother passes away from the lump in her breast. She cannot grieve. There is no one left to shield her or her younger sister from the beatings that their father is eager to dish out each evening when he stumbles home from the tavern, drunk and stinking of ale. They make the decision to leave, taking their chances out in the world.

The life of a vagrant is hard, but the exhilaration that is found in freedom is simply unmatched. On bad days, she is forced to share her body with strange men in exchange for coin to ensure her and her sister have enough to eat. On good days, they pick wildflowers in the warmth of the sunshine, and at night tell stories as they cuddle up together beneath the stars. They never remain in a single place for long, always moving, always searching for somewhere to call home.

She is eighteen when her sister develops a fever. She soaks rags in a stream to cool the scorching heat of her skin, allows her to drain their waterskin dry without complaint, and rubs her back as the persistent coughing denies her sleep. Within three days her sister is too weak to travel any further. They have been sheltering in dense woodland and are at least a day’s walk from the nearest town, so she cannot go to get help, she cannot risk leaving her alone in the open for so long. She has no choice but to sit and watch her deteriorate, providing what little comfort she can. By the next morning she is gone.

Upon waking to the feel of her sister cold beside her, she finally allows herself to weep. The ache in her chest that she has held at bay for the last two years finally breaches forth, blooming painfully through the expanse of her heart. She cries for the loss of her mother, for the loss of the only friend she had in her sibling and for how utterly lost she feels. Long after her tears have subsided she remains hunched over the body, consumed by her grief.

“If it is fever you must burn the body.”

She has no idea how much time has passed as she has laid there mourning, but the voice startles her out of her stupor and she looks up to see four men on horseback looming over her. She hadn’t even heard them approach.

They look to be mercenaries, all of them wear light armor and carry swords. The man that has addressed her has long dark hair and is brutish looking. One of his travel companions is bearded and surly, while another has a half shaved head; the Mjölnir around his neck indicates he is a Pagan. Ordinarily, she would be fearful in the face of such intimidating looking men, and assume they mean her harm, however, there is something about the fourth man that eases her mind and assures her she is in no danger. He has soft blue eyes and a kind face that wears an expression that suggests he is more afraid of her than she is of him.

“I-I cannot. I am alone.” She confesses, her voice hoarse from her earlier sobs.

“Then you will allow us to help you.” The long haired man insists, climbing down from his horse.

She learns their names are Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric and Osferth. They carry her sister’s body to a clearing and she stands solemnly, numbness settling over her, as she watches it burn.

“Who was she to you?” Finan enquires gently.

“My sister, my only friend, all that I had left.” She doesn’t attempt to hide her despair, she does not have the strength.

“We should say a prayer.” Osferth offers, his voice soft and full of sympathy.

She has never been particularly religious. What kind of a God would allow her to endure all she has been through and think it just? But she finds comfort in his orison, joining in with the “amen” that he finishes with.

“What will you do now?” Finan asks her.

“Truly, I do not know. I have nowhere to go and no one to go with.”

“You can join us.” Uhtred steps forward, eyeing the rest of the group as they all nod their affirmation.

“I have nothing to offer you.” She says, her cheeks flush with shame.

“Neither do we.” Quips Sihtric with a wry smile.

“Then it’s settled.” Finan decides, clapping Osferth on the back. “Baby Monk, she rides with you, you’re scrawny enough that your horse can carry both of you without any trouble.”

When Osferth discovers that she has never ridden on horseback before, he suggests that she rides up front with him behind her, so he can ensure she doesn’t slip off.

He helps her into the saddle and then climbs on after her. Her heart hammers in her chest as he puts his arms around her waist to take hold of the reins. She can feel his leather breastplate pressed against her back. Being in such close proximity to him causes her breathing to quicken and she stays rigid as they set off at a leisurely trot, afraid that he may feel the reaction she is having to him.

“My lady, please relax, or this will be an uncomfortable journey for you.” He tells her, though his voice is hesitant with shyness.

She blushes scarlet with embarrassment, mortified that he has noticed her unease. She does as he says though, settling back against him. His presence is calming, the warmth of him against her coupled with the gentle undulation from the horse soothes her.

A few moments pass in silence before Osferth speaks. “What happened to you?”

“It is a long story.” She sighs.

“It is a long journey.” He counters. She can hear the faintest of smiles in his voice.

She tells him of her mother, her father, of her and her sister leaving home and all they had endured on their travels. She recounts her sister’s fever, of watching her fade, everything up to the point that she had met him.

He listens, allowing her to speak without interruption. When she finishes he is quiet for a moment longer.

“I am sorry for your loss, my lady. I pray better days may find you.” He says eventually.

She sighs, eager to focus the attention on anything other than herself. “And what of you? Do you have a family?”

“There is not much to tell.” He admits. “I was a monk. Now I serve Lord Uhtred.”

She detects a sadness in his tone, there is definitely more to his story, but she dares not press him further as he is clearly uncomfortable speaking of it. She feels foolish for allowing herself to entertain her attraction to him; of course he is a man of God, he’d never be interested in her.

They ride on wordlessly, eventually coming to a stop once the sun begins to set. They set up camp and she is touched by the effort that the four men go to to ensure she has the shelter of a tent and a bedroll to sleep on.

However, she feels too confined as she lays under the canopy, so used to being able to stare up at the night sky, pointing out each of the stars with her sister. She misses her.

Dragging her bedroll out into the open, she places it close to the dying embers of their fire and lays down.

“My lady, what are you doing?” She hears Osferth whisper in the darkness.

“I am not used to not being able to see the sky.” She responds.

When he says nothing, she allows herself to drift off to sleep, feeling the safest she ever has.

Her eyes flutter open as dawn breaks and she is immediately met by the sight of Osferth seated by the burned out fire pit, looking exhausted.

She pulls herself up slightly, rubbing her eyes. “Osferth? You are an early riser.”

He smiles uncomfortably. “Truthfully, my lady, I have not been to bed.”

“Why not?”

“I did not wish to leave you out here by yourself, it’s not safe. I watched over you while you slept.”

Her heart flutters at his admission, an involuntary smile spreading its way across her features, which he returns with a genuine one of his own.

As the weeks pass, she and Osferth become comfortable travel companions. She spends her days leaning into his chest as they travel by horse. They share a waterskin, their fingers brushing ever so lightly as they pass it back and forth. She is unable to help the tingles that dance across her skin at each of his touches. 

Their evenings are spent sitting around a fire, their knees grazing as they sit side by side, exchanging shy smiles and stories. He gives up the use of his tent, laying his bedroll out in the open too - a means for him to rest, but also ensure she is kept safe.

The first time that the group shares ale together, dread gnaws at her stomach. She has witnessed the effects that it had on her father, and does not know how she will cope with that when up against four men instead of just one. To her surprise and delight the mood becomes lighter and jovial as the amber liquid is passed around. She happily accepts and drinks her fill when Osferth passes it to her. He laughs when she grimaces at the taste.

She knows she is falling for him and there is nothing she can do to stop it. She is certain he feels the same way though, there can be no other explanation for how he looks at her, how he treats her.

That is until they stop for a few days in a town. She hurriedly follows Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric, as Osferth rushes over to them, pleading for help.

“He’s mine!”

“No, he’s mine, you bitch!”

“Filthy whore!”

She watches in shock as the two women exchange insults, slapping at each other, until Finan and Uhtred eventually pry them apart.

He has fucked both of these women. Both of them.

“Why do they fight over you?” Uhtred asks Osferth, holding back a red haired woman, who struggles wildly against him.

“I-I’ve no idea, Lord!” He stammers, before swiftly walking away.

But she knows why, and her heart sinks. She turns away, blinking back tears as she chastises herself for being so foolish. She had misinterpreted his friendliness for romantic interest and is now left feeling hurt as a result of her own delusions.

She swipes angrily at her eyes, swearing to herself that she will pull away from him after this, no longer allowing herself to entertain the girlish fantasy that they could ever be more than friends.

His behavior towards her goes unchanged though. He still holds her close as they share a saddle, still allows his fingers to linger against her own whenever they share water or ale, he sleeps outside each night with her, though always on separate bed rolls kept a respectable distance apart. It eats away at her, makes her ache, to endure such closeness and know it will never be anything more. Yet she endures it, knowing the only alternative is to return to a life alone.

It is a warm afternoon as she stands knee deep in the river, bathing. The water is refreshing against her bare skin and, for a moment, her troubles seem far away, running off of her in much the same way that the rivulets of moisture slide down her body.

She turns and catches sight of Osferth on the edge of the treeline, watching her. She has no idea how long he has been standing there for, but he freezes when he sees he has been caught.

While she is a novice when it comes to matters of the heart, she is certain the look in his eye is one of desire. Deciding to be bold, she steps out of the water and back onto the bank, not bothering to retrieve her discarded clothing. If her feelings truly were requited then this was the best way to find out.

She walks towards him, closing the gap between them. She can see his breathing is unsteady as he takes in the sight of her, he is trembling slightly. Leaning up on tiptoes, she presses the lightest of kisses to his lips, and her heart swells as, for the briefest of moments, he reciprocates.

As quickly as his lips meet hers, he is jerking away. “No, my Lady!”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Backing quickly away from him, the familiar sting of rejection piercing her heart once more, she grabs her clothes and runs from him, before he has the chance to say anything else. Tears stream freely down her cheeks, this time she does not try to wipe them away. This is the second time she has allowed herself to be drawn in by Osferth, only to endure heartache.

He has now made it perfectly clear that he’s not interested in her and she decides it is in her best interests to pull away from him entirely.

She forces herself to sleep inside her tent, becoming used to textile above her head, instead of the glittering stars. She sits as far from him as possible at every opportunity. There are no more shared waterskins, their knees no longer touch. If the rest of the group notice the shift in dynamic then they choose not to say anything. She rides with Sihtric, sitting snugly behind him in his saddle, ignoring the pleading looks of sadness from Osferth each day when she climbs onto another man’s horse and not his.

He is just missing her companionship, she decides, he will get over it when they arrive at the next town and he finds another woman to warm his bed. She hardens her heart, allows her sadness to devolve into anger and continues to keep him at arm’s length.

The day they arrive in Coccham, they spend the day at an alehouse. Uhtred has managed to acquire the only two available rooms upstairs for the evening, so they will have the luxury of sleeping in an actual bed for tonight. She is almost giddy with excitement at the prospect.

When they have drunk their fill, they head up the rickety wooden staircase. Sihtric and Finan file into one room, with Uhtred following close behind. He stops in the doorway, turning to her and Osferth.

“Looks like this room is full now. The pair of you can share that one.” He nods towards the door opposite, before closing his own.

Her face blanches. Bastard. He has done this on purpose.

She sighs, pushing past Osferth and stalking into the room. A small double bed takes up most of the space in the narrow confines.

“Oh, fucking perfect.” She spits, rolling her eyes.

Osferth offers an apologetic smile. “I can sleep on the floor, my Lady, I don’t mind.”

She rounds on him, her anger flaring. “I’m surprised you haven’t found another whore’s bed to share for the evening!”

His eyes widen in shock. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You fucked those other women, Osferth!” She shouts, and before she can stop it, her voice is cracking as the dam bursts and she starts to cry. “You’ll put your cock into anyone but me it seems…”

His face softens and he moves to comfort her, but she is quick to push him away. “What’s so wrong with me?!”

He looks guiltily at her. “There is nothing wrong with you, my Lady, I think you’re beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen actually…”

“But you rejected me! When I tried to kiss you, you rejected me.”

He shakes his head, closing the gap between them and gently grabbing her by the shoulders. This time she doesn’t push him away. “You didn’t give me time to speak.” He explains, looking into her eyes with sincerity. “I wasn’t rejecting you. You deserve better than to be humped against a tree. If you’re to be my woman then I want our first time together to be special.”

She sniffles, her tears subsiding, replaced by confusion. “Your woman? If that is what you wanted then why did you lay with those other women in the last town?”

He sighs, averting his gaze, shame etched across his angular features. “That is not something I’m proud of, my lady. I have wanted you for so long, and been so pent up, I needed a release. I never told you of my feelings because I didn’t think I stood a chance. You are so wonderful and I-I am Osferth. I am simply Osferth.”

Her heart beats wildly against her ribs as she listens to him, staring up at him doe-eyed, unable to resist the grin that tugs at the corners of her mouth. 

“Yes, you are Osferth.” She whispers, leaning up towards him.

When their lips meet he does not pull away. He wraps his arms around her, his mouth moves hungrily against hers in a kiss that is full of need and desperation. They pull at each other’s clothing, months’ worth of built up longing propelling their movements.

When they are both finally naked, Osferth guides her to lay back on the bend and she drinks in the sight of him appreciatively. While he is tall and slender, he is not as skinny as she’d expected him to be, well developed muscles add a broadness to his chest and shoulders. His erection sits hard, thick and heavy at the apex of his slim thighs and she bites back a moan at the sight of it, arousal pooling hot between her legs.

“You really are beautiful.” He murmurs, his gaze flickering over her form as she lays beneath him. “Will you let me show you just how much I desire you, my Lady? I wish for there to be no doubt in your mind.”

She nods, biting her lip in anticipation, waiting to see what he will do.

His hands trace over every curve of her as moves slowly backwards down the bed, stopping once his face is level with her cunt. Spreading her thighs he inhales sharply at the sight of just how wet she is for him.

There is no preamble, and she gasps, arching her back when she feels the flat of his tongue move through her folds.

He whimpers softly at the taste of her, the sound vibrating through her core, his grip on her thighs tightening as laps greedily at her, occasionally dragging the tip to her pearl, causing her legs to tremble.

She cants her hips against his face, noticing how he ruts against the bed as he devours her, his moans of pleasure intermingle with hers and the sloppy sounds of his lips and tongue moving in earnest against her centre. 

As he sucks harshly against the apex of her sex she begins to feel the pressure of her climax building deep within her, her breaths becoming short and shallow. Osferth’s grip on her is almost bruising as the movement of his thrusts against the bed speed up.

With a final swirl against her bud, she falls apart against his mouth, clenching and writhing as he keeps his mouth firmly against her as she cries out in ecstasy, white hot sparks of pleasure rendering her boneless and light headed.

She closes her thighs around his head as he emits a guttural groan against her oversensitive cunny, his own pelvis stuttering against the mattress. 

He appears dazed as he finally looks up at her, eyes hazy and chin shiny with her slick. She is certain she must look similarly bedraggled with how hard he has caused her to peak.

“We may have to wait a moment before we do anything else.” He confesses sheepishly, sitting up and looking down at the blankets where he’d been laying. 

Her gaze follows his line of sight and she sees the mess he has made, a large patch of the bed now sticky with his release.

“You’re lucky we have the whole night then.” She giggles.

He moves to lay beside her, pulling her against him. “Yes, very lucky.”

[darlingofvalyria]

An abandoned church made most of broken wood and whimpering winds becomes a momentary resting sanctuary for Uhtred and his men— Osferth finds himself with a crooked root in the shape of a hand, a gold ring, and a full, blue moon.

╰┈➤ PROMPTS ❝ COCK WORSHIP, ORGASM DENIAL ❞

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 2,830 ] [ masterlist ] | Osferth x Ghost Bride!Reader

contains— smut, fluff, angsty-ish - corpse bride!au - this is not the N word okay, you're a ghostly being that becomes corporeal. it's monsterfucking, not that kind of filth - no use of y/n - mentions of christianity lol - dillusioned!reader (if you know the movie, you know) - mention of character death - nsfw: sort of dubcon, smidge coercion, cock worship, orgasm denial(?) - no betas.

a/n— ok, but i am actually very proud of this one!! i enjoyed writing this way too much, adding a bit of comedy aspect to it shdhs. i hope you enjoy it!! oh, also this is the vibe you want if you wanna listen. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

His pack rests behind him, the couple of bundled furs he uses for bedding has hardened into the cold ground, not at all aiding his sleep. Around him, his lord and the rest of the men had managed to fall into their dreams, almost as soon as they closed their eyes.

Even Finan, with a furrow in his brow and his arms crossed, has his head tilted awkwardly to one side that Osferth knows is going to be painful in the morning.

But sleep evades him, and though he scarcely believes in ghosts, resting in a church, no matter how abandoned, no matter that there's gaping, charred hole that has blown over the side of it, trickling the cold, winter winds and soft, wet snow— it feels odd.

It brings a restlessness and a comfort all the same, and with a few minutes more of staring at rotting wood and broken awning, Osferth sighs. Their small fire is dying, might as well get more dry sticks.

The church, though broken and ruined, offers warmth. Once he's out into the wintry night, the pale moonlight bright and full, glittering the wisps of fluffy snow as if you don't come out wet if you sink on it. It's cold. Much too cold to walk, to linger, but he continues. He winds to the other side, leisure in his pace, breathing in the cold whilst warming his hands with his mouth.

It's nice to find a rhythmic motion that empties his thoughts. It is nice to be out of Wessex, out of familiarity. Uhtred brought with him adventure and battle, honour and excitement. It quieted the wrought in his head... until night comes, and Osferth is left with the weight of all those he tries to bury.

He walks quite a bit, observing and carries a faint sadness for a few graves that are left. Some opened, unearthed by grave robbers, uncaring of the Christian faith. Wooden plaque holding no names, just crosses. He moves past, finding himself entering the forest before he could think through it until he comes across a clearing. It's surprisingly, perfectly circled, trees at the side adjusted like soldiers with a curled root at the centre.

Curious and kind of awed at nature, at the wonder of the existence this little tree root, curled and cold, he dips one knee as flutters his fingers over it. The thin spindles look like curled fingers, a hand reaching in a hooked angle.

When he pushes his hand forward, curling his fingers against the root, Osferth makes a surprised hum at how fitted, how perfectly it holds like a hand against his.

Osferth doesn't notice you, dancing between the shadows and moonlight. Hit by light and you fade with it, more air and light yourself than life and physical flesh. You had seen him and his men find the scarred church and setup camp. The four men had not been the first to find the abandoned place, nor had taken refuge.

And time is everlasting when you're dead. Meaningless when there is no end to days and nights.

But he is different, you muse, watching him unable to sleep and walk and walk until he reached the clearing and your cold, dead heart feels a tug.

Does he know you? Is that why he is so different?

You slink between trees, hiding behind a trunk as you watch him kneel where your body lies, curious and awed, watching as he holds your hand, curling his fingers around your own.

Your left hand flexes, a surprised giggle falling from your lips and disappearing with the wind as you feel his warmth. His hand as if he is holding your own. Human touch fades from memory in a span of time and it is a pleasant hold.

Look down, you try to say, excitement you've never felt before, thrums through your body. Look down and see the ring!

If he does, you know do not need to know who he is. You know who he will be.

Look down, look down, look down! Please! you are practically screaming, jumping in the shadows as his eyes, beautiful blue like your favourite butterfly, is entranced by the glint underneath the snow. You hold your hands to your chest. Oh, please! Please, Please look down!

You exhale, feeling life sweep back into your mouth. There. There you are, you say soundlessly as he picks it up. A gold band worn with age but gold it still is. He twists it around, and though others have tried to steal it, pocket it and sell it, you know he is different. His warmth is different. There is kindness in his eye that you like.

And God, is he pretty. You would not mind at all being his bride.

You're on one knee, now propose, you say, willing the vows of old and binding to reach his ears. He twists it and as if playfully entranced, he mutters the words that you echo back in the shadows.

"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows," Osferth murmurs, the words he's listened once as a young boy, hearing the priest anoint two lovers who had escaped to bond their love. "Your cup shall never be empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness."

He raises the ring and places it on your crooked, dried fourth finger— and you inhale air, wintry and cold and so, so alive for the first time in a very long time.

"And with this ring," he says.

"I ask you to be mine," you finish, startling Osferth as you glide toward him. Triumphant. He stumbles, falling on his bum as your arms widen around you in all your ghostly bride attire and glory. "My love! I have waited for you for such a long time. Good thing the ice and winters have been kind to my body and you still manage to find it!"

Though in truth, you had plowed against hard ground to at least unearth your left hand while most of your body had been abandoned. Your skull had cracked in three places, and there's a worm who made a permanent home in your dried liver. But your new husband does not need to know that.

He gapes at you, wide eyed and unblinking, and just as he starts you yell? Shriek— You stumble to him, falling on his lap as you press your hands against his mouth. When you don't pass through him, you let out an excited shriek.

"Oh, my apologies, I don't mean to scare you!" You pout, aged old sadness wisps beneath your eyes. "Please don't scream, my love. I have waited for you for so long. And you're so warm... and so real."

As shock permeates his face, frozen under the feel of you pressing against him— there is weight, he can feel you. You're not as warm as him, cold in fact, and he is able to see through you if his eyes adjust well enough. But you are there. He can see you and he can feel you. Your wide, unblinking eyes drinking him in, exuberant smile composed of pretty lips and a mesmerising happiness. Your hair cascades around a ruined, fluttering veil with dead flowers atop your head.

But by God, you are beautiful.

Your wedding dress— because you are a bride, are you not? Were a bride, Osferth's head is starting to ache from trying to look through and at you — are in tatters and holes, showing more of your skin than what your dress initially thought to show and he swallows. He can see a creamy thigh exposed through a slash. It doesn't help that you're bent over, resting between his legs, and he can see the top of your breasts.

On your end, your hands are just there, on his face, and you start exploring his pretty visage. His warmth is addicting, gliding your fingers through his nose and pretty cheekbones, tickling yourself on his lashes with the pads of your fingers and you giggle. The sound makes Osferth exhale shakily before you are cupping his sharp jaw and your fingers touch his lips, your own mouth turning into an 'O'.

Oh, they're soft and a little chapped, a little cold, but his exhale entrances you. His show of pure, breathing life is tantalising.

You lean in closer, nearly touching his lips with your own as you try to inhale his air. He smells of smoked meat and dried ale. Winter woods and burnt campfire. Your hands drift from his mouth to his neck, to his chest. His heart. There in your palms, you press tight. A quickened heartbeat nestles beneath and you exhale, smiling ruefully.

"My husband." Osferth's eyes widen at the pure adoration and lust in your gaze. "You are wonderful. My wait is worth it."

"Hold on, l-lady." He captures your hands in his, eyebrows furrowed. He swallows as he can feel you both corporeal and wispy. If shadows can be held, he thinks it would feel like this. "H-How am I your husband? Sorry, I've— I don't even know your name!"

What's more is that you're a ghost! But something in his head tells him not to speak aloud such a thing, for another, he isn't sure he hasn't fallen back in the encampment with the others. A bizarre dream of a very pretty, ghostly bride is for one an embarrassing topic to broach.

"Oh. That's right!" You giggle happily, offering your name and Osferth tests in his tongue. A pretty name for a pretty bride. "What's yours? Though, I'm afraid I prefer to call you husband, and would prefer to be called your wife. Or 'your love'."

At another helpless, tinkling laughter, Osferth blushes. Your eyes are distracted by the colour in his cheeks, so long ago contained your own but no more, that you take your hands from his and start petting the rosy tint again. He's so warm that you start nuzzling into him, your head burrowing into his neck.

"O-Osferth." He clears his throat to get your attention. "Osferth, lady."

"My wife."

"Sorry?"

You start to pout. "Call me 'my wife'."

Osferth starts to shake his head. "Lady, I really don't—"

"I am your wife now. See." You sit up, pointing back to your dead hand, gold ring glinting under the pale moon. "You've made your vows and given me the ring. We're married now." Your gaze darkens, your form shimmering and Osferth yelps as you had gotten ice cold. "You have made your vow, Osferth. Are you telling me you do not honour your vows? Are you a man without honour? Is there another... woman?"

Your hands on his face sharpened, like ice, digging through his skin as iff trying to embedded yourself into his skull. He cries out, taking your wrists.

"No, no! I— yes, I am your husband now. I am. There is also no other woman!"

You cock your head, still frowning. "Are you sure?"

"I'm wearing monk's robes, lad— wife," he says helplessly.

"But..." You cock your head to the side. "You don't seem too shock of a woman's body. You're very responsive to me, my love, I enjoy it quite so."

This time, he blushes deeply. "I— Goodness, okay. I've had practice... s'all."

"With... whores?"

He cringes, waiting for you to turn mad, pure ice cold and tear through his skin like you almost did, but you only hum when he nods.

"That is alright. That presents more of a challenge than an obstruction of our love."

"Challenge?" he asks as you gently push him on his back, straddling his hips. You slide your palms up and down his torso almost as if he is a campfire and you are warming your hands.

He swallows at your confident grin before you blow him a kiss and he exhales a laugh, his mind truly unconnected from his body because there is a ghostly woman on top of him, adoring him with flirtations, and he is stirring in his pants.

Truly, he must be deep asleep, in a more awkward position than Finan.

If I am, he thinks watching you with a blossoming attachment. Please, by God, don't wake me.

With a seductive intent, you slide down from his body, making sure you pay a special wiggle in his tenting manhood that he feels a lightning bolt from his cock to the ends of his nerves. He doesn't truly understand what you intend until you've unlaced him and paying special attention to his now, semi-erect appendage.

Osferth is red and sputtering, unable to find the strength to stop you.

You get your face impossibly close to his manhood, your unbridled attention makes his cock inflate until you test a teasing finger from beneath, circling his balls, up and up until you tease the slit and his hips jolt.

"G-God, Oh goodness," he spits, white knuckling his woolen coat. "Please do something. D-Don't just—shit." You test a tongue, laving the underside of his cock until pearly white essence beads from his slit and you lick it experimentally. It tastes salty, inexcusably human and alive, and you decide you like it, especially when you watch Osferth writhe, unable to decide what to do from such teasing little touches.

"Good thing for you husband, your wife made sure to serve a keen listen to gossiping wives behind the church after mass. Well before the raid burnt it all down." You got yourself comfortable between his thighs, loving how snugged you fit against his warmth here, as well as having a beautiful of view of your Osferth. "They spoke salaciously of what keeps their husbands to their beds."

You give him a wink as you enclose your hand on his cock, giving it a firm tug and he chokes. "To keep the whores away." You start slow and teasing, wanting to see what movements pleased him the most, what made him sigh and groan, jolt, hips chasing the feeling of your hand that started to warm and get wet, both from his excitement and the teasing licks you give.

When he started panting, you took your hand away. His head bobs back adorably at you, frowning. "W-Wife? Wha—" But you don't let him finish, sitting up on your hunches as you replace your hand with your mouth, feeling the stretch as he throws his head back again, neck arched. It doesn't hurt, momentarily uncomfortable as you test the feeling of it, the weight now so full in your mouth before you start moving up and down, eased by the slick and guided by his pretty sounds.

And Osferth has been on the brink of peak multiple times, but you kept stopping or slowing midway. At first, he surmised it must be your first time, unused to a man in your mouth but eager to give him pleasure, which he can't help but feel deep fondness for.

By the third peek he's been deprived off, and the little smirk playing on your lips, he realised the truth. But your mouth is a different story. It's hot and heady, just like a real mouth and his stomach is clenching, his pleasure tightening that he's got tears in his eyes, apologising as his hips chase his high in your throat but by the rumble that rocked his cock, it seems as if you were trying to tell him it was okay.

When you started massaging his stones, he was gone. White hot pleasure broke behind his eyelids that he grabbed your head, your veil and hair, dead flowers falling into light as he came, hips stuttering, before holding you down until the last drop of his spend is in your mouth.

He releases you with apologies, chest heaving with tears in his eyes. "I-I'm so sorry, lady, I— inexcusable." He stared gently cleaning your face, unable to realise how much more solid you had become, how much more colour bled in your ghostly blue.

But as you sit back up, you're grinning, unmistakable pride in your gaze as he wipes the corner of your mouth tenderly. You take his fingers before he wipes it on his trousers, coated in him, and licks them clean, sucking hard with a little giggle.

"Good boy," you say. Osferth shudders, his cock already painfully stirring once more.

The Lord have mercy on him. Were there ghostly vixens? Did he marry the only ghostly vixen?

He can't say he's too mad about it.

"Hmm. So that's what it tastes like. I think I like it." You smile, rubbing his thigh. "I also think we are going to have a fruitful marriage, sweet Osferth. What we only need now is one thing..."

He blinks at you. "Hm?"

"Death, my love." You blink back at him owlishly, snapping the dagger strapped to his side. "How can we stay together when one of us breathes?"

Christ, I already have an idea for part two...

[synintheraven]

Okay let's clear some things out; 1) I don't write smut bc I suck at it 2) this is part of a bigger story where the main character/reader gets to know Sihtric throughout several situations, so this is perfect if you want to read about Sihtric & reader's little made-up adventures but not so much if you're only here to read naughty stuff 😅 3) I have no idea what I'm doing :p

pic credits to myself, feel free to use them too/ask for originals (:

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary/small introduction: reader (she/her) is a Norse, Sihtric is a (actual, as in born there) Dane. Sihtric & reader meet each other for the very first time, but I kept it simple and kinda short so you'll have to keep on reading to find out how this goes (; [Side note: Yggr is one of my ocs and the Jarl/Chief of the group, but will not be a current character other than to accompany/give orders to Sihtric and reader]

✵tw: mentions of violence

✵word count: 1,5k

characters info | part two

We were near; the tall cliffs once casting shadows over the sea were far behind us and the fog was getting thicker over the marshes. East Anglia was a land of fishermen huts, distant trees and bad weather: yet somewhere in this muddy land, a band of fiery fighters were hiding and getting ready to fight for their lord.

I recognized the stranded ship half covered in sand, which Yggr had described to me, surrounded by muddy rocks and a small spot of land untouched by the sea waters. Near the rocks, among tall reeds, the camp was set and a handful of men were sat around the bonfire in an attempt to fight the cold wind.

Except for one man.

A tall, dark haired man, covered in a fur cloak; his left hand was resting over the hilt of his sword as he stood near the coast, staring cautiously at our ship as if he was trying to tell who we were. But, as we approached the small island and the fog revealed Yggr’s wild hair, the mysterious man prepared to greet us.

The sail was taken down and the crew started to row against the current, sliding through the rather calm waves to take the ship towards the land. It didn’t take long for the prow to reach the sand and before we were fully beached, Yggr jumped off our ship to meet with the dark haired stranger.

He had a concerned expression and his hand remained over the hilt of his sword, ready to fight should the need arise. Yet, unlike him, Yggr was quick to smile and open his arms, embracing the now smirking Dane like a brother.

The man was Sihtric Kjartansson, a warrior that served the long haired blonde, though he treated him like a big stupid brother rather than as his lord and jarl. Both Danes had grew up together, sticking to each other as their parents seemed to care little next to nothing for the young boys, making it no surprise the concerned stranger was in command during the jarl’s absence.

I didn’t know much about him back then, only that he was a fine warrior and a loyal man; but I had also been told he was rather friendly and welcoming, yet Sihtric looked at me with wary eyes. I stared back at him, almost trying to decipher what was going on inside his mind: studying his gaze, the storm brewing inside his blue eye and the dancing flames around the pupil of his brown eye.

He had the face of a warrior, with scars running down from his forehead and marking the flesh over his deep cheekbones, making me wonder if he was hiding any other under the strands of hair over his temple or under the scarce beard around his rather full lips.

I had jumped on the wet sand of the island shortly after Yggr, however being the only woman among all those men, suddenly the warriors resting around the fire seemed eager to welcome our crew. Everyone but Sihtric, who embraced his lord for a while but pushed him away as his men came along with curious looks.

Unfortunately for everyone else, I was not to be touched or harmed: for I was there merely to help build the camp and eventually, should the strings of my destiny allow it, find the man that killed my family.

The first birds of the day were singing their songs and the sun was setting, the land slowly revealing itself from the fog. It was a cold morning and it got worse as we had to get our feet wet in order to cross from shore to shore, but we were to stay unnoticed and therefore not to use our ship.

We were scouting the surrounding area, following the shore in hopes to find a bigger place to set a new camp. I was walking beside Yggr, with Sihtric a few paces before us to guide our way around; the rest of our group were either guarding our current camp or exploring other areas, though all of us were after the same goal.

The best hiding spots were among reeds, trees and muddy rocks, but those often surrounded water and the rising tides could be treacherous.

We saw stone ruins, abandoned churches and half burnt farms, all a consequence of folk escaping their homes in order to keep their lives, to escape the horrors brought by the monsters from across the sea.

Danes like us were plundering all of Britain; they came with the promise of riches and vengeance but stayed to become kings and killed anyone who opposed them. They had come here to do what that mad man had done to my family, my people.

 I trusted Yggr’s words when he said he didn’t care about a title. He lost his chance to be king and decided to embrace a simple life, only hoping to find a nice place to thrive and stay unbothered by Saxons. Or so it was until the Great Heathen Army decided to terrorize the country, turning our heads into targets for anyone who caught us, Danes and Norse alike, wandering around.

We had stopped, suddenly. We were standing atop a small hill that went deeper in land, hoping to get a better view; the wind was blowing hard and the sun shone upon the land, easily revealing all areas of the territory.

Yggr remained silent, his mind lost somewhere in the dark blue waters from the ocean as the cold wind blew on his hair and beard. Sihtric stood next to me, his eyes narrowed because of the sun while he pointed his finger towards the tall roman ruins to the north.

—That looks like a good spot. —He said to Yggr then quickly looked my way, noticing I was the only one truly listening to him. It was, probably, the very first time he wasn’t eyeing me as if expecting me to take a knife to their throats. —I saw it before, but rain soaked the mud. It will take some work to stop that from happening again.

He had a very calming voice and explained all the work that had to be done for that old ruin to be a proper camp, though in truth all I could think about was the scars on his face: suggesting the man had been in many battles, despite being only a few winters older than Halfdan’s son.

—You two can go. —The blonde man interrupted, resting a hand on mine and Sihtric’s shoulder. —Find some horses and secure the camp, I’ll go find the men and meet you there with the ship.

—Just the two of us? —Sihtric sighed, despite trying to hide his discomfort. —What if the place has been taken? I can’t fight them with, no offense, a woman. —He glanced at me for a split second then stared back at Yggr, hoping to be released of my company.

—I am Norse. And my father raised a warrior, not a weak girl that needs some Dane’s protection. —I snarled back, watching as my words damaged his pride and brought a wide smile to our Jarl.

The only horses we could find belonged to a group of Danes camping in Theotford, a small town with thatched roofs and a run-down church that once sheltered Saxons.

There was about twenty of them, maybe more, standing watch in every corner and every small gap they could find.

—I am not “some Dane”, I’m a warrior too. —He finally added, remembering our earlier conversation.

—You’re the son of Kjartan, right? —I let out and he gave me a grim look then proceeded to avoid my glance, still walking between the tall grasses.

—We’re never going to make it out alive if we try to take one of their horses. There’s too many of them. —And he was right, those were trained warriors and we were merely a pair of lost dogs to them. —The ruins are not too far, we should get there before Yggr if we walk in a straight line and avoid following main roads.

And just like that, our short journey through the autumnal forests of East Anglia began. We walked through shrubs, trees, short walls made of stone and saw a few deer, but there was no sight of other people anywhere. We avoided getting too close to farms or church ruins, trying to remain silent whenever our surroundings were suspiciously quiet.

—So tell me, Dane, how did you end up in Norway? —I interrupted, getting a judging stare from him when he caught me walking closely by his side.

—He told you we should get to know each other, right? —He asked dismissively, moving a few steps ahead of me.

—He suggested we should get along if we’re to live together in the same camp, but you’re not as friendly as he promised.

A hint of a smirk showed on his face, though it didn’t last long. —My father sold information to Halfdan and left me in Alrekstad to either die or be raised by the king’s servants. —He admitted after a while, looking troubled as he spoke.

—There are worst destinies than to be raised with Yggr, I suppose. —I said and saw him grinning at my comment, finally showing some sort of emotion in my presence.

—What about you, Stavanger? —He taunted, making it obvious that our fool of a Jarl told him about my homeland and, therefore, my newly acquired nickname.

—That’s my homeland, yes. But I come from the Isle of Ikke, a once thriving city to the north of Stavanger.

—Then what brought you to Alrekstad?

—Vengeance. —I said cheerfully, but he gave me a concerned look in return.

Some bonus fun facts:

✯Yggr is the son of Halfdan, King of Alrekstad (modern Årstad, in Norway). He's not inspired by any TLK character, though he has a similar personality and looks to Ragnar The Younger, with some of Cnut's silly sense of humour. Yggr was to inherit his father's throne, but has no issue embracing a simpler life - even though his former position as a prince and charisma turned him into his Clan's Jarl (basically an english Earl, but a Jarl can also be someone trusted by its people and chosen as a chief).

✯Reader was born in a small island in Norway (Ikke, which is totally made up hehe) but her family was massacred when she was a baby, so she grew up seeking vengeance.

✯Sihtric isn't a bastard but his mother died giving birth to him and so Kjartan despises him/never properly treated him as his son (nor did he to Sven but he grew up to be just as his father and so Kjartan eventually accepted him as his son).

✯As this story is unrelated to what happens in TLK, I had Kjartan vanished from Denmark; though he became wealthy again by playing the pirate in other territories and selling information to kings as Halfdan, Harald Fairhair and few more across the sea...

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Authors note: this is the third and last part of @sihtricfedaraaahvicius lovely first date fluff request.

Summary: Sihtric – a talented artist – juggles between his passion for painting and his job as a graphic designer. At the corporate Christmas party, Sihtric's unspoken feelings for his boss are tested when a twist of fate brings them closer than expected. 

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Warnings: actually none, fluff, suppressed feelings

Word Count: 4,2 K

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek

If you want to be added to the tag list - write to me.

You paced the living room, casting irritated glances at your phone. "Why did I leave it on silent? Maybe I missed a notification," you thought, even though you had checked it roughly fifty times in the past hour.

"Come on! Get a grip," you scolded yourself, rolling your eyes. "You're acting like a lovestruck teen! It's just Sihtric." But even as you thought that, butterflies took flight in your stomach. Who were you trying to kid?

You flopped down on the couch, hugging a cushion. "It's just one text. One little message. Is that too much to ask?" But as the minutes ticked by, the screen remained annoyingly void of new notifications. You huffed, tossing the phone beside you.

"Maaaybe I should text him? No, no. Play it cool," the debate in your mind continued.

Just as you were about to convince yourself to opt for some distraction — Netflix or that pint of ice cream in the freezer — your phone buzzed.

Heart leaping, you snatched it up. The sender's name made your heart race even faster: Sihtric.

The screen lit up with Sihtric's name, and the content of the message made your heart do that weird jumpy thing again.

"Hey, just checking in. Are you okay? What are you up to? Also, is it cool if I call you? I know it's late."

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, a flurry of responses running through your mind from "Yes, please call! I've been waiting!" till "No, I'm totally busy and not thinking about you at all!" Ugh, why was it so hard?

"Keep it chill," you reminded yourself, typing back, "Hey! I'm just relaxing, watching the city lights. Sure, you can call."

You hit send, and the waiting game began. Every second seemed to stretch, and you mentally prepared for the conversation, trying to sound casual and not like you'd been staring at your phone for hours. The phone's ringtone finally broke the silence, and with a deep breath, you swiped to answer.

The moment you picked up the call, Sihtric's familiar voice came through, though this time tinged with a hint of hesitation. "Hey, it's me. I, um... just wanted to make sure things are cool between us. Today was... unexpected."

You could picture him, probably ruffling his hair nervously, maybe even pacing his room just like you'd been doing earlier.

He continued, his voice growing softer, "I've been trying to paint, you know, but it's just... it's not happening. All I can think about is you. It's maddening."

Your heart raced. The honesty in his voice was disarming. You took a moment to find the right words, not wanting to sound too eager or too distant. "Sihtric, about today... I wasn't upset about the kiss, not at all."

There was a short pause on the other end of the line, probably Sihtric absorbing your words.

"You weren't?" he finally asked, hope evident in his tone.

"No," you responded with a chuckle, "And I'm really looking forward to your exhibition. I mean, if you can eventually get back to painting."

You could almost hear the grin in his reply. "I'll manage, especially now."

There was a noticeable pause and you wondered what to say next.

"You know," Sihtric started, his voice a tad shaky, "I've been thinking... The exhibition is still some days away, and I kinda... I mean, I don't really want to wait that long to see you again."

Your heart did a little flip. "What are you getting at, Sihtric?" you teased lightly, though your own voice betrayed your anticipation.

He cleared his throat, gathering courage, "Would you... I mean, would you be up for grabbing dinner or coffee or... I don't know, something before the exhibition? Like, a date?"

Your cheeks warmed up, the boldness of his question catching you off guard, but in a delightful way. "A date, huh?" you mused, drawing out the moment just a tad, relishing in the sweet uncertainty of it.

"Yes," you finally replied, your voice soft but certain, "I'd love that."

Sihtric let out a breathy laugh, relief evident in his tone, "Good. That's... that's really good. How about the day after tomorrow? I've got a few last-minute touches to make for the exhibition," Sihtric's voice resonated with a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. 

"That works for me," you replied, the grin evident in your voice. "Gives me some time to pick out the perfect outfit."

Sihtric chuckled, "You'd look amazing in anything. Alright, day after tomorrow it is."

There was a brief pause, the comforting kind filled with bubbling excitement. "Hey," Sihtric finally said, his tone softer, "Sweet dreams, okay? And... thank you."

You smiled, heart fluttering. "Sweet dreams, Sihtric. I'm looking forward to our date."

"Okay, deep breaths," you whispered to yourself the moment the call ended, dashing to your wardrobe and sliding open the doors. Dresses, skirts, blouses stared back at you, making the choice a torment.

After trying on what felt like half your wardrobe, you flopped onto your bed, tired but with a smile plastered across your face. As you snuggled under your blanket, thoughts of Sihtric floated in — his voice as he said your name, the mischievous grin in his eyes, his lips brushing against yours in that crazy, sweet and passionate kiss. And you slowly drifted off to sleep with his voice playing in your head like a soft, contagious tune.

Meanwhile, at his studio across town, Sihtric stood, brush in hand, in front of a blank canvas. The adrenaline from the call, the buzz of the upcoming date, it was a wild mix of emotions and his heart was doing weird flips.  He was in a daze. You weren't mad about the kiss, and hell, you’d even agreed to go out with him. Sihtric felt like he was floating, living out a daydream, his eyes sparkling with glee as the painting started to take shape.

—-------------------------------------

The next morning, as the first light streamed in, Sihtric practically leapt out of bed, his mind racing. "I have just one day to make it perfect," he kept thinking. His desire to make it memorable reached borderline frantic levels. So, what started as a simple dinner plan quickly turned into a reservation at “La Brasserie” – one of the city's most exclusive spots. It was the place for celebs and big shots. And while it was typically booked out for months, Sihtric had some connections and managed to nab a table.

And the ride? Well, he imagined you in a killer outfit, and he wanted the ride to be just as cool. A couple of quick calls, and boom, he got a sleek limo with a professional driver ready to roll up at your door.

Sihtric scratched his head over the question of an appropriate gift. "Jewellery? Is that too much?" he wondered. He found this dainty bracelet with these tiny diamonds that caught the light just right.

Throughout the day, he was a bundle of nerves, second-guessing everything. Was it too much? Would you find it overwhelming? But then he'd remember that twinkle in your eyes, your laugh, and he'd be all in again. He just wanted the night to be as special as what he felt for you. 

It was evening already as Sihtric stared at his phone in confusion, his fingers hovering over the phone's keyboard. He wanted to give you a hint without revealing too much, and he wanted to convey his excitement without overwhelming you. With a laugh, he hit the dial. 

"Hey! Hope you're good,” he said as soon as you had picked up. “So, I've got a fun plan for tomorrow night, nothing too wild, promise! Just a heads up to expect... a little something. Excited to see you!”

He waited, fingers crossed, hoping he'd struck the right balance.

Hearing Sihtric’s cheerful voice brought a smile to your face. 

"Hey there! Look, I'm all in for a fun evening. But let's keep it chill and simple, okay? No fancy places with people trying to show off. And please, no gifts. I'm just looking forward to a good time with you, getting to know the guy behind the canvas."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"Man, what was I thinking?" Sihtric mumbled to himself after you had hung up, cringing at the thought of the swanky restaurant reservation. All he wanted was to give you an unforgettable evening, but it seemed he was about to overdo it. 

"Alright, deep breaths," he told himself, taking a moment to refocus. "OK, she's obviously into real moments, not big gestures. Easy, chill vibes."

For most folks, a low-key date might mean grabbing coffee or chilling at a park, nothing easier than that. But for Sihtric, this was like a nightmare. He wanted to nail it, to make it perfect and memorable. And how the heck he was supposed to do it in a chill and simple setting? 

Every idea Sihtric came up with seemed too over the top or just plain dull. He kept overthinking, "You've got one shot at this, don't blow it!" But the more he thought, the more tangled he felt. And in truth it wasn't even about the date. Deep down, he was just simply scared that he, as just plain old 'Sihtric', wouldn't be enough. He so badly wanted to show you how special you were to him, and doubted profoundly if the ordinary, everyday Sihtric could do that.

And suddenly, it hit him. An idea so simple, yet so... him. Bingo.

—----------------------------------------

Sihtric paused outside your door, a mess of nerves and excitement. He wanted to press the doorbell, then hesitated. It hit him just how wild this was. He was about to take out the very person he'd been low-key crushing on for the last half year,  someone who seemed worlds apart from his everyday life just a short while ago.

He inhaled deeply, trying to calm down. Everything he'd rehearsed in his head had suddenly disappeared, leaving his brain empty and blank as a white canvas. Thoughts buzzed around like, "Should I drop a compliment straight up? What if there’s that weird silence? What if…" 

"Hey, you got this. Just be real," he tried to encourage himself and pushed the doorbell, crossing his fingers in the hope the night would feel as genuine as he wanted it to be.

The doorbell rang and a tiny "Oh no!" slipped out of your mouth. "Already?!" Glancing in the mirror, you were mentally battling with your outfit choice... again. "Too fancy? Or just boring? Why didn't I plan better?"

Shaking off the nerves, your focus shifted. "Wait, where are my shoes?!" Spotting one near the coffee table, you quickly put it on. Then, snapping the other, you hurried to the door, hopping around on one feet and trying to get that damned shoe on too. You must've looked like a scene from a romantic comedy.

Opening the door with one shoe fully on and the other half-worn, you looked up to find Sihtric's amused eyes on you. There was a brief moment where both of you just looked at each other, taking in the reality of the situation.

A nervous laugh escaped your lips, "Well, this is one way to start a date, huh?"

Sihtric's eyes widened as he took in your appearance and his face broke into a genuine, warm smile, as his laughter met yours, "Keeping things interesting right from the start. I'm here for it."

Sihtric took a moment to really see you. You were glowing, looking effortlessly chic. And while he was totally impressed, there was one small issue: in his frantic effort to find the perfect setting, he had forgotten to warn you that his new plan for the evening involved a bit of a chill. Like the real chill.

"Hey," he began, a little sheepish, "you look amazing, like seriously. But, uh, we might be braving the cold tonight. Maybe something a touch warmer?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks reddened, realising this wasn't a typical way to start a date chat. "Just don’t want you freezing. Trust me, though, it's gonna be cool."

Your eyes sparkled with amusement, appreciating his thoughtfulness. With a smile, you replied, "Give me a moment, and I'll be right back. Cosy and warm it is!"

—---------------------------------------

"Hey, so we're heading to this cool little town about a half-hour away. Grew up there, and trust me, it’s magic this time of year," Sihtric shared in the car, sneaking quick glances your way as he spoke.

You tried to seem focused, but your mind was elsewhere. The dim light from the dashboard illuminated his features just enough for you to notice the fine lines of his profile, the curve of his lips, and the intense concentration in his eyes. He looked different outside the confines of the office - more relaxed, more...himself. And wow, did it look good on him.

It's funny how different settings can make you see someone in a whole new way and in the soft light of Sihtric's car, miles from the daily office buzz, you started to get it - the connection, the vibe between you two that you'd totally missed before.

You got caught staring, and when you looked up, Sihtric was grinning right back at you. "Oops," you mumbled, your cheeks flushing as you quickly turned to the window, but you couldn't help that sly smile creeping on your face.

His laugh broke the moment. "Caught you." The air in the car became slightly charged. The night was young, and you were all in for wherever it might lead.

The little town looked like something emerged out of a fairy tale. Snow everywhere, and those cute houses all lit up. The car pulled to a stop and next moment Sihtric was already out, jogging over to your side and swinging the door open.

"Lady," he smiled, extending his arm out for you to take.

You laughed, playfully rolling your eyes but taking his arm nonetheless. The snow crunched under your feet as you walked, and the cold air filled your lungs, invigorating and refreshing. Sihtric took you on a mini tour, with each street looking like it could be on a postcard. It was super chilly but the warm lights from the houses made everything feel cosy.

Then you neared the park, the distant sound of festive music and laughter growing  louder, and you actually thought that you were stepping into a winter wonderland. The trees were adorned with these twinkling lights, making the snow sparkle like with some kind of magic. And then there were these cute stalls everywhere that seriously looked like gingerbread houses from a storybook. They were selling all sorts of cool stuff, and the air was filled with the awesome smell of mulled wine, roasted nuts, and waffles. Just thinking about it made your mouth water.

People were everywhere, chilling around fire pits or grooving to some live music from a band on a small stage. 

Sihtric, sensing your wonder, looked down at you, his eyes sparkling with delight. "What do you think?" he asked, the anticipation clear in his voice.

You took a moment, letting the ambiance wash over you, before replying, "It's magical, Sihtric. It's like something out of a movie. Seriously."

His grin got even bigger, and you could tell he was so glad, even relieved you were into it.

The market was just ahead, but right where you stood, the snow was untouched. You couldn’t resist. Gathering up a handful, you quickly shaped it into a snowball. With a sneaky smile, you shouted, "Hey, Sihtric!" The second he looked over, you launched it right at him, nailing him on the arm.

For a moment, he stood there, feigning shock, then a sly smile formed on his lips. "You're so asking for it," he laughed, making up his own snowball.

The next couple minutes were a total chaos. Snowballs whizzed around. Laughter echoed through the chill air, as you both  ducked, dodged and chucked snow at each other. 

Sihtric, being taller and stronger, had a bit of an advantage. But you were sneaky and kept catching him off guard. At one point, he theatrically dove behind a tree to avoid your throw, only to emerge with a heap of snow on his arms, which he playfully dumped right onto you from behind.

"Hey! Not fair!" you squealed, trying to shake off the cold.

He just chuckled, his eyes shining with mischief. "All's fair in love and snowball wars." He couldn't stop laughing, especially when you landed a snowball on his chest in payback.

With that cheeky glint in his eyes, he suddenly lunged forward, grabbing you around your waist and giving you a twirl. The world seemed to blur – the lights, the stalls, the snow. 

When he finally put you down, both of you were breathless and laughing, and for a split second, everything else faded. The rest of the world seemed to be far away, as if you two were caught in a snow globe of your own. You felt the warmth of his gaze, noticed the rosy flush on his cheeks, and how his eyes lit up looking at you. The moment felt so right. He leaned in, and you could feel your heart drumming in your chest. Just as your lips were about to meet, a heap of snow from the tree above decided to tumble down onto both of you. The moment was ruined, but you both just  burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter.

Sihtric glanced at your snow-dusted coat and a tiny worry line creased his forehead. As much fun as this was, he didn't want you to freeze. Tossing up his hands in surrender, his playful grin shifted to a warm smile.

"Okay, okay! You've got me! You win!" he exclaimed, dropping to his knees dramatically. 

You giggled, triumphantly raising another snowball over your head like a trophy. "Well, what say you, defeated one? How will you buy your way out of this?"

Sihtric looked up at you, eyes sparkling, "How about a peace offering? Some mulled wine and waffles as a sign of my absolute and utter surrender?"

You smirked, considering. "Mulled wine and waffles? Hmm... " Tossing the snowball aside, you continued, "You've got yourself a deal. But let's get one thing straight: I'm the snowball fight champ. No rematches!"

Sihtric chuckled, getting up and brushing off the snow. "Agreed." He offered his arm, which you playfully took, and the two of you, covered in snow and beaming, made your way to the market's warmth.

Sihtric guided you to a stall where the scent of warm spices and wine filled the air. Grinning cheekily, he handed you a mug of hot mulled wine, partly as a truce, but mostly as an attempt to warm you up.

Taking a sip, you felt the comforting warmth seep in. Sihtric, meanwhile, seemed to be lost in a little world of his own. He was watching the little things you probably didn’t even notice you were doing: the way you held the mug, the small sigh of contentment as you took a sip.

The rising steam from the wine swirled around your face, giving you an almost dreamlike appearance. Sihtric realised he was staring a touch too long, but he couldn’t help it. He was just so caught up in the moment, feeling like he wanted nothing more than to wrap up in a big, cosy blanket with you and never let you leave.

After you both finished your drinks, Sihtric brought you the promised waffles and nudged you playfully, suggesting a walk around the market. He kept sneaking these glances, not even trying to hide them. Seeing you like this, all relaxed and bubbly, was so different from the always in control boss back at work. Your laughter, the way you’d stop and admire a cute trinket or close your eyes, while breathing in the yummy smells wafting around — these cute moments were absolute treasures for him; they felt like he was getting to know a part of you he had never seen before. And he was all in for it.

—----------------------------------------

You felt like you had landed in a fairy tale, a cosy and warm fairy tale, but it wasn’t just the wonderful surroundings that gave you that sense; it was actually Sihtric. Every step you took with him was like a breath of fresh air and you couldn't help but notice the ease that surrounded him.

There was something about Sihtric, maybe it was his childlike enthusiasm, his wholehearted laugh or the way he got excited over the tiniest things, that made you forget all the stress and monotony of everyday life.

While wandering around, he stopped at a stall with wooden toys. He took a small soldier and let it march over his palm. Sihtric laughed, giving you a playful nudge. "Look at this," he grinned, showing the toy, "Simple and joyful. Kinda like how I feel right now with you."

Your heart warmed at his words. Being with Sihtric felt like being kids again, back to times when days were carefree and everything was an adventure. You gave his hand a little squeeze, grateful for the lightness and happiness of the moment.

—----------------------------------------

The ride home was easygoing, the radio was playing the usual repertoire for this time of the year, and although you had never been fond of the “Last Christmas”, you found yourself quietly humming along.

In the gentle glow from the dashboard Sihtric sneaked a few quick looks your way now and then, and every time he did, his heart raced a little faster. He couldn’t help but think about the evening over and over again, replaying every smile, every laugh, every touch, wondering if any of it meant as much to you as it did to him. Did you share even a fraction of the emotions he was grappling with? Did your heart race when he was close, just as his did? 

At the red lights, he'd let his gaze linger a little longer, trying to read you; taking a breath, he mustered the courage to break the silence.

"Tonight was... kinda amazing, wasn't it?" he said, voice low and a tad unsure.

You turned his way, your eyes locked for a second, and in that fleeting moment, seeing that weird spark in them, Sihtric felt a glimmer of hope, the possibility that maybe, just maybe, you felt something too.

"Was it?" You blurted out, a hint of blush creeping onto your cheeks, mentally kicking yourself for not having something smoother to say.

He chuckled, "Yeah, it was. It's just...you outside of work…You’re… You're... amasing."

You swallowed, feeling a flurry of butterflies in your stomach. "I had a great time too, Sihtric," you finally managed to respond, your voice soft.

The car ride went quiet for a sec. Sihtric cleared his throat, fingers playing on the steering wheel, and stole another quick glance at you.

"There's...uh, there's something I'd like to show you," he started, voice low and kinda shaky. He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself. "It's a place...a place very personal to me. My studio."

Your eyebrows went up. This was new.

He continued, "I've never really shown it to anyone. It's where I paint, where I kinda dump everything going on in my head." He glanced at you, waiting for a reaction, eyes all open and honest. "I'd like you to see it. Only if you want to, of course."

You could sense the significance of his invitation. Taken aback by the depth of the offer, you took a moment to process. This wasn't just about showing a room with paintings. He was offering you a sneak into an important part of who he really was.

"I'd love to see it," you replied softly, touching his arm reassuringly.

A big, relieved smile spread across Sihtric's face, and for the rest of the drive, an air of anticipation enveloped the two of you. 

—---------------------------------------

Sihtric pulled up to his apartment complex, but instead of heading straight for the main doors, he headed towards a tucked-away side entrance with some steep stairs.

With every step, the city noise started to get softer, replaced by the muted quiet of the attic.

Unlocking and pushing open a door, Sihtric stepped aside and motioned for you to go in first. Inside was a world of its own: canvases stacked up, paints and brushes all around, rough sketches pinned up, and candles – like, absolutely everywhere.

“I don’t like the harsh light from bulbs when I paint,” he explained, helping you out of your coat and throwing it on a couch in the corner. Sihtric quickly went around, lighting up the candles.

“So, this is it," Sihtric started, sounding a bit hesitant. "My own little corner, my escape. Thought you should see it.”

The dim candle light, paired with the gentle moonlight glow from the window, added a layer of intimacy to the space and left you touched and breathless. Each piece felt so...alive. It was like walking into a dream,  where colours danced and whispered tales of hope, love, and heartbreak. And it got you wondering – how had you missed this side of Sihtric?

As you moved from painting to painting, a mix of awe for Sihtric and a touch of self-doubt stirred inside. Here was this stunning, handsome and incredibly talented man, opening up his world to you. What did he see in you?

You halted in front of a particularly crazy cool painting — blue crashing into blazing orange, like a wild dance of peace and chaos. Sihtric was quiet, watching you like he was trying to read your thoughts.

"Wow, it’s so beautiful," you breathed out, more to yourself than him.

He took a step closer, sneaking his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. 

"Kinda like life, right? A mad mix of the chill and the storm," he whispered.

You turned to face him, "Sihtric, this is just mind-blowing… It's incredible. You are so talented… And now, seeing all this, I … I feel like I have been blind all this time… and I can’t help wondering... why me?"

Sihtric shot you a playful grin, pulling you closer to his chest. "You know, in the crazy ride of my life, you just appeared to be the missing piece. A skill without a heart behind it is worthless. And my heart just chose you."

You smiled at him, gazing into his warm, mismatched eyes. A soft moan slipped from your lips as Sihtric leaned in to kiss you. It was just the first of many moans, sighs, and gasps of pure pleasure you couldn't hold back that night as Sihtric's lips and hands explored every inch of your body. And by dawn, with the room softly lit by morning's first light, you found yourself snug in his embrace, pleasantly tired and breathless, listening to him whispering words of affection and admiration, and all you could think of was how lucky you were that somehow, the stars had aligned and brought you both together on that balcony just in the right moment for this fairy tale to begin.

[asa-do-your-thing]

An Eye for an Eye - 01

“The Rescue” 

Osferth x F! OC - 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 1,4k

Warnings: Blood, Injury, Unconsciousness, allusion to violence / rape / kidnapping, angst

Chapter Summary: Osferth's patrol around Uhtred's camp takes an unexpected turn when he discovers the injured and feverish Aemma in a roadside ditch. Concerned for her well-being, Osferth brings her back to camp, where Uhtred identifies her as the young daughter of Coccham's alehouse owner. Determined to help her recover, Osferth, Finan, Uhtred, and Sihtric rally together to provide care and support.

Osferth had seen a lot of things in his days but nothing could have prepared him for the sight that lay before him. Peering down into the cold, muddy ditch he saw a young woman, not older than eight and ten years, cowering in the corner clutching her knees to her chest, all muddy and bloody. He couldn’t make out her face in the darkness but he could barely hear her whimpering from where he stood.

He scrambled down into the ditch and crouched beside her. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could make out more details about her appearance; she was wearing a filthy dress with tattered edges and her waist long hair was knotted up atop her head. She was trembling as if someone had just shook her awake from a deep sleep and it looked like she hadn’t eaten in days. Osferth had no idea who this woman was or how she ended up here but there was something about her that made him stay put despite all the dangers outside their little camp.

She was barely conscious, her face filthy and her clothes travel-stained and tattered. Her body was frail and her breathing labored, indicating that she must have been feverish for a longer while. Under her breath, he heard fragments of sentences, "I... water... who? What was I doing here? What are you doing here?"

He gently leaned forward and touched her arm cautiously as if trying not to startle her. The woman flinched away at first then slowly raised her head to look at Osferth with huge, fearful eyes that brimmed with tears threatening to trickle down any moment now. Seeing this, Osferth felt pain twist inside of him like a thorny vine— something told him this poor soul had been through a lot of suffering in order for it to lead up to this very moment of desperation and despair. He brushed aside some stray strands of hair from eyes, so she could see properly.

"Who are you?", he asked. He got out a flask of water and brought it to her bloody, cracked lips. "Drink this, you must be parched from the heat and your fever. Where is your family? What happened?"

She greedily took long sips. It felt like it had been months since she last had something to drink. "I... I don't know... I can't remember... my back hurts a lot...," she mumbled though her fever. "Are... are you an angel? Since.. when.. are angels... so handsome?"

He chuckled, his voice full of worry. "As much as I'd love to be called an angel I'm just a mortal. You've been through a lot haven't you? Where did you come from? What do you last remember?", he asked, dabbing away the sweat on her face with the sleeve of his shirt.

With shaky, unsteady movements she nodded her head, trying to stand up but stumbling backward into the ditch. The impact sent a shockwave through her body, reverberating down every nerve ending until she was lost in a daze of pain. Her hand shot out instinctively, grasping for something to steady herself - anything- but it was too late as she fell backwards into the pool of her own blood.

 The sticky substance coated her skin and hair with an oily thickness that refused to be wiped away. With each movement she made, more blood flowed forth from the wounds on her back, staining the ground beneath her with a deep red hue.

"I... I can't remember a lot.. but... please help...", she managed to stutter out, between deep, pained gasps for air. She felt her skin burning up with the fever, trying her hardest to stay awake and conscious.

Osferth felt his heart sink as he saw the girl's limp body, almost lifeless against the ground. He quickly lifted her up, not caring that her blood had now spread to his hands and clothes. His voice was filled with desperation as he shouted for help, running back into the camp. "Don't do this to me! Don't you dare die on me!", he begged, squeezing her tightly in his arms as he ran.

As he reached the camp, he frantically ran up to Uhtred, who had been sharpening his dagger together with Finan and Sihtric. They all jumped up and readied themselves for attack, but relaxed when they saw that it was just Osferth. "Uhtred, please... I know not what to do, she's injured and burning up... I...," he stuttered and held her even tighter.

Uhtred's mouth drew into a tight line and his eyes narrowed as he glared down at the battered girl. "Aemma?! But that's the daughter of the alehouse owner in Coccham! What is she doing here?! Sihtric, get our herbs! Lay her on some furs Osferth, we need to stop her wounds from bleeding!" His voice was tinged with concern. "Just a child, barely reaching adulthood... so many things could have happened to her..."

Osferth tenderly laid her on the thick furs of his tent and nodded to Finan, who ground Sihtric's herbs into a fine powder and put them into a tiny pot of steaming water over the campfire. "Yes my Lord, I recall seeing her scrubbing the floors but I just stumbled upon her in a ditch - lost in an incoherent delirium and blazing with fever. She's been fading in and out of consciousness ever since...," he rambled, gripping Aemma's hand for dear life.

Uhtred exchanged a worried look with Finan and pressed his fingers onto his lips, silencing the Irishmen from saying anything. Osferth took out his flask and placed it gently to Aemma's lips. "Drink this, I want you to try and stay awake.. Please..."

Aemma weakly opened her eyes and took a few small sips, coughing in between. "I... I went to fetch herbs and berries... then... I can't remember...," She muttered and fliched, as she touched her back."I'm so sore..."

Sihtric stalked into the tent, his jaw clenched in determination as he ripped Aemma's dress away and slathered herbal paste onto her wounds with harsh strokes. He muttered a silent prayer of thanks to the gods as he saw that the injury did not appear to be infected. Her cries of agony filled the tent as Sihtric shushed her with a gentle yet firm tone. "She should recover in a few days if we can keep her hydrated and nourished," he declared with a steely voice.

Osferth's tears streamed down his cheeks, mingling with her own blood. He tenderly brushed away a clump of matted hair from her face, trying to ignore the deep gashes that crisscrossed her skin. "What kind of monster would do this to you? I wish I could take away your pain." His heart ached as he crouched before her, pressing a cold rag on her forehead in an effort to soothe her agony. 

Aemma opened her eyes and looked up into Osferth's worried gaze, feeling like she was spinning in a never ending circle of despair. "Yes... please.... just take away the pain," she murmured softly. She forced herself to focus on Osferth's ragged breaths and the chill of his touch against her skin, desperately needing the distraction from her misery.

"Don't fear. I will protect you with my life, so sleep now and forget the pain of your wounds. It's alright to close your eyes now, to rest. You'll get through this, and I will be here for you." When he told her that she would make it out alive, that courage filled his eyes. His voice was strong but sincere. As the men saw her slipping away into a deep slumber, they walked out of the tent and sat down by the fire; shocked by what had just happened.

The men started speculating what could have happened and remembered the times they had seen her in the ale house in Coccham. Uhtred spoke first, recalling a time when he'd seen her talking to a shady looking Mercian with an moon shaped scar on his face. Finan nodded solemnly, remembering another time she had mentioned something about a stranger coming to visit her. All of them pondered over these events, trying to figure out how it could tie into Aemma's current condition. 

Osferth felt overwhelmed with guilt for not being there to protect her; he only wished that he could make it up to her somehow.

They all agreed that this was no mere accident or misadventure, and that it was indeed possible that someone had deliberately done this to Aemma. Outrage filled their veins as they discussed who could be behind this heinous act and what their plan might be. They all made a silent vow at that very moment—to do whatever it took to bring justice for Aemma, even if it meant risking their own lives in the process.

Taglist: @valerie977

[andromedaofmilkyway]

maybe it’s just me being dumb but I couldn’t find any

TLK Æthelstan fanfiction here. May I ask you to guide me through a tumblr fancic pls 😭

[thethyri]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐖𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐰𝐲𝐧𝐧❟ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞❟ ❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟 ❞

𖦹. 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ The day Wulfwynn was cruelly torn from the life she had always known was a crisp day of autumn. When the green leaves of the trees turn brown and the wind grows colder. The day Wulfwynn miraculously stumbled upon Uhtred and his companions in the depths of the woods was a cold day of autumn. When the lakes are blanketed with frost and the fields are bare. And yet, despite the frost and the wounds, Wulfwynn met her destiny that day.

𖦹. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 *𖧧₊‧ Days and days. Cold night and colder days yet. Days running, fleeing. Fearing for her life. Until God sent her Uhtred and his men.

𖦹. 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character) x Sihtric Kjartansson, Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character) x Sihtric Kjartansson x Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Sihtric Kjartansson x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Uhtred of Bebbanburg x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Osferth x Ealhflæd of Cent (Original Female Character), Leofric x Mereswyth of Wessex (Original Female Character).

𖦹. 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 *𖧧₊‧ Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Show Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Not Show Compliant, Canon Rewrite, Show Rewrite, Show Dialogues, Canonical Character Death, Non-Canonical Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Multiple Graphic Descriptions of Wounds, Multiple Graphic Descriptions of Battles And Post-Battles, Blood On Several Occasions, Period-Typical Sexism, Slow Burn, Sexual Content, Mild-Sexual Content, Multiple Graphic Smuts (Ratings Specified In Concerned Chapters), Multiple Non-Graphic Smuts, Protective Finan, Possessive Finan, Finan Needs A Hug, Finan Backstory, Protective Sihtric, Jealous Sihtric, Adorable Sihtric, Sihtric Backstory, Protective Uhtred, Uhtred Is A Little Shit, Soft Osferth, Adorable Osferth, Osferth Backstory, Leofric Lives, Clapa Lives.

𖦹. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 *𖧧₊‧ Mild-Graphic Description of Bruises And Injuries.

𖦹. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ 2,912k.

𖦹. 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 *𖧧₊‧ Just so you know, my timeline is just a bit different from the books and show. At first, I had planned to stick to the books' timeline, but it would have made Uhtred (and therefore Finan and Sihtric) too old for Wulfwynn. Well, I speak of Finan and Sihtric but, in the books, Finan's age is not precised (nor is Osferth's) and, as for Sihtric, when he meets Uhtred, he does not know his own age and Uhtred apparently guesses that he's somewhere around 14 years old. The show's timeline encapsulated two books per season, meaning that by season 3, Uhtred would have been between 34-44 years old (yes, because if we follow that logic, it means that each season stretches on a period of time of 10 years, which, you will agree, is clearly not the case). That is why I decided to twist the timeline a bit and rearrange the ages to my own preference. No, about Finan. It is my own headcanon that he is not younger than Uhtred, but just slightly older than him by 3 years. For Sihtric, I wanted him to younger than both Uhtred and Finan (as in the show and books) and therefore closer to Wulfwynn's age but still older than her. Now, about Osferth, in the books we know he is already born when Uhtred spies on Alfred at the age of 10 but it is not precised when he was born. So I just kind of guessed and twisted things again to make him the age I liked when he joined Uhtred. And, for Clapa, to me (in the show, at least, because I have only read the first book at the moment) he was clearly older than Uhtred by, at least, 9 years.

That being said, this story still contains huge age gaps. Uhtred is 16 years older than Wulfwynn, Finan is 19 years older, and Sihtric is 6 years older. Adding to that the gap that already exists between Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric, since Uhtred is 10 years older than him and Finan is 13 years older. In real life, these differences in ages would be quite problematic, but here, we are in a fictional story and as long as these examples are not transferred to real life, it is still acceptable.

Also, I mean to stretch my story from season 3 to season 5 and even perhaps to the Seven Kings Must Die, but I do not know yet. So I will keep a timeline updated in the notes at the beginning of each chapter so you do not lose yourself too much ahah!

𖦹. 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 ₊̇*⸼ 892-895 AD ⵓ 6th November 892 AD - 9th November 892 AD ⨾ Uhtred is 34-37 yo ⨾ Finan is 37-40 yo ⨾ Sihtric is 24-27 yo ⨾ Clapa is 43-44 yo ⨾ Osferth is 29-32 yo ⨾ Wulfwynn is 18-21 yo.

THE VODKAS MENU. + THE SERIE MENU. + CHAPTER TWO. + Archive Of Our Own.

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN CIPPANHAMM AND MELKSHAMM, WESSEX, 892 AD.

            Fear. Dread . It crept its way into the heart, maliciously, viciously, its hideous claws jagged, and hooked, burrowing in its throbbing flesh. It gnawed venomously into the guts, tangled into hundreds of hundreds of tightly knitted knots. It crawled malevolently into the lungs, its coarse scales scraping, and into the throat, its rugged tongue scratching. It soaked bitterly into the bones, into the marrow, cold, terribly cold.

            Wulfwynn was devoured with fear. Wrecked with dread. She felt the ache in her limbs, the burn in her lungs. She felt the cold whipping at the crusted scratches that littered her knuckles, her palms, her knees and her muddy heels. She felt the soreness of the swelled bruises that dotted her thighs, her arms and her wrists, her neck and her ankles, and her cheeks. They scattered across her body, mingled with her freckled flesh, scarlet and maroon, melded with her delicate moles, purply and olive.

            Wulfwynn felt utterly terrified.

            Twiddled branches and tangled roots scrapped at her calves and knees as she delved into the depths of the woods. Breathy sobs escaped her chapped lips, while the cold that chilled her lungs licked at the salty tears that soaked her cheeks. The writhed birches swallowed the misty, gloomy skies, engulfed the pallid gleam that shimmered between their leaves. And they’d swallow Wulfwynn too. They'd swallow her whimpers, and they'd choke her with their branches, they’d throttle her with their roots—

            Wulfwynn sobbed panickedly, as she whisked hurriedly between the pines and the bushes, her heart onto her tongue.

            They’d scratch, and scrape, and rasp, and snarl and sneer and—

            A strangled yelp choked in her throat as she stumbled onto a root. She swayed abruptly and fell. Whimpers and whines of throbbing anguish and nauseous panic swirled through the cinnamon and crimson leaves that twirled around Wulfwynn as she hurtled down the muddy hill. And she gasped breathlessly as she slammed into a thick trunk.

            Wulfwynn clutched the bark, chafing her fingers, and wobbled, then rose quiveringly, but rose nonetheless, before her heel slipped in the mud and she tumbled again. She grunted as she fell, and fell, and fell, down the hill, down, down, until she landed into the dirt. Wulfwynn laid into the leaves and the dirt, perhaps an eternity, perhaps an instant, furled and shuddering, her heart throbbing into her temples and her knees and elbows aching.

            But, though she struggled, arose onto her palms. Bitter tears fell from her reddened cheeks, from her chin, onto her scratched, scarred fingers and between her knuckles. And then, a shout resonated through the pines, 

            “Lord !”

            Fear gripped at Wulfwynn’s heart with it crooked claws. She fumbled panickedly with her kirtles and skirts, shuffled and tumbled, and wobblily arose, but fell onto her knees with a frustrated whine. She huffed shakily.

            “Lord !” Wulfwynn prayed. She prayed fervently, as the worried yell swivelled in the chilly whiff. “Are ye— Are ye alright?” She’d have chuckled, but Wulfwynn merely sobbed. “Ye’re— Uhtred !”

            She peered hesitantly and her glance landed onto the cross that dangled before her teary eyes. A heavy huff tickled her cheek.

            “Ye’re alright, lass, ye’re alright,” He murmured quietly as he knelt. She felt his pity, his gentleness and his kindheartedness, and she sniffled. Her heart swelled. “Ye’ll be alright, I promise.”

            Wulfwynn nodded meekly. His soft promise poured onto her sore scratches and scrapes, syrupy and smooth and warm. Her heart seared with a sour tincture of gratitude and lament, with a driblet of reassurance and a splatter of solace. Her glance anchored into umber orbs, tinged with warmth and kindness, and worry.

            “Finan.” A whistle tickled Wulfwynn's guts. “ Finan !”

            “Lord,” Finan startled, as he leapt onto his muddy boots. Wulfwynn shivered as the chill tickled at her neck. "She's hurt, Lord."

            “Hurt?” The Lord —Uhtred, she assumed— inquired, with doubt and incertitude. And a tinge of scepticism. “Quite hurt.” Finan affirmed, and nodded.

            A chiffchaff chirped. “Lord?” Queried a soft murmur. “She indeed seems quite unwell.”

            The Lord’s glance landed unto the salty tears that streaked her cheeks, unto her bruises, and her scratches and scrapes, and she felt oddly, yet agreeably, absorbed into the frosty depths her eyes plunged into. His stare felt cold, but she embraced that cold. She felt queerly reassured, comforted, shrouded into that cold. The Lord hummed quietly. And nodded. Wulfwynn huffed a breath of relief.

            Finan knelt beside her, his knees in the mud, and she felt his warmth caress her as he wrapped an arm around her waist. Wulfwynn grabbed her tattered kirtles, and Finan muttered, “ Jesus .” as he glanced at her legs. She grasped his hand, hers frail and fragile in his callused palm. She grunted with anguish, as she struggled to arise, but her knees buckled.  

            Finan's hold tightened, "Gently, gently." he reassured her softly, "Osferth!" he beckoned with a whistle and a nod. Saddle buckles rattled, leaves rustled and an arm slithered across her back. “Apologies, Lady.” and Wulfwynn uttered a quavery huff. 

            “Gently.” Finan repeated as Wulfwynn arose slowly. “Alright. We’ll get ye onto Sihtric’s horse.” 

            Osferth nodded. He gently took ahold of her elbow, and they strode to the horses. They approached Sihtric’s horse, and Wulfwynn glanced at the silhouette sat astride its saddle, shrouded in furs, as Sihtric’s stare anchored into hers. She felt Finan’s warmth fade when he stepped back and unbuckled his cloak's buckle, before he wrapped the warm, woollen garment around Wulfwynn’s shuddery shoulders. 

            “It’ll keep ye warm.” Finan murmured as he tucked the hood on Wulfwynn's messy, tousled curls and tresses. “Ye’ll ride with Sihtric. Alright?” 

            She nodded. Finan approached the horse and leaned down. He cupped his callused hands, fingers knotted, and Wulfwynn grasped his arm as she hesitantly placed her heel in his palm. "Alright. I'll hoist ye there and Sihtric will get ye, huh?" Wulfwynn hummed and, quite facilely, Finan lifted her. She gracelessly threw her leg across the saddle and, as he told her, Sihtric grabbed her. “Ye’re good?”

            “Good.” Wulfwynn muttered with a nod. Finan’s eyes widened at the hoarseness of her mutter but he nodded nonetheless. 

            He and Osferth hopped back onto their horses. Wulfwynn fidgeted a bit, and grabbed Sihtric's thick, woolly ebony mantle with her fingertips. But he felt it and turned, and gently grasped her wrist before he wrapped it across his chest. 

            Wulfwynn jolted when he softly spoke, “You may hold on.” And, although timidly, Wulfwynn slipped her arms around Sihtric’s waist. Her fingers gripped the crisscrossed leather of his cotte, and her fingertips stroked the fur that flanked its edges. The scents of cinders and smoke, of dust and caked mud and hay tickled her nostrils. Yet she felt oddly soothed as she faintly breathed into the heavy wool. 

            “We ride!” then hailed Uhtred. 

            Wulfwynn’s legs dangled from the horse’s rump, and swayed slightly with his sturdy strides. The muffled thud of hooves as they rustled dead leaves, the snorts of the horses, the chirps of the birds and the warmth of Sihtric's furs cradled Wulfwynn. And slowly, as she fell into slumber, her head lolled and bobbed, and then, settled between Sihtric's shoulders. 

            And Wulfwynn slept, as much as she hadn't slept in weeks.

₊‧𒀭⋆₊

            The noisy hustle and bustle of Wintanceaster was quite pleasant. With the yells of its merchants, as they tempted the villagers with their trouts and lampreys, their hot loaves of oat breads, their goat cheeses, and their turnips and parsnips, and their pears. The bright, merry talks of the villagers. The jolly chuckles and giggles of the children. 

            Wintanceaster was noisy and Finan basked in its noisiness.

            He particularly appreciated this noisiness, as it differed considerably from the howls and yells that engulfed the field. As well as the smells. The scents of mud sodden, thickened with blood, of tangy sweat and barf were, at Wintanceaster, the scents of roasted pork and latterly brewed barley ale that wafted from the taverns. 

            Yet, this bustle hadn't awakened the lass, whose scratched and scraped arms were wrapped across Sihtric's chest, and whose reddened, bruised cheek was squooshed against his back, although she was shrouded with Finan’s hood. But Sihtric wasn’t bothered in the least. 

            “We'll take her to mine." declared Finan, as they strided towards the stables. 

            A snort. "Really? Huh." Clapa chuckled wickedly. He glared at the Dane. "Well, we're not gonna get her to yers, are we?" Finan retorted. 

            “He’d frighten her.” Uhtred sniggered, as he glanced at the giant. Clapa smirked.

            “Frighten her? I’m but meek, sweet and gentle as a lamb, Lord.” He protested, and Uhtred chuckled, “Huh-uh.”

            They approached the stables and alighted from their steeds. Finan felt the soreness in his legs as he neared Sihtric’s horse. He nodded towards Clapa, “Can ye take her?” and the Dane contourned the horse. He held his arms towards the lass, and Sihtric gently peeled her hands from the crisscrosses of his cotte, before Clapa slithered an arm across her back, as she slipped into his arms, and then slithered a hand beneath her legs. “I’ve got her.”

            "Alright." Finan nodded. The muddy strands of straw of the stables crumpled beneath the soles of Sihtric's boots, when he leaped from his horse.

            The lass’ forehead was nestled in Clapa’s neck, and the hood had flopped back a tad from her head. Finan’s glance fell onto the maroon and olive bruises that dotted her cheeks and chin, the scarlet slit that carved in the slope of her nose and the split etched into her plump, chapped lip.  

            He then turned to Osferth, “We’ll need yer balms and herbs.” 

            “Aye.” he nodded and hurried to fetch the leather satchel on his saddle. 

            They then took her to Finan's. He didn't quite considered it— well, considered it what? A haven? His? His haven? Nah, his haven was Coccham. This was but a humble, wooden hut, scarcely adorned, with a bed padded with straw and wool, draped with a few woollen and linen pillows and blankets, and a few furs. A table, scattered with bowls, melted candles and a hutch of trinkets, stood in the corner, with three stools. Light linen sheers flanked the walls, near the bed, while a wooden chest sat beside it, and a bench stood in the corner, near the entrance. 

            Clapa settled the lass onto the bed, with greater gentleness than Finan had hoped, and, with care, Finan unbuckled the buckle of his coat and slipped the wool from the lass' frail, delicate silhouette, before Clapa laid her tousled head onto the pillows. 

            “‘Tis still as modest as it was the last I was here.” enthused Uhtred, as he entered the hut with Osferth and Sihtric. 

            Finan stared at the lass an instant, and then turned to Osferth. He startled and hurried to the table and, amongst the wooden bowls, grabbed the dusty pestle and mortar. He then brought the herbs onto the table from his satchel, and glanced at the sleeper before he took the yarrow. 

            They stared quietly at the monk, as he grabbed the pestle and mashed the dried yarrow into the mortar. He then grabbed a bowl and poured a quaff of his gourd, and sprinkled the dried plant. Osferth then took the bowl and told Finan, “It’ll soothe her body.” 

            Finan took the bowl and nodded. Softly, he knelt onto the bed's edge, and slowly tickled the beverage between the lass' chapped lips. 

            “Then?” Sihtric queried as he neared the table. Osferth took the bowl back. "Then," he mumbled, as he tossed plants in the wooden bowl, and took the pestle, "I'll tend to those scrapes and scratches with chamomile," he grimaced, as though he was scraped and scratched, "and soothe her bruises with nettle." 

            Sihtric glanced at the lass and the frown between her brows. And a tinge of concern tickled his chest. Osferth grinded the chamomile and the nettle in the bowl, and then poured a quaff, “She’ll heal.” he assured, as he approached the bed and settled on the edge. 

            “But she’ll need a while. She’s quite enfeebled.” he murmured softly, and placed the bowl onto the woollen blankets. “But she’ll heal.”

₊‧𒀭⋆₊

            Wulfwynn felt cradled. 

            Shrouded in the softness of the wool of Cynefrith's sleeves across her hips, and swaddled in the warmth of Eadgyth's skirts and kirtles, her legs entangled with hers. She felt utterly well.

            She hadn’t felt well in quite a while. But between Cynefrith and Eadgyth, she felt soothed. 

            Yet, Wulfwynn stirred in her slumber. She nestled her nose in Eadgyth's tangled and tousled tresses, and hummed with contentment when the scents of chamomile tickled her nostrils. She felt Cynefrith’s gentle breath tickle the back of her neck. 

            Wulfwynn sighed with delight. She laced her fingers with Cynefrith’s, and Eadgyth wrapped her arm around them, and cuddled them. 

            And an ache clutched at her chest.  

            Wulfwynn’s brows furrowed. She huddled and clutched Cynefrith's lithe fingers, and snuggled into Eadgyth's neck. But she gasped as her chest tightened. 

            And she sobbed. Whiffs of cinders and embers, of nettle and of dust swamped her nostrils and tickled her guts. She sobbed, and sobbed, as the ache clawed at her heart. 

            Sleep left her, slowly, so slowly it felt an eternity. 

            Her sight remained blurred a moment before she discerned the shutters, and the pale gleams of the morn that crept between them. Then she glanced beside her. But Eadgyth was not there. And when she turned and peered above her shoulder, Cynefrith was not there either. And then, she remembered. 

            The yells, the tears. The lake. The sobs, the pleas. The plains. The blood. 

            Cynefrith was not there. 

            Eadgyth was not there.

            They were not here.

            Wulfwynn whimpered. There was neither Eadgyth nor Cynefrith. There were not their embraces, merely linen blankets and furs. There was not their warmth, just a woollen and straw mattress. They were not there. 

            She sobbed, her hands clutched at her chest. She sobbed, her scraped and scratched knees beneath her chin. She sobbed, muffled into the blankets. She did not hear the squeak of the wooden door and the creak of the boots onto the floorboards. 

            “Lass?” 

            Wulfwynn perked and winced. "Ye're awake, at last." Finan huffed, as the concern that etched his face melted into relief. Wulfwynn's tears trickled from her cheeks and wetted the blankets. Finan approached the bed. 

            “Ye’re alright, lass. Ye’re alright.” he reassured her. But Wulfwynn wasn’t alright. 

            Her lips quivered, “I,” she huffed quietly, feebly, “I fled, but I—” and faltered, “I fled,” 

            “Hey, hey,” Finan neared her, and she felt her heart thump, "I— I fled but I—" she sobbed, "But—" And Finan gently seated at the bed's edge, “Hey, ye’re alright, lass, ye’re alright.” he repeated. “Ye’re fine,” he murmured softly. 

            Alright. She was alright. Wulfwynn nodded. Was she alright? She wasn not quite. But she nodded nonetheless. Her sobs ebbed. She felt, as she had felt with Uhtred, oddly, yet agreeably, comforted and reassured when her eyes anchored into Finan’s. But she felt terribly feeble too. And sore. 

            “Ye shouldn't tire yerself too much. Ye're still weak and ye haven't eaten yet.” he uttered prudently, as though he feared he might frighten her. “Ye’ve slept quite a bit and Osferth has tended to yer,” he swallowed, “wounds.”

            Wulfwynn glanced down at her hands, wrapped in thin strips of linen, folded around her thumbs and knotted in the crook of her palms. The whiffs of chamomile and nettle wafted to her nose when she wiggled her fingers. She noticed she was no longer garbed in her shredded skirts and kirtles, drenched with sweat, sullied with guts and smeared with mud and dust, but a linen shift that smelt of sage. Hence why she had felt so comfortable in her slumber. And she frowned. If she’d been changed, then had they—

            “We haven’t.” Finan assured, halting her thoughts, as though he knew what she was wondering. “Osferth merely tended to the wounds on yer arms and legs. Yer virtue is untarnished. Lord Uhtred's sister and Abbess Hild tended to those he couldn't. And then changed ye.” 

            She nodded shyly. “W-Where,” she licked her lips, “Where are we?” 

            “Wintanceaster, Lady.”

            He stood from the bed and went to the table, in the corner, where there were three stools and, scattered onto the table, dusty baubles and wooden plates, bowls and cups. “Have I,” she straightened slightly and grimaced, “H-Have I slept long?”

            He picked a goblet and grabbed the jug, near a plate in which there were the scraps of a meal. Wulfwynn then wondered if they had remained there while she slept. “About three days. Since we arrived.” 

            “Oh.” she murmured. Finan returned to the bed and handed her the goblet. She whispered her thanks, and wondered if he had heard her, but as he nodded, she thought he must have. She took a sip and felt the soreness of her throat. 

            Then her stomach rumbled.

            Her cheeks dusted with embarrassment and she coughed. She had not eaten but a few berries in days, and had eaten aught but stale bread in weeks. The mere sight of the scraps of a meal had her stomach growl. 

            "Ye must be famished." Finan frowned, as if concerned. He then nodded, as though approving a thought he'd just had. "Alright. I'll get Hild fer ye and we'll take ye to the tavern. I'll be quick." 

            He then turned on his heels and strode out of the hut.

CHAPTER TWO. + Archive Of Our Own.

©TheThyri. All rights content belong to @thethyri​​. Do not repost, translate or plagiarize my works in any way or on any other platform without my permission. Gifs rightfully belong to @dailytlk.

[aemondsbabe]

Wind's Howling

summary: sharing a bed & accidental stimulation || you're nursing osferth's injury as the two of you spend a cold night together in an inn, but you feel called to help him in another way as well

pairing: osferth x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, mentions of injury but nothing graphic, dry humping kind of, kissing, breast/nipple play, piv sex, unprotected sex it’s like literally the 800’s sue me, cuddling, osferth whimpering how precious, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 1.8k

a/n: happy day five of 12 days of smuff!! this one can be read as a continuation of love is patient and kind or as a stand alone! enjoy! also yes, the title is a witcher pun

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @black-dread!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

You can hear Osferth let out a soft sigh behind you as you shift yet again in another futile attempt to get comfortable on the thin, lumpy mattress. You sigh too, as you finally settle, only to let out a quiet groan when you realize this position is really no better than the last twenty you tried. 

“Sorry,” you spare a glance over your shoulder as you speak, wincing as another harsh gust of wind blows a cold draft through the room, “I can’t get comfortable enough on this damn thing to sleep.” You say with a defeated sigh. 

“You need not apologize,” the monk murmurs behind you, “Between my shoulder and this cold, sleep eludes me as well.” 

As if on cue, another stinging draft billows through the room, eerily whistling through any cracks it can find. The two of you sigh, defeated — leave it to Uhtred to pick the worst possible inn to stop at, though he had insisted upon it, saying Osferth needed a few days in safety to rest his shoulder and the rest of you needed the opportunity to gather supplies anyway. 

Truthfully, a break was probably a good idea. Ever since the ambush a few days ago, the spirits of your group had been in short supply and members were beginning to bicker and fight amongst themselves. Your poor monk had taken it upon himself to be the peacekeeper, which had only served to cause you more stress as you kept trying to compel him to stay in bed and rest his shoulder. 

You can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut at the thought of his injury, the memory of him being harshly tugged off his horse in the chaos of the ambush still makes you uneasy; your heart twists in your chest as you think through your list of “what ifs” yet again. 

Almost as if he can sense your thoughts, Osferth bumps the back of your leg with his knee. “Please do not worry yourself, my lady,” he says, a heaviness to his tired voice, “I am fine, we are safe.” 

“How did you know I was thinking about it?” 

“You tense up every time you do.” 

You sigh again before finally turning over to face him, your tired eyes meeting his in the dark room, the only light in the room coming from the full moon outside. 

“Hi,” you murmur after a moment. 

“Hi,” he whispers, the corner of his lips quirking up into a soft smirk. 

“How’s your shoulder?” You ask, shrugging one arm out from underneath the thick wool blanket the two of you share to gingerly run your fingers over his arm, taking extra care in the spots you know are still bruised and sore, “Is it feeling any better?” 

“I think so,” he mutters, flexing it a little, “It aches to move it too much but as long as I am still, it causes me no pain.” 

You nod thoughtfully, silently thanking whatever God there may be that he had escaped relatively unharmed. 

After another moment of silence, you wiggle again on the mattress before letting out a quiet, rueful laugh. “I give up,” you groan, “This mattress is useless.” 

Osferth sighs next to you and shuffles closer, reaching out as far as he can without extending his shoulder to skim his long fingers over your arm as an act of comfort, “I’m sorry, my sweet lady.” 

“I should be the one apologizing,” you murmur, “Without my tossing and turning, perhaps you could find sleep.” 

He breathes a quiet laugh through his nose, “You are not what is keeping me awake,” he says with a sigh, “Between this cold and my shoulder, your restlessness is a blessing.” 

The wind howls outside once more and you see Osferth shiver as another draft of bitter air blows through the room. With a sigh, you shuffle closer to him, practically molding the front of your body to the front of his as your legs slot together under the woolen blanket; your eyes flutter closed as you savor the warmth of having him pressed against you, though the action causes your thin linen shift to ride up nearly to the tops of your thighs as one of his long legs presses between yours. 

After a moment, you find yourself squirming for a much different reason, the discomfort of the mattress quickly slipping from the forefront of your mind as your center begins to throb, making you keenly aware of the way the monk’s warm thigh presses against your bare heat, the thin fabric of his breeches the only thing separating the two of you. 

You stay quiet, opting not to disturb him further as you know sleep is important to the healing process. However, it seems his mind is wandering too because after a moment, your eyes shoot open when you feel his hard length pressing against your hip, only to find him already looking at you. 

“Osferth —,”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he murmurs softly, a blush visible on his cheeks even in the dim lighting, “I—,” he starts, though you cut him off with a soft kiss, sighing as his lips press against yours, his warm breath fanning across your face. 

“You needn’t apologize,” you whisper, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, “In fact, I can think of something that may help us both sleep…” You tease, just barely rutting your hips against his. 

His eyes slip closed at the feeling, a soft, whimpered sigh escaping his lips before he shakes his head. “You’ve already done so much for me, my lady,” Osferth murmurs, his blue eyes meeting yours once more. 

“So let me do this last thing,” you smile, pressing one more sweet kiss against his lips, “Please?” 

Your monk can’t help but smile at your eagerness and nods, making you smile brightly in the darkness of the small room. Gently, you untangle yourself from him before guiding him onto his back, taking care to ensure that he moves his shoulder as little as possible. Finally, you climb atop him, straddling his hips, both of you groaning at the way your wet, warm center presses against his length through his cotton breeches. You’re careful to keep the blankets wrapped over your shoulders as you maneuver on top of him, lifting your hips just enough to free his length. 

You shiver when you feel him press against you, already throbbing in your grasp as you run the head of his cock through your folds, gasping as it bumps against your already aching bud. 

“Please, my lady,” Osferth groans beneath you, his chest already heaving, “You… you feel too good, please.” 

You can’t help but obey him, smirking at his pleas as you position his length at your entrance. “Shhh, sweet monk,” you soothe, moaning as the head of his cock slips inside you, “Let me make you feel good.” 

Osferth whimpers beneath you as you sink down onto his length with a pleased sigh, your walls already squeezing against him. You gasp softly when he presses fully inside you, your hips resting against his as his length fills you completely, leaving no part of you untouched. You wiggle your hips on top of him, grinding your pearl against him with a soft whimper. 

You slowly start moving atop him, though you quickly pick up the pace as one of his hands grips harshly at your waist, the other remains draped across his chest at your insistence, determined to keep his shoulder safe. You bite your lower lip, intending to stay quiet as you know the walls of the old inn must be quite thin, however that gets harder and harder to do as the tip of Osferth’s cock brushes against that sensitive spot within you every time you sink back down onto him. 

“You feel so good,” the monk gasps as he stares up at you, marveling at how you move against him, at the beautiful blush spreading across your cheeks, at the way your breasts bounce beneath the nearly sheer fabric of your simple shift dress, “So beautiful, my sweet lady.” He sighs, his cock twitching against your walls. 

“Osferth,” you whisper through a harsh gasp, “I love you, my precious monk.” You smile when he groans beneath you, his cock throbbing as you continue moving against him. 

“I — Christ,” he gasps, the hand on your hip pushing itself under your shift dress, “I love you too, sweet girl.” He groans, perhaps a bit too loud, as he cups your breast, kneading your soft skin in his palm. 

You gasp loudly at the added sensation, the heat in your belly threatening to boil over. Blessedly, Osferth seems just as done in as you, his hips squirming beneath yours as he tries to stay still. 

“My lady,” he gasps, blue eyes staring up at you more urgently than before, “My lady, I — !” He cuts himself off with a loud moan when you lean forward to press your bud more firmly against him, which only serves to press his length somehow deeper within you as his fingers toy wildly with your nipple. 

“I know,” you nod your head with a gasp, struggling to keep your eyes open, “I know, my sweet monk. It’s okay, please” you moan, your walls clenching hotly around him as your high finally spills over you, igniting every nerve ending with a blinding pleasure, “God, fuck!” You can’t help but squeal, bracing your hands on either side of the monk’s head as you tumble forward, unable to hold yourself up. 

Osferth whispers your name over and over, as if in prayer, before he finally groans loudly, cock twitching wildly within you as he cums, painting your walls with his thick spend. He moans happily as you sink further down against him, mouthing at your nipples through the fabric of your dress. 

After a moment, your high subsides and you open your eyes once more, giggling softly as you lean down to press a sweet kiss to his lips. With a sigh, you lift yourself off of him before dropping to the bed with a tired groan. You slot yourself against his side and pull the blanket back up from where it had slipped off, one of your legs draped across the monk’s hips. 

Just as you’re about to open your mouth again to ask about his shoulder, a fist pounds on the wall above your heads from the next room, making the two of you gasp. 

“Oi!” Sihtric calls, his gruff voice muffled, “If you don’t stop fucking like rabbits I’ll come in there and strangle the damn monk myself!” 

“Oops,” you whisper to Osferth through a giggle, nuzzling your head against his neck. 

“I would face the wrath of ten vikings to bed you, my lady,” the monk whispers softly before pressing a kiss against the top of your head.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[arcielee]

So far, I have only written for Osferth, but who knows what the muses want? I may attempt others in the future. As always, be mindful of tags and warnings!

𝖔𝖘𝖋𝖊𝖗𝖙𝖍

smutty Osferth drabble Osferth x Female!Reader Warnings: This is just a smutty drabble filled with religious guilt, voyeurism, masturbation, fingering and grinding goodness. Enjoy!

+ + + +

Insatiable Osferth x Plus Size Reader Summary: Osferth finally has a moment with the barmaid he has been pining for. Warnings: AFAB Reader, kissing, titty sucking, grinding, pre ejaculation because baby monk is thrumming with life being tucked between your thighs, implied sexual themes.

+ + + +

Command me to be well Lord Osferth x Female!Reader [third person] Summary: Lord Osferth has been injured and she takes care of him. Warnings: Teasing baby monk, mentions of battles, injuries, oral (m receiving), 9th century remedies for bruises?

+ + + +

Her Salvation, His Damnation Osferth x vampire Female!Reader [third person] Summary: Osferth meets a healer who haunts his dreams. Warnings: AFAB, mentions of amber eyes because its a vampire, edging, oral (m and f receiving), p in v, dubcon for being transformed into the undead.

Silver Coins - part 1 Osferth x Female!Reader Summary: You are paid to be a pleasure for the baby monk. Warnings:  Smutty smut, inexperienced Osferth, oral sex (m and f), p in v.

Peace Beneath the City - part 2 Osferth x Female!Reader Summary: Years have gone by and you receive a familiar visitor. Warnings:  Smutty smut, we got season 5 Osferth coming in with the d that they were fighting over, oral (female receiving), p in v.

Farewell Wanderlust Osferth x OFC Summary: Torn from her home country, Keavy finds herself trying to survive across the Irish sea. She happens across Uhtred and his motley crew, and finds herself befriending a monk who is determined to become a warrior. Warnings: Please be mindful of the warnings for each chapter! Author’s Note: This is complete!

arcie's navi || dividers by @saradika

[juliets-obsession-corner]

The Fox & The Swan Masterlist

(pictures were found on pinterest)

Erin × Osferth | Ivy × Sihtric

Description: Erin Fox and Ivy Swan have been inseparable since the tender age of eight years old. Where one went, the other followed. This would include falling into ninth century England, as it so happens. They find themselves trapped in the company of Uhtred and his men. Desperate to escape and return home, the Fox and the Swan must tread carefully or be forever ensnared by the past.

🦊 🦢 🦊 🦢

chapter one; should i touch it

chapter two; the lion's den

chapter three;

chapter four;

chapter five;

(ongoing)

[emilyhufflepufftlk]

The Time Traveller and the Immortal

Finan x OC for @persephones-journey

@lauwrite1225 @solinarimoon @morosemagick @magravenwrites @93xdiagonxalley @trenko-heart @medievalfangirl @blah-blah-blah-bla @muddleofnervouswords @anotherwinchesterfangirl

[synintheraven]

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary: you finally find Ivarr Ragnarsson and a cup of ale gives an unexpected turn of events between the two of you.

✵tw: mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol, drinking, other than that lots of fluff :p

✵word count: 1,3k

characters info | part five

The sun was hiding behind clouds and a thin layer of snow covered the hills around us. It was cold, the wind crawled under my clothes and a shiver climbed my spine as their eyes were on me.

We had just arrived to Repton, yet the little army under Ivarr and Ubba's command was far more cautious than that of Tamworth. And as their famously reckless Lord stood proud before us, the rabid dogs followed close behind.

There were no children, no wives. Only soldiers dressed in mail, their Lord's most trusted hounds.

—And what of her? Is she your gift to me? —Ivarr asked almost too proud of himself and I was ready to bite back, but Sihtric was quicker to answer.

—She’s my woman. —He said. I frowned, his words still echoing in my head.

—Slave girl? —The Ragnarsson grinned, his eyes fixed on my expression. —Either that or she hates your cock.

Sihtric then gave me a strange look, his hand finding its way along my back and stopping where my butt joined my back, pulling me awkwardly closer to his side. —We’re just tired, it was a long journey from Theotford.

Surprisingly, he seemed to bite on Sihtric’s lie, while I pictured myself with a knife going through the Dane's throat.

—So, why are you here? Guthrum isn’t treating his hounds right?

—We got word that a son of Ragnar had taken Repton, so we thought to serve a true dane lord was better than to follow a stupid man to his defeat.

We knew nothing about Guthrum; not the colour of his banner nor the look of the man’s face. But it was easy to make up a lie when the man himself wasn’t there to deny it, though in truth Guthrum would’ve embraced us as his warriors as long as we looked like Danes.

Ivarr was hesitant, like dry weeds waiting on a spark to set ablaze. Yet he welcomed the fire, not afraid to get burnt.

—Ha! —He said loudly, his gaze studying me with curiosity as he crossed his arms. —And you, woman? Can you fight? Or are you only here to please this pretty warrior? —He finished as he looked at Sihtric, but he was out of words.

—The son of Ragnar wants me to teach him how to use his axe? —I snapped back happily, but my man, the one I wasn’t aware I had, was concerned about Ivarr’s deadly stare.

—I love sassy bitches, you can stay. —He smiled widely, as the men around us joined their lord with a grin. —Same for you, pretty boy.

Everything was blurry; the candles provided the room with a gloomy light and the flickering flames made the shadows around us deeper than they really were, like if whole territories hid among that darkness.

It made me wonder about the unknown, all that is hidden from plain sight but lurks in the blackness of the night. The wild beasts, the magic creatures, and all else that is hidden to us mortals.

I could hear the voices from the drunken warriors around me, their laughter, their joy after a succesful battle. The sound of wooden jars and metal clashing as they celebrated with ale, their harsh steps on the floor.

I was hearing Sihtric as he talked, telling me one more time stories about all his battles, all he had conquered to get here, to England. All about the raids: priceless treasures, gold-filled chests and wealthy norse fools ready to give everything up if only to escape an unneccesary fight, all that he'd managed to steal for himself after years of serving under Yggr's banner.

I watched as he wrapped his hands around the mug and a puddle of ale drenched the linen around his arms, yet he didn't seem to care. A tattoo showed from under his sleeve, an interesting shape playing in the shadow and hiding from the candle light. He simply kept on talking, ever proud and happy about his stories, his life.

Maybe it was the ale, maybe there was something in the air that night, but his words sounded funny in my ears. He was explaining how he once cut off a man's hand with an axe: the splatter of blood, the horror in that man's voice as he screamed out of pain. But all I could hear was a mumble, his attempt at sounding coherent while the ale made its way through his throat.

And so, I laughed. Sihtric's response was to look at me with a frown, then proceeded to burst out laughing with me.

He suddenly stopped and went completely quiet, worrying me for a moment that perhaps I was the reason of such a sudden change in his reaction, though nothing about his glare betrayed whatever was going on inside the man's head.

A young girl walked in our direction, trying hard to avoid Sihtric's eyes. She was skinnier than the others, with skin as white as snow and several bruises dyeing the flesh around her neck, making it no surprise that she was so afraid of the drunken warriors surrounding her. But she was there to serve drinks and so she would.

Her trembling hands made their best to hold the jar firmly and fill his cup, avoiding eye contact with the fearsome man before me. Yet when she was done and ready to escape, his hand wrapped around her wrist.

For whatever reason, I felt as if fire burnt inside of me; but I couldn't recall what was causing such a feeling, nor could I stop myself from standing up, as if something else was controlling my body.

—You're too pretty to be working at this stinking alehouse. —He said while pulling her closer, watching as the poor girl's panic intensified. —There's nothing to fear, woman, wouldn't you rather be with me than serving all these bastards?

There was a glimpse of a smile on his face, despite the terror in her eyes. He was a good man, for a drunken fool, and would've easily let her go if asked to: but that's not what those women were used to around there, so she was desperately looking for a way out.

So I took his mug in my own hand, spilling all its content on the floor. And his confused reaction was priceless.

—You better have a real good reason for that bullshit, y/n. —He stood up, freeing the girl's wrist, though she was still too frightened by him to go away.

—You're trying to hump some random girl and expect me to act as if I didn't care? —I asked with pride in my voice, though struggling to figure out what those words were supposed to mean.

He frowned again, probably trying to remain offended but failing miserably as a silly smile appeared on his face.

—We're supposed to be together, don't you remember, my love? —My words made no sense, yet they seemed sufficient for him, even if Ivarr and Ubba were too far from us to hear anything we were saying.

—Right! —His eyes widened up and he quickly took a step further from the girl, resting his hand on the messy table. —It's just that I'm so in love with you and to touch you would mean to ruin your pure beauty.

To this day I still don't quite remember what happened that night, nor do I recall when did the scared girl left us and ran back to the owner of that shithole of an alehouse. But I do, however, remember how he started to laugh mid-lie and looked down on his empty mug, only to remember I was the cause of it.

—Or perhaps my dear husband struggles to use his plow sword with his beloved wife. —I snarled back and once again he let out a noisy laugh then went quiet when he realized I had meant no compliment by that.

—Are you challenging me? —He asked with a playful smirk, leaning closer as I wrapped my arms around his neck and tangled my fingers on his hair.

My heart was beating hard: surprised at the shiver running through my body as I felt his skin on the tip of my fingers. And, for the first time since I’ve met him, something about his gaze felt different.

The candle light reflected on his face, his brown eye looking warm and inviting while the other side was ever bright, sea waters dancing within his eye.

His breath smelt of ale and his hands were getting a little too comfortable around my waist, but that didn’t stop me from reaching for his lips; even as he teased me, pressing the tip of his nose to my cheek, but avoiding my touch.

Sihtric’s kiss was full of warmth and necessity, feeling as his hands roughly pressed me onto his body. So I gave in.

[unlockyourmind-wp]

OF STORM AND SIEGE | FINAN X OC | CHAPTER EIGHT

Summary: Eldrid Byrnjarssdottir is born a storm. Her rage is like the wind beating the waves on the rocks. Her love is the thunder burning down entire forests. Her grief is like a hurricane, destroying the land with its raindrops. She isn't made for a soft or quiet life.

In her fight to find her enslaved mother and sister she has gained a merciless reputation amongst the Danes. Soon her fight leads her to the Saxon lands across the sea. There she is sought out by Young Ragnar who is looking for his brother Uhtred of Bebbanburg. Eldrid swears to Ragnar she will help him find his brother, unaware that finding Uhtred and his companion will change her life forever.

When they rescue Uhtred and his friend Irishman Finan the Agile, Eldrid's wild heart is confronted with a whole new path to follow. Finan seems determined to agitate her as much as possible, if only to break her walls and get her to smile. And no matter how much she might wish to bash his head in sometimes, Eldrid can't turn away from him. For maybe them meeting is what destiny had intended to happen all along.

DESTINY IS ALL.

Author’s note: Chapter 8 has arrived! First of all I want to apologise for the lack of action in this chapter. I hope it isn't too boring. I just didn't think it would make sense for Eldrid to join in this fight. I hope you guys still enjoy it though! I still loved writing it because the flirting between Finan and Eldrid is growing more and more intense ;) Please don’t hesitate to share your thoughts on this chapter. I’d love to hear from you guys!

Tag List:  @solinarimoon @mrsalwayswrite @lauwrite1225 @magravenwrites @emilyhufflepufftlk @iamfandomnerd @trenko-heart​  @abzidabzy

Of Storm And Siege Masterlist

―♛―

CHAPTER EIGHT:

✧. ⋆ lady wolf

A DELEGATION HAD BEEN WAITING FOR THEM AT THE PALACE THAT MORNING. Eldrid felt a little uneasy having so many unfriendly eyes on her. But now that they had left the city far behind them, she was finally starting to breathe a little easier. Though the words of the king still haunted her thoughts, the prospect of seeing her brother and her men made her feel a lot better. Soon, she'd be amongst her own people again. She had her fill of Saxons for a while.

Green hills stretched out around them as far as the eye could see. A soft breeze made the grass sway and tugged at her long, unbound hair. Eldrid would've been perfectly content with the wind and the hooves of their horses as the only sounds to keep them company. Sadly, the king's nephew Aethelwold decided to open his mouth.

"When will we have sight of Eoferwic? I have never ridden for so long nor so far."

"Have you a sore arse, Lord?" Steapa asked, causing a few soldiers to laugh. None of them had been very pleased with Alfred's decision to send his nephew to speak for him. As they were all very fond of reminding him at every possible opportunity; he was a turd.

"I have a sore everything," Aethelwold continued, either ignoring or missing the mocking tone of the question. "I need a woman to rub and bathe me."

"You should've brought more silver then," Eldrid spoke through gritted teeth.

Behind her, Finan chuckled, but he quickly managed to mask it with a cough when Aethelwold glared at him. Though the mischievous sparkle within his eyes did not fade. In fact, it only seemed to become brighter when he noticed Eldrid looking at him.

"We will be stopping soon enough," Uhtred said calmly.

"At Eoferwic?" Beocca asked. The fact that he needed to ask at all was enough indication of the answer he expected to get.

"We ride first for Loidis."

"What awaits us at Loidis?" Aethelwold asked skeptically.

Uhtred and Ragnar looked at each other, before the latter replied: "We shall see."

Eldrid couldn't hold back a smile. Despite the king's orders, Uhtred clearly hadn't forgotten his blood feud. Which was a good sign. She'd been right to trust his anger at Kjartan was as fierce as her own. They wouldn't rest until he was sent to Helheim.

"Need I remind you, that first and foremost our purpose here is the King's business," Beocca pressed.

"Nothing has changed but our path, Beocca," Uhtred reassured him.

"We shall see."

They rode for most of the day, only stopping once to feed the horses. Pretty soon, Eldrid learned to ignore Aethelwold's complaining. She found his voice blended perfectly with the noises of the insects hiding in the grass. Instead, she kept close to Hild, enjoying the company of the warrior nun more with each passing day. Though she would never admit such a thing out loud.

"What did the king want to speak with you about?" Hild asked as they descended another hill. "Or do you not wish to tell me?"

Her eyes scoured the horizon as if she would somehow find the words to describe king Alfred's offer written among the clouds. "I was told to either fight for him or be forcefully removed from his lands." She looked at the nun. "More or less."

Hild frowned, many thoughts seemed to pass through her mind before she replied. "I expected as much. Steapa will have told him of your skill. You're valuable to him."

"I do not wish to be valuable to him," she sneered. Then took a measured breath to calm herself. "He seems to believe that me helping to free Uhtred was an act of rebellion against my people. But he's wrong. It was an act of service to Ragnar."

"So, if we do manage to kill Kjartan, your only options are to either join him or fight him," Hild concluded.

"It would seem so." Eldrid straightened her shoulders. "But I have a third option."

Hild raised a brow. "Which is?"

Her features hardened. "As soon as my blood feud with Kjartan is settled I will return to Denmark. I have no interest in getting caught up in the politics of the Saxons."

For a moment it seemed as though Hild wanted to say something but she pursed her lips and remained quiet. Her silence made Eldrid shift with unease. She hated unspoken words and whispered secrets, for they always seemed to come back to haunt her somehow.

The day was coming to an end when they finally reached Loidis. It was a small village and yet its roman walls stood proud and strong. They followed the main road into the town until they were halted by two familiar figures waiting for them. With a smile Eldrid dismounted her horse and walked towards her brother.

"Glad to see the Saxons have left you in one piece," Bjorn laughed as he wrapped his arms around her.

"The King almost didn't," she said, smirking at his stunned expression.

"You brought friends?" Brida joined in. "They serve Alfred"

Eldrid turned to look at her, watching as the woman glared daggers at Ragnar.

Ragnar sighed. "Do we have men?"

Brida nodded, despite looking slightly annoyed at his avoidance of her question. "Some. This way."

They left their horses in the care of a stableboy and followed Brida into a tavern. The small room was completely packed with Danes. Her heart was set aglow at the sight of them and all of her worries about Alfred's threat finally disappeared from her mind. As soon as their presence was noticed, the entire room erupted into cheers. Fists were slammed against the table and feet were stamped against the ground. The noise washed over her like a tidal wave and embraced her with the comfort of home.

"I didn't think so many would come," Ragnar said. She couldn't remember ever seeing a bigger smile on his face. It must be such a relief to see that even after being held captive by a Saxon king, his men would still return to him.

"Ragnar!" One of the men cried out.

Immediately the room fell silent. Eldrid watched as a tall Dane with long brown hair rose from his seat. Slowly the man approached Ragnar.

"Rollo," Ragnar said with a nod.

"What makes you think we're here for you?" Rollo questioned.

He reached Ragnar and Eldrid felt herself smiling before it even happened. The men laughed when they dropped the act. The room broke out into cheers as they fell into each other's arms. Her smile transformed into a genuine laugh. This was where she belonged, with these loud and joyous people. Not in those silent and cold hallways of the Saxons.

"Drinks all around!" Ragnar shouted.

Apparently it was possible for the Danes to cheer even louder because the very ground seemed to shake upon his declaration. She grinned and then walked up to her men to greet them.

Kara stood up, her trusted white owl seated on her shoulder. "The time has finally come," her raven-haired friend said, smiling.

"It has," Eldrid said, nodding. "I trust the men are willing to join the Saxons in battle, just this once?"

Kara looked around, her smile widening as she nodded. "They are. If fighting along the Saxons is what has to be done to kill Kjartan, they will do so. They trust Ragnar and he trusts Uhtred. We will follow without complaint."

"And I thank you for it."

"Eldrid, Uhtred, over here!" Ragnar called out, He gestured for them to join him at an empty table.

She patted Kara's shoulder before walking over towards her friend and taking a seat beside him. Almost immediately a servant placed a jug of ale in front of her, which she gratefully took. Their Saxon travel party joined them at the table.

"How is the spirit amongst the men?" Ragnar asked, turning to look at Brida.

Brida took a long sip of her ale before replying: "Good. They're ready to march on Dunholm."

"There is another battle to be fought first," Uhtred said.

Brida raised a brow.

"Alfred sent me north to restore Guthred's authority. To do so we will have to face the brothers Sigefrid and Erik first."

Eldrid sighed and took a big sip of her ale. She refused to let her men die for Alfred's wishes. She ordered Bjorn to gather them here so they could march on Dunholm, not to fight the Northmen in Guthred's name.

"Guthred is seen as weak and friendless," Brida said, her voice venomous. "These men won't fight the brothers for a turd."

"We need the turd's army to take Dunholm," Uhtred pressed.

"So why not kill the Northmen, then kill the turd, take Eoferwic and its army for yourself?"

"Sounds like music to my ears," Eldrid said, earning a smirk from Brida.

"Agreed," Finan weighed in, "she's got a point."

"No, she does not have a point," Beocca snapped. "Those are the words of a traitor."

Brida simply laughed.

"I don't want Eoferwic," Ragnar spoke up, putting an end to the discussion. "All I want is Kjartan's heart on the end of my sword and to see my sister."

"We will need Guthred's army," Uhtred persisted.

"I promised these men silver and the glory of avenging your father," Brida said, turning to look at Ragnar. "Don't dishonor them by getting them killed for Guthred, the turd." Her eyes were glued to Beocca's face upon saying those last words, carefully watching his reaction. For the monk wasn't very skilled at hiding his true thoughts and feelings.

"I certainly won't dishonor my men," Eldrid added sharply. "We won't join you to fight Guthred."

"You're right," Uhtred said.

She frowned. Wasn't he the one declaring they had to fight Alfred's war?

Beocca sat up straight. "What do you mean 'she's right?'"

"Beocca they're right. These men are here for Ragnar and Eldrid, we can't ask them to die for the likes of Guthred."

"Isn't it what Danes do, fight?" Aethelwold mumbled, sounding almost bored.

"Don't speak of matters you do not understand," Eldrid hissed, glaring at him from across the table. She was growing tired of being insulted by Saxons.

The boy shifted uneasily in his seat but still managed to get his next words out. "We cannot face the brothers alone."

"Why not?"

"Finan, there is bravery and then there is stupidity," Aethelwold replied, glaring at the Irishman.

Finan ignored him. "The Northmen have a camp, do they not? Not a fortress, but an open camp?" He leaned across the table. "If it is Sigefrid and Erik we must kill, then let us just do that. We kill them while they're sleeping."

"Well, well," Eldrid said as she crossed her arms over her chest, eyes examining his face. "Who knew Irishmen had guts after all?"

A small smirk tugged at his lips. "You know how to bite, Lady Wolf." He winked. "You should see me in battle."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Is that a threat?"

He faked a pained expression. "Oh no, I would never." Then he flashed her a grin. "It's an invitation."

She held his gaze, feeling tempted to give in. She refused to let her men go into battle for that turd of a Guthred, but who was to say she couldn't join herself? No matter how much she hated to admit it, Uhtred was right. They didn't have enough men to face Kjartan and Guthred was the only one who could provide them with more. After all, Uhtred had trained those men. She was certain they would much rather fight for him than for their cowardly king.

"We could use a warrior like you," Ragnar said, his signature amused smile on his face. He knew she wasn't one to shy away from a challenge. She was much too prideful for that.

"Very well," she got to her feet. "Someone has to make sure you don't get yourselves killed before we face Kjartan. I will see you at sunrise."

She made her way upstairs to a room Bjorn had prepared for her. But the night passed without her getting any sleep, she rarely did before a fight. Finan had surprised her with his plan, still it wouldn't be easy to invade a camp filled with Northmen. The brothers were exceptional warriors. They wouldn't easily be overpowered. But it was their only hope to secure an army without too much bloodshed. Her blood feud was the only thing that mattered now.

Dawn came with gray clouds and a thick curtain of rain. They set out with just their traveling party towards the camp of the brothers. Which, according to Ragnar's spies, was located in the woods north of Loidis. By the time they got there, her armor was soaked and her hair plastered to her face. They left the horses behind and continued on foot, hiding in an abandoned shed from which they could perfectly observe the camp.

Between the trees up ahead stood countless tents, spread out across a glade without much of a pattern to it. She sucked in a breath. It wouldn't be easy to find the brothers without waking up any of the others.

"I see three on watch," Uhtred whispered from her right. "The rest will be huddled inside their furs."

"There could be more, behind the tents, sitting low," Ragnar countered.

Brida shook her head. "I don't have a good feeling about this. Which tents are full and which are empty?"

"And in which tent is Sigefrid, which is Erik?" Ragnar added. "We are blind."

The rain filled the silence as each of them rattled their thoughts for the best course of action. Surprisingly to all of them, it was Aethelwold who spoke first. "Tafl. The game Tafl. The king is positioned at the center of the pieces. I would say that tent there-" he pointed towards a large white tent in the middle, "is the king."

"From any other mouth it'd make perfect sense," Finan said, the first to recover from his surprise.

"It is perfect sense," Aethelwold snapped.

Uhtred sighed. "I will go in alone."

Ragnar shook his head. "No, we go in as agreed, together."

"We cannot risk the both of us being killed."

"Yes, we can."

Uhtred turned to look at his brother. "This is for Alfred. You must save your sword for Kjartan."

Steapa stepped forward. "If it is for Alfred, I will go with you."

"And me," Finan added. "It was my bastard plan." He turned to look at her with a raised brow. "What about you, Lady Wolf?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. If she refused to join him, he might think her a coward but this fight was a risk. If she were to die here she would never be able to see her blood feud through. This wasn't the right time to stare death in the face.

"I shall have to accept your invitation another time," she told him.

"I will hold you to that." He grinned at her and she quickly looked away so the warmth that had appeared in her stomach would disappear again. She had no time for such distractions.

"And I shall wish you all the best of luck," Aethelwold said.

Eldrid looked at Hild, who simply shook her head with shared annoyance for the boy.

"If you get caught?" Brida asked.

"Do nothing," Uhtred ordered.

Ragnar scoffed, making Uhtred grip his shoulder tightly. "Ragnar, think only of our blood feud and of Thyra."

The three men reached for their weapons. Just before they set out towards the camp, Finan stopped at Steapa's side and patted his shoulder. "Hope you're light on your feet, big man."

Eldrid looked away from him before he'd see her smile and watched as they disappeared into the rain. With her fist clenched firmly around the hilt of her sword to contain her nerves, she stared through the curtain of water pouring down from the heavens.

Steapa was the first to reach one of the guards. It turned out he was indeed light on his feet because he managed to sneak up behind him and slit his throat without the guard ever noticing. On the other side of the camp, Finan took care of another, allowing Uhtred a free path towards the tent in the middle.

That was when they disappeared from her sight and she was left standing there to wait. She absolutely despised this feeling of uselessness but she knew she'd made the right choice. She had to stay alive to see her revenge through.

The silence seemed to drag on endlessly, until a high and panicked voice finally raised the alarm. A woman came running out of the tent Uhtred had entered, screaming: "Raiders! Raiders!"

Steapa knocked her down while he and Finan hurried towards the entrance of the tent, hoping to help Uhtred with whatever he was planning.

Soon enough the Northmen had appeared out of their tents, their weapons raised as they gathered around the enemies.

Then, finally, Uhtred appeared.

He had his sword against Sigefrids throat, forcing the man to his knees. He was clutching his hand and even from this distance Eldrid could see the blood. He no longer had a hand.

Beside her, Ragnar started to move but Brida managed to pull him back.

"They'll be slaughtered where they stand," Ragnar told her, breathing heavily.

"And you with them," Brida reasoned. "You save your sword for Kjartan."

The Northmen had encircled Uhtred and the others but had not yet dared to attack.

"Erik, I swear I'll kill him and be damned what follows!" Uhtred shouted.

Her heart was racing as she awaited Erik's response.

"No one is to move!" The Northman shouted. "No one! Stand still!"

"Kill him!" Sigefrid tried to shout but his voice was weak. "Kill him!"

"No one's to as much as raise their sword!" Erik ordered again. "Uhtred you will spare him!"

"Steady your men!" Uhtred shouted.

"Back! Hold!"

Eldrid hardly believed what she was witnessing. They might just be able to walk away from this...

"Uhtred, you will spare my brother. Name your price."

"Kill him, Erik!" Sigefrid shouted. "Kill him I say!"

But Erik shook his head. "Sigefrid, there will be another day! Another time! Uhtred, name your price. It will be done, I swear. I give you my word! Kill him and you kill yourself."

"Your word?" Uhtred shouted.

"I swear! Believe me." And he put down his sword.

Uhtred nodded. "You will take one ship and you will leave Northumbria. One ship! You will not return!"

"For my brother's life, this is done," Erik agreed.

A trembling breath left her lips. Slowly she was starting to understand why the Saxon raised as a Dane was such a force to be reckoned with.

[arcielee]

This is just lovely. 💜

Sanctuary

(Osferth x fem Reader)

Summary: The night before he leaves for battle Osferth seeks comfort from you.

(Baby Monk has stolen my heart so I had to write something for him. I'm only on season 3 of TLK so this version of Osferth is mostly based on the ending of season 2)

Word count: +3100

Warning: 18+ for explicit content and language. Virgin Osferth, cock warming, seriously so much cock warming I have no idea where that came from but it's his thing now.

Comfort smut (cause apparently that's my thing), lots of fluff and cuddling. Uhtred is the best wingman. Quite a bit of angst as well, I may need to write a Part 2 ;)

***

All my fics are also on AO3

***

It was a quiet night in the ale house of Winchester where you served the customers. The majority of the crowd that night already went home hours ago, it was only Uthred’s men that hung around a little longer, wanting to prolong their last night before preparing for battle.

The group had settled in your little town a couple of months ago and they had quickly become your favorite regulars. Unlike some other locals they always treated you with respect, even when they had too much to drink they never forgot their manners. Both Finan and Sihtric as well as Uhtred had jumped in numerous times to help you deal with rude or too handsy drunken assholes and you had come to respect their group not only for their strength as warriors but mostly for their kindness. Having them around made you feel safer.

You were cleaning up behind the counter when Uthred came to you.

“Lady Y/N,” he leaned against the bar, greeting you with a big smile,”We will be out in a little while, I am sorry for keeping you here so late tonight.”

“That’s alright, I know you guys are leaving tomorrow. And I have no one waiting for me at home so…take all the time you need.”

He looked at you and shook his head,”How does a lady like you have no one waiting for her at home?”

You put down the glasses you’d been cleaning and gave him a smile,”I don’t know, the men in this town are idiots.”

“They must be,” he agreed, making you smile.

“Did you come here to flatter me or was there something else you wanted to ask?”

“Actually…I did have a question for you.”

You leaned against the bar to look at him,”Ask away.”

“We are leaving for battle tomorrow.”

“Yes, I have heard. Again?” you raised your eye brows at him.

He shook his head with a small grin,”Unfortunately again.”

“What do you need?”

“It is not me,” he explained,”But my friend…your favorite baby monk.”

You couldn’t help your lips from curling up into a smile at the mention of him. “What’s with my favorite baby monk?”

“He is very anxious tonight.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on him all the time and show him some more compassion.”

“He does not need compassion from me, my lady, that would not benefit him.”

“And what would benefit him then?” you asked, knowing precisely where he was going with this but wanting to hear him say it.

“Maybe…he just needs someone to be soft with him, tonight.”

“Be soft with him, huh? Uthred of Bebbanborg, you’d better not be suggesting what I think you are…”

He lifted his hands in innocence,”I would never suggest such a thing, my lady. I am merely…opting that maybe you could offer him some…comfort on this difficult night.”

You rolled your eyes at him,“I’m thinking maybe you should ask someone in the house next door.”

He was quick to shake his head at your words,“That is not the kind of comfort he seeks. I think he would much prefer…someone he knows well…someone he likes.”

You stayed quiet.

“You know he has the biggest soft spot for you,” Uthred then added, putting a smile on your face.

“Yes, I do.”

“And you for him?” he asked.

You sighed and smiled softly. “Maybe, yes,” you confessed.

Uhtred smiled. “Well then, he is by the river, just outside of the castle walls, should you wish to find him. Don’t tell him I sent you.”

****

You found Osferth an hour later by the river just as Uhtred said, sitting in the grass by himself, eyes fixated on the water in front of him. It was dark but still warm, the summer breeze a welcome solace after another hot summer’s day.

When you moved closer you could see he was clutching at his cross and his eyes were teary. Year heart sank.

You had come to care for the monk more than you’d ever expected over the course of the past months. The most quiet one out of Uhtred’s group with his sweet smile and innocent eyes, he had caught your attention quite early on and stole your heart just as easily. The two of you had built a friendship that involved a lot of playful flirting but neither of you ever crossed that line. You knew his group was only passing through and you had no intention of getting involved with someone who was likely going to leave soon. You had known enough heartbreak already in your short life.

But tonight you didn’t care about any of that. Looking at him now you just wanted to crawl into his lap and cuddle up to him, kiss away his sorrow and just hold him close, in your arms, where you could keep him safe. 

You carefully stepped closer.

“May I join you?” you asked, making him look up. His lips instantly curled into a smile at the sight of you and he nodded.

You sat down next to him, close enough for your knee to bump into his. Osferth didn’t seem to mind, instead of pulling back he let his leg lean into yours.

“I didn’t see you at the tavern tonight,” you stated.

“No, I…I preferred solitude over ale tonight,” he explained, looking away from you and making you hesitate.

“Maybe I should leave you to it then.”

“No!” he was quick to grab your wrist before you had a chance to move,”No, please, don’t go.”

His eyes met yours again and you could see the tears he was trying to hide from you.

“Stay, please, my lady, stay with me,” he begged quietly, keeping his hand on your arm. 

You placed your hand over his, giving him a soft smile,”I’ll stay, as long as you want, my sweet baby Monk.”

He smiled through his tears and leaned into you, letting his head fall down onto your shoulder. You didn’t hesitate to put your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. Osferth melted into you, arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tight while he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You could feel his heartbeat against yours and after a while you also felt his tears on your skin, making you hug him even tighter.

You sat like that for quite some time, just letting him cling to you while you caressed his hair and his back, trying to soothe him. 

Uhtred hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Osferth was anxious. It took him a while to stop shaking in your arms and you gave him all the time he needed.

When he finally pulled back his eyes carefully locked with yours, his hands were firmly locked on your waist, not planning on letting go any time soon.

“We leave in the morning,” he then explained.

”Yeah, Uthred told me. You’re going with them? Into battle?”

He nodded.

“You don’t have to do that, you know? You have nothing to prove, Osferth.”

”No, I know but…I want to fight, I want to help, it’s just…,” he bit his lip and shook his head,”why am I so terrified?”

You cupped his face and pressed your forehead against his.“It’s okay to be afraid, it’s normal, they should all be afraid.”

“I just…want to be useful,” he said, letting his eyes rest on yours.

“And you are not useful if you don’t fight?”

“I don’t…”

“What about me then, huh? I don’t fight, am I not useful?”

He just stared at you before a soft smile played on his lips,”How can you think that you are not? My lady…your beauty makes my life worth living. Your smile…makes me feel like I have a reason to fight, that no matter how dark it gets there is so much light here and all I have to do is…look into your eyes to find it. You light up my whole world.”

Your heart was melting and for the first time in your life you were completely lost for words.

His hands were caressing your hips and he softly nuzzled your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he then whispered shyly,”That was too much, wasn’t it?”

You smiled and leaned into his touch.”No, it wasn’t, that was…the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You could feel him smile against your cheek and you both cuddled up to each other. You moved your fingers through his hair and Osferth sighed into it. HIs shyness disappearing a little more with every touch.

“Can I stay close to you tonight?” he then whispered into your ear.

“Yes,” you answered softly,”I’d really like that, Osferth.”

You both leaned back to look at each other. There were no more tears in his eyes now but something else, something more pressing.

“May I kiss you, my lady?” he breathed.

You nodded,”Yes, please.”

His lips found yours in a soft but needy kiss, you pulled him closer and when his tongue found yours you knew you would given him everything he wanted tonight.

You didn’t do anything more than kiss for a long time, melting into each other. His kisses were addictive and the way his hands kept caressing your back and your hair, gentle but with purpose, was only making you want him more.

“May I kiss your neck?” he asked after a while, his voice merely a whisper against your lips.

“You may kiss me everywhere you want, you don’t need to ask.”

Osferth carefully pulled you closer into his lap and you went willingly, legs on either side of him as you straddled him. He kissed your neck, soft and slow, letting his tongue trace patterns all over your skin, tasting you.

“Fuck,” you breathed,”I didn’t know monks could kiss like that.”

He smiled bashfully,”How did you expect monks to kiss then?”

“Not like that,” you breathed and bit your lip, letting your hands move through his short hair while your hips rolled against him.

It had been a while since you’d been with a man and even though you’d had a little crush on Osferth for some time now you had never imagined being with him like this. But right now, feeling his lips and feverish breath on your skin and his growing hardness between your legs, you couldn’t imagine ever thinking of anything else.

“Osferth,” you moaned his name and he bucked his hips in response.

“Is it too much, my lady? Do you need me to stop?” 

You shook your head and looked into his eyes,”No, it’s not too much. It’s…it’s not enough.”

He licked his lips while keeping his eyes on yours,“You sure?”

You nodded and moved your hips again, making his cock twitch in response.

“Give me more,” you breathed.

He kissed your lips again, hot and sloppy and with a need that matched your own. Osferth pushed your skirts up, hands finding a way underneath to cup your ass over your underwear, holding you down on his, by now fully hard, cock.

“Will you have me, my lady?” he whispered against your lips,”All of me?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He started fumbling with his own clothing, trying to get rid of the many layers between you both. Your hand slipped into his breeches to wrap around his length and stroke him slowly, Osferth’s mouth opened in the most delicious moan.

“My lady,” he whimpered,”I need…please….oh god…”

“Have you ever laid with a woman, Osferth?” you asked.

He was quick to shake his head,”No, I have not, my lady.”

Your eyes met his and you halted your movements.

“No, don’t stop, please,” he begged.

“Osferth,” you cupped his face, forcing him to look at you,”Look at me, baby. Slow down for a second, are you sure?”

He frantically nodded his head. “My lady…I want this, I’ve wanted this for a while now…with you…I want this with you. I want you.”

HIs lips found yours in a deep kiss and any hesitations you may have felt faded. You wrapped your hand around his length again, pushed your underwear aside and guided him between your legs, Osferth was quick to move his hips, pressing his erection against your clit, making you lose focus.

You moaned into his kiss, encouraging him to do it again, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds and then teasing your entrance.

“I want to feel you,” he breathed into your mouth.

You lowered yourself down on him, taking him in inch by inch. He was bigger than you’d expected, and it took you a few moments to adjust and catch your breath.

Osferth was clinging to you, burying his face against your neck, teeth grazing your skin while he breathed hard and tried to control himself. You both stayed still, bodies wrapped around each other and his cock buried deep inside of you.

“Can we…can we just stay like this?” he then asked softly,”For a while, please.”

You nodded and hugged him close, foreheads pressed together. 

“You feel so good,” he breathed,”so warm…and so safe. I just…want to stay.”

You closed your eyes and tried to calm down your breathing. The feel of him, stretching you and filling you up was heavenly but it was more than that. It was the way he touched you, so much longing in every kiss, the desperate way he clung to you and that soft fondness in his eyes every time they locked with yours. 

You had never felt so full or so wanted in your life.

You didn’t want this moment to end, didn’t want him to leave you in the morning with the prospect of him not returning to you. The thought suddenly made your heart sink with anxiety. You clung to him harder and Osferth kissed your forehead and your jaw to finally land on your lips again, his kiss slow and unhurried.

“It’s okay, my lady,” he smiled softly into the kiss.

Both of you allowed yourselves to get lost in the moment, prolonging the inevitable and doing everything you could to make it last. You forgot how long you sat there, just kissing and coming up for air to stare into each other’s eyes, the moonlight and soft waves of the river your only companions.

After some time you both lost the fight, your hips started moving against his and Osferth was quick to join you, soft little whimpers escaping his lips as he buried his face into your neck and surrendered to his needs. 

He grabbed you and slowly pushed you down onto your back on the grass. You protested when he carefully pulled out but your protest was silenced with another kiss as he pulled down both your underwear all the way, giving him easier access. 

He slid in again with ease and then he was fucking you, slowly and thoroughly, pushing into you deeper with every snap of his hips.

You moaned his name and held him close, meeting his thrusts. His lips were back on your neck, kissing and biting as his moans grew stronger and heavier. You knew he was close.

“My lady,” he whimpered,”I can’t hold back any longer.”

You grabbed his hand and pushed it between your legs.

“Touch me, here,” you begged in a needy whisper.

“Teach me,” he breathed,”Show me what to do.”

Your hand moved over his, guiding his fingers over your clit and slowly circling it,”Just touch me…like this.”

Osferth was a quick learner, he pushed your hand aside and took over, his fingers putting the perfect pressure to make you see stars. You clenched around him and with a few more deep thrusts he filled you up and came with your name on his lips. He crashed on top of you when it was over and you wrapped both arms around him to hold him in place, close to you, his head on your chest as he listened to your racing heartbeat.

He didn’t pull out for the longest time after that, still wanting to stay inside of you, neither of you wanted to move.

You were the first to eventually speak, caressing his hair and kissing his forehead,”Osferth, we shouldn’t stay here, you need your sleep if you are to leave tomorrow.”

“No sleep…all I need is you,” he whispered against your neck.

“You can sleep in my bed, if you want,” you offered with a little smile and he reciprocated instantly, lips curling up into an eager smile as he leaned back to look at you and nodded his head. You couldn’t help but laugh,”Come on then, baby monk.”

The rest of the night was spent in your bed, but it didn’t involve lots of sleeping. Osferth made love to you twice more that night, once more fast and needy in the heat of passion and then once more slowly and relaxed afterwards, the both of you relishing every touch and every caress as if it would be the last. Because it might very well be.

You both eventually fell asleep when the sun was already starting to come up, his cock still buried deep inside of you.

You said goodbye to him a few hours later, clinging to him as he stood in your doorway. You had done what you’d set out to do that night, take his anxiety from him, only you had done it literally. Osferth was calmer that morning, evidently feeling stronger and more determined than the night before. But you were shivering in his arms, feeling weaker and uneasy, terrified to let go of him and have him disappear from your life.

Being so intimate with him last night made you realize how strong your feelings for him were and now the thought of losing him was the scariest thing in the world.

“Come back to me,” you whispered in his ear.

“I promise you, my lady,” he whispered before leaning back and giving you a reassuring smile. You pulled him into one last soft kiss before letting him go.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you then sighed and avoided his eyes. 

Osferth cupped your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb while he stared deep into your eyes.“Have some faith, my love.”

But faith wasn’t your strong suit, you were a heathen, much like Uthred. Worse even, you didn’t believe in anything, not even Valhalla, yet the following weeks you were on your knees every night praying to any God that would listen, begging them to bring your baby Monk back home to you safely.