#osferth x y/n

[anjelicawrites]

Do you remember when you wrote about reader fantasising about her and osferth being king and queens and taking Aemond as there war trophy? Could we get a oneshot on that??? Not like as an au but as them actually roleplaying tho

I'm so sorry this came out this late! I hope the fic makes up for the long wait!!!

NSFW and 18 + only please.

Warnings: three people acting out a dubious consent fantasy. Everyone is happy in this scenario but, if dubious consent is not your thing, please skip this one! Oral (m receiving), balls worship, handjob, collar and leash usage, captive scenario where sex is used to trap the person in a dubious consent situation.

Your husband shall arrive soon with his newest gift from the latest city his army has conquered; he's told you to prepare yourself, that this is something you've wanted for such a long time, what you deserve after your injury in battle. To tell the truth you have no idea what he's prepared for you, the excitement sits at the pit of your stomach, heavy and warm against the bodice you're wearing.

You've styled your hair and used the sweetest fragrance you own, you've put a light dusting of makeup on your face and now you're pacing the length of the tent, waiting anxiously: you hate that you can't fight by his side, protecting him from his enemies, your injuries far too serious to accompany him anywhere near the battlefield that's not your shared tent.

You'd recognize his footsteps anywhere, you sit on the edge of the cot, hands under your thigh to still their trembling.

"My sweet beloved."

Before he can say anything else, you jump into Osferth's open arms, your legs finding their rightful place around his trim hips. Deaf to his words you cover his face in kisses like am hyperactive dog, until he manages to grab your chin one handed to stop you.

"Don't you want to receive your gift?"

His voice is deep, with an undercurrent of lust that ignites your own desire, your eyes falling only now on he leash he keeps wound around his hand.

He doesn't even wait for your response, he tugs at the leather and the most beautiful man you've ever seen steps inside the tent.

He's naked, wearing only a leather collar around his long neck, a light dusting of platinum hairs adorns his chest, abdomen and pubes, his nipples darker pink and already erect. His cock is magnificent, even flaccid as it is under your gaze, his stones heavy, the skin, you imagine, is as soft as velvet. You let your eyes wander on the wall of muscles this man is, not a ounce of fat on his lithe body, a killing machine now under your power. Only when you meet his mismatched gaze you realize the importance of the gift your husband bestowed upon you.

"Is it...?"

Osferth doesn't let you finish your question, with a jerk on the collar he forces your gift to stand closer to you

"He is, the prince Aemond Targaryen."

You squeal in happiness, jumping up and down while clapping your hands like a maniac.

You've heard tales of his beauty and marring, you've never thought Osferth would fulfill the desire to have him as your own, you once told him.

Through this whole conversation he stays as still as a statue, and silent. If he's scared or embarrassed, you can't tell.

"Has he lost his tongue?" You ask, padding closer to him. "No. He's just stubborn." "Oh, I like that."

You stand close to him, your index following the hard path of muscles on his tummy and chest. His skin is so warm, warmer than Osferth's, his body hairs soft under your finger; you know he's reacting to your proximity thanks to the blossoming of goosebumps wherever your touch lands.

"He's all mine, isn't he?" You ask your husband. "To play with when I am away." He smiles, darkly, and you know you're not going to be the only one enjoying this beautiful specimen.

You're not paying enough attention and Aemond grabs your wandering hand in a painful grip, before Osferth can do anything you stop him and stare into the lonely lilac eye boring into yours.

Under the cold mask you can see so many emotions: hate, disgust, rage, and the flame of something you can't name, yet. There is contempt in his eye, and something else you're not sure he's aware of, but you are.

You know you are beautiful, you're well aware of the power your body holds over men and women. You can see his eye darting to your breasts almost spilling over the tight neckline of your corset: he hates you, if he weren't held captive he would try to kill you, yet he can't help appreciating the spectacle of your curves, and you know it, even if he doesn't.

"Let's make a deal, you and I." You say leisurely, as if his hold isn't grinding your bones. "Let me worship your body like it deserves. If you don't make a sound, you're free to go, but if you spill the smallest whine, you're mine to keep and play with."

You can hear Osferth's intake of breath and elect to ignore it. Aemond's eye is as cold as ice as he stares at you, weighting his options with a soft humming you can barely hear; in your heart you want this beautiful specimen of a man to submit to you and let you do depraved things to him, until you both break down.

"Agreed."

His voice is ice in your ears, so cold you only want to hear him beg and whine under your caresses: you deserve it, he deserves it, your beloved husband does as well.

"Osferth, let him lie on the bed, tummy up." You order. "I'm not letting go of the leash." At that Aemond simply sneers, almost choking when Osferth pulls on the leather again. "And if you try something stupid, you're dead." "He will not." You interject, free hand grabbing Osferth's. "He'll have no brain left to do anything as soon as I am done with him." "You wish, woman."

Someone else would feel put out by Aemond's contempt, you're simply excited by the prospect of breaking his controlled exterior.

Calmly you invade his personal space, making sure your clothed breasts push against the hard planes of his chest and your lips are at level with his.

"Go lie on the bed and show me how tough you are."

You have to hide the grimace of pain when he lets go of your wrist, which feels numb now: you're going to wear his marks tomorrow, the same way he's gonna wear yours.

With precise movements, Aemond lies flat on the bed, his long legs spread, soft cock laying on one muscular thigh; he stares at you, ignoring Osferth who is laying horizontally where the pillows are to keep an eye on him, his pupil expanding against his will when you remove your small clothes and he can see the hairs there. On purpose you don't remove your corset, he hasn't yet gained the privilege to look at your naked breasts, yet.

Slowly, telegraphing your movements, you kneel between his legs, noticing how his cock is stirring to life untouched: he's making it so easy for you!

He's so tense, the strong muscles of his ankles jump when lay your hands, simply caressing the prominent bones there, before slowly following up the long lines of his muscles. You can feel the trapped energy his body holds, the anxiety for what's to come that tenses his muscles into strings ready to snap at any given moment, yet you continue your gentle ministration, trying to help him relax. His cock seems to appreciate your efforts, slowly hardening and oh! He's a grower, not that his cock wasn't impressive to begin with. Your eyes dart to his face, which is still set in that stony expression he wore the moment he set foot in your tent, what he feels betrayed by the fire in his eye.

His thighs jump when your hands approach the delicious junction with his hips, his translucent hairs so soft under your palms, you'd caress him for hours, but there's his half hard cock to look after, and his heavy balls: you don't have the whole night.

You stretch one hand and Osferth already knows what to do, his tongue licks your palm and you can see the dark smile on his face: he's been at your mercy for hours, begging and crying for you, there's no way this haughty prince will beat you at this game.

Gently you cup Aemond's half hard cock, feeling the weight and the steel under the soft velvet of his skin. With a loose, slow fist, you caress him into full hardness, paying close attention to his head, red and weepy already; under you, he bites down his lip and grabs the bedding with a desperate grip: it has been so long since...

His hips jump off the bed when the tip of your devious tongue licks his base playfully, before following the vein under his erection; you're taking your time, tasting him until all you can feel is him, masculine and heady, letting the loose 'O' of your lips envelope his cock head.

Your mouth is a furnace, he has to stop himself from whining as soon as you start taking him in, moaning at his girth, his hips trying to follow your movements when one hand grabs what you can't swallow; your touch now is stronger, angling his cock to your leisure, your mouth trailing kisses up and down his shaft, teasing him with kitten licks that have his hips jump under your face, his teeth mauling his lower lip to keep silent.

The bedding rips as soon as you start mouthing his heavy balls as you jack his cock, slowly, with a tight fist, tongue following the shape of his sacks. Aemond can feel the tears spilling from his eyes, it's so hard to keep quiet when you're devouring him, sucking on his heavy stones, moaning against his body and Gods your hand! So soft and hard at the same time, torturing him so slowly, teasingly, he can feel your touch all over his body!

The more his silence lasts, the more ravenous your hunger for him becomes, the more desperate your lips on his body kiss and mouth at his soft skin as he trembles and squirms under your ministration, his control unraveling with every passing second. You're so warm against him, the vibrations of your moans travel through his body like lightning, his cock and balls hurt with every pass yet he can't get enough of you.

A scream is tore out of him when you deepthroat him and push your thumb against his stones to separate them, index finger massaging his prostate from the outside.

Whines cascade from his lips now and broken pleas for mercy when you tighten your throat around his shaft to massage him mercilessly: you're velvet around him, you burn like fire, his abused nerves tortured by you sing and scream all over his body. Desperate Aemond tries to stop his orgasm, the band in his belly so tight it hurts to breathe, broken pants and whines all he can manage as he feels the tide growing and growing, taking his sanity away, his long body squirming under you, back arching painfully, until he comes inside of you, and you suck him, ravenous, hungry for his taste.

Aemond's body lays on the bed, chest raising and falling fast, his eye unfocused on the ceiling; he whines when you hover over him to kiss him, his seed on your tongue like ambrosia, your tongue wicked against his. He is so tired now, he just wants to sleep in your arms.

"Dōna jorrāelagon, sweet love." He whines and you immediately understand that playtime is over. "I'm here, I'm here."

You hold his bigger body tight as Osferth brackets him from behind.

"Are you all right?" He asks, concerned.

You and Osferth can see how hard it is for him to switch from High Valyrian and give him time to get his gears in motion.

"So tired." He whispers. "Take this off?"

As fast as you can, you remove your corset to let him push his face against your naked breasts.

"Is it good tired or bad tired?" You can't help but ask.

Aemond hums against you, breathing your scent in.

"Good tired."

You can feel relief wash over you. You were afraid of hurting him when he proposed to act out this little fantasy of yours, you were scared of his demons, and yours, coming out and ruin everything.

"May we continue this, later?" He asks, voice muffled by your breasts. "Anything you want." Osferth answers from behind him. "You deserve a taste of your prize, as well."

Aemond can't see Osferth's eyes cross at the thought, he's asleep between your bodies, in his dreams, he's already started to play again.

OG!Poly taglist : @fan-goddess, @notyour-valentine, @aegonx, @darylandbethfanforever9 @20thcentwriter @peachysunrize

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose

[queers-gambit]

Now and at the Hour of His Death

prompt: any who say, "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," were never loved by him.

pairing: Osferth x female!pregnant!wife!reader

fandom: The Last Kingdom

word count: 6.1k+

note: fuck you, Netflix.

warnings: you already know - author needs therapy, projects hard, pregnant wife, Lord’s name in vain, Christianity (obviously), and a fuck ton of fucking ANGST because fuck your feelings. hurt NO comfort, drama, oneshot, cursing, canon-typical violence, injury, and blood. character death and spoilers - yeah, i'm giving you THAT scene. requires maturity and caution. good luck.

also please note: NO, i do not age Osferth to be 16 - that's just a reference age for when he eventually runs away from the monastery.

again, you are missing nothing if this upsets or triggers you and you choose to skip. value your wellbeing, my angels. author is not responsible for the media YOU choose consume, but still, as usual, MDNI

"You should not be doing this sort of work," Ingrith's voice scolded you, and when you turned, you saw the blonde woman standing with her hip cocked and a stern expression. "It's bad for your health to be in such filth, we've stable boys for this sort of chore."

"I do not mind," you sniffled in the brisk air, shoveling the horse shit of the stable into a muck bucket to be dumped into the fields later. "It keeps me busy," you grunted lightly, sure to bend your knees when lifting the pitchfork, "keeps me humble," you listed, dumping the waste to grin at your friend, "and keeps me young."

"In what way?"

"Reminds me of my childhood," you eased, continuing your work. "I slept in a stable from the ages of 4 to... Oh, shit, I guess I was about 16 before I left The Loft."

"What?" She breathed in confusion. "Never knew that."

"Yeah, yeah, true story," you beamed at her, still shoveling shit. "I slept in the stalls with the horses, sometimes in the grain rooms - basically anywhere I could since my work didn't include official room and board, so, I had to make do with what was available. Then, one day when I was about ten, Old Man Rivers said I could use the hay loft if I cleared it out, fixed the rotten planks. Stayed up there till I was about 16, and after that, I kinda ran away."

"Old Man Rivers?"

You nodded, "My mother lived on his homestead, but she was real sick, you see. So, he kinda took me in without assuming responsibility for me," you cleared your throat, shrugging, "let me stay in his barn if I worked with the horses and livestock for him."

"Why would you want to be reminded of that?"

"Seems simpler when I look back."

Ingrith sighed, "C'mon, put the pitchfork down. Come help me prepare the rabbits. The scouts say the men aren't too far off, they'll want a hot meal."

You chuckled with ease and set your pitchfork aside, giving a hearty pat to one of the horse's necks as you passed by to exit the stable. Ingrith made sure you washed up before you were both mounting rabbits on the rack to start skinning them.

"Could I ask something?" She wondered after a time.

"Anything you'd like."

"Why'd you run away? From Old Man Rivers?"

You laughed, "I was in love."

"Oh, you and Baby Monk go that far back, huh?"

"Try even farther," you teased. "Our mothers were friends, and when I worked in the stable, he was in the monastery, but when he came to me, saying he couldn't do it any longer, I couldn't let him go alone. Life was supposed to offer more than what we were given, so, we set out to find the legendary barbarian, The Dane Slayer," you teased, both giggling, "our Lord, the legendary, Uhtred of Bebbanburg."

"And all this time...?" She smiled, watching you shuck hide like you've done it your whole life. Ingrith inferred you probably did.

"Yeah," you eased, "all this time, he's been by my side. Kept me close, never left me behind. The others weren't too sure about me on account of being a woman, they told us to piss off a few times - but they came around after Osferth refused to send me away."

"He's a good lad, Osferth," she nodded.

"Arguably one of the best ones," you agreed, nudging her arm gently, "but look who I'm telling, right?"

"Oh!" She giggled, swatting at you loosely before going back to your work for a moment. Suddenly, the townspeople of Rumcofa stirred to life, and over the voices, you heard them announcing their Lord's return - which meant all of your men were home. You both grinned and breathlessly left your post, Ingrith pausing a young lad to ask, "How many return to us?"

"Does it matter? Come, c'mon, let us see ourselves!" You all but squealed, overwhelmed with excitment; eager for your own reunion with the man you've loved since you were a young lass.

"Warn the alehouse!" Finan was heard shouting. "Osferth's thirsty!"

"Jesus," you laughed, dodging around the procession of people waiting to greet their warriors on their return home so you could approach the white gelding your husband rode.

His face was absolutely priceless when he caught sight of you. As Osferth eagerly dismounted, your hands smoothed over the small swell of your belly - purposefully wearing a dress that accentuated your ever-changing figure. "Am I dreaming?" He laughed, a stablehand taking hold of his horse so his hands were free to caress your belly. "Oh, my God, I'm not, 's real, oh, God," he beamed, laughing with you. "You're pregnant? Truly? Yes? I-I am not - I am not being deceived?"

"No, my love, I guess our prayers were finally heard."

"OH-HOOOO!" You heard Finan holler as Osferth finally pulled you in for a sweet kiss; both ignoring the Irishman. "Lord! LORD! Uhtred! Hey! Did you hear!? Baby Monk's got some spunk in 'im afta all!"

"Oh, God," you laughed against Osferth's lips, but he was quick to shush you with another breath-stealing kiss.

"A baby Baby Monk! AHA!" Finan was still laughing, your husband's hands caressing both your cheeks when he pulled back just in time for Finan to descend. You grunted lightly when his heavy arms dropped over both yours and Osferth's shoulders, his laugh still booming as he gave a squeeze and cooed, "Oh, congratulations, yah two love birds! Wasn't sure you had it innyah, boy!"

"Don't be so rough with her, Finan, for God's sake," Osferth scolded, nudging his friend to get out from under his arm.

"What?" Finan looked at you gobsmacked. "Sayin' I gotta treat yah different now or somethin'?"

"I didn't say that," you told him prettily with fluttering lashes, fist quickly balling up to jab him in the weak spot of his armor - making him grunt and wheeze. "Aht-aht!" You warned with a pointed finger when he flinched as if to retaliate, "Can't hit a pregnant woman."

"Oh, yeh li'l shite," Finan laughed, Osferth pushing him towards his wife so he could stand in front of you and command all attention.

Osferth took a moment to simply look at you; thumbs gently tracing over your cheeks in sweeping motions, a slow grin breaking across his lips. "This almost doesn't feel real... But how I have to praise God for this blessing. A baby," he breathed.

"A little you and me," you agreed softly. "Sound okay to you?"

"More than okay," he chuckled, pecking your lips, "sounds like a lifetime together."

"Good by me." His nose nuzzled up yours, the sweet moment broken when he sighed sadly; eyes shut and smile dropping. "What is it? What's wrong, love?" You asked, stepping into his embrace so you were nuzzled into his neck and his arms were wrapped around your form in a vice.

"Uhtred means to move us again," he whispered in your ear. "Brida, she... She's got Father Pyrlig, and - "

"What!?" You snapped, rearing back slightly to pin him under your hardened glare. Pregnancy hormones would surely give Osferth whiplash.

"My love, I did not - "

"Brida's got Pyrlig? Fuck are we standin' here for, let's go!" You reached for his hand, ready to march off.

"Uh, no, no, no, no," he pulled you back to him; anchoring his hands on your hips so you could not escape. "You are not going anywhere. Not now - especially now," he glanced at your still-growing bump. "The men will go, you know we will return, but you have this new responsibility, and that's keeping this little one safe. For us," he smiled at you.

You huffed, "I'm not unfit to do what needs done, Osferth."

"I did not say you were unfit, but look at the timing of it," he frowned. "I should've been here when you learned, but I was not, and I am truly so sorry for it. Look, I do not know how long this venture will be, but you know I will return. We've waited for our family for far too long, I will not jeopardize this - so I will return. If you go with us, and something were to happen," he shook his head, "my angel, I would never forgive myself. So I need you to stay here, stay safe, if for nothing else but for me."

"But Pyrlig - "

"Will be saved," he assured.

"And Brida - "

"Will be dealt with," he eased, chuckling lightly. "My angel, you worry too much about everyone and yet never about yourself."

You pouted, "Well, why is it just me meant to stay back? This is your child, too, Osferth, and should have the right to meet them! You can't always control what happens, accidents are real, what if you don't return - "

"Don't think like that - "

"But it's a real threat to us - "

He agreed, "Of course, but - "

"Yeah, I know," you nodded, cutting him off, "we serve Lord Uhtred. This comes first, and I'm not - "

"I've made a vow to him."

"You made one to me, too, you know."

"Angel, please, don't do this. Do not ask me to choose," he begged with a frown, and you caved.

So, with a sigh, you nuzzled into his embrace and relented, "All right, yes, fine, go after Brida and Pyrlig. And when you find them, tell him I am waiting for his safe return, he is dearly missed. Ideally, I'd have him birth our child."

"Of course," he breathed, finding a small reprieve of relief that you did not fight him further about leaving - about choosing which vow to fulfill: the one to his Lord Uhtred or the one to his wife.

Both made to God.

Luckily, Osferth married his best friend and you were never one to pick fights with him. You liked the harmony you had; the peaceful environment you had both cultivated to preserve the trust and love you built through the years. He was genuinely one of a kind; a man who walked many lines between faith, humanity, right, wrong. He was the voice of reason, constantly striving to do better than he did before, learning all he could as if a rag soaking in water. For all he was, Osferth has always been enough for you, and for that reason alone, you never felt the need to argue.

To fight. To voice contempt.

"Question," you perked up, smirking at him as your pregnancy symptoms ran a little wild, "think we've time to, you know, really give our thanks?"

"Angel - "

"What?" You grinned. "You fucked me on the alter all those weeks ago and look - your seed stuck. We might as well go give thanks in the same manner, just to really show God how thankful we are for this blessing he's given us."

"Think the Devil's gotten into you," he laughed.

"Or your child is ruining my hormones," you countered, his lips meeting yours in another passionate display of his excitement.

"C'mon," he whispered, taking your hand, and leading you to the chapel - thinking you were being sneaky, but your matching giggles made Ingrith and Finan beam at each other.

"He does know she can't get more pregnant, right?" Finan teased, flinching when Ingrith smacked his upper arm.

"WHY!?"

"My angel, please - "

"What the fuck is going on, Osferth!?"

"I'm trying to explain - "

"The Queen? The fucking Queen is dead in our village! How can that possibly be explained!?" When Osferth didn't answer, just sat in the wooden chair before the shared hearth of your humble home, you snapped, "Well!?"

"Are you finished? May I speak now?"

With a huff, you nodded and gestured for him to speak; arms crossing around your swollen tits. He explained to you the reason for Haesten's arrival, the wagon his men toted, and why he brought the Queen's dead body to the settlement of Rumcofa. He told you Haesten wanted to keep the peace when King Edward found out, claiming Uhtred's son-in-law, Stiorra's husband, Sigtryggr, had ordered this death - thinking war would surely roll over his lands.

You never knew Haesten to be a generous man, nor much of an honest one, but it seemed the severity of the situation made everyone eerily on-edge. Uhtred dispatched his men; leaving Finan and Osferth in the village with you, developing a plan that would save both Saxon and Danish life. And yet, it was all futile when evil forces worked against good.

You didn't feel safe in Rumcofa anymore, there was a stench in the air; tension that mounted to embrace all residents with discomfort. Something was about to happen, but nobody knew what. You didn't claim or pretend to know what was happening, but Haesten's abrupt appearance spelled danger for everyone involved. So, as a security measure, you kept a long sword buckled around your swelling waist and a dagger strapped under your skirts. With Lord Uhtred gone, there was no invisible fence protecting Rumcofa - leaving it up to you, Osferth, Finan, and Cynleaf to pose as guard.

Yet you'd never be enough.

Like the surf over sand, a group of angered men descended on Rumcofa. "Who's men are yah?" Finan asked, you lingering at Osferth's side to watch the interaction from a short distance.

"We come from the King," a burly Saxon replied, your head cocking in interest - swearing you've seen him before. "Dane murderers are hiding here and you must hand them over."

"You're mistaken, sir," you kindly offered, the man's eyes shifting over you, "because we live in peace. Any murderers have surely moved on from here. We do not host them."

The man growled, "Don't think that's true, love."

Finan held a hand back at you, meeting your eyes and nodding simply. He turned back for the man in fur, diverting, "Of course, my men will attend to it."

Finan turned from the group, his eyes connecting with yours as he passed by. There was urgency, a quickened pace he adopted; having no intention to hand anyone over, wanting to remove these men without bloodshed. However, that was a distant thought because Father Benedict tried to assure the Saxon leader that nobody in Rumcofa would murder Queen Aelflaed.

You wanted to step in when the Saxon evidently didn't know about the Queen's demise - getting in Benedict's face and demanding to see what he spoke of.

"No, no, no," you muttered nervously, "he can't see the body, love, no, no, no, this is bad. Very bad."

"We can't stop Father Benedict without altercation," Osferth whispered back, keeping a tight hold of your hand, just watching the group. "If something happens, you need to get yourself safe."

"How do we truly know they're from Edward? What credentials do they have?" When Osferth shook his head, you worried, "Got a bad feeling 'bout this, angel."

Then the violence began.

The strange men took charge when their leader walked away, starting to physically harass the citizens; making both you and Osferth step in to try and diffuse the tension. You pushed men off unarmed women, got in between them and the children, did what you could without drawing a weapon.

When a man shoved you away from him, Finan wrangled him away, sneering, "Get yer hands off of her!" He kept the violent men at bay for a moment, telling you, "You need to go, darling - "

"Not now, Fin, look around us! We need to contain the situation, you'll need all hands you can get," You snapped, the two of you forced to part way.

Osferth panted nervously and looked left and right, turning to meet the Saxon and demand, "Tell your men to stand down!" But then, his eyes squinted when you joined his side to pull him back a step or two, recognizing him just as you did.

"I don't think they're here for the Queen, love," you heaved for breath in warning, still backing him up. "They've planned this."

"Finan!" Osferth barked, "These men have been here before!"

The Saxon roared over the fray, "Danes of Rumcofa have murdered our Queen!" His men jeered in anger, making Finan brandish both swords and for Osferth to push you back further from the attention. "Do your duty and rid the cockles from the wheat!"

You were left no choice. Osferth and you both armed yourselves, starting to fight off the Saxons as their leader demanded Danes and Christians be separated. You were unable to help, engaged in battle, but Young Uhtred gathered the Danes and begged Father Benedict to declare the church a sanctuary - thinking it would save lives.

It was only leading the Danes to slaughter.

The Saxon, Bresal, punched Father Benedict when he tried to stand in the way; his men holding Young Uhtred in the doorway to let their men enter the church the Danes were gathered in. They forced Young Uhtred to watch the massacre - men, women, and Danish children all slaughtered with no escape. No hope. No answer to a single prayer. Nobody to stop this bloody situation.

You fought on, Osferth, Finan, and Cynleaf doing their best to protect you by keeping you in the middle of their wee group. But you still got plenty of action.

"This is madness!" You cried out, slicing a man's throat open. "We need aid! We need more men!"

"This way!" Finan encouraged, "We must cut a path for Ingrith! Check the docks! Check the docks!"

You and Osferth ran towards the water, Cynleaf not far away. You searched for Ingrith, but you had no time to linger; engaged one-on-one again, forced to protect yourself and unborn baby. Not a minute later, you saw Ingrith on horseback, being stalled by a Saxon and for your husband to rush to her aid. He punched the man away from the horse, you hacking at another enemy, in time to see Osferth engaging with two Saxons - one being the leader, Bresal.

It all happened so fast.

You were already racing towards them when the unexpected. Osferth was battling on two fronts, holding Bresal at bay, fending off the other Saxon, screaming for Ingrith, who only managed a few paces before the Saxon's dogs spooked her horse. The noise was deafening; people screaming, crying, dogs barking, horses whinnying, swords singing as they clashed.

You watched it happen in slow motion.

You sprinted faster than ever before.

"INGRITH!" Osferth bellowed in worry when her horse reared back and dropped her to the dirt. It left an opening for Bresal to stab his dagger into Osferth's lung - freezing time and wrecking your world.

"NO!" You screamed, Bresal smirking at you and yanking his dagger free. Osferth wobbled, eyes wide as he met yours, the Saxon walking away as Osferth dropped to his knees. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Oh, God, no, no, you can't take him - not yet! Please, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," You repeated, sliding on your knees in the dirt to catch him. "No, no, oh, my God, no, Osferth, no, please! Not now, not now, please, no, God, no! Don't do this! Please, please, please," you rambled, readjusting to better hold him, hearing Cynleaf and Finan yell for Baby Monk, too. You raged at God, "You can't take him yet! You can't have him! He's mine!"

But you heard nothing except your husband's labored breathing.

"An-Angel, angel, my angel," Osferth choked, wheezing and crying as he couldn't hold himself up and completely slumped back into your body. He pawed at your arms in an attempt to get closer.

"No, no, no, you're all right, you're okay, you're okay, my sweet love, you're all right," you insisted, hands stained in his blood as it poured from his wound. You knew it was essential to add pressure to a wound, but also, that this was all futile. Yet you needed to try. "Hey, hey, hey, look at me, just look at me, sweetheart, please, only look at me, nothing else matters," you pleaded with him in a rush, the lads sprinting to where you held your husband to your lap.

Nobody interrupted you.

"Where's the wound?" Osferth sobbed, trembling, blood spurting from his mouth; going paler by the minute. "Angel, please, the wound? Where's the wound?"

"No, no, no, don't worry 'bout that, hey? Don't you worry, you just keep looking at me," you sobbed, holding his neck and cradling him to your swollen belly. "Just at me, my love, okay? Just look at me - don't look anywhere else, okay? Nothing else matters."

"H-How bad? How ba-ba-bad-bad is i-it?"

"You're going to be all right," you lied to Osferth for the first time.

"Oh, my God, oh, my God," Osferth repeated through his tears and fears, "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die."

He held onto you desperately, sobbing, you slowly rocking. "No, you're all right, Osferth, it's okay, just look at me." You caressed his cheek, smearing blood, but locking eyes. "My love," you whispered, "listen to me - "

"I don't wanna die, please, please, angel, my love, please," he coughed, holding your arm tightly as if it would give him life. "Don't let me die," he wheezed, "don't let me die, my love, please, please. Don't let me die, I don't wanna die. I-I wanna meet our baby, please, I want to meet our baby, I want to be a father. Don't let me die, love, please, I-I wanna be your husband longer - "

"You'll never not be my husband and you'll never not be a father, hear me?" You sniffled, trying to smile at him. "Don't you worry, you're gonna be okay, you're okay, Osferth. You'll always be my husband, nothing will change that - I swear."

Blood pumped with each beat of his frantic heart, making it gush over your fingers. You didn't even feel it.

"Please," he choked, more blood bubbling from his lips, "don't let me die, I don't wanna die. Don't let me die, please, not now, not when our baby isn't here yet, please, I just wanna meet 'em, be a family, I wanna stay with you, don't let me go. Please, don't let me go, I don't want t'go! Don't let me - "

"Shh, it's okay, you're okay. I'm here with you. I'm right here, Osferth, you're not alone, you're never alone. I'm here. I've got you. I'll always have you, I won't ever let you go. Never."

He sobbed harder. "I don't wanna leave you. Please, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna be without you - " But the words choked him, a splatter spraying across your face when he coughed; you didn't even flinch.

"Listen to me," you begged, "I commend you, my dear, sweet husband, to Almighty God, and entrust you to your Creator."

Finan was heard behind you, retching jarring sobs as you read Osferth his death rite prayer. "Don't let me die," Osferth begged still, as if you held that power.

He had always looked at you as if you hung the sun and stars, and now, as if you were his very reason for living. You hated God in that moment for forcing you two through this.

"May you return to Him who formed you from the dust of the earth. May Holy Mary, the angels," now, you choked on your words, emotion clawing your throat, but still continued, "and all the saints come to meet you as you go forth from this life. May Christ who was crucified for you bring you freedom and peace." You sobbed, "May Christ who died for you admit you into His garden of paradise. May Christ, the true Shepherd, acknowledge you as one of His flock. May He forgive all your sins, and set you among those He has chosen. Amen. Please, please, say amen, Osferth, say it, please!"

"A-Amen - Amen!" He coughed, trying to get closer to you, nestling into your warmth as he felt impossibly cold. "Don't leave me, don't leave me, please, please, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna be alone. I can't go without you, please, don't let me go - don't let me die, angel, please, I can't go without you. I-I’ve never been without you my whole life, I don’t wish to start now. I love you. I-I love you, please, don't let me go, I love you. I need you."

"You'll never be without me," you promised, face coated in blood, grime, dirt, and ash; all streaked with your tear tracks. "You will always be my husband, hey? Hear me? You're always gonna be with me, I will never be apart from you. I'll love you forever, Osferth, I won't ever stop." You felt your chest cave in as you sobbed, "Please, don't you leave me - "

But Osferth was wheezing and panting, only staring up at you. "I only need you," he whimpered, "I've only ever needed you, I can't do this without you. Please, I can't - I can't go without you. I don't want to leave you, I can't leave you, please!'

"So don't leave me," you sobbed, him still clawing at you in desperation. "I love you more than life, Osferth, please, don't leave me, okay? Don't go. I love you so much. Being loved by you was my greatest pleasure in this life, I want our child to know your love, too, Osferth, please, don't go."

"I-I wanna meet our baby, I wanna hold 'em, love 'em," he repeated. "Please, this can't be the end, don't let this be the end. W-We have so much more - we were supposed to have eternity together, my love, my angel, please! This isn't the end, I can't - I can't go without you!"

"You're okay," you soothed uselessly, rocking more prominently. "Just stay with me, my love, okay? Stay with me. Don't go. Only look at me, all right? You hear me?" You sniffled, caressing his cheek. "You're the best thing in my life, Osferth, yeah? Understand me? Where you're going, y-you'll be welcomed a hero, with open arms. You'll be my own angel. My real angel. The reason I keep going for our child. An-And you'll stay there just for a little while until I join you, okay? You'll watch over us, me and the baby, right? Our own angel? Hey? 'Cause you'll never be part from us - you'll never be apart from me. You and I are a forever sorta thing, we'll never be apart, we'll always be part of each other no matter what."

Osferth lost his words, eyes widening and pulling you closer.

You just soothed, "I'm here with you, my love. I'm here, I've got you. You're not alone, I'm right here, I have you. I've got you. I love you. I love you so fucking much, Osferth, okay? I love you more than anything, you're my everything. I love you," you sniffled, breaking down in worse sobs, repeating, "I love you, I love you, I love you so much, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I wasn't faster, I love you, this shouldn't be happening. I'm so sorry, I should've come faster! I love you, I'm so sorry."

With his last breath, Osferth choked, "L-Love y-y-you."

"I love you," you hushed, bending at the waist to rest your forehead on his, "I love you so much. You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be all right, you'll be safe - where you're going, you'll be safe. I'm so sorry, my love... I'm so sorry."

You felt him go still. You felt the last of his breath exhale, his body deflate. You felt his soul detach from his body.

You froze.

"Oh, my God," you breathed, pulling back to look down at his petrified features. "Oh, my God, no, no, no. God, please, please, give him back," you sobbed, "give him back to me! Do not take him! It's not his time, you selfish cunt! Give him back! It wasn't supposed to end like this! Give him back to me, please! Please! This isn't how this was supposed to happen! We promised eternity together, please! Let us have that! Let us be together, give him back to me! I need him!"

Your shrill hysterics were heard all over Rumcofa.

Finan sobbed into his wife's arms behind you, Cynleaf knelt to slowly extend his hand onto your shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he offered, but you pushed him away harshly; knocking him into the dirt.

"No! I don't want your fucking condolences!" You snapped, holding Osferth tighter, "I want my husband! I want my husband back! Can you give him to me? Can you, Cynleaf? Can you give him back to me!?"

"No - "

"Then you have nothing to offer me! I want nothing else, nothing from you! I only want him!" You looked away from the young lad, finding Osferth's wide open eyes staring up at you. You whimpered, "I only need him, so, please. Please, give him back to me. Please. I need him, I need him, I can't do this without him, please, God, don't do this. You take so many lives, why add him to the mix!? Give him back! C'mon," you begged the cooling body, "c'mon, love, get up. Get up for me, please, just wake up. Come back to me, get up... Get up, Osferth, get up! Please! WAKE UP!"

But Osferth never moved. Never blinked. Never drew breath. And God never answered your pleas. Your dress was saturated in your husband's blood; a pooling puddle seeping into your knees, bodice drenched, his baby moving in your belly. You wailed into the still air, holding your husband tight to your chest; mouth agape to release the terrible screams of anguish, tears never ending, rocking on your knees. You didn't know what to feel... But devastation was prominent.

You wept until your throat went raw, jaw tender from your open mouth. "I'm so sorry!" You repeated, "I should've been quicker! I should've been at your side! You shouldn't have been alone! This is my fault! This is all my fault, I shouldn't have been away from you. I should've been with you, you did not deserve this end. Please! Forgive me, wherever you are, forgive me, I did not intend for this, I shouldn't have left you, I should've been at your side, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault, I'm so sorry."

"No," Ingrith whispered, "no, do not say this is your fault, you did nothing - "

"Exactly!" You snapped at her, eyes ablaze, her husband silent. "I did nothing, I wasn't with him! I wasn't where I was supposed to be! And he was stabbed because of you!"

Finan whispered your name in reprimand.

"No! How many times have you rode a fucking horse, Ingrith!? And now, today, the time it truly matters, you fall; you posed distraction," you sobbed, crumpling in on yourself. "He was distracted by your fall... This shouldn't've happened, this is all wrong!"

The trio just watched you, knowing your emotions were raw and unwavering, that your words did not have meaning because your husband had just died in your arms. Hours passed, you did not move. Hours passed, your husband did not return. Hours passed, and your heart shattered with each passing breath you selfishly drew.

Because living felt selfish now without Osferth.

"Sweet one," Finan whispered, the sun setting, "we should move him. Bring him to the church so Benedict can pray."

Your head shook, "No."

"Darlin', we have to - "

"No," you whimpered, "because if you take him to Benedict, it's real. If we move, he's truly gone... He can't be gone, Finan," you sobbed, meeting your friend's eyes. "If you move him, he's gone, I'm not ready to say goodbye, please. Please, don't take him from me."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "but he should be laid to rest."

"Don't take him from me," you begged, a new wave of tears starting. "I just - we were supposed to be a family. We were supposed to have this baby, and now, it's just me? This cannot be, so please, don't take him from me, I only need him back. Give him back to me, Finan, please, I can't be without him."

"I know," he nodded, gently encouraging you into his embrace. It meant you had to let go of Osferth, something you did slowly and gradually, leaning into the Irishman's chest. "All right, I got yah," he whispered, looking to his wife. "C'mon, stand with Ingrith. I'll carry him."

"Be gentle," you sobbed, feeling Ingrith grip your arms to help heave you to your feet; watching Finan scoop Osferth over his shoulder. The change of position made more blood splatter to the dirt, your heart stalling in your chest when you heard the mess.

You felt your soul shriveled and hidden somewhere deep in your chest, following as if in a trance. You watched Finan and Cynleaf slowly lower Osferth to the ground with the other dead Danes, feeling yourself drop to the ground in shock.

Seeing Osferth amongst the dead made it so much more real.

"It's all my fault," you sobbed, Finan moving to your side, "it's all my fault, I got him killed. I should've been quicker. This is my fault, my fault, I did this, 's my fault."

Finan knelt beside you, bringing your foreheads together to hold you tightly and let you sob into his embrace. "You didn't do this," he promised, "you did nothing wrong. You are not at fault. Do not carry this guilt."

You sobbed without reprieve.

Young Uhtred halted Father Benedict from praying over the Danes, telling the older man they had different customs, but looked back at you. He asked your name softly, wondering, "Do you wish for a prayer for... Him?"

Even Young Uhtred couldn't stomach the truth, avoiding using Osferth's name out of sheer disbelief.

"That'd be nice," Finan agreed, turning to sit beside you and hold you under his arm. You leaned into his embrace, head to his shoulder. "She read him his death rites when... It happened."

Young Uhtred nodded, bowing his head, leading, "Our Father, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, On earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Then, you joined from under Finan's heavy arm, sobbing through your words, "Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death."

Benedict finished, "Glory Be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end."

Together, you, Ingrith, Young Uhtred, Benedict, Finan, and even Cynleaf ended, "Amen."

Feeling the most level-headed, Ingrith stepped in and directed the men; informing that Young Uhtred should lead the remaining Danes to Daneland, Finan and Cynleaf would meet Uhtred on the road, and she would accompany you to Wessex - where Osferth could be laid to rest at the place of his birth. Then, the people mourned together for their fallen.

Finan disagreed initially, telling his wife you were his responsibility now that Osferth was passed. But there was no way you could continue with the company, not in your pregnant state. Finan didn't like the idea of you being without him, considering you close to a sister; something of a best mate, someone he couldn't turn his back on - no matter the situation. However, he understood the predicament and finally agreed to part ways, but not before he untied Osferth's crucifix and latched it around your neck. At the gates of Rumcofa, before separating, Finan gifted you his rosary; thinking it might bring comfort in his physical absence.

Years from then, you would bring up a single son named Gabriel (a name your husband favored, a name benefitting an Angel) under Lord Uhtred in his birthplace of Bebbanburg. You never remarried. You never even so much as looked after another man with lust. Gabriel would grow into a handsome warrior and a devoted man of God, satisfied on tales about his father; being painted as a man of honor, integrity, and bravery. Osferth, too, was a man of God, a man of the sword, and a man of his word... Until the very end. And when your time came, you were brought back to Wessex to be laid to rest with your husband; your son having a son, naming him Osferth, and knowing, both his parents shined down on him in pride.

It was a comfort for everyone to know, somewhere in the afterlife, in God's warmth, you and Osferth were reunited; looking just as you did the day you parted from one another.

requesting rules and masterlist

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Crawl Home to Her

Pairing: Osferth x f!reader Warnings: Religious guilt. Canon-typical violence. Mild angst. Loss of virginity. Smut. Word count: ~3.5k

Summary: Part two of Deathless Death. Osferth has a crisis of conscience and faith, however, an attack on their party by the Danes makes him realise what's at stake. Based on this request. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @valeskafics. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Osferth rouses slowly into wakefulness, blinking his eyes open. For a moment, his mind is blissfully silent, focusing only on the canopy of green leaves above and the chirping of the birds in the woodland that surrounds him and his travel companions.

That is until the memory of the previous evening floods back to him; the taste of her upon his tongue, her cries of pleasure that had echoed through the trees and up into the night sky. He can still feel the smoothness of her thighs beneath his fingertips, the way the softness of her flesh had yielded beneath his hands as she’d hovered above his face while he’d devoured her like a man starved.

His throat tightens at the thought, his cock stirring in his breeches. He turns on his bed roll to face her, expecting to see her peacefully sleeping next to him, just as she usually is, her features a vision of angelic beauty. However, the space beside him lays empty and his brow furrows in concern as he props himself up on his elbow to look around for her.

He spots her. She kneels at a fallen log, her hands clasped in prayer against it. The early morning sunlight filters through the branches casting the top of her head in golden light. She is the picture of innocence, truly angelic, and guilt and shame wash over Osferth in thick, hot waves. He would have sullied her upon the filthy forest floor, if the others had not come back and interrupted them. Worse still, she would have allowed him to. This pure, devout, impressionable girl had been a vessel for his lust. Seeing her as she is now, Osferth vows to keep his distance; he must do better by her, despite his yearning for her.

He is startled momentarily when she opens her eyes and looks directly at him, clearly having sensed his gaze upon her. Her smile is warm, making her eyes soften with fondness as she looks at him.

“You’re awake,” she says, her voice gentle. Osferth will never have enough of that dulcet sound, it is sweeter than honeyed wine. “Will you join me?”

He nods, not trusting himself to speak and makes his way over to her, kneeling on the opposite side of the log. It’s a deliberate choice, a need to place a physical barrier between the two of them so that he is not tempted to reach out for her, to feel her lips upon his once more.

If she is offended by his decision, she does not show it, lowering her head once more and closing her eyes. Osferth wonders what she prays for. Had she awoken this morning filled with regret for what they’d done and is now praying for God to cleanse her of her misdeeds?

Pressing his own hands together, he closes his eyes and bows his head.

Please, Lord, give me the strength to resist her. Do not allow me to sully her innocence with my sinful behaviour any more than I already have. Forgive her for transgressions, for she does not understand fully what she has done, and was led astray by my lust.

“First one awake’s meant to light the fire,” he hears Finan grumble sleepily in annoyance from a few feet away.

He sighs, standing and walking towards the pit that had been dug the day before. “Apologies, Finan, I’ll do it now.”

The rest of the morning passes peacefully. Uhtred’s talk of their travel plans serves as a welcome distraction, though he is unable to stop himself from glancing over at her. She looks at him with such adoration that it makes his heart squeeze. He is not worthy of basking in the affection of her gaze, yet he craves it all the same.

When it comes time to move on, she leans back against his chest as they ride, and it takes everything he has not to wrap his arms around her waist. His knuckles turn white from the intensity with which he keeps a hold of his horse’s reins, knowing that if he lets go his hands will be upon her in an instant.

She tucks herself against his chest as they bed down again that night and he is glad to wrap his arms loosely around her, keeping her close. He reasons he is simply keeping her warm, nothing more, until she looks up at him doe-eyed and expectant.

“Will you kiss me again?” She whispers into the darkness and he feels a pit open in his stomach.

“Not tonight, my lady”, he tells her quietly, “get some rest.”

He hates telling her no. The way her face crumples in disappointed sadness feels like a dagger to his chest, but it is for her own good. A kiss would lead to more and he cannot do that to her. He must control himself for the both of them.

She nuzzles into him, closing her eyes and he allows himself a moment to simply let his hands stroke through the silken strands of her hair, soft as angel’s wings.

He is thankful that the constant presence of Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric during the day prevents her from asking about the night he had tasted her. He can see it in her face each time she looks at him, longing in her eyes and questions on the tip of her tongue, but she’d never dare speak of it in company, so he always ensures they are never alone.

Come nightfall she clutches against his robes as they lay together, and he savours her closeness, her warmth, her scent, pretending his actions are a matter of duty that he derives no pleasure from.

She catches him off guard a few mornings later, excitement in her eyes as she approaches him.

“There is a river close by. I’d like to bathe. Will you join me?”

Osferth feels himself flush scarlet all the way to the tips of his ears. The thought rivulets of water running down her skin, tracing the curves of her body, has him swallowing thickly in order to maintain his composure. But he cannot give in.

He picks up his sword, fastening it to his belt. “I will keep watch to ensure you are safe, my lady.”

Her gaze lowers, he can see he has disappointed her yet again and guilt gnaws at him. He detests that doing the right thing makes her so sad.

She turns and walks off in the direction of the riverbank, and he dutifully follows her. He has to physically force himself to turn away when she begins to undress. Never having seen her fully bare before, he is desperate to look, but knows he will not be able to control himself if he does.

In his peripheral vision he sees her form illuminated by sunlight as she steps from the bank and into the water. Her movements are slow, deliberate, and he glances quickly at her, seeing how her hands move through the water, over her hair and down her body. 

Looking quickly away, he wonders how someone so angelic can be such a temptress. He wants to protect her virtue, yet ravage her at the same time, and it seems she is attempting to lure the latter half of him out to play. She does not know the full weight of what she is asking, however, and Osferth could not live with himself if he laid with her, only for her to regret it.

He keeps his focus on the surrounding woodland, to make sure no one approaches or sees her as she is bathing. He does not look upon her again until she returns to him, dressed once more, her hair damp from the river.

She looks up at him with wide, imploring eyes and Osferth feels panic flutter in his chest. They are alone. They are alone, and she is going to ask him about what happened between them and he will not know what to tell her. What could he possibly say? That he is a sinner? That he cannot control himself? That he swore to protect her and has taken advantage of her instead?

“Did I do something wrong?” She asks sadly.

The question hits him like a punch to the gut. How could she assume she is to blame for anything?

He opens his mouth to reply, but she beats him to it. “Was it not good…the other night? Have you decided you don’t want me after all?”

Her tone is filled with insecure hurt and Osferth feels as though he wants to cry. He had never meant to make her feel unwanted. If only she knew that she is everything he has ever wanted and everything he does not deserve simultaneously.

“Osferth?” Sihtric’s voice echoing through the trees interrupts them, as the crackle of branches heralds his approaching footsteps.

He turns to face the direction he is coming from, brows rising in concern as he sees the hardened look upon Sihtric’s face. This is serious.

“Get ready to go,” he tells them both. “We are being tracked by Harald’s men.”

Without thinking, Osferth grabs her hand, rushing her back to camp. They hurriedly pack away their belongings, kicking out the fire, before mounting up and moving on at speed.

She rests wordlessly against his chest, and he knows they will eventually need to continue their conversation from earlier, but right now his only focus is on keeping her safe. If he cannot do that then he has failed in his entire reason for taking her with him from Alton in the first place.

Their horses are brought to an abrupt halt, rearing up slightly when Danes ambush them in a clearing, surrounding them. Bile rises in Osferth’s throat, icy fingers of fear wrapping around his heart - not for himself, but for what may happen to her.

As Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric dismount, withdrawing their weapons, he leans forward whispering quickly to her. “Run. Run away and don’t look back. I will find you after.”

He feels her trembling like a leaf, and wishes he could do more to comfort her, but in this moment the best source of comfort is to protect her and, so as she flees, he jumps down from his horse and unsheathes his own weapon.

Osferth is not a masterful warrior, but travelling with Uhtred has sharpened his skills and he fights with more confidence than terror with each passing day. 

Allowing pure instinct and adrenaline ro guide his movements, he drives forward, slashing with his blade, ignoring the ache in his shoulder and the wet, dull sounds of steel biting into flesh.

A sharp sting against his temple happens so quickly that he barely registers he is cut, until he feels the warm trickle of blood in his eye. He blinks it away in time to see Uhtred run through the Dane responsible for causing the injury.

He is panting, sweaty, sight in one eye reddened by ichor by the time they have cut down Harald’s men. Those not killed have fled, but any solace he feels is short lived as dread and regret spur him into action, he runs through the woods in search of her.

Stupid fool.

If he’d have known better, he’d have taken her and rode away, not left her to fend for herself. What if some of Harald’s men have come after her? What if she’s dead?

As Osferth races through the trees he can no longer tell if the warmth upon his cheeks is blood or tears, he simply knows he has to find her.

His heart soars, relief and exhilaration flooding through him when he spots her cowering in a thicket, fresh tears pricking his eyes.

She is safe.

He calls out to her and she raises her head, her eyes wide with fright, though she visibly relaxes when she sees him, stepping out from her hiding place.

His jaw clenches in anger when he sees the slash in the sleeve of her dress, a long, angry looking red gash adorns the flesh of her forearm.

“Did they hurt you?” He asks, unable to mask the worry in his voice.

She shakes her head. “I caught myself on a low hanging branch when I ran away. It is my own clumsiness that is at fault, no one else.”

Reaching up, her fingers brush over the cut to his temple. “You are hurt…”

Osferth winces, though does his best to sound brave in spite of the pain. “It’s only a scratch. The fact that you are safe is all that matters to me.”

They stare at each other unblinking for a moment, her thumb tenderly wipes away the tears that have tracked down his cheeks. 

If they are not meant to be together then why would God deliver her safely back to him? They both could have died today and all he wants to do is kiss her.

Before he can second guess himself, he leans in, pressing his lips to hers, smiling into the kiss as he feels her return the gesture, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him close.

She is alive, they both are, and he has never felt more so than in this moment.

That night, they do not sleep upon the forest floor. Uhtred finds them lodgings at a village alehouse, stating they have all suffered enough for one day and deserve the comfort of a decent night’s rest.

Retreating upstairs, bellies filled with ale and stew, Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric pile into one room, leaving Osferth and her to the other. It is humble, simply furnished, with a small double bed.

Osferth’s pulse races, keeping his back to her as he removes the light leather armour from his wrists and chest, leaving himself in just his robes. They have never spent the night alone together like this before. What would she be expecting of him?

He lips part involuntarily as he turns back to see her dressed only in her cotton shift. She has removed her dress, and tended to the cut upon her arm. She is beautiful, so beautiful, and he feels himself redden with embarrassment as she looks up and smiles, clearly having caught him staring.

She squeezes water from a cloth into a basin, before turning back to him. “Here, let me,” she says, gesturing to the wound on his temple.

Osferth approaches her slowly, his breathing unsteady. He hisses lightly at the sting of it as she gently presses the dampened cloth to his injury.

“Forgive me,” she whispers, lightening her touch, and his chest tightens.

As if my forgiveness is something you would ever need to seek.

She dabs at his face, placing the cloth into the bowl several more times as she goes, wringing it out, until she is satisfied he is clean.

Dropping the cloth back into the bowl, she places her hands against his face. She regards him with such tenderness that he has to close his eyes, unable to stand the way it makes it feel as though his heart will burst out of his chest.

Her fingertips move lightly over the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, over his lips, chin and jaw. If this is what it feels like to be worshiped then the satisfaction God must experience is beyond gratification.

He gasps as he feels her lips press eagerly his once more and moves his mouth hungrily against hers, tangling his fingers into her hair and walking her back towards the bed.

Pushing her back, he hovers over his, his lips trailing a path down her neck to her collarbones, before kissing the rest of her body through her shift. Eagerly, he pushes the cotton above her hips, finding her wet and wanting, eager to be tasted again.

Osferth’s gaze flickers back up to her face. Her eyes are glossy and darkened by desire, her lips swollen with kisses and parted as she breathes heavily through them.

If he had died today, he is certain the grave he ended up in would not be enough to hold him back from crawling back to her, if only to see her like this. But in that same moment, he remembers the men he has killed today, his hands sullied by blood, lives ended by his hand.

He is unfit to touch her. He cannot besmirch her virtue with his uncleanliness.

He bows his head, exhaling sadly. “I–I cannot go any further, my lady,” he whispers, “I would not dirty you with hands that are not worthy of you.”

She props herself up on her elbows. “And what about what I want? It is my virtue to give away, don’t I get to decide who takes it?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking, you cannot give me this,” he argues, eyebrows drawn together in a pleading expression.

“I know perfectly well what it is that I want,” she replies, her tone defiant.

She shifts on the bed, pushing him onto his back, and he lets her. All his fight has left him, so he simply lays there, watching her with curiosity as she sits astride him.

Carefully, her hands pull at his clothes, stripping him of his robe, trousers and breeches. He quietly allows her to do so, lifting his body as needed to aid her task until he lays utterly naked before him.

Osferth has never been nude in front of anyone before. He had anticipated feeling shame and embarrassment, wanting to curl in on himself to hide from her. However, her gaze is filled with such warmth and innocence, she looks upon him in wonder, the way that people gaze at sunsets and meadows of wildflowers. It makes pride swell within his chest to be looked upon as though he is worthy.

Her lips brush gently against his, and as quickly as he leans up to kiss her back, she is moving away. Her mouth trails a path down his neck, across his chest and over his abdomen, before she allows her fingertips to take the same journey. He shivers, feeling his manhood pulsate under her attention.

He sucks in a breath when he feels her hand wrap around his cock, testing the weight and feel of it in her palm, eyeing it reverently, before she lets go and comes to lay beside him.

She pulls her shift over her head, discarding it upon the floor, and his eyes widen, drinking in the sight of her. Not even the most diligent monks in his days at the monastery could illuminate visions as lovely as she is.

“I do not know what I am doing. I’ve never done this before, but I want to. Osferth, please.”

Her quiet plea is all he needs to hear. He turns her onto her back, hovering over her and kisses her deeply. A rumble of appreciation vibrates through him as he feels her instinctively part her thighs.

Pulling away, he grasps the base of himself, guiding his tip to her waiting entrance.

“Are you sure?” He asks, eyes locking with hers.

“I have never wanted anything more. Please.”

Her words make his stones ache and he presses forwards, jaw going slack at the feeling of how tight she is as his length forces apart her walls.

She whines quietly at the intrusion, though as he studies her face he is met with desire rather than the discomfort that he had anticipated. It excites him to know that she wants him, though he fears he would not be able to stop now even if he wanted to.

If lying with other women has been the closest he has come to seeing the face of God before, then in this moment he has truly died and gone to heaven.

His thrusts into her are slow and soft, his lips linger against hers, exchanging sticky kisses and laboured breaths. As his passage eases, his movements become slightly harder and faster, groaning as she grows wetter, clenching around him as the wooden bed frame creaks with their efforts.

This is his forbidden fruit. He has tasted her and now there is no going back. He loses himself in the sensation of her, his grip on her tight as she writhes beneath him, the sounds she makes are sweeter than any music.

Noticing her tensing when his thrusts are shallower, he repeats the motion in earnest until suddenly she is crying out, pulsating around him, pulling him quickly towards release. He pulls out, stroking himself to completion, watching the way his spend paints her bare flesh in pearlescent ropes.

Breathlessly he falls back against the mattress, pulling her to him, wanting her close. She is pliable, eager, and snuggles against him, her head upon his chest.

He looks down at her through hooded eyes and she smiles back up at him, her gaze filled with warm affection.

“I love you,” she whispers.

The words stick in his throat. They are not enough to convey the depth of his feelings for her. They are just words, much like heaven and hell, and they are worthless. He will never want for anything, as long as he has her.

So, he simply kisses her, hoping that it is enough for her to understand just how precious she is to him.

[happilyhertale]

Destiny is all - Osferth x female!reader, Part 1

Summary: You are Finan's sister. You live in a village in Scotland, near the border with Northumbria. You lead a quiet life until your brother decides to visit you with his boys and your life changes completely.

Pairing: Osferth x fem!reader

Author’s note: Hey you (:

Now I am finally sharing my little Osferth story with you. The events are a little different from the story in the series. (No, Osferth will not die either). I hope you will enjoy it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 2.2 k

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Other stories of mine

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The sun, which has been high in the sky all day, is slowly tilting towards the earth. Four men ride silently side by side. Every now and then an exhausted grunt can be heard. As soon as the grunt is silenced, it is usually answered with another grunt. They have been riding like this for days now. Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric and Osferth are on their way from the northernmost point in Scotland back to Wessex.

The men are exhausted by the long distance they have already covered on horseback. The not very restful nights they have already spent in various forests do not diminish their exhaustion.

"Lord. We could spend the night in a village today," Finan says after another grunt.

Uhtred turns slightly in Finan's direction, "If we ride through the night, we should be in Northumbria by tomorrow"

"But Lord… We should stop and rest. I'm tired of the sight of my horse's head... his ears in particular," Osferth chimes in.

Sihtric turns to Uhtred as well, "I wouldn't say no either"

Osferth continues to nod in agreement.

Uhtred sighs, "Very well… The next village is headed for"

"We would have a place to sleep there for sure too," Finan says to Uhtred with a grin. Uhtred sees Finan's grin and becomes curious.

"Do you have a sweetheart up here?" asks Uhtred with raised eyebrows.

"Not exactly. My family lives there and we could sleep and eat there"

"What? I thought you were from Ireland," Osferth looks at him questioningly.

Finan nods, "We're originally from Ireland. But my parents moved over with me and my sister"

Uhtred just shakes his head with a smile.

The men rode on again in silence. Every now and then a grunt can be heard. But it was a done deal, they were on their way to Finan's family.

You stand in front of your little house. The evening sun shines on your face and you enjoy it. You close your eyes for a moment. Your little house is located on the edge of a village, near the forest. You enjoy the peace and quiet that the location offers you, and that you can let your gaze wander into the forest at any time as soon as the hustle and bustle of the village becomes too much for you. Slowly you open your eyes again and take a deep breath. You still want to water the flower bed before you retire for the evening. As you put the bucket down, you hear noises in the forest behind you. You turn around, but in the twilight you can't really see if anyone is there. Out of habit, you reach for the dagger tucked under the skirt of your dress.

"Who is there?" you ask in a firm voice.

But instead of an answer, you only hear the rustling of the bushes at the edge of the forest.

Suddenly a Dane steps out of the forest and you instinctively hold up your dagger. You are ready to defend yourself. Your breath catches in your throat, but the Dane just grins at you. "Finan! I didn't know that your parents can also produce something beautiful", the Dane says.

Finan? How does he know your brother...?

"Aye! Lord! Shut up!", Finan suddenly stands next to the Dane. Your lungs fill with air again as you see your brother smiling at you from a short distance away.

You don't hesitate for long. "Finan!" you shout and run towards him. You throw your arms around his neck. He wraps his arms tightly around you.

"Heey... my little one," he says softly and presses you closer to him.

You sob a little. He loosens the embrace and takes your face in his hands, "Ey... y/n.... If I had known ya missed me so much, I would have stopped by sooner," he smiles at you. You wipe tears from your face and have to laugh for a moment.

"What are ya doing here?" you finally ask your brother.

"We're just passing through and I thought we were due for a visit"

Only now do you become aware and remember the Dane. But when you look behind Finan, you see two other men standing there. But your gaze immediately falls on the blond monk. However, he immediately averts his gaze from you when he realises that he has been caught staring. Now you notice another Dane. Somehow you seem to like this mixture of the troupe. Finan turns around as well, "Sorry y/n. This is Uhtred, Sihtric and our baby Monk, Osferth"

You notice the monk giving Finan a warning look. The Danes, on the other hand, give you a friendly nod. Finan turns back to you, "Where are mother and father? Are they in the house? We are starving!" Finan is all euphoric.

You gently touch his forearm, "Finan...", you speak softly. He looks at you, but you only shake your head slightly.

"What...?" he whispers, sadness crossing his face.

"The fever took them last winter... First mother, then father..." you whisper.

He shakes his head slightly now too and you wrap your arms around him. After a short silence, you hear Finan murmur into your hair, "You're here all alone?"

You nod, "That must be enough for you now"

He just nods slowly and you can still see the sadness in his face.

You smile up at him, "Come, let's go into the house... I've put on some soup"

Together you go into the house. The men sit down at the table and you serve them the soup. There is not much talking at first, as they simply enjoy the warm meal. When they have finished, you prepare ale for everyone. Light conversation now fills the room. Osferth tries to comfort Finan, to say something nice about your parents. But Finan doesn't want to hear about it at the moment. After a while you take the dagger, which is again under your skirt and presses uncomfortably against your thigh, and put it on the table.

"Feisty... You always carry a dagger with you?", the Dane, Uhtred asks you. You look at him a little amused, "Men sometimes don't understand what 'no' means. So it can't hurt to have something with you to back up your opinion"

Uhtred grins and raises his cup "I'm afraid that's true"

You grin at him and join him in a toast.

When there is a knock at the door, you get up and go over. You open the door and your good mood is immediately dampened.

"Edward... what do ya want here?" you ask, a little annoyed. Alarmed by your tone, Finan looks at the door. From the door, there is no view of the table and so Edward does not notice that he is now being overheard by four guys.

"Y/n... I thought... maybe you'd like some company tonight...?"

He is visibly drunk and grinning at you.

"No, Edward. I told you the other day that it wasn't going to happen again"

Finan's expression darkens.

"Oh come on... Don't you miss it...?" he winks at you.

"What would she miss?"

You startle a little as Finan suddenly stands behind you. Edward looks startled too and just stammers around. Words like "nothing" and "just making sure everything is okay" leave his mouth.

"Good. And do not worry, everything is fine here," Finan lets Edward know as he closes the door.

You look at him indignantly, "Finan! I can handle it myself!"

He just walks back to the table and takes a big gulp of ale. You stand in the room a little speechless. You look at Finan and shoot daggers at him. But Finan continues to stand with his back to you and does not look at you.

Sihtric and Uhtred just grin and look at each other. But you notice Osferth looking at you again. He is probably shocked that a woman would seek the company of a man even though she is not married. You sigh softly and go back to the table. You sit down and shake your head slightly.

Finan looks at you again, "What...? You're my sister. I'll always look out for ya. And... the last time I was here, ya liked Edward, didn't ya?"

"I did," you emphasise, "Until I found him between another woman's thighs"

Osferth chokes on his ale and you look at him somewhat amused. He has to grin now, too, and he wipes the ale running down his chin with his hand. You have to chuckle a little, but somehow you like the sight.

But Finan turns your attention back to himself, "He did what? That bastard... Let me go to him..." Finan is about to get up, but you pull him down by his arm.

"No... There's no need for that. That's done and in the past. Really," you smile at him, but Finan doesn't really look convinced.

He just grumbles something to himself and drinks from his ale. You stroke his arm gently.

The later the hour gets, the louder the conversations become. You laugh a lot and talk to each other across the table. You enjoy having your brother and his friends with you. At some point, Uhtred has persuaded you to show him how you can defend yourself against men with your hands if you don't have your dagger with you. But it always ends up with Uhtred putting his arm around your neck from behind or you just giggle and somehow try to bring Uhtred down.

Eventually you sit down at the table again. You are still a little out of breath when Osferth, who is now sitting next to you, addresses you directly, "Lady... isn't it dangerous for a woman to live here alone?"

Uhtred interjects, "Well... if the possible attacker just stands still and doesn't fight back, then y/n has a chance to defend herself," Uhtred grins at you.

But you do not answer Uhtred, instead you kick him under the table.

Uhtred laughs as you turn back to Osferth, smiling.

You look at him curiously now, "Would it be safer for a woman somewhere else?"

He scratches the back of his neck, "Well... if you were at least in company... and there was no Edward lurking outside your door"

You have to chuckle a little and notice a smile forming around his lips too as it dawns on you. "Ooh yes! I'll come with ya"

Now Finan chokes on his ale and Uhtred grins again. As he calms down, he looks at you, "No way. You're safer here than being out with us"

"Finan!" you utter indignantly, but he just shakes his head.

When Sihtric speaks up, "Honestly, she's probably safer with the four of us. There's no one here to look after her"

Uhtred nods slowly in conviction.

"And if we go into battle?", Finan looks slightly overwhelmed.

"Then of course I won't be there. Then I'll cook you dinner in the meantime... Or keep the bed warm," you answer with a grin. As a sister, you know what drives Finan up the wall.

He gives you a warning look and continues to shake his head, "That's not funny... and that's out of the question"

He stands up and goes outside to pee.

Now you shake your head and stand up.

"Guys... It's late... I'm going to sleep now. This will not end well here otherwise"

Sihtric and Uhtred nod at you. Osferth smiles slightly at you, "Good night lady y/n" and you return his smile.

When Finan returns, he sees that you have gone to bed. He sighs and sits back down at the table with the boys. Uhtred's gaze is on Finan, "You know it would be the right decision. She's here all alone, and I'm sure Edward's not the only one knocking on her door"

Finan gives him a warning look.

"I'm just saying. Your parents aren't here anymore, she has no one here to look after her. And with us, she'd have four men by her side looking after her", Uhtred continues

Silence now reigns at the table as the boys continue to drink their ale. Until Finan just nods and gets up from the table again. "Okay... But if even one of ya tries to hit on my sister..." he adds warningly before disappearing into an adjacent room.

The next morning you come out of your chamber. Three men lie on furs on the floor. Light snoring fills the room. You leave the house and go into the garden behind it. Everything is still quiet, a few birds are chirping. You watch as the sun slowly rises and makes the shadows of the forest look less threatening.

Suddenly Finan is standing next to you. You are startled and flinch briefly.

"Holy Lord! Finan!", you lightly punch his arm. He says nothing, but smiles slightly. He also looks in the direction of the sunrise.

"Ya can come with us. Although I know it's dangerous for ya to accompany us... But I also have to admit that it's probably more dangerous for ya to stay here alone..."

You smile at him.

Slowly he looks in your direction, "Ya have to listen to me though"

You grin at him, "I never have Finan"

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Tag list

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemond-targaryenx @praline357 @chainsawsangel

@targaryen-dynasty

[helaelaemond]

Lost Absolution Pt3 - Osferth x reader

Pairing: Osferth x reader

Word count: 3.4k

Fic summary: Osferth thinks of you during morning prayer, and sneaks into your room to find your scent while you're gone. He chases his pleasure, guilty though it makes him, and you watch him find his pleasure. Can be read as standalone piece. Masturbation, mutual masturbation, solo dry humping, mentions of oral and fingering.

Content warning(s): Religious guilt, historically inaccurate representation of Saxon Christianity and Roman Catholic traditions, angst

Rating: Explicit

Part 1 / Part 2

Tag list: @sylasthegrim / @myfandomprompts / @arcielee / @babyblue711 / @troublesomesnitch

Masterlist

You walk with Osferth to morning prayer. You prefer to pray later, but he likes to start his day with it in the little chapel on the estate. There is ice on the ground, and you insist on holding his arm to keep him steady.

"You're still healing, lean on me," you tell him with a quiet laugh. In the courtyards, your fellow servants bustle about their business and pay you no mind. In your concentration, keeping focus on the pathway, you miss how Osferth looks down at you with longing.

"I am well, lady," he replies softly.

You smile up at him. He's so tall. "And you shall stay that way, so long as you do not fall. Careful-"

He puts the weight on his foot wrong on a little patch of ice, and it throws off his balance. With a strangled noise of surprise, he clutches onto your arm and shoulder. It's impossible to stop him from falling, but you greatly reduce the speed with which it happens - your feet are firmly planted on solid ground, and you manage to ease him, more than drop him, to the ground.

"Osferth!" you laugh. You lean over him as you grasp his arm and waist, doing your best to keep him safe. "Are you alright?"

His cheeks flush from the cold, from the embarrassment. "I'm sorry."

"There is nothing to forgive," you assure him warmly. "Are you in pain?"

He shakes his head and bites his lip. Casting his eyes down, he tries to get up, but winces.

"Let me help."

For a heartbeat, it looks like he is going to protest. But when you squeeze the hand you hold, and you smile so kindly, he nods. With your help, he gets back on his feet. The light is gone from his eyes, though, and he won't look at you. When you try to take his hand again, he clasps them both behind his back.

"Your wound, is it-?" Without thinking, your hand goes to his stomach to feel his dressings. The touch makes him flinch. Osferth's sudden change in demeanour makes you swallow. "Forgive me."

His expression is pained. "There is nothing to forgive, lady."

During the weeks that he has grown healthier and stronger, you have repeatedly asked him to use your name and not a title to which you have no claim. Usually, you are both laughing when the topic is raised, but you don't feel like laughing now. Quietly, you ask, "won't you use my name?"

He bites his pretty lip and looks down. His brows furrow like he's concentrating, and unreadable expressions flicker across his face. How difficult he can be to read sometimes, you lament. He won't let you in, not really. There is something holding him back.

"Not today, lady."

"Alright." Tentatively, you take his arm again. The expression he wears would make any passer-by think you were marching him to the gates of Hell, so uncomfortable is he now. He is all stiff and icy, but perhaps it is the pain. You'll have to examine him later.

At the door of the chapel, you let go of his arm and turn to him. "I'll return for you when the bell rings."

"You are very kind," he murmurs, expression fixed on the ground. "I do not thank you enough for all that you do."

You give him a smile that he does not see. "It is why I am here, Osferth. I am here to help."

"But still. I do not thank you enough."

He gives you a pained smile without meeting your gaze before ducking into the chapel. You watch him go inside, and as the door closes, you turn back to your work with an ache in your chest.

There is no one else in the chapel this morning. That is not unusual - many different worshippers come in at different times, and most of the estate is made up of servants who are busy at this hour. So Osferth has the little hall to himself. He approaches the altar, and makes the sign of the cross.

"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."

There is a small wooden statue of the Mother to the left of the altar, and Osferth fixes his eyes upon it as he clasps his hands in prayer, and sinks to his knees in front of the pew.

"Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum."

The words roll off his tongue without thinking. Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.

His forehead drops onto his clasped hands and he groans softly. The feeling of your hand on his waist will not go away. It had been a soft pressure to hold him safe, yet it had felt like... like... like you were holding him for something else. When you had bent over him, your hair had tickled his face and he caught the smell of rosemary in it. Yes, that's what you use to oil it sometimes, rosemary. That scent haunts his nights.

How good it would feel to bless your womb with his child, to bury himself in you and find his completion with his nose buried in your fresh-smelling hair-

"Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus-"

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now.

Osferth swallows and fixes his eyes on the statue again. "Nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen."

You wore a green dress today, green like moss in spring. Osferth loves that colour on you. It makes him think of warmer days. The collar is high and there are laces across your neck against the winter chill, and he stares at the Mother until she resembles you. At her throat, he sees those laces, and he can feel himself untying them to touch the skin underneath. How warm you must be compared to December.

Just the thought of the skin at your throat makes the blood rush between his thighs. The breath he takes in is shaky. "Ave Maria, gratia plena. Dominus..."

Three more Hail Marys are spoken softly by the time he is hard, and his mind is foggy. Rosemary. Spring. Moss. Hail Mary, full of grace. Rosemary, spring, moss. The Lord is with you. The slope of your neck, the shadows of your collarbones. Blessed are you among women.

Blessed are you among women.

When he had been sick, you had worked over his bare torso and touched his flaming skin with a soothing hand. Most memories of that time have faded with the healing of his body, but fragments remain. Your fingers ghosting over his heart, carefully applying pressure. Your strong grip at his hip to turn him slightly and fit bandages around his back and stomach.

Pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death.

From the precipice of death you had pulled him, yet closer to it he now returns. For this is purgatory, surely, to desire you like this. To need you.

"Forgive me, Lord," he sighs quietly. "Help me, please. I'm... w-weak. Please."

Even as tears begin to spill down his cheeks, the vision of you returns to his mind. In his mind, you take him into your arms and stroke his hair. You hold him close and comfort him. He grips his hands tighter together and closes his eyes as if this will help. Breaths quicken, but whether that is from anguish or arousal, he doesn't know.

The vision of you slips your dress off and you cradle him in your lap. He weeps, and you run your fingers through his hair as you soothe him. Osferth is allowed to weep, and he is comforted with a hand behind his head, and a nipple in his mouth. He suckles on you in his mind and whimpers.

His knees begin to hurt. The floor of the chapel is cold stone, and he gasps as reality comes crashing around him. "Forgive me, Lord, please. I do not mean to have these thoughts, I-"

This place is not for him right now. He cannot be in the house of God whilst his mind is plagued with such unholy thoughts of you. Ice be damned. He hurries out of the sanctuary, and back to the hall he has been afforded for his healing. It's still early and there are few people around, but still, he wraps his cloak tightly around him. No one needs to see him in such a state.

As expected, you are not here when he returns. He approaches the little antechamber you are using during your time as his helper, and he peeks in. It's only to make sure you're not here, of course, but...

It's wrong, what he does, he knows this. But he doesn't care enough to stop. Your bed is unmade, and the blankets are crumpled towards the bottom of it. At the top, the single soft pillow is folded in half, and the shift you wear to sleep is thrown across it.

Don't do it. Don't come any closer.

Osferth swallows. There are butterflies in his stomach as the visions of being in your lap come rushing back. Rosemary. Spring. Moss.

He glances around, but no one will come. The hall is private, for his use only, and yours. Finan often strides in like he owns it, but it is too early in the morning for him. You are not due back at the chapel until the bell is rung and that is another half hour away at least. You won't be back.

Osferth is in your room, and he is alone.

His feet slowly carry him across the room to your bed. The butterflies make him float, and before he can stop himself, he has reached out and taken your night shift into his hands. Bringing it up to his nose, he inhales deeply. Eyes closing, he lets the smell of you wash over him. God, it's better than he thought.

It takes the strength from him. He sits down on the edge of your bed. Against the linen, his mouth opens, and he runs his tongue along it as if to catch a taste. All it does is dry out his mouth. But it's something. It's something tangible about you. If he doesn't think about it, then he doesn't need to register what's happening.

He can just live in the moment, and forget about it later. As if it never happened.

Hands turn into fists in the fabric as he presses it to his face. There are different smells at different places of the garment. Along the neckline is that rosemary. It must have dripped down your scalp and neck and onto the linen. His eyes roll back into his head as he thinks of the journey it got to take. He envies the oil.

It has anointed you in places he will never touch.

Control is ebbing away from the once pious man. Further down your night shift he goes, below where it would cover your waist. With new vigour, he runs it under his nose until he catches a sweetly sour scent that makes his mouth water. Inhaling deeply, he feels his mouth pool with saliva. That smell, that fucking smell. He wants to taste it on you so desperately-

"Oh, Lord."

Osferth squeezes his hand around the fabric where your smell clings faintly, and pulling it away again, he licks his fingers for the ghost of your taste. Nothing. Perhaps he will find your undergarments and suck them in his mouth until your taste is as familiar as bread and ale.

He fumbles with his leather harness that has a cross embossed onto it, and he casts it aside. With it goes the cross around his neck. There is nothing holy left here.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now,"

It is to your pillow that he now turns. On it, the smell of rosemary is much stronger, and he moans into it. In the privacy of his solitude, Osferth moans your name. Tears of absolute need leak from his pretty eyes.

"My sweet lady, lady, lady."

Using the strength you have nurtured back into him, Osferth climbs atop your bed and presses the pillow into his face. He inhales as desperately as a drowning man until you are in his veins and he will never get you out. Rosemary fills his mind, moss and spring, laces at your throat. The vision of himself in your lap morphs into something else now. He lies on his stomach with his face buried into your pillow, and he cannot stop his hips from grinding down against the mattress.

In his mind, you are below him. You're on your stomach, too, and he fills you from behind. You mewl softly as his cock fills you perfectly, like he was made for you.

Blessed are you amongst women.

With you, Osferth is most blessed. In reality, his clothes are rough and grinding against the bed hurts, but he is not in reality now. He moans into your pillow that he imagines is your hair. You moan back so sweetly it almost feels true.

Into your pillow he whimpers your name. The movement of his desperate hips still only so he can push his breeches down. His hard cock springs free and it's flushed and leaking. He can't bring himself to look at it. Instead, he covers it with your pillow. Onto his stomach he returns, this time with it between him and the bed. How easy it is to think of this dry softness as you.

There is an ache in his stomach and back as he fucks your pillow desperately. He grinds against it as he would grind against you. His chest tightens as he thinks of you. How fucking wet you would be for him if he treated you right. He bites his lip as he thinks about spreading your legs and pressing his tongue there, sliding it up and down and letting it slip inside you, if that's what you liked.

He's never even kissed a woman. But he's seen the act, although it never much interested him. He never wanted it until he met you. Now, it's all he can think about. What do you look like between your legs? Pink like a summer rose, perhaps? Or dark like fine wine, rich and generous? He doesn't care. He wants every version of you.

His thrusts get more desperate as his thoughts carry him away. Once he's made you come on his tongue and long fingers, he'll push you onto your stomach and fill you from behind like this, like he's fucking your pillow. He'll ask you to turn your head towards him so he can kiss you and see your expression, and whisper in your ear how beautiful you are. Surely you'd say something sweet in return.

You're so good to him. You take care of him.

Let Osferth take care of you. He wants to be so good to you. So good.

He cries out your name again. All reason has left him, all sensibility.

So when the door creaks open behind him, he barely has the sense to glance over his shoulder and look at who it is. When he sees it's you, he's sure it's just his imagination. Moss green. Laces at your throat.

You see him on his stomach atop your bed, your pillow under his hips. You watch as he grinds against it, eyes half closed, forehead sweaty. It sends bolts of heat between your legs. You're lost for words, and lost to need.

"Osferth?"

When you call his name, he whimpers again. His hips keep moving. "My lady!"

You're frozen in the doorway. Even if you had wanted to, you can't make yourself move forward, lest it break the spell over you both.

When you pull up your skirts and expose yourself to him, he is sure he has died and gone to heaven. When you bury your fingers into your folds, he whines your name. It's the first time you've heard him use it.

"Yes, Osferth."

He is utterly lost. He's never been aroused like this, never been driven so mad with need, so plagued with visions. Straining his head to watch you makes his neck begin to ache, but it doesn't matter because you are rubbing circles between your thighs and grinding down against your hand and your face is split with frustration and delight and he knows how you feel and-

"Oh! Oh, Lord, my God-!" Osferth moans. Tears leak down his cheeks.

"Yes, yes! Fuck, Osferth, I-"

"Oh, oh! Yes, oh-!"

He comes with a guttural noise that sends you spiralling, too. He jerks against your pillow again and again as he rides his high with green in his eyes and rosemary in his nose. Spring, he has hopes for spring. Pleasure washes over you both in powerful waves. For Osferth, this means curling up on the bed and panting, eyes closed at the intensity of it.

For you, it means leaning against the doorway and letting your knees give out. Your skirts fall back into place as you slide down to sit on the floor, breathless.

Osferth is turned away from you. A few minutes pass, and your heart begins to return to a steady pace along with your breathing. From the sounds of it, he is coming back down, too. "Osferth?"

If he hears you, he ignores you. You watch as he sits up - still facing away from you - and sorts out his clothes. You didn't get to see his nakedness, and you still haven't. God, you want to. You've dreamed about sliding his cock into you hand and mouth, and how good it would be to see what you so long for. But no, he hides himself, turns himself away.

"Osferth, please look at me."

He turns to you as he walks around the bed to pick up his cross and harness, but he doesn't meet your eye, let alone speak. You're in the doorway, though, and he'll have to acknowledge you at some point. Slowly, he puts the leather garment back on, and there is a certain solemnity in the way he puts his cross necklace around his neck. With it in place, he finally looks in your direction. There is a spot over your shoulder that he fixes his gaze upon.

"Forgive me, lady."

"You said my name for the first time."

He licks his lips and looks down as he clasps his dirty hands behind his back. Perhaps in another life, he'd let you lick them clean. "I did. For that, I am sorry."

"For that?" you echo.

"And for... for everything else."

You push yourself to your feet and walk over to him. He side-steps to prevent you from grasping him with your outstretched hands. It makes you want to cry. "Please don't apologise for anything. Just... let me hold you. Hold me. Please."

"I can't."

"Please."

Osferth's eyes are red. "I can't. Please, forgive me."

"Do you love me?"

The directness of your question catches him, and finally, with round, shining eyes, he meets your gaze. He looks wounded. "I... I don't know if that is of consequence."

Before you can even think about what you're doing, you touch his cheek with the hand you found completion with. He turns his head slightly and catches your damp fingers on his lips. His eyes close as a moan almost too quiet to hear escapes him. You move closer to him. "It's of consequence to me."

"I'm sorry," he breathes. "You deserve a man better than me."

"I want no man but you."

He hangs his head. "I will not damn you."

There is no chance to argue before he has left your room. You sit on the bed he has left rumpled. You press your night shift to your nose, and smell rosemary there. No matter how hard you try, you cannot catch his scent. He's not here. It's like he never was.

[my-owl-baby]

The Lady From Nowhere

(Osferth x modern f!reader)

Summary: You woke up in the middle of nowhere, without your best friend by your side. It was odd to you, until you figure out you aren't from this timeline.

Soon joining the group of Uhtred and his men, you grew closer with the baby monk named Osferth. He seems to enjoy your company as well.

Warnings: mentioned of killing, smoking, cussing, hard language, killing people, child abuse, torture, violence......(so far)

Note; I want to publish a chapter once a week or so I'm not trying to make this story very long only 8 part or 7 parts.

If you are interested in this story then you can follow (@my-owl-babyfic) for any uploads for the story and please do turn on notification to be notified.

PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE A MINOR! it will contain harsh content! So I would recommend not to read!

Table of contents;

Chapter one; The Lost Lady

Chapter two; New Adventure

Chapter three; The Warning Ahead

Chapter four; You Can't Go...(coming soon)

[moonmaiden1996]

The Book

Long time no see! I am back with another Aemond x Reader x Osferth.

You have been avoiding Oferth and Aemond, and they want to know why.

You blamed your sister for this. It was her fault for slipping that devious book into your hands, The Yearning of Desire. What started as a playful curiosity turned into something far more intrusive. Those vivid, suggestive illustrations and scandalous words had planted seeds of longing and shame in your mind. What had once been innocent thoughts about your upcoming marriage to two noblemen had become entirely different.

“I only want to ensure you know what to expect,” your sister had said with a smirk, her voice laced with condescension. “You’ll thank me, dear sister. The first time I was taken from behind, I was completely unprepared. And as for when you have to use your mouth on him—”

You cut her off by throwing a piece of carrot cake straight at her. “Enough!” you’d shouted, flustered beyond belief.

But she only laughed, wiping the crumbs from her gown, her expression smug. “You’ll see. One husband is demanding enough, but two? You'll need to keep them satisfied, or else... they'll find satisfaction elsewhere. Men are all the same, no matter how noble they seem.” She leaned closer, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’ve seen how Aemond and Osferth look at you. Like hungry dragons. Keep them happy, or others in court will scheme to snatch your princes away.”

Her words echoed in your mind long after she left your chambers. That night, the castle was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. You found yourself sitting by the fire, the book in your lap. You knew you should burn it and let the flames consume every page, but instead, you opened it. Page after page, chapter after chapter, you devoured the forbidden knowledge, even as guilt twisted in your stomach.

And when you finally tore your eyes away, exhaustion pulling you toward sleep, your mind refused to rest. Each night since then, your dreams were haunted by images of your future husbands, their hands on you, their lips murmuring sweet nothings as they claimed you in ways the book had described all too vividly. You’d wake breathless, your nightdress damp with sweat— and your desire. At breakfast, you could barely meet their eyes without your thoughts drifting back to the darkened pages, especially when your traitorous hands would begin to wander in secret, leaving you unsatisfied and ashamed.

Then, one morning, you’d awoken astride your pillow, grinding against it in desperation. You couldn’t stop, even though you knew it was wrong. When release finally came, a small, breathy scream escaped your lips, and for a brief moment, the world dissolved into stars. The feeling was addictive, and soon, you found yourself lost in that same indulgence night after night, thinking of your golden-haired princes and leaving you more torn between desire and guilt each time.

As the days passed, being near Aemond and Osferth became unbearable. Your chest tightened whenever they entered the room. You’d avoid their gaze and make excuses to stay away from their company. You prayed they hadn’t noticed your distance and were too preoccupied with the upcoming wedding to question it.

But of course, they had.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Are you sure about this?" Osferth's whisper barely cut through the silence as he followed closely behind Aemond, their steps echoing in the narrow, winding passageway.

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his visible eye gleaming in the dim light from his torch. "I won't marry a woman who can barely look at me," he replied sharply, the frustration evident in his voice. "She was warm to us once. Now, she avoids us at every turn. If she won’t tell us why, I’ll find out myself."

Osferth hesitated, his brow furrowing. "Maybe she’s... afraid. Maybe—" he suggested cautiously, his voice laden with concern. "We could talk to her,"

"Talk?" Aemond scoffed, his voice low and biting. "We’ve tried. She flees the room like a startled doe every time we enter. No more words, Osferth. I’m done waiting for answers." His tone carried a finality that silenced further protest.

They came to a halt just outside your chamber door, the weight of the moment hanging thick in the air. Aemond’s expression was set in stone, his resolve unwavering. "If something is wrong, I’ll fix it," he muttered, almost to himself. "I won’t let her slip through my fingers."

Osferth wanted to say more, voice the gentle caution that tugged at his heart, but before he could, the softest sound drifted through the door—the unmistakable sound of a muffled moan. Both men froze, exchanging a startled glance. Then, another sound—a gasp, followed by a low, breathless groan.

Osferth’s breath caught in his throat, but Aemond’s patience snapped. His grip on the sword hilt tightened as fury flared in his chest, wild and unrestrained. With a growl, he unsheathed his blade and slammed his shoulder against the heavy door, forcing it open with a crash.

The room was dimly lit by the dying embers of the hearth, casting flickering shadows over the walls. You shrieked, startled, your hands scrambling to pull the covers up over your body as Aemond and Osferth burst in. Panic and shame warred inside you as you sank deeper into the bed, your heart pounding against your ribs. Your night dress clung to your skin, damp and betraying the evidence of what had just occurred. The heat of your cheeks deepened as you met their piercing gazes—two pairs of eyes reflecting different shades of intensity.

Aemond’s expression was thunderous, a mix of barely restrained fury and something else—something darker. His sword gleamed in the firelight as he stormed through the room, yanking aside the curtains and opening every cabinet with unnecessary force. His search was frantic and irrational. It was as if he was looking for someone, some rival or lover hidden away. But he found nothing except silence.

"My love?" Osferth's voice was soft, starkly contrasting to Aemond’s violent search. He sat at the edge of your bed, his presence calming, though his eyes held the weight of unspoken questions. His gaze swept over your trembling form; concern etched into his features. "My love?"

You couldn’t answer. How could you? Your heart ached with embarrassment, your body still humming from the release you had just stolen from yourself. You couldn’t even meet Osferth’s gaze. Tears pricked at your eyes, the same overwhelming. "I… I’m sorry," you managed to whisper, your voice trembling as you clutched the quilt tighter around you.

"Hush," Osferth murmured, his hand brushing tenderly across your cheek, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall. His touch was gentle and patient. "You don’t need to apologise. We only want to understand. Is this why you’ve been avoiding us?"

Your throat tightened as you nodded, unable to speak. A choked sob escaped your lips, and you turned your head away, too ashamed to face the judgment you feared would come. But there was no judgment in Osferth’s gaze, only concern.

Aemond finally stilled, his storm-like movements halting as he took in the sight of you, vulnerable and trembling beneath the sheets. His fury had not faded entirely, but there was something else in his gaze now—something more dangerous. His voice was low, almost predatory, as he stepped closer to the bed. "Tell me, love… what were you thinking about?"

The question hung in the air, thick with tension. You swallowed hard, your body trembling. You wanted to disappear, to bury yourself beneath the blankets and never face them again, but there was no escaping this moment. Aemond’s eye burned into you, demanding an answer.

"I…" Your voice cracked, and you shook your head, unable to say it aloud.

Osferth’s hand was gentle as he lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His expression was soft and reassuring but firm. "Look at me," he said, his voice steady. Tell us."

Your breath caught in your throat, and the world seemed to stop momentarily. You could hear the crackling of the fire, the rapid thudding of your heart, the quiet breath of the two men standing before you. Then, as though pulled by a force beyond your control, the words slipped out. "I was thinking of you… both of you."

The confession hung between you, raw and vulnerable. For a moment, neither spoke, but the air in the room seemed to shift. Aemond’s lips curled into a small, dangerous smile, his eye glinting in the firelight.

"Well then," he said softly, his fingers ghosting over the edge of the quilt, brushing against your leg beneath the covers. "We’ll just have to ensure you never need to shy away from us again."

Osferth’s gaze held yours, his touch still soft, though his concern had been replaced by something more resolute. His voice was low, and his thumb traced the line of your cheek as he spoke. "You don’t have to be afraid. We are yours, and you are ours."

The intensity of their presence, the raw hunger in Aemond’s gaze and the tenderness in Osferth’s touch coiled something deep inside you—fear, anticipation, and a spark of desire that refused to be extinguished.

Even as your heart raced with uncertainty, you knew this was far from over. But as Aemond’s fingers traced your skin and Osferth’s eyes held you steady, you realised that perhaps—just perhaps—you were no longer running from them. Instead, you were stepping toward something unknown, terrifying, and something you could no longer deny.

As Aemond’s fingers lightly grazed your skin, the air in the room thickened with an unspoken promise. You could feel the warmth of Osferth’s hand still resting on your cheek, his thumb gently tracing small circles, a soothing contrast to the intensity swirling in the atmosphere. The way they surrounded you—one a steady, comforting presence, the other a fire waiting to consume—made it impossible to think, let alone speak.

Aemond’s hand slid down your arm, his touch commanding and careful, like he was testing your reaction with every movement. His single eye stayed locked on you, studying your every breath, every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. His voice, when it came, was low and rough. “You’ve been keeping this from us for weeks,” he murmured, his fingers drifting to your thigh beneath the covers. “All that need… hidden away.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the sensation of his hand so close to where you ached the most. Your lips parted, but no words came out. The weight of their presence was suffocating most thrillingly. You wanted to speak, to tell them what had been plaguing your thoughts in the long, sleepless nights, but all you could do was tremble under their scrutiny.

Osferth’s thumb continued its gentle path along your cheek, his other hand resting at your waist, steadying you. “You don’t need to hide from us,” he said softly, his tone so different from Aemond’s hard-edged words. “We want to understand. We want to give you what you need, love.”

His words were like a balm, soothing the shame that had clung to you for so long. But the desire was still there, burning hotter now that they were so close, their eyes watching your every move, their hands trailing over your skin.

Aemond’s fingers pressed more firmly against your thigh, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your neck. “Tell us what you want,” he growled, his voice sending a tremor of heat through your core. “Don’t be shy. You’ve already told us you think of us… you’ve dreamt of us, haven’t you?”

Your breath hitched, your body betraying you as you arched slightly into his touch. The answer was clear, even if you couldn’t say it aloud. Of course, you had dreamt of them—of their hands, mouths, and bodies intertwined with yours. You’d spent nights twisting in your sheets, desperate for a release that never quite came, haunted by thoughts of the two men who now stood before you.

“I... I have,” you whispered, barely able to meet Aemond’s gaze as the confession spilt from your lips.

Osferth’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, a gentle pressure that quickened your pulse. “There’s no need to be ashamed,” he murmured, his lips ghosting across your forehead. “We’ve waited long enough, haven’t we?”

Aemond’s lips quirked into a dark smile at Osferth’s words. “Far too long,” he agreed, his fingers slipping higher up your thigh, teasing the edge of your nightdress. “Now, let us take care of you.”

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your thighs parting slightly under the weight of Aemond’s touch, an invitation that didn’t go unnoticed. He made a low sound of approval, his hand slipping beneath the fabric of your soaked nightdress, brushing over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The feeling was electric, sending sparks of heat through your body, a dangerous craving that only they could satisfy.

Osferth’s lips finally met your skin, pressing gentle kisses along your temple, down to the corner of your jaw. His movements were slow and patient, as though savouring every second. “You’ve been wanting this for so long,” he whispered against your skin, his breath warm and tempting. “Let us show you how much we’ve wanted it too.”

The contrast between them was intoxicating. Osferth’s gentle touches, his words filled with sweetness, calmed the nervous tremor in your heart, while Aemond’s intensity, his burning need, made your blood rush with anticipation. Together, they were a storm, and you were caught in the centre of it.

Aemond’s fingers finally found their mark, brushing against your soaked core, drawing a gasp from your lips. “So wet,” he muttered, his voice rough with desire as he stroked you, “Is this all for us?”

You nodded, unable to speak, your body betraying just how much you wanted them. How long these thoughts had tormented you, and how they now came to life before you.

Osferth shifted closer, his hand sliding to the small of your back, supporting you as Aemond’s touch grew more insistent, his fingers pressing and circling over your most sensitive spot. The sensation was overwhelming, the heat in your core building with each passing second. “Let go, love,” Osferth murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Let us take care of you.”

Aemond’s fingers slipped beneath your nightdress, his skin hot against yours as he finally pushed the fabric aside, baring you completely to him. His gaze darkened as he looked down at you, a predator sizing up his prey. “You belong to us,” he growled, his fingers teasing your entrance. “Never forget that.”

The words sent a jolt of heat through you, your body arching into his touch as his fingers finally slipped inside, slow and deliberate. A soft moan escaped your lips, and you felt Osferth’s breath hitch beside you, his hand tightening slightly at your waist.

Aemond moved his fingers with expert precision, his possessive and gentle touch, coaxing you closer to the edge with every stroke. Osferth’s lips found yours then, soft and tender, a stark contrast to the intensity of Aemond’s touch. The kiss was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to savour the moment, to draw out your pleasure for as long as possible.

Your world narrowed to the feeling of their hands, mouths, and bodies pressing against yours. The tension in your core built higher and higher, every stroke of Aemond’s fingers, every gentle kiss from Osferth, pushing you closer to a precipice you hadn’t even realised you were teetering on.

“I can feel how close you are,” Aemond muttered, his voice rough and commanding as his fingers pressed deeper. “Don’t hold back.”

Osferth pulled away from the kiss, his hand now moving down to join Aemond’s, their touches synchronising in a perfect, torturous rhythm. “We’ve got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing your neck. “Let go for us.”

And then, with a final stroke, your body shattered. The pleasure rolled through you in waves, crashing over you with a force so strong it left you breathless. Your thighs trembled, your hands clutching at the sheets as you moaned, your vision going white with the intensity of it.

Aemond’s fingers slowed, drawing out every ripple of pleasure until you were spent, your body sinking into the mattress, utterly undone.

Osferth’s hand was gentle as he brushed a strand of hair from your face, his gaze soft and full of affection. Aemond, still hovering close, his fingers lightly tracing your trembling thighs, smirked as he looked down at you, satisfied. “You’re ours now,” he whispered, his tone possessive yet tender.

You were theirs—utterly, completely, and irrevocably theirs.

Please let me know what you think and if you have any requests for this pairing.

@chainsawangel @afro-hispwriter @cookiesanddamilk @multitargaryen @namelesslosers

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (XVI): Love Story.

Imagine you are the Lady of Mercia and Osferth is your knight.

Warnings: soft smut, drama, angst.

Warnings 2: slightly divergence with “The Last Kingdom”’s events, with you being the daughter of Æthelflæd and Uhtred, prepared to the role dutifully.

***

• We were both young when I first saw you. I close my eyes and the flashback starts… I'm standin' there on a balcony in summer air. See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns. See you make your way through the crowd and say, "Hello". Little did I know…

It all starts when you two are young. Osferth has just recently met Uhtred, promptly embraced by this warrior who is to be half Dane, half Saxon, when lady Æthelflæd thought wise to prepare you to succeed her.

By then you and him are in your late teenager days. You do not know yet, though you may suspect, that Lord Æthelred is not your father, a man who inspires no sympathy of his subjects, dismissing you a paternal concern that, how curiously, Uhtred doesn’t hesitate in giving you.

“Lady Y/N”, Uhtred side smirks when seeing you. He can tell this growing beauty has his eyes and the man takes pride in gazing at you. But the secrecy must remain what is, a secret. “What a delight is to see you again.”

Due to recent events, which are a mix of your father’s death and the treachery of some of the Mercian aldermen, this infamous pagan warlord comes to protect your mother as part of his vow to the House of Wessex.

“My lord Uhtred”, you nod your head, unable to explain the instant sympathy the man inspires you, notwithstanding the differences in your creed. “I pray to find you well, my mother has been looking a great deal to seeing you again.”

He laughs, a sound you are most familiar with. It is a secret to none that he is your mother’s lover.

“Likewise, young lady. This is Osferth, by the way”, Uhtred presents one to the other, unknowing he’s planting a deadly seed.

Osferth steps forward. This tall man inspires you butterflies in your stomach, a feeling that you, however, promptly dismiss.

“My lord”, you curtsy graciously.

“Lady”, he avoids your gaze, nodding his head. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Osferth is a very good warrior, Y/N”, says Uhtred, amused by the teenager awkwardness. “He’s proven his worth and thus is here with me. Osferth, stay here with lady Y/N all the whilst I have matters to attend.”

Just like that he leaves you both. There is an awkward silence hanging between you two, so you opt to make things easier by breaking it:

“Is this the first time you stay on Mercia?”

“Nay, lady”, he slowly raises his eyes only to meet a pair of y/c irises staring at him. “I’ve been at Uhtred’s service for a few years since…eh… since I left my order.”

“Order?”, you repeat, rather intrigued. “Is my lord a priest?”

Osferth chuckles. You particularly swoon at his smile, at how handsome he is, but the pride that comes with your station prevents you to show it.

“I was, or rather am, a monk, lady.”

A small exchange of smiles occurs between you and him.

“How a monk then came to serve the great warrior Uhtred Ragnarsson?”

“This is a long conversation, lady.”

“Well, Monk Osferth, I have the time.”

***

• That you were Romeo, you were throwin' pebbles and my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet". And I was cryin' on the staircase. Beggin' you, "Please don't go, " and I said…

Æthelflæd raises her eyebrows when seeing how all of a sudden you are engaging in a conversation with Osferth when you have never had eyes to somebody else.

“You should not be so demanding to her”, says Uhtred, as they all gather at the table for a supper. “She found in Osferth a good companion, is all.”

“I can see the way she looks at him”, says the lady in a disapproving tone. “She will, when God wills it, be my heiress. She should know where this will lead her to.”

Uhtred limits himself giving her a look that she understands well. At times he wishes he could be more… present in your life. But in many ways he is.

As he observes you and Osferth cautiously now, he thinks wise to interfere.

“Y/N…”,Uhtred calls you. “Your mother wishes you to be more focused in your duties.”

“I do what she asks and more”, you sigh. “She is never pleased with anything I do.”

“It is the way of things. Kings and queens put duties over their sentiments”, says the warlord. “Most times they require personal sacrifices.”

You are tempted to argue, but seeing reason in his speech, what else is there to speak? You nod and giving Osferth a meaningless look, you depart without saying anything.

Osferth watches you go and, when noticing where his eyes follow, Uhtred clears his throat.

“Be careful, boy. Some prizes are too high to aim.”

The monk blushes at once.

“What is it you say, lord? I am but a bastard, a monk who, by chance, follows you in your wars.”

Uhtred side smirks in response.

“Youth can be misleading, this is all I can offer as an advice.”

But some part of the younger male wishes he’d have more time with you… however impossible it is.

***

• Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run. You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess. It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes"…

You do not see him again. It takes years until tragedy reunites one with the other. Until then you slowly grow into a different woman.

Your mind is well versed in politics and languages, at least knowing enough of Latin to understand the scriptures. You try to follow your mother’s steps, but this comes with a price.

Even Lady Æthelflæd is aware of the subtle changes in your personality. Where’s that characteristically joy that used to spark behind your y/c eyes? She misses it. As well as your innocence. Would time steal it from you?

At first she opts to ignore it. But not even her loyal adviser is blind to the loneliness you go through.

“It would do well if Lady Y/N had some companions to spend her time with. However is her position now or in the future ahead, she must not live isolated.”

Æthelflæd considers. But whilst she asks him to look for suitable companions, the role of a mother, which she often mistook as the same of a queen, leads her to a shadowy road.

“Y/N”, she comes to your chambers and doesn’t like seeing some sort of melancholy in you.

“Yes, my lady?”, you stand and curtsy.

Æthelflæd swallows the hurt when seeing it’s the queen you greet, not the mother.

“We must speak.”

“Have I done any wrongs?”

“It is not about that. I fear I have isolated you. I was… concerned you might suffer mundane influences which I attempted to prevent you to succumb.”

A flash of anger is perceived in your eyes. To your mother this is better than apathy.

“I am never good enough for you, aren’t I? You take the few friends I have and send them away. If I recall your words, all was done under the pretense of following duty.”

An argument is inevitable. There is only so much you can do to hold back the temper that is an inheritance of your mother and your father, though Æthelflæd credits the latter for it.

She hears the accusations in silence. An explosion is better than a cold storm, so the queen judges.

In the meantime the royal household is trembling, Osferth has been living quietly, fighting his wars and drinking his ale. The monk clearly breaks any celibate oath by getting himself involved with women.

“It so appears that our baby monk is not a baby anymore”, so Finan cackles.

“A man does what he does”, he shrugs his shoulders.

How can it be, though, that his thoughts never left aside the only lady he’d commit his heart to? Remorse soon comes when thinking that you’d not do what he did, knowing your character. Glooming soon comes… washing away what he judges to be weakness of his flesh.

As Uhtred likes to quote, though, destiny is all and soon it works to tie his life to yours.

*

Despite amending relations with your mother, you have never been the same. Duty has forged you into an iron lady prepared to embrace the arduous task to inherit a crown that deep inside your heart you’ve never wanted it.

Nonetheless, once you prove how dutiful you are and how sharp is your wit, the witan somehow feels at easy when looking at you as your mother’s heiress.

And the day where you are expected to become Lady of the Mercians comes sooner than expected.

“I have to deliver grave news to you, child”, and without wasting time, she tells you that she’s dying.

Naturally, you are shocked.

“This cannot be!”

“It is the will of God and we must respect it. Soon, transition will occur as we have planned all these years. Listen to me, Y/N, you are ready.” For the first time in a while she looks a mother to you. “I am proud of you, my daughter.”

You lean against her forehead and, letting a sob escape, you say:

“I shall not disappoint you, mother.”

“You could never”, and she kisses your forehead, thus reconciling permanently with you.

As she secretly requests the presence of Uhtred, you are going outside to fetch a messenger when you are surprised by his presence.

“My lord!”

“Where is she?”, by the grave expression on his face, you know he’s already been informed of her condition.

“At her bedchambers”, and it’s when you see him.

Osferth stands in the corridors, his eyes reminding you of those of a lost puppy’s. Courties come and go but you two freeze in time and space.

He knows and you know. With a movement of your head, you indicate him to follow. Discreetly he does, going after you somewhere that you know it’s not well guarded—in the past it used to be the spot where your mother welcomed Uhtred.

“Lady Y/N”, Osferth isn’t sure how to address you, how to even look at you.

For one moment neither do you. It seems as these last years turned one stranger to the other, and perhaps to avoid this odd sensation, you are the one to take his hand in yours.

“My lord”, you speak in short breath. “Osferth.”

“I thought we would never meet again”, says he, daring to raise his eyes.

Studying you, Osferth sees how grown you are. How beautiful you have become with eyes dark as coal and softened features, with y/c locks falling in one long braid. There is sadness behind your y/c eyes and God knows how he wishes to take it away.

When leaning his hand to stroke your cheek, you lean it against his palm, searching for comfort. For the very first time in years you shed a tear.

“I am alone in this world, Osferth. My life is not mine. They forbid me to nurture sentiments of any nature. I am caged.”

“This is not true, lady. I’m here and will never leave your side, this I vow. I did try to forget you in the past”, he admits. “The deep affection there is in my heart admonished my weakness. I cannot nor will I ever be so blunt in letting you to yourself.”

“I am expected to remain chaste”, you sob. “Or at least to marry someone else. Save me, my lord. Save me from my fate.”

“There is little need to protest against destiny”, says Osferth. “You were born for this, lady. God has put you where you should be. I’ll be here for you. Whatever comes, I’ll be beside you.”

You bury your face to his neck, bursting into tears. Osferth is tensed at such proximity, but when he embraces you, his concerns dissipate. Your smell brings him peace and as he rocks you in his arms, he realizes how much he loves you.

Oh, what a misfortune to love a star that is too high to grasp! But Osferth has been accustomed to the night to be drowned in hopelessness. What is he but a moon in search of the sun, contemplating the vast of the galaxy?

Nevertheless, the love he feels for you is inexplicable, inexpressible, irreversible.

“My lady”, he speaks in his husky tone, reluctantly parting from you. “We must go. We cannot take so long. I wish we had more time…”

“Osferth.”

“Yes?”

“Can you do at least one thing for me?”

“Anything, lady”, he takes your hands and presses a hand in each.

“Stay with me. Never leave my side, no matter the circumstances. Be the knight I want you to be.”

Osferth knows what you ask is too much of him. Especially now how acutely aware he is where came from this pair of dark coal eyes that stares at him.

Nevertheless, he’s been too weary to stay far from you. Even if he cannot have you, the warrior monk knows he has no strength to stay away from you anymore.

“I will do as my lady commands me to.”

That being said, Osferth does a bold move that surprises you both. He takes you by your waist and kisses you at long last.

***

• So I sneak out to the garden to see you. We keep quiet, 'cause we're dead if they knew. So close your eyes, escape this town for a little while, oh oh…

You are promptly acknowledged as Lady of The Mercians, the rightful successor of Lady Æthelflæd. Duty compels you to act as honorably as you can, showing the witan and your royal uncle how sharped is your wit.

There present is Lord Uhtred, who ensures his natural daughter is safe, that the transition to power occurs smoothly.

But at the end of the day you wish to see only one person. And when everyone else is sleeping, your loyal friend lady Ælfgifu brings him to your privy quarters.

“Lady”, Osferth is surprised at your summon. “Is there something wrong?”

He drinks the view of you, trying not to succumb his lust. Years have passed since he took the oath of not letting be slaved by his flesh, especially regarding his feelings for you.

Now, the sight of your long loose hair and the nightgown that covers poorly your body, letting be captured in glimpses your firm breasts, makes Osferth face an internal battle.

“There is nothing wrong, my love. Fear not”, you short the distance between you two feigning a confidence you lack. “I am my own mistress here, Osferth.”

He gives you a cautious look.

“Time has played with us, has it not?”, the monk muses. “However, my lady, we must not be imprudent. I stand here as you wish, but I am not going to be unwise and put you at risk.”

“I understand my mother has done a vow which I intend to keep. In the meantime she has met the man I know now as my father in secrecy. We could do the same.”

“If you are certain this will not…”

But his words die at how close you two are. What time has repressed, no iron is suffice to hold back now it’s loose. Osferth himself forgets reason when his lips collide against yours and his arms are all around you.

Sighing in content, never before you felt a mistress of yourself as in that moment. When his breath and yours are combined, his strong body warming yours, your fingers let loose in his face, his features, his hair.

All the whilst his tongue dances with yours, his long and callous hands play with your hair and work quickly to remove your fabric. Once he leads you to bed, he pauses a moment to hold your face gently:

“My lady wife.”

“My lord husband”, you beam at the secrecy with which you and him express at last the true sentiments and desires to each other.

Even if this love story is not having the end you’d like, it is already written more pleasant than you’d conceived.

As his mouth drinks in your skin, his tongue twirling around your neck, his hands gently spread your legs, placing himself in between as his mouth starts to cup each nude breast. Devouring your nipples like a hungry man, Osferth for few seconds forgets he is the one experienced…

“Why did you stop”, you moan in protest when seeing this handsome and strong man right where you want him to be.

Osferth smiles at you, a smile that brightens his face which in turn makes you beam at such a view.

“I remember my lady that I must have utmost care with you, considering you are a damsel.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“Is it a way to remind me you have had others in your bed, lord?”

Osferth’s smile quickly dismisses as he crawls over you.

“Lady, whilst it is true I have not behaved well in the past, I am being careful to you. We are already doing it unlawfully…”

“Oh shush! This is not the moment nor the time to…”

And here you are pleasantly swallowed his fervent kisses. Where Osferth is shy and discreet when he’s with others, right here with you he’s every inch the man you’ve read in books. Even more.

When his hand slides to your womanhood, there is no shadow of doubts or jealousy, but two hearts united in one purpose. And this is as holy as mundane, as sacred as profane, from the moment he slides in you only soon to seed you, providing a new delight never before you considered proving.

***

• Romeo, save me, I've been feeling so alone. I keep waiting for you, but you never come. Is this in my head? I don't know what to think. He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring and said, "Marry me, Juliet. You'll never have to be alone. I love you and that's all I really know. I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress. It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes". Oh, oh, oh. 'Cause we were both young when I first saw you

You receive a visit of Lord Uhtred, who’s been too suspicious of the reason you’ve been keeping Osferth wherever you go.

“Lady Y/N, may we have a word?”, he is somewhat surprised to see you fitting well in your new role.

In spite of the burden that being the sole ruler of Mercia carries, you’ve been continuing with the hard work of your mother. Some advisors, already perceiving that you hold a favourite in the person of your dearest knight, who does not meddle in politics, keep a blind eye to his person. But will others do the same notwithstanding your utmost discretion?

“Yes, lord Uhtred. You know you are welcome here”, you dismiss the council and receive him like a daughter receives a father.

The tender gesture does not go unnoticed by the man, who softens before you.

“So much like your mother”, Uhtred whispers, a sad smile crossing his lips. “Even in temper.”

“We had our differences”, you say, leaving a hint of a resentment that never truly healed. You wish you had been better as a daughter, more committed to the cause she stood for. You try amending the remorse by doing what she’d do… though this does not mean you forget your secret vows exchanged with Osferth.

Uhtred studies you for a moment and it’s almost as if he can tell what’s been left unsaid.

“We all did, but you are doing a good work here. She would be proud of you. Leaving these matters aside, I am not here to discuss the rather unpleasant businesses King Edward’s been having with Mercia.”

You ask servants to fetch yourselves wine and food before gallantries are set aside for politics. To your surprise, however, what Uhtred comes to discuss with you is in regard of your relationship with Osferth.

“Lord!”

“There is no need to protest. I am not here to admonish you for what I’ve done myself”, says he. “Whoever you lies with is your problem, Y/N. But the point is…the oath your mother took was only performed after you were adult and well looked after. You need to continue the lineage if you do not wish that Mercia falls onto the hands of Wessex.”

“I do not think the aldermen will accept Osferth as my husband”, you hesitate.

“There may be some elements they might consider”, Uhtred strokes his chin. “Do you love this man, Y/N Y/LN?”

You smile at the question posed. Uhtred can tell you do love his baby monk, unbelievable as it is that Osferth conquered the lady of Mercia’s heart. He scoffs at it.

“I do”, and then as if hesitating, you ask: “Will you give us your blessing?”

Uhtred never considered that you’d outwit him and your mother, but looking at the sagacity with which you’ve been conducting Mercian affairs, is it really difficult to believe you’ve known all this time?

“I personally think you deserve better”, the warlord teases you. “But alas, aye! He will look after you, I’m sure.”

You nod your head, thankful for his blessing. Then a moment of silence passes before Uhtred says:

“How long have you known?”

“Long enough”, your smile spreads. “What a shame is that I will never be able to acknowledge you as my father in public.”

“It matters not”, he says. “What is more relevant is that you are well and conducting your affairs properly, something of which I’ve never harbored doubts. I’m proud of you.”

A delight this reunion proves to be, giving your heart the balsam you need.

*

You are lawfully married to Osferth before selected witnesses on a sacred day. You ensure to bring your half-siblings for the ceremony, particularly bonding to Stiorra, who, despite the differences in creed, proves to be the sister you wish you had back in your youth.

At the feast, the aldermen present themselves. Not many are content with the choice, but if the blood of Ælfred does not meddle in Mercian matters, then all is well.

“You look beautiful, lady”, Osferth smiles as you two dance beautifully in your own ways after receiving the blessing of the priest. “I never thought I’d see this day come.”

“It did, husband”, you smile back and he notices the old glee once spotted in your eyes long time ago have now returned. “I’ve always had my faith this would somehow end well for us.”

“Praise the Lord”, says he.

An exchange of loving glances is enough before the bedding parade is announced. You see Uhtred is sighing heavily, opting for not partaking of the boasting. Some aldermen snort at it for its pagan nature.

But some traditions survive the time. Therefore, you play the role of a damsel, whose gown is stripped on your way to your bedchambers, as Osferth does the same. He laughs as Finan teases him, as well as their other mates, considering they were more than familiar with Osferth’s history before you came along.

Now here you two are, alone at last.

“It brings me great relief, in all honesty, that we are no longer hidden in secret”, he admits, lying on his elbow as he admires you openly.

“As it does to me, though what we have is not a burden, never was.”

“I know”, he takes your hand and brings it to his lips. “I only wish we had not taken such a long time.”

“It all happened in due time”, you smile before pulling him to you.

One kiss is enough to make Osferth’s mind go blank as well as yours. Thus it is this love story is sealed with a carnal union that mirrors that of the soul.

***

• Epilogue.

Some years later…

You pat your growing belly, watching with concern as Osferth teaches Edgar how to manage a sword.

“You must first learn how to unsheathe the sword, boy”, he speaks patiently. “And only then you will swing the basis like this…”

Edgar has the dark eyes of your father, but the hair of your husband. Except by these features, it’s a common consent that Mercia’s next ruler is very much like you.

“Be careful, husband! Edgar is not yet five”, you say, at the same time keeping an eye to the maids who look after Ædyth, 3, and Osbert, 2.

When Osferth meets your gaze, you still freeze, mesmerized by the unique kind of joy only a man like him could make you feel. After all these years? Always, you’d say to your sister.

“I will, my love. I assure you that, whatever has Finan told you about me, I’ve grown prudent”, he chuckles.

“I’m just assuring you, this is all.”

“You are fussing”, you hear a familiar voice that makes you turn your head to. It’s Stiorra, the happily queen of York. “You didn’t think I’d miss your labor, would you?”

At times you forget your belly is heavier…

“With many matters to attend, my sister, I honestly wouldn’t expect you to. But you know how grateful I am by your company.”

The thread is briefly interrupted as you are distracted by the shout of your youngest children. Osbert is crying for a reason and Ædyth is claiming she can hold a sword.

You give Stiorra a look before playing the role of a mother. As Osferth fussed with his son’s hair, thus finishing the training, his eyes linger at the familiar scenario.

“Who’d ever known we would come all this way?”, when he turns it’s Finan who speaks.

Today, he came with Uhtred for a familiar visit that has, however, political implications. It appears that Brida has been planning a vengeance at Uhtred, so the northern warlord came to ask for Mercian aid—specially when your royal uncle is not excited at the prospect of borrowing your father some men to impede this alleged Danish invasion.

“God writes in mysterious ways”, says the former monk.

“You deserve this, my friend. You have a wife who loves you, and she is rich, possessing lands and enough silver for a lifetime”, both friends laugh at his remark. “And what about your children? I’ll ensure that Edgar is training by my sons’ side when time is come.”

“You can always bring them here”, suggests Osferth. “Y/N doesn’t want to acknowledge but in due time our boy will have his own household, so he must be surrounded by good and loyal friends.”

“I’ll consider it with my wife. It’s an excellent suggestion”, Finan agrees.

As the day turns into night and the guests, as well the children, are set to sleep, Osferth and you finally have a moment to yourselves.

“What a day”, says he in the moment he slides at his side of the bed.

“Indeed. Grandmother has been very, uh, busy with our children. I fear she might spoilt them too much”, you shake your head, in reference to the King Ælfred’s wife who’s been with you since your mother’s premature demise.

Osferth is on his elbow, stroking your hair as he ensures you are comfortable.

“She enjoys a privilege few do: meeting her great-grandchildren, another generation of the old king’s blood.”

You lean into his touch, locking hands with his, watching your husband blow away a few candles.

“You bring me great delights, my love.”

“The seed is strong”, he teases you, making you chuckle quietly.

“Don’t be silly, Osferth.”

With moonlight finding its way stubbornly through half closed curtains, you see the gaze your husband casts at you. You lift your hand to play with his short hair before stroking his face.

No words are needed.

As you smile and he smiles too, you peck his lips. It is a love story and both of you said yes to it. Such is what the pens of future scribes will register.

Others will write songs. The Lady and Her Knight will echo through the centuries, with your descendants still on power somehow by the 18th century…

[humanpurposes]

From Eden

Chapter 1: Little Novice

Danes attack Wincombe Abbey and a young novice crosses paths with a group of mercenaries and their Baby Monk // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Osferth x Original Female Character

Warnings: bit of violence and death, suggestive themes if you squint, there will eventually be smut

Words: 4000

A/n: not me starting another series oops but i can't resist the baby monk

Today saw the first snowfall of the year. A few flakes landed on Bridget’s sleeves as she sauntered past the hard and frosted soil of the vegetable garden, past the pigsty and towards the stream that circled Wincombe Abbey. She swung an empty pitcher back and forth as she hummed the least melancholy hymn she could think of.

They had guests currently. Lady Aethelflaed of Mercia had arrived two days ago, bringing with her a group of guards who were camping at outside the Abbey. Bridget had been tempted to walk past the men on her errand, but the Abbess was already in a foul mood and she didn’t fancy testing her temper. Not unless it was for something interesting.

She had spent her morning as she always did. Prayers first. Her knees were never not bruised by the flagstone floor of the chapel, but with winter settling in they were numb too. Then she saw to the goats and the pigs. Then she helped in the kitchen. Finally, she got to eat in the hall with her Sisters. Bread with some winter preserves and slices of cured ham.

When she got to the stream, she placed the pitcher by her feet. With a final glance over her shoulder to the solitary stone building of the Abbey, she hopped across the water on a sparse path of rocks and made for the line of trees ahead of her.

The woods were the only place she felt like a living person and not simply a novice in a habit.

Bridget couldn’t stand how quiet life the Abbey could be. The Abbess, a stern but fair woman, told her it was because she was restless and unappreciative, but perhaps she was simply not well suited to mindfulness and prayer. Sometimes she could find things to laugh about with the younger girls, but then the Abbess would scold her for her “impiety”.

Once she was amongst the trees she tugged at her habit. In the summer she might take it off, but it offered some extra warmth in the colder months.

Her preferred weapon was where she left it, leaning against the trunk of a young oak tree. A broken bit of a branch, small enough for her to wield and heavy enough to hit against the trees.

She twirled it through her hands, just as her brother used to show her. From the few memories she had, she remembered he could do all sorts of impressive tricks with his sword. He could spin it and slice it through the air in controlled and precise movements.

It had been a decade since she had seen her brother, but she tried to keep his teachings with her, swinging branches at tree trunks, imagining she was a great warrior, like David slaying Goliath. Technically David had slayed Goliath with a rock and a sling, a detail the Abbess insisted was important. Bridget could invent a thousand reasons why, but she didn’t care to.

Especially when she was younger, she liked to imagine herself as a warrior when she was tasked with cutting wood or slaughtering and butchering the pigs. They were both hard work, but she was always willing to do it, if only to have an excuse to be destructive for once. She found it could be quite cathartic.

After a particularly harsh blow against a tree that cracked the branch almost in two, she froze. She heard horses. She hoped they would move on, but she made out a few figures in the distance, figures who appeared to have spotted her and were moving closer.

She dropped the branch and fixed her habit, to find a lock of her hair hovering over her forehead. She tucked it back in as the faces of the riders came into view.

There were five who rode at the front, four men and a woman with pale, blonde hair and strange markings on her face. A larger group, no more than twenty, hung back a little.

“A nun,” one of the men called. He rode in front of the group, their leader, she supposed.

“There we are then, you’ll feel right at home, Baby Monk,” another said. He had a gruff voice and an Irish accent. One of the other men laughed. The woman didn’t react at all.

“Is the Abbey nearby?” The leader asked.

Bridget frowned. He had an accent she could not place. “You are Danish?” She looked amongst the rest of their group, and they each seemed to find her accusation amusing.

“What is my religion to you, girl?”

“I would like to know if you would seek to do us harm.”

He raised a brow. “And you believe the best measure of a man to be the gods he follows?”

“I believe the best measure of a man is his intentions,” she said, meeting his eye and determined to keep her expression stoic.

But apparently he was pleased with her response. “You and I are similar in this respect,” he said, loosening the grip of his reins. “We seek the Lady Aethelflaed.”

“Would you seek to do her harm?”

“Only the good kind,” the Irishman mumbled with a smirk.

The leader rolled his eyes. “She and I are friends. I have come to offer her my protection.”

Bridget looked into the eyes of each of their group, the leader, the Irishman, the one who from his hair also looked to be a Dane, and the younger man riding at the back of the group. The woman had an unsettling gaze, she was the only one Bridget felt she felt compelled to look away from. The Abbess would call the markings on her face the markings of a heathen.

“There is a bridge over the stream,” she said, pointing through the trees. “Cross there. There will be room for your horses in the stables.”

She watched the men move away, each of them offering thankful smiles. She concealed her own, and headed back the way she came, across the stream and to the abbey with the empty pitcher.

Lady Aethelflaed welcomed them warmly and named their leader as Lord Uhtred. After it was agreed that they were decidedly not Danes (not the kind who would attack an Abbey anyhow), they settled in the hall, where Bridget and the nuns brought them bowls of stew and bread.

She expected them to eat like the Mercian guards, wolfing down bread and stew like they hadn’t seen food in days, but Lord Uhtred and his men thanked her graciously as she placed bowls on the table and went round to ladle out more stew for them.

Until she came to the man sitting at the end of the table, beside Lady Aethelflaed. He was the youngest of the group, with wide blue eyes and a sharp jaw. He kept to himself, slightly hunched over his stew.

She was rather fascinated by his robes and the small silver cross around his neck. If he had a slightly worse haircut he would look like a monk. But that was ridiculous, why would a monk be travelling with a group of mercenaries?

She approached him and waited for him to notice her. He looked up at her a smiled vaguely.

She indicated to the pot she was carrying.

“Please,” he muttered, holding out his bowl.

She dished a few spoonfuls for him and he smiled again, a little wider this time. She smiled back.

She wondered where he might be from, why he served a Dane if he wore a cross, how far their group had travelled and how many tales they might have.

“May I ask your name?” He asked.

She had been so distracted trying to think of something to say that his question took her by surprise.

“Oh… Bridget,” she said. “And you?”

“I am Osferth,” he said. He was very softly spoken, she thought. There was something so gentle and subdued about him.

“Are you a monk, Osferth?” She asked.

He glanced down at the cross hanging from his neck. “I was, I left my order to serve Lord Uhtred.”

“And now you are, what, a mercenary?”

Osferth chuckled to himself and shook his head lightly. “I am not much of a fighter just yet.”

“But you have a sword, and your friends are warriors.”

“I am still learning. In the meantime I can only practice and pray to God for courage and strength.”

She felt a light feeling in her chest she was sure she hadn’t felt in years. That’s what she prayed for too, even when the nuns told her she should be praying for patience and forgiveness.

“How did you—”

“Bridget.” The Abbess called, glaring at her from across the table.

Bridget nodded her head to Osferth, a farewell, she supposed, and headed back to the kitchen. One of the girls followed behind her, with a now empty pitcher of ale.

“The Irishman is handsome,” Bridget whispered into her ear once they were through the doors.

The other girl’s mouth fell open.

“What? Surely it is not a sin to look?”

The next morning, the Abbess ensured Bridget stayed in the kitchen. “So you might not be so easily distracted,” she warned, leaving her to peel and slice an endless amount of vegetables.

The Abbess seemed rather distressed at hosting Lord Uhtred and his men. “Ravenous permanently,” she grumbled, marching in through the kitchen with the remains of their breakfast. “They are eating into our winter stores.”

“So why let them stay?” Bridget muttered, dragging the edge of her knife over the skin of a few carrots.

“Because it is our place to show kindness,” the Abbess insisted through her teeth. She emptied the plate into a bucket by Bridget’s feet. “Take that out to the pigs.”

Bridget made no verbal protest. She placed the knife down and left through a small door that led out to the side of the Abbey, just as she had done the previous day. The skin of her cheeks stung when it met the icy morning air. The snow was heavier today. She blinked a few flakes out of her eyes and marched quickly towards the pigsty.

She made sure to scratch them behind the ears, poor things, left out in the cold.

She made her way around the building, to the front doors of the Abbey, and blinked.

And blinked again.

No, there was defineately an army of Danes lined up on the other side of the bridge.

“Good morning, nun!” One cried from atop a grey horse.

“Who are you?” Bridget demanded, but her voice came out a little more broken than intended.

The man chuckled and nodded to the bridge.

They had three hostages, each with a knife being held to their throats.

But with the order from their leader, the first hostage’s throat was sliced open, his body carelessly left to fall to the floor.

Bridget couldn’t bring herself to scream and choked out a broken sort of gasp.

They made no demands, made no moves towards her, and there was no indication they intended to kill the other two hostages. Not yet.

She slowly stalked towards the doors, unable to keep her eyes away from the danger.

“We will wait!” The man on the horse called, “for Aethelflaed!”

She ran to the kitchen first.

“To the hall!” She cried, moving to shut the windows.

The others all stared at her for a moment.

“Now!”

“What is the meaning of this?” The Abbess asked, bolting the door to the gardens as the others fled the kitchen.

“Danes,” Bridget breathed. She hadn’t realised her lack of breath or the restless feeling creeping under her skin.

The Abbess’s skin turned pale. She placed her hand on Bridget’s shoulder and ushered her towards the hall.

The nuns and novices had raised alarm amongst the men. Half of them were already reaching for their weapons.

Bridget and the Abbess slammed the doors of the hall with an ominous thud.

“What is it?” Lord Uhtred demanded.

“Danes. Outside.”

Every man was on his feet in an instant, and the sound of unsheathed swords rang through the hall.

“How many Danes?” The Irishman asked.

Bridget faltered. She hadn’t thought to count them. “More than twenty. Less than fifty.”

A few men moved towards the doors and the windows, but Lord Uhtred ordered them to hold for the time being.

He turned to Bridget. “Do you know what they want?”

“He asked for Lady Aethelflaed.”

“But they may not know we are here,” he said to his men.

“They know someone is here,” Osferth’s voice came. He was still sat at the table and had not drawn his sword.

“But they have hostages,” Bridget said. “They killed one man and they have two more.”

“We remain inside, and we remain silent,” Uhtred ordered, coming towards Bridget and the Abbess. “They must believe you are unprotected,” he said.

He looked between them for a moment, and turned back to Bridget. “Would you speak with them?”

Her heart must have stopped for a moment. “What?”

“We cannot save the hostages, but you can save the lives of the men and women here.”

“And Aethelflaed,” Osferth added.

“You must deny she is here; convince them you have nothing to offer.”

Her restlessness was starting to feel like fear, but she understood Lord Uhtred’s plan, and she could not say why, but she was inclined to trust him.

Until the Abbess interjected. “No!”

Bridget’s heart sank a little. “Abbess, I can do it—”

“No, child, this is my house. This will be my responsibility.” She turned to Lord Uhtred. “I will do it.”

Bridget followed Uhtred and some of the other men into the entrance hall. She stood by one of the windows, out of sight of the Danes, occasionally stealing glances of the Abbess as she stepped out to attempt a negotiation.

“We know him,” a voice muttered beside her. She looked up to see Osferth’s jaw hovering over her. “His name is Haesten.”

The Abbess made her plea for mercy.

In turn, a second man had his throat slit.

“Deny her presence again and a third man dies. And I will burn down your nunnery, and everyone in it.”

Bridget placed her hand on her throat. She could feel her heart pulsing.

A hand gently came onto her shoulder, but Osferth said nothing. His hands were larger than she realised. It wasn’t exactly calming, but she liked it.

True to the words of the Dane, the third man was slain, and when the Abbess reached for an axe she was met with a spear to her chest.

Bridget flinched into Osferth’s chest, keeping her hands over her eyes.

“Aethelflaed!” Haesten cried. “How many more men and women must die to save your bony arse?”

“To the hall,” Osferth said, taking one of her hands in his.

When she glanced once more out the window, Haesten and his men were moving past the bodies of the hostages and the Abbess, towards the doors.

Bridget, Osferth and Aethelflaed gathered the nuns and novices to the back of the hall, while Uhtred and his men lined up behind the doors with shields, spears and swords.

“Will you not fight?” Bridget asked Osferth.

“I told you, I am not much of a warrior,” he said solemnly, as he and Lady Aethelflaed positioned themselves before the others.

Bridget frowned, but tried to distract herself by whispering assurances to some of the younger girls.

When the doors finally burst open she felt utterly helpless. The fighting was kept by the doors and the entrance hall, while Osferth and Lady Aethelflaed watched with their swords drawn.

And when two of the Danes broke through the line protecting the door, they moved together. Lady Aethelflaed fought better than the monk, she thought.

She watched as a third man fought through, overwhelming Osferth while Aethelflaed was still preoccupied.

Bridget couldn’t stop herself. She darted towards the table and grabbed a knife. She supposed the man could have easily turned to her and lodged his axe in her chest, but he didn’t get a chance to even look at her before she rammed the knife into his neck, sending a spray of blood through the air.

The rest of the room was a haze. Something warm and wet landed on and dripped down her cheek.

Suddenly she felt two hands against her shoulders. She blinked.

Osferth’s blue eyes were glaring at her. “That was foolish,” he said.

Three men lay dead on the floor. Swords continued to clash in the entrance hall but Haesten and his men were retreating.

Osferth and Aethelflaed moved out to join Uhtred, while some of the nuns came to wipe the blood from Bridget’s face.

She told them of the Danes and the Abbess’ death. Some of the girls cried, some prayed. She came to clutch her own cross around her neck. But her hands would not stop shaking and her heart would not rest.

She killed a man. Really, it hadn’t been much harder than slaughtering a pig, but at least it felt a little more justified.

If the Abbess were not dead, she would have screamed at her, told her she was ungodly, no better than a cold-blooded murderer, or any of the Danes who ravaged villages and stole from innocent Mercians.

They stayed huddled in the hall until dusk, when Lord Uhtred seemed to finally come to a resolution.

The woman with the markings on her face, Skade, was a seer, and Haesten agreed to take her in Aethelflaed’s place.

Bridget watched the exchange from the doors to the main hall, and a shiver slipped down her spine when Skade turned to Uhtred with a dark look in her eyes.

“You are cursed once more, Uhtred of Bebbanburg.”

Bridget had hardly slept that night. She lay eyes closed, still in her robes and the white headscarf she wore under her habit, listening to the gentle snores of the girls in the beds around her and aware of the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

The moment she heard the first whistle of birdsong at dawn, she was up. She pulled on a pair of boots and looked around her bed. But it occurred to her she owned nothing, save for her little silver cross.

She hurried through the abbey, past the open doors of the hall, now empty.

The men were outside, securing their saddles and mounting their horses.

She spotted Lord Uhtred as he was helping Lady Aethelflaed pack her own mount.

Osferth was by his horse, talking to the Irishman.

“Lord Uhtred!” Bridget called over the noise of the horses.

He turned to her with a small smile. “Fear not, we have not emptied your food stores—”

“I want to come with you,” she said.

She had the attention of the others now.

Uhtred chuckled to himself. “I already have a stray monk, I have no need for a little novice.”

Bridget’s skin still felt strange where it had been stained with blood. “I fought better than him.”

“Not a particularly high standard,” the Irishman joked. Osferth’s head sunk, but he was smirking too.

“So you killed one man and now you offer yourself as a warrior?” Uhtred asked.

Her breath caught in her throat as she finally realised the ridiculousness of her proposition. She could swing a branch, cut firewood and bury a knife into an unsuspecting man, but that would hardly help her in a true battle.

“With practice, perhaps?” She said, pressing her nails into her palm. “But I have some skills as a healer also. I’ve assisted the Abbess with all sorts of ailments, no doubt you encounter your fair share of injuries?”

“She’s got spirit, Uhtred, at least give her that,” Aethelflaed said.

“Please,” Bridget said, “give me the chance and I will prove myself to you.”

They each shared a few pointed glances.

“I admire your determination, but I cannot bring a girl onto the battlefield against armies of Danes. I cannot guarantee your protection and I cannot even offer you a horse.”

“Lord? She can ride with me,” Osferth said quietly. “With your permission of course. I can look out her.”

Uhtred raised his eyebrows. “Very well.”

Bridget felt herself smile, wide and showing off her top row of teeth. It felt uncomfortable but she didn’t try to stop herself.

The others were already starting to move off as she approached Osferth as he stroked the nose of his horse.

“Have you ridden before?” He asked.

“No.”

“You’ll sit behind me; I’ll help you up.”

Bridget nodded.

She watched as he placed his left foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over to the other side. “Easy,” he insisted, holding out his hand to her. “Don’t be afraid to use your strength.”

She followed his movements as best she could, but her skirt wouldn’t allow her to bring her leg to the other side of the saddle. She fell back onto her feet with a disgruntled huff.

“Other foot then, and slot both legs onto one side of the saddle.” He held out his hand again. “Ready?”

“Wait.” Bridget looked back to the space around her. The stream, the woods, the doors to the place that had never really felt like home. She reached for her headscarf and pulled it off her head, letting it fall to the ground. She didn’t suppose she would have any use for it now. Her hair fell down her back in a messy braid.

She looked back up at Osferth, between his hand, his eyes, and briefly to the curve of his upper lip. She held his hand tightly and hauled herself up onto the horse, her arms and legs trembling slightly at the effort.

Once the horse was settled Osferth gave it a gentle kick and they began to move. Bridget latched onto his shoulders as they began to sway with the movement.

“What if I fall off?” She asked, suddenly horrified at the prospect.

“You won’t fall off,” Osferth said, “use your thighs.”

“What?”

“Grip with your thighs,” he said.

She did so instinctively. Something about it felt… strange.

They cantered to catch up with the group and Bridget gripped Osferth’s shoulders a little tighter. Until he took one of her hands and placed it on his waist, so she wouldn’t impede on his arms. She muttered an apology and unsurely placed her other hand around him.

A few days ago she hadn’t so much as spoken to a man in years, except an incident where a nearby farmer had broken his leg, and even then she only wordlessly assisted the Abbess to bandage his limb.

Now she had her arms around a man’s torso, close enough to feel his warmth from under his winter cloak as her body rocked against his back.

“You’re frozen,” Osferth said, briefly brushing his thumb over her hand.

“It’s winter.”

“Did you not have anything warmer to wear?”

“We don’t attach ourselves to material items,” she said in a mockingly wistful voice.

He huffed a small laugh and pulled the horse to a stop before swinging his leg around the its head, landing on the ground in one smooth movement.

He undid the clasp on his cloak and held it up to her.

“Thank you,” she said, wrapping it around her shoulders, “but I don’t want you to get cold.”

He mounted again, a little awkwardly with Bridget already in the saddle. “Hold it around me. We can keep each other warm.”

She shuffled closer into him. Osferth brought one hand off the reins and pulled the corner of the cloak around his arm as Bridget settled against his back, resting her head at the base of his neck.

Thank God he couldn’t see her as her cheeks started to burn against the cold and the snow.

[vermithorn]

This request is for our darling Osferth. His super religious upbringing has him unknowingly become an ass man, with this twisted idea if they have anal, her "purity/maidenhead" will stay intact. She can be a nun, ealdorman's daughter, whatever.

Here's a picture for inspiration. ♥

OSFERTH + ANAL

contains: afab!reader, modern!osferth, anal, also anal fingering ofc, manipulation? slightly dub-con so tagging it anyway, gaslighting, religious themes? is this sacrilege? blasphemy? i think it’s desecration? i don’t know i am not religious im sorry if this is wrongly put omg it’s fucking anal. ooc osferth but y’all know how it is with anal SEX.

author’s note: holy shit arcie,, god tier request i hope i do it justice damn. i had to do a modern!au because i still cant wrap my head around old english terms to write,, so forgive me for that and please enjoy! GOD FORGIVE ME FOR THIS HOLY FUCKING SHIT,,,

send your requests for my milestone event!

“Are you sure about this,” You stuttered, still somewhat embarrassed as Osferth looked down at you, “I don’t think it works that way, Osferth.”

He kneeled in front of you, and placed a hand on your thigh, “Don’t worry, darling,” He softly caressed your skin, his long fingers tracing shapes in your inner thigh. “I already explained this to you, do you want to hear it again?”

You nodded shakily, your gaze moving from his hand on your thigh to his blue eyes. “Yes, please.”

He gave you a reassuring smile, but it didn’t seem right to you as his deep blue eyes darkened. 

“My sweet girl,” He cooed, cupping your face with his other hand, “You know we can’t lay normally as a man and woman could,” A little smirk crept into his face, “I am not allowed to take you as mine that way, you know that.”

You pouted slightly, a faint blush appearing on your face. “I know.”

“Good girl,” His hand was soft on your face, tracing your jaw as he spoke, “But thankfully, I know a way.”

His hand on your inner thigh moved to your already wet cunt, he grazed the wet patch on your panties before moving them to the side. His index moved up and down on your folds making you shiver, he gathered your juices as he moved his finger downwards your perineum. 

He circled your exposed puckered hole with the pad of his index, coating it with your own juices as you jumped slightly at the touch. 

“I cannot take your purity, my darling,” He purred, “But I can take you from here and we wouldn’t have a single problem.”

You had to hold back a moan at the back of your throat, gulping as you looked into his blue eyes who were looking back at you with an electrifying hunger. 

“Are you sure? Isn’t that the same thing?”

He looked at you condescendingly, “Sweet girl, don’t you trust me?” He kept circling your puckered hole, the pad of his finger slowly pushing into you. 

You frowned, shaking your head apologetically, “I do trust you, sorry.”

He removed the hand on your face, grabbing the little bottle of lube on the nightstand. “You should know better than question God’s word, sweet girl.” He put an absurd amount of liquid on his fingers, parting your legs with his other hand to begin opening you up. 

The lube was cold on your skin, it made you jump at every slight touch. He started slow, the familiar touch of his pad on your puckered hole making his way in, the burn of the intrusion making you wince. 

“Osferth.” You sighed, swallowing as his fingers pushed into your puckered hole, working you up. 

His first finger transformed into two, adding more lube to it every time, his other hand worked on your clit to make it more pleasurable. Suddenly, your soft distressed whimpers turned into loud moans of delight, his fingers working magic into you.

“Are you ready to take all of me, darling?” He whispered, his head leaning against your leg as he watched hypnotized how his fingers scissored into your gaping hole. 

You only could nod in response, your eyes closed.

He softly removed his fingers from your hole, and you watched him remove his pants quickly, his hardened cock in sight as he pulled his underwear down.

Osferth lubed his cock, using an exaggerated quantity of the liquid, but he knew how useful it was. He kneeled in front of you, his throbbing cock standing proud and crimson. “Open your legs, sweet girl,” He said, slowly pumping his length, spreading the lube.

You obeyed, parting your legs as much as possible as you laid back on the bed.

He grinned down at you, his blue eyes darkened with lust. “Good girl, you have to look me in the eyes as I do this, do you understand?”

You nodded quickly, shaking in anticipation as he positioned himself, the tip of his cock on your now stretched puckered hole. You shivered, shaky breaths coming out of your mouth.

“You will stay pure as I do this, you know that right?” He slowly submerged himself into your hole, making you gasp, already overwhelmed at the big invasion.

He grunted, teeth clenching as he muttered, “So tight, my sweet girl, you’re so tight for me.”

Your eyelids fluttered, almost closing, jaw dropped as he buried himself into you.

His hand flew to your jaw, startling you, opening your eyes to look at him, “Look at me, this is a reward for you, darling.”

vermithorn © do not copy, repost or translate my works.

[idksmtms]

Osferth Masterlist

Series

Under construction...

Oneshots

Gentle First, Everything Else Second - (Osferth x Virgin!reader - coming soon)

By the time you met Osferth he had come far from his days of chastity and monkhood. Though he still looked like a virgin, he was far more experienced than you. So you trusted him to guide you through this...

Father Wouldn't Approve - (Osferth x Uhtred's Daughter!reader - coming soon)

Osferth was honest, Osferth was committed, Osferth was loyal. These were all reasons why you were in love with him. These were all reasons which meant he could not have you.

AUs

Coming soon...

[anjelicawrites]

Written as part of the Fan Frankentober event organized by @fandomeventcenter. Read the other works in the masterlist here!

Pairing: werewolf!Osferh x human!reader x vampire!Aemond Targaryen.

Synopsis: you just wanted to go the bookstore and buy some Halloween reads to celebrate Halloween. Now you’re running for you life, hunted down by two creatures that should only exists in stories

Warnings: DDDNE, Consensual noncon, oral (m & f receiving), facefucking, p in v sex, manhandling, mind control to force your partner to have sex, monsterfucking, biting, body horror, blood drinking, double v. penetration, squirting, slapping, dachryphilia, fighting overstimulation, demeaning language, multiple orgasms, creampie, tummy inflation.

Your breath burns in your lungs, you have been running for how long? It can’t be hours, can it?

A slim branch slaps your face as you try to power through the thick forest surrounding your home: where are you? You’ve never reached so deeply, not during a moonless night and without your dogs to guide you back on the beaten path.

Your foot catches a raised root, your body falls on the soft underbrush, your hands barely cushioning your weight as you scream in surprise.

It is a mistake. Now he knows where you are.

In this story thee people consensually decide to play out a non con fantasy. Read at your own risks. Be responsible for the fiction you consume!

NSFW and 18+ only please.

Crying you manage to stand up again, you don’t wait until your back is fully extended to start running again, half blinded by your own tears of terror now that you can hear his dark laugh reverberate through the black forest.

“I’ll find you little lamb, wherever you are. And when I do, I will bleed you dry!”

A desperate no slips from your lips, choked by your broken breathing.

You keep running, trying to look behind you in the desperate attempt to locate your assailant, feeling his cold breath down your neck.

“What do we have here?”

You feel big hands on your arms, a sturdy chest blocking your body.

You didn’t realize you have reached a clearing, too focused on running for your life to notice the tall man in front of you.

For a split second you let your mind believe you’ve found help, when the stranger smiles gently at the panicked way you try to explain yourself.

“He’s coming!” You scream, twisting your body in his hold. “He’s dangerous!”

He looks young, younger than he probably is, and far too calm for the situation.

“Please! We need to go!” You beg.

His smile turns darker at your words, only now your eyes pick the strange yellow of the irises and the vertical pupils: you could swear his eyes were baby blue, framed by the undercut of his blond hair. Through the stream of adrenaline coursing through your veins, you feel pinpricks on your arms. You gasp when you see his long nails and claw like hands around the red cotton of your hoodie.

“Little red riding hood all alone and lost in the woods. I guess you met the big, bad wolf.”

Your legs give under your weight when you see the way his face has switched: gone the elegant nose and sharp chin, now replaced by wolf-like elongated features and sharp teeth.

You’re so paralyzed with fear you can’t even scream.

“You smell delicious. I can’t wait to eat you up.” He growls, pulling your body closed to his, now, hairier one.

His scratchy tongue licks the side of your neck and smacks against his palate when he can taste you fully: your cunt must be delicious, he plans to eat it before and after he’s fucked you full of his cum.

Before he can tear your clothes to shreds, a dark shadow flies from the threes towards him, fangs ready to slice his neck apart, forcing him to throw you away like a rag doll, to defend himself.

Your body slams painfully against the trunk of an oak. For precious seconds you remain crumpled against the ancient tree, the pain cutting through you when you try to take a deeper breath, your eyes peeled open to look at the two monster fighting under the pallid light of the stars, one silver haired and armed with dangerously sharp fangs, the other more lupine than human in his rage and hunger.

Before your brain can make a plan, your body decides to escape them both, hoping they’d be too focused on killing one another, to notice you slipping away, back into the dense forest.

Snuffing moans of pain as you roll on your fours, you start crawling towards the edge of the forest, ignoring the squelching sounds of ripped flesh and animalistic groans as your hands plunge in the wet underbrush.

You’ve almost made to where the threes start to thicken, that a big hand grabs your hair, pulling you backwards with a painful tug.

“Where do you think you’re going, little red riding hood?”

The man wolf turns your head until you can meet his monstrous face, his body is a wall of muscles and fur behind you.

To your front, the other man, the one who had charmed you so easily during your monthly run to your local bookstore, who truly is something your mind refuses to name, smiles, showing fully his long fangs. How did you not notice those? How did you manage to find yourself in one of the books you usually read during the days before Halloween?

He hums, the one who had so charmingly introduced himself as Aemond, one eyebrow slightly raised to chide your silently.

“Trying to run away when we were fighting for you.” He growls. “Youth these days.”

In a vain attempt to free yourself, your hands go for the paw in your hair, your too small fingers try to pry the vice that keeps you on your knees, against his healing body.

“Please.” You cry. “Please just let me go.”

Tears stream down your cheeks: you don’t want to die.

The one named Aemond shush you gently, as if you were a child. He kneels in front of you to dry your tears with fingers as cold as death; the more he tries to calm you, the harder you cry.

“What should we do with this sweet little thing here?” The one behind you asks. “We can fight for the rest of the night and go home dissatisfied.”

You try to squirm in his hold and he simply pulls your hair harder, making you yelp in pain.

“What do you propose, wolf?” Aemond asks, eyeing the two of you with masked interest.

“We can reach an agreement that would leave us all satisfied.”

The thing that was supposed to be a man hums, his one eye roams your ruined clothes as if he’s trying to imagine the shape of your naked body.

“Do you want to go home, little lamb?” He asks you, the fake gentleness of his voice opens a new abyss of fear in your heart.

“Yes. Just let me go.” You manage to respond with a broken voice.

“You have to give us something in return, red riding hood.” The monster behind you interjects. “A little quid pro quo, I’d say.”

You try to squirm away again, your hands useless against the thick fingers curling painfully in your hair.

“Service us both, and we’ll let you go unscathed.”

You spit in Aemond’s face, angry and foolish, he backhands you, your head turning painfully, blood pouring from your split lip.

“Or as unscathed as you deserve.” The monster behind you murmurs in your ear. “The name’s Osferth, you’re going to scream it a lot.”

You’re thrown face first on the wet grass of the clearing, before you can even imagine to escape, their hands find your ruined clothes, tearing at your hoodie and leggings, until you’re left in your pretty underwear.

“Playing so hard to get.” The one named Osferth grabs the ornate silk of your panties and rips it apart. “Wearing these!”

You want to say that use pretty underwear because it makes you feel good, not because you want to be fucked, they don’t give you the time, nor do they care.

They manhandle you, uncaring of your whines of pain and your tears of absolute terror at their strength that can tear you apart in a second of carelessness.

You’re sitting on Osferth’s face, his big paws keep you keeled with your legs framing his head, he’s fucking your hole with his abnormally long tongue, moaning at your taste, his claws biting at your skin when you try to move away, too overstimulated.

Your hands are tied behind your back, since you don’t need them now; they used your pretty bra to secure them, the knot painfully tight and impossible to loosen.

Aemond is fucking your skull with abandon. His thick erection lodged in your throat pulsates with every contraction of your walls, his hips grind against your face; dizzy you try to move away, needing the oxygen he’s depriving you of. He grunts like an animal, your desperate moans arouse him even more, your trashing in his hold spurs him on in keeping your face plastered against his groin as he grinds and grinds, in tandem with Osferth’s fucking of your hole.

You want to scream, you want to get away from the pleasure possessing your body, enhanced by the lack of oxygen. Your clit fires and fires with every movement of Osferth’s nose, his paws force you to grind against him again and again, until the knot in your stomach breaks, and you come.

Aemond’s cum sprouts in your mouth at the same time, uncoordinated you choke on it, feeling the seed leaking from your lips and nose as he keeps fucking you face, despite your coughing and trashing, until he pushes you backwards and sideways, letting your spent body fall on the grass.

You try to catch your breathe, pulling oxygen in with desperate gulps, hoping they’re sated.

They’re not.

Aemond cuts your bindings and roughly turns you on your back, his hands grab your legs before you can close them. Osferth’s paws grabs your wrists to pin them over your head, stilling your body.

“Please.” You cry, receiving a fast slap on your cunt.

“You’re a liar, little red riding hood. You came all over my face.” Osferth leers from your side. “You should try their cunt. It tastes delicious.”

Aemond has you legs already over his shoulders, opening the lower part of your body to his hunger; his fingers pry your lower lips apart, freeing your clit and hole.

“Little lamb, why pretend? I can see how much honey you gave Osferth. Wouldn’t it be better to enjoy yourself?”

You close your eyes, turning your head to the side in the vain attempt to ignore the pleasure still coursing through your body.

Aemond is ravenous between your legs, kissing and sucking your tender clit until you arch under him, desperate, coming when he bites the inside of your tight to pull ravenously at your blood. He alternates between playing with your bud and drinking your blood in greedy gulps, moaning at the combined taste.

Osferth is at your chest, sucking and pinching your breasts, enhancing the pleasure exploding throughout your body, keeping your still when you try to squirm away, praising the taste of your skin and the smell of your arousal.

You can feel pleasure grow again, a tight knot in your belly ready to break soon, so soon…

Aemond abandons your cunt abruptly, grinning cruelly when you whine in displeasure.

“Those first two orgasms were free. Now you have to work for them.”

He grabs his thick erection, so big you start begging him to stop, that it will not fit, please!

“We’ll make it fit.” Osferth growls, curling his paw even tighter around your trapped wrist.

“We never said you’ll go home in pristine condition.” Aemond adds, stroking his cock.

You arch when he enters you and doesn’t stop to let you adjust to his size; he simply grabs your tights and pushes in with long strokes, uncaring of your whines, drunk already on the way he has to mold your walls around his cock.

He bottoms out with a groan; because he can, he grinds against your pearl, forcing a pained moan from your lips.

“Stop lying.” Osferth’s fingers pinch your clit cruelly. “You’re dripping around Aemond’s cock.”

“Please.” You beg, desperate. “It hurts.”

“Then why do I have a ring of your come around my base? I can feel your muscles trying to pull me in even more.”

You feel so full, fuller than any other lover, or toy, had ever made you feel. As deep as he is, Aemond’s cockhead is kissing your cervix painfully, Osferth’s fingers keep pinching and slapping your clit, the sensations working havoc on your poor brain, pleasure and pain fighting as you arch and beg.

You squirt all over Aemond’s cock, and he almost comes inside of you.

“Tell us again you hate this. That you don’t want to be fucked full of our seeds until sunrise.” He groans.

He fucks you with abandon, short and fast pushes against your cervix that make you scream in pain and kick with your feet against his back. Uselessly you try to free you wrist, earning a slap that reopens the cut on your lower lip.

At the sight of your blood, Aemond folds your body under his to fuck you deeper, his cock head battering your g spot repeatedly, his pubic bone torture against your puffy clit. He sucks your blood and bites you again, hungry for you, drunk on your taste and on the way your cunt strangles his cock and doesn’t let it go, keeps him in the warmth of your hole, greedily works him for his seed.

“Going to pump you full, give you all of it.”

You squirt again with a desperate scream, and then come, the vice of your hole so tight Aemond can’t control himself and comes inside of you; he keeps fucking you, milking himself using your hole, until it hurts too much to continue.

You lay on your back, legs splayed and tummy inflated by Aemond’s seed; under you the grass is wet, the humidity makes you shiver as your unfocused eyes try to look at the vague shapes of the stars above you, your body trying to come down to the incredible high you’ve just, unwillingly, experienced.

A scared whine escapes your lips when Osferth crawls between your legs, his face an elongated muzzle not completely the one of a wolf, hovers over you, an almost kind sparkle illuminates his yellow eyes and the alien, vertical pupils.

“Shh, don’t be afraid, you were so good for Aemond. Are you going to be good for me as well?”

A small part of you wants to beg him not to take you, to simply let you go; you know perfectly he will not, you have to give him what he thinks it’s due.

Tears fall freely from your tears as you let him turn you on your front like a rag doll, your arse up in the air.

You feel the pinprick of his claws on the soft skin of your hips, the warm palms grab your arse to pull you towards his erection, his big head opening your abused cunt to yet another brutal round of fucking.

With your face on the wet grass, you scream when he pounds inside of you, Aemond’s leftover seed and your own wetness helping him in bottoming out with an animalistic grunt, the pain of it forcing a whined sob out of your lips.

Osferth’s warmth envelopes you when he lays with his front on your back to kiss your nape.

“You’re so pretty when you cry. It makes me want to never stop fucking you.” He growls in your ear.

Fear fills your senses and his nostrils. Your natural scent takes a tantalizing turn for the predator living inside of him, and for the one in Aemond, who is naked on the grass, his one eye focused on your bodies as he slowly caresses his own growing erection.

“Keep smelling like this and I will never be able to leave your holes be.”

His hands curl tighter on your skin, his talons cut deeper, long lines of blood already dripping down your skin as he prepares to take what your body is offering him.

Despite being fucked open by Aemond, your cunt envelopes his thick cock and pulls him in, your hips kick back in his hold, forcing him deeper and deeper with every movement, his cock agony and pleasure against your screaming nerves.

Your mind can’t comprehend what’s happening, torn between the part of you that still refuses this, and your body that craves every push, every scratch down your back: you let go and stop fighting, letting your instincts take control and follow Osferth wherever he wants to take you.

You come on his cock, the pleasure a backlash that courses through your body and takes even more control away from you as he fucks your cervix hard and fast, reveling in the screams pouring from your bleeding lips, only to shift and focus on your G spot with brutal efficiency.

Your strength abandons you as you feel another orgasm surge through your battered body; you can’t match his fast pushes and let yourself be moved on his cock, like a living, breathing fleshlight for his use.

He fucks you through your orgasm, grinding against your body when you squirm and cry with overstimulation, one big paw pushing on your lower belly and you’re too far gone to understand what he wants from you: all you can feel is the stretch in your cunt and how the pressure grows and grows in your lower tummy, until you squirt for him, who comes immediately, filling you with his thick cum, inflating your abdomen with it when he doesn’t slip out but stays to feel even the smallest contraction of your battered muscles.

You’re laying on him, his bigger body shielding yours from the cold earth and wet grass of the clearing; deprived as you are of any form of strength, you don’t have the willpower to stop his big hands from caressing your breasts, or move your head when he kisses your neck, almost apologetic after fucking you within an inch of your life.

Between your legs, Aemond is drinking from your again, his long canines opening the bite on your tight to pull at your essence; he’s not ravenous now, the sucking motions almost lazy, as if he needs the contact with your skin more than he does your blood.

Over the sensual and horrific tableau of your bodies entwined the silent stars shine against the dark backdrop of the night.

You whine again, in fear, when Aemond’s bloodstained face hovers over yours, the red of your essence a blotchy splash against the white of his skin and hair; your mind almost formulates the thought, that Aemond answers you with a calm voice.

“Why would we kill you? You’re servicing us so well.”

You become even more agitated at the thought he can read your mind, that you don’t have a safe space even within yourself; they try to ease you with long kisses and even slower caresses on your abused body, but you can feel how hard they still are, the hunger hiding under the gentleness they’re showing you.

You will not survive another round, you’re too sore! The mere idea of your body being at the receiving end of such brutal, violent energy makes your heart lose a beat.

Under you Osferth nuzzles your neck and licks it as a dog would: he can smell your fear, now a rancid smell that kills his desire. He wants to give you pleasure again, so much of it you’ll forget all about the way he’s met you and that will ruin you for any other male, of any other specie, you’ll ever encounter in your life.

“One last encore, little red, riding hood.” He murmurs in your ear, trying to ease you. “We were both charged by the hunt and the fighting. There’s no need for that anymore.”

Aemond kisses your lips, his tongue seeking yours to share your heady taste with you; you whine at the ferrous taste of your own blood, yet your hands grab his sides, your nails scratching his ivory skin.

When your lips part, his one lilac eye burns with hunger, and something else foreign to you. The slash of the scar cutting brutally the perfection of his face, seems to burn redder now that he’s drank from you.

Aemond’s big palm presses on your still inflated belly, forcing a moan out of your lips when their combines seeds seep out of your puffy lips.

“I wish it would take inside of you.” Aemond growls. “I would keep you filled and plugged with it until your body swells with it.”

You whine, your body already in overdrive in their combined embrace.

“It can’t happen.” Osferth nuzzles his words against your neck. “Neither of us can plant our seeds in your fertile womb.”

“Please.” You hiccup, unsure why you’re begging: the heat in both their voices scare and excite you.

“What is the phrase you mortals use? One last rodeo?” Aemond says. “Have us again and then you’ll free to go.”

“I’m so sore! Please not my cunt again!”

“Shh. Shh.” Aemond lays his forehead against yours.

In horror you feel his mind linking with yours to force you to relax; you’re a passenger in your own body who is watching in horror as your muscles follow the will of another.

You feel Osferth open your legs with his to push his cock inside of you, your cunt’s nerves protest, but it’s so far away it might as well be someone else’s hole that’s being ravaged again.

No! No! No! Screams your mind when Aemond grabs his own erection and breaches you as well. I’m going to tear! You want to scream, yet only a litany of moans spill as the two monsters fill you until they can’t push inside of you anymore.

You come back to your lungs breathing furiously, to so much pressure in your lower belly you don’t understand how your body is managing.

“See?” Aemond smiles over you, showing his long fangs. “All is good.”

He kicks his head back and moans when your muscles clench around their cocks reflexively.

“You’re so good.” Osferth whines under you, his control ready to snap.

“So full.” You whine.

“Such a perfect scabbard you are, little lamb.” Aemond adds.

If you thought you were full before, when they start moving you feel so stuffed your mind blanks at the signals your body is firing.

They try to go slow, to open you up even more, pushing and pulling in tandem, to never leave your hole empty; the more your cunt squelches with their seed and your own honey, the faster they go, fucking you like mindless beasts.

You scream in pleasure, the pressure overwhelming, yet your cunt seems to be insatiable for their cocks, your muscles desperately try to pull the two monsters in, until they fuck you at the same time, hitting all the spots that take your sanity away from you.

You lose count of your orgasms, lost in the sea of pleasure your body doesn’t belong to you anymore, it’s their plaything, their refuge. It’s theirs to fuck and pummel, spurred by the sweet honey coating both their cocks.

You whine in displeasure when they both desert your hole to manhandle you in a kneeling position, only to breach you again at the same time; you’re so lost it’s their bodies that keep yours from folding, your head lolled back on Osferth’s shoulder, your mouth agape to let animalistic sounds spill as you bounce on their erections, the pressure building inside of you like a tide that explodes when you squirt violently around them, their fingers finding your clit to prolong your pleasure, and it’s never too much, the thin line of overstimulation long gone behind you three.

“One last orgasm.” Aemond commands you.

“Come with us!” Osferth moans under you.

You whine and cry at the sky as they redouble their efforts, fucking you wildly, scratching and kissing your tired body with increased hunger, until you clench around them, forcing them to follow you into the precipice, both their cocks unloading inside your battered walls, their seeds leaking out as soon as they exit your hole and fall on the grass with you.

“Was it too much, issa mēre drēje jorrāelagon, my one true love?” Aemond asks concerned.

He knows you’re safe and warm, since Osferth is shielding you again from the rough terrain with his naked body; almost on instinct he has turned fully into his wolf man form, so that between the fur and the heighten body heath, you will not feel the bite of the cold while you come back to them.

“Nouh.” You slur, so very tired now.

You lift your hand as if to touch Aemond, and leave it hovering next to his cheek: despite the fact that he has fed fully multiple times in the past few days, in preparation for this scene, and that he has drunk from you, when you’re coming down from your high, you can’t stand how cold his undead body is. You know he needs the physical contact to be sure you’re all right, but that’s all you can offer him.

“You were perfect.” Osferth’s face is now a full wolf muzzle, his wet snout familiar and calming against your burning skin. “Did I throw you too hard against the tree trunk?” He asks, concerned of his own brutish strength against your frail body.

Tiredly you turn your head and kiss the side of his muzzle, butterfly kisses that tickle him.

“I… I don’t think so.” You answer, but you know you’ll need Ibuprofen in the next few days.

Aemond’s ivory body seems to glisten with sweat and all your combined fluids under the placid light of the stars. Slowly he unfolds his long body and heads to the tree where the backpack housing the warmest, thickest blanket of the house is hidden.

With care and love he helps Osferth bundle you in, until he can see only the small oval of your face.

“Can we do this again? Soon?” You ask, nuzzling Osferth’s neck.

“You need to recuperate, first.” He tells you. “Tonight was taxing on your body.”

“And you need to be good for us.” Aemond interjects. “Taking your time to build back your strength.”

You preen, feeling their love for you: they might not be human anymore, yet their feelings are stronger than the ones of any other person you’ve ever met in your entire life.

“It’s not a ‘no, though.” You giggle. “I really want to play the idea that you two never let me go home, and decided to keep me as your human plaything. Your shared chew toy.”

Through the mental link Aemond provides, you can feel how excited they both are by the idea of locking you in the play room until you use your safeword.

“And you have to hunt for me again.” You add. “Because I managed to escape and you want to punish me.”

Reflexively, Osferth’s paws curl around your body: you can’t say things like that when he’s still covered in your combined scents.

“You need to be extra good, if you want that little idea to pan out.” He says, trying to control the excitement in his voice.

“Or very, very naughty.” You giggle.

“I can assure you that is the best way to never live that little fantasy.” Aemond tries to warn you.

Who is he even trying to convince? One word from you and he folds like a deck chair. You know that, Osferth does as well that he lives to serve you.

“We need a nice, long bath.” He tells you. “Followed by a long napping session.”

Osferth looks at the sky.

“Sunrise is approaching.” He tells Aemond.

“I know. Take your time, I’m starting the fire and the water.” He answers.

Faster than any human ever could, he collects the shreds of all your clothes and pushes them in the old backpack. He cups your face, fancying he can feel your skin over the thick blanket, before he rushes home.

“Can we have a horror movie play as we nap? Please?”

“You can have anything you want. Do you want to hot cocoa and cinnamon cookies when you wake up?”

You don’t respond, already asleep, safe in his embrace.

[flowerpotmage]

You Think I'm-? (Part Three/Final)

Summary: Your relationship with Osferth finds it's footing.

Notes: Originally from number two on this prompt list. Contains fluff, smut, etc etc etc. Thank you Em for my life and beta-ing this last installment!

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

Supper is a warm and hearty stew at the next town you stop to spend the night in. It's not quite winter yet, thanks be to God, but the sun still sets early enough for it to be dark and cold too soon for comfort.

Bellies full and tongues whispering to one another, the other men don’t notice when Osferth slips away to find you where you’ve gone to refill your waterskin.

“Is it too soon after supper?” he jokes when you spot him and smile.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Now’s as good a time as any.” You nod off to the side to a nook where you can hide from the chill night breeze, and he walks with you into the shadow.

For a long moment you both just stand there, looking at one another.

“Can I kiss you again?”

“I don’t want it to mess up the party–”

You both speak at the same time, and both of your eyes widen.

“Oh, I–” His face is pink, and not just from the cold. He’s frowning in embarrassment, in confusion, and so you reach out to grab his arm through his cloak.

“Osferth,” you squeeze his arm gently, and he swallows. “I’m not saying you can’t, I’m just… We travel together, we fight together, I don’t want to…” You frown, glance around. “I want to know what it is.”

“You mean if it’s only humping, or…?”

It’s your turn for your face to heat up, and you nod, letting your hand slide from his arm. “I don’t intend to leave the others.”

“Nor do I.” He reaches for your hand, and you accept it. “Do you… Do you want it to be more than…?”

When he asks so directly, you cannot help but wrinkle your nose in embarrassment.

“It’s not like I’ve never just humped someone and left it at that,” you grumble. “And I know you have too.”

He chuckles, embarrassed.

“Just… We both serve Uhtred. I’ve seen lovers ruin one another’s lives with far less at stake than us.”

Osferth’s face softens in understanding. “You don’t want us to hate one another, after.”

You nod.

Osferth pauses, thinking. “Well, I cannot say I can imagine a circumstance where I would begin to hate you.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Can you?”

“If you humped another, perhaps,” you say, cheeky, squeezing his hand.

He laughs. “Then I promise not to hump someone else.”

You’re standing close enough to feel the ghost of breath from one another on your faces, your hand still intertwined in his.

You cannot look away. His soft smile, the crinkle of his eyes–

Before you can stop yourself, you are pressing a firm, quick kiss to his mouth. He makes a surprised sound, his other hand coming to rest on your arm as yours holds the side of his face, and then just as he is leaning into it, you pull back.

You’re smiling, and he’s looking at you in surprised delight. He starts to lean back in for another, and you press your hand to his chest to stop him, giggling.

“I want to keep it from the others. For now.”

He nods. “Finan.” The single word is enough confirmation of his understanding, and you nod with him, the both of you chuckling.

“Find me later tonight?” you half-suggest, half-ask.

He nods, and with a squeeze of held hands, you let go and leave the nook.

The hall in which your party stays is warm and lit with the warm glow of fire, filled with laughter from both men you know and men you don’t. Uhtred and Finan are having a low, quiet discussion where they sit to the side, Sihtric with them surreptitiously scanning the room as you return with Osferth.

His eyes land on the two of you, gaze hopping from one to the other over the rim of his mug. He raises an eyebrow, just slightly, and gives a small nod before looking away casually.

“And what have I missed?” you ask the group as you sit to join, Osferth close behind.

---

For a time, you manage to keep your secret with Osferth hidden from the others, and if they notice he has stopped seeking out the company of… others… They do not remark upon it.

You learn quickly that Osferth is a very generous and confident lover, a welcome surprise after your worries that his boldness that first night had only come from ale. He seems to gain his pleasure from your own, and many times you find yourself biting down on your own hand or on his shoulder to keep quiet when the others may hear the effects his hands have on you in the dead of night.

Over time you find yourselves often sleeping near one another on the road, tucked into your bedrolls by the fire and secretly sharing your night watches, sneaking kisses, innocent and otherwise.

So it is with great eagerness that you plan to sneak off for real privacy when you finally reach Mercia after your rather roundabout journey, knowing that the others should be occupied with their own business in the evening after supper.

You think, vaguely, how thankful you are that your eagerness was not misguided as Osferth pins you against the wall, hands holding your thighs around him as he thrusts into you.

Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, eyes screwed shut and mouth open as his breath pants across the skin of your neck under your ear.

“Oh, God,” you groan out as his nose nudges against your earlobe, followed by a graze of teeth and the gentle suck of his lips around the flesh. “Osferth…”

He makes a sound between a hum and a groan, the sound low and going straight through to your chest and your gut, his thrusts becoming harder whilst not losing his pace.

One of your arms slides lower, causing him to pause and adjust his grip on you for support.

His thrusts quicken.

Your arm slides down, hand landing on ass.

He groans, loud, thrusting once, twice, you’re nearly there–

You cry out so loudly that he covers your mouth with one of his hands, his body pressed tightly against yours is the only thing keeping you from slipping down as he gives one last thrust, barely pulling out before pressing as deep as he can. His eyes are screwed shut, his mouth open and silent as his jaw shakes with the effort of keeping quiet as you clench around him.

You stay that way, his hand falling from your mouth to support your leg once more as you both catch your breath, his cock still inside you and your back against the wall. You press a shaky kiss to his cheek, he rests his forehead against yours and chuckles—

Knockknockknock.

“Oi, lovebirds! When you've cleaned yourselves up, Uhtred’s asked to see us all.”

Your eyes shoot wide open, meeting Osferth’s own apologetic smile.

“Did ye hear me?”

“Yes, Finan,” Osferth calls.

“I hope you’re both able to walk,” comes Finan’s teasing reply before you hear his footsteps retreating.

“He heard us,” you say, dropping your forehead to Osferth’s shoulder as he slowly eases you down the wall back to your feet, pulling out.

“He knew already,” Osferth winces, stroking your hair. “I’m surprised he hasn't joked with you about it yet.”

“Oh, Lord help me,” you mumble, moving to lay on your cot with shaky legs. Osferth follows and sits on the edge. “How long?”

“Well, that one time against the tree when you used your m–”

You groan in embarrassment.

“Sihtric knows too, I believe, but he hasn’t said anything about it.”

You put your hand over your face. “Well. I suppose it has been secret long enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“Might as well be open about it now.” You dare a peak at him, his eyes are already on you, face a contemplative frown. “If… if you’re okay with that, that is.”

He grins. “I was never opposed.”

“Really?”

“Besides,” he says, nudging you in a playful manner before leaning closer. “It might be far easier to go off together to hump if we don’t have to sneak.”

You smack his shoulder, mock indignation betrayed by the grin on your face reflected on his own lips.

He leans down to kiss you, firm and caring. “Come on, we’d best see Uhtred. Are your legs still shaky?”

“I’ll manage.” You try to stop grinning, only succeeding in a wide smile with pressed together lips. “They can survive seeing my somewhat wobbly legs.”

He smiles back, and helps you up.

This time when you join the group, you hold hands in the open.

You don’t even mind Finan’s jokes at your expense, in fact you seem to enjoy them for once.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

All Things End

Pairing: Osferth (The Last Kingdom) x f!reader Warnings: Angst, smut. Word count: ~2.7k

Summary: Based on this request. Life has been blissful for Osferth since finding love with a Christian woman from Alton. However, he cannot shake the thought that she deserves better; if he loves her, he should want her to be happy, even if that happiness is not found with him... Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @blvckmvgicwoman. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Her breaths come in ragged pants that fan hotly against the sweat soaked skin of Osferth’s neck. She is pliant beneath him, thighs wrapped tightly around his waist, mirroring the spasming grip of her warm, wet walls, pulling him towards his end as she reaches her own. The pressure that has steadily been building at the base of his spine explodes in white hot intensity, and he screws his eyes shut as he pushes back into her with a final, deep thrust, spilling himself inside of her.

Inside of her.

He freezes as the sensation fades away, eyes snapping back open in stark realisation. He pulls back, breathing heavily, panic not allowing his heart rate to slow.

“I–I did not mean to…I’m sorry. That was careless of me, please forgive me, I–”

She places a palm against his cheek, caressing his face gently, halting his rambled apologies. Her expression is calm, though her eyes are glossy, lips parted as the afterglow of their tryst suffuses through her flesh.

“It is fine, my love, we will take care of it.”

He knows all too well what she means when she says that. She will take care of it. It would not be the first time that she has had to.

It has been a year since they shared their first night together, and they have enjoyed many more since then, under the cover of stars, or on the straw stuffed mattresses of the various ale reeking inns that they find themselves in when they have enough coin to seek proper shelter on their travels. Osferth is usually always careful, pulling out and coating her thighs, lower back or belly with his spend. However, there have been two occasions when he has gotten lost in her warmth, the intoxicating scent of her, and forgotten himself, finishing inside of her as he ascends to the height of bliss, before the gravity of his carelessness plummets him back to earth with horrifying cognizance. Tonight is the third time that this has happened.

His expression is sullen as he sits by the campfire the following morning, watching her brew the pungent roots and herbs in a steaming pot of water. The acrid stench makes his nostrils twitch in disgust, but he refuses to move or look away. She is the one that has to drink the noxious liquid, suffering the smell of it pales in comparison, and does little to assuage the guilt that weighs heavily upon his chest.

She grimaces as she gulps it down, brow furrowed as she struggles not to retch at the taste, and he swears silently to himself that this is a torment that he will never allow her to suffer again. She deserves better, he must be better for her.

The frightened young woman he had met in Alton has come a long way since he had rescued her. She is no longer shy and fearful and, though still steadfast in her faith, she shares herself with him freely and without shame. She drinks ale, laughs heartily at Finan’s dirty jokes and no longer displays any apprehension at interacting with Uhtred and the others. His heart swells with warmth and affection for the woman he has fallen in love with, she is truly the light of his life. Though in moments such as these he is left to ponder on how exactly he has changed hers, and if it is for the better.

He has basked in her warmth on chilly evenings, enjoyed the sinful pleasures of her flesh, found comfort and joy in the unconditional love that she showers him with, but what can he possibly offer her in return?

Osferth is her protector, but would she need that protection at all if she were not travelling with Uhtred and his men? He is the blade against the harm that he directly places her in the way of every time they prepare for battle. They have no home, no money, nothing but what they carry upon their horses. He loves her more than he ever thought himself capable of loving another person, but love alone will not provide for her.

The thoughts consume him as they ride south, towards the next village, and he clings tightly to her as she leans back against him in the saddle, as though he can feel the very essence of her slipping through his fingers. A man less selfish would simply let her go, but he cannot fathom a life without her. Deep down, despite trying his best, he knows he will never get it right.

Beocca and Æthelwold are awaiting them when they arrive, and she leaves him with a cheerful smile and a soft kiss on the lips, explaining that she wishes to explore, a polite means to excuse herself from the discussion that she knows does not concern her. He is ever grateful for her intuitive nature, but once more left disheartened that she is placed in that position to begin with.

He is barely able to focus as Beocca relays Alfred’s demands to Uhtred. There is a dawning sense of finality settling in the pit of his stomach, causing cold tendrils of dread to spread throughout his body, and it does not come from the news of the King’s order of one hundred pieces of wergild and an oath sworn to his son, Edward. There is a price he knows he will have to pay sooner rather than later, and it will come at a greater cost to him than any fealty sworn to a future ruler.

Osferth watches as she laughs breathlessly, the sound carrying softly on the breeze. The children scurry around her skirts, rosy faced and grinning, eager to play. She had obliged and agreed to join in on their game of chase when they had invited her, excited at having new people arrive in the village. Her playing with them feels effortless, natural even, and he thinks about how easily she would adapt to motherhood, to have a babe of her own to hold in her arms. It causes a lump in his throat, his gaze growing misty as his mouth tugs downward, knowing that’s something he will never be able to give her.

He is a bastard. He will not pass that curse on by marriage or parentage, that will die with him.

But what of her wants and needs? He is depriving her of the opportunity to be a wife, a mother. He can no longer subject her to a life of vagrancy and uncertainty, simply because of his heedless desire to have her at his side. She did not ask for this, it has been thrust upon her without her say so. Her life cannot truly begin until the one she leads with him comes to an end. With a heavy heart, he decides that when they reach the next town he will travel on without her.

The village they currently occupy seems too small, too dirty, not vibrant enough for her to call home, he reasons, she deserves to live somewhere bigger and as filled with exuberant life as she is. He knows he is lying to himself, he is simply unprepared to let her go, he is not ready. He is not sure he ever will be, but he will have to be for both of their sakes.

Over the coming days, he keeps her close, committing to memory the softness of her hair between his fingers and the way the sunlight dapples upon it like fresh spun silk. He inhales the fragrant scent of her skin every time he holds her close, as though trying to permanently imprint the faint floral smell upon his mind.

The way her eyes light up whenever she smiles is the sight he will miss most of all. He wishes for that to be the only expression he ever sees upon her beautiful face. He cannot bear the thought of parting ways and seeing the heartbreak in her eyes, or the tears that might fill them. It is craven, but he knows the only way he will ever be able to leave her is if he slips away without telling her.

His heart sits like a stone within his chest when they eventually arrive at the next town. He knows that when he departs it will no longer be in tact, torn asunder as he leaves half of it behind. He can see his future darkening as he looks into her eyes, knowing it may be the final time he ever gets the opportunity to do so.

Osferth makes love to her that night, his pace unhurried, every thrust drawn out slowly, memorising the subtle movements of her hips and each soft sigh that passes her lips. His hands stroke through her hair, caressing her face, before dragging over her curves. If this is to be his final time with her then he wants it to last, wants her to feel just how much she means to him, and to be left with the memory of how utterly divine she had felt pressed against him.

“I love you,” he whispers to her, as she cuddles against his chest afterwards.

“And I love you.”

Those simple words cause his throat to tighten, knowing he will never hear her utter them again.

It is for the best, he thinks sadly as he watches her sleep peacefully next to him. She deserves the opportunity to settle down, to get married, to have a family. She deserves everything he will never be able to give her.

He slips out of the bed as dawn breaks, casting a dusky orange glow through the gap in the threadbare curtains. The loss of her warmth is intensified by the knowledge that this is his final time experiencing it, the sensation of parting from her akin to being plunged into icy water. He has to force himself to look away from her in order to gather up his clothes and get dressed, careful not to disturb her.

Hovering by the door, he hesitates a moment, staring at her as she slumbers. If this is the right thing to do, then why does it feel so painful? His love for her is unconditional, however, and he longs for her to find happiness, even if that means he is not a part of it.

He hates the thought of her waking up alone, the inevitable betrayal she will feel when she realises what he has done, and it tempts him to stay, to continue to pretend that he could ever be enough for her. But he knows those feelings will pass for her, and when they do she will meet the man who will marry her and father children with her, a man who does not carry the curse of bastardry.

“There is a woman in the room upstairs,” he tells the innkeeper on his way out, handing him a coin purse containing all of the money that Osferth has to his name. “Please ensure she is well taken care of.”

His hands shake as he saddles up his horse, the void she has left behind seeming as though it will swallow him whole. He is incomplete without her, destined to go through life feeling like half of a person.

Finan raises an eyebrow at Osferth, as he tends to his own mount, eyeing him with suspicion. “She not coming with us?”

Osferth swallows thickly, an attempt to keep the emotion from his voice, as he keeps his eyes focused on the straps he buckles. “No.”

“Yes, I am!” She cries out, hurrying towards them, a bewildered look upon her face. Her hair is still tousled from sleep, suggesting she had dressed in a hurry to catch them up. “Osferth, why did you not wake me?”

His heart sinks, tears prickling his eyes as he turns to look at her, knowing he will now have to have the conversation he had been wanting to avoid all along. Finan clears his throat, looking between the two of them, before moving away towards where Uhtred and Sihtric are readying to leave.

“You are to stay here,” he says in a trembling voice, “I have left coin with the innkeeper to take care of you.”

“For how long?” She asks, brow furrowing in confusion.

He lowers his gaze, guilt pooling in his gut, unsure of how to word his response. There is no kind way to say “forever” in this instance.

“For how long, Osferth?!” She asks again, her voice wavering as it raises an octave.

His eyes are sad and filled with remorse as he looks back up at her, nausea swirling in his stomach as he watches a tear slip down her cheek. His fingers twitch uselessly by his sides with the urge to wipe it away.

“Do you not want me anymore?” 

Her voice is barely above a whisper as she asks this, and it feels as though a dagger has been twisted into Osferth’s heart. How could she possibly ever believe he didn’t want her? She means everything to him.

He shakes his head, the words feeling as though they will choke him as his vision blurs. “I will never stop wanting you,” he confesses, “but that is precisely the problem. You deserve better than the life I can provide for you. I will never be able to give you children, or marry you. I am trying to do what is best for you. I want you to be happy.”

“You make me happy, you bloody fool!” She cries, the slightest hint of anger creeping into her tone. “And it is not for you to decide what is best for me. Why did you not tell me that this was how you were feeling?”

“I could not bear to have a conversation that I knew would break both of our hearts. I know that is cowardice, but I knew you would never agree to leave, and I cannot continue to hold you back from the life you deserve.”

He stares miserably at her, feeling the wetness of his tears upon his face as she swipes angrily at her own. This is not how this was supposed to go. He does not want this to be how they remember each other.

“You are right,” she says defiantly, “I would not have agreed to go. If a husband and children were what I wanted then I would have parted ways with you long ago. I am not the scared little girl you found a year ago. I make my own choices.” 

His lips part involuntarily, eyes widening slightly. “How can this possibly be the life that you would choose for yourself? How could I ever be enough?”

She sighs, reaching for his hand, clasping his fingers tightly in his. The gesture spreads warmth from the tips of his toes all the way to the top of his head.

“I love you, Osferth. You are enough for me. The life we have is enough for me. I do not wish to risk my life in childbirth, or spend my days tending to the needs of a husband who views me as something to be possessed. I want a life that is filled with adventure, I want to fall asleep under the stars, and I want to do it all with you at my side.”

A small, yet hopeful smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he steps closer, tenderly wiping away the wetness beneath her eyes with his thumb. “Are you sure?”

She nods. “God brought us together for a reason. All things must end, I know this, but not what we have, just the foolish way in which you perceive it.”

He rests his forehead against hers, relief and embarrassment flushing his cheeks. “I have been so stupid, can you ever forgive me? I do not know how to even begin to apologise.”

She leans in, pressing her lips to his, allowing them to linger for a moment before pulling away with a slight grin. “Save your apologies. You will need them for the innkeeper when you ask for your money back.”

He smiles. There is comfort in knowing that everything ends, because within it they have been given the opportunity to begin again.

[happilyhertale]

Welcome to my page

About me: Hello Lovelies! My main account is @schniiipsel.

I only write in my spare time - but I love losing myself in writing! I write for Daemon Targaryen, as well as the Ewan Mitchell characters Aemond Targaryen, Tom Bennett, Osferth and Ettore. Feel free to ask me anything! 🖤

This blog is for over 18s only! All others please leave this account at this point.

Dreams didn't make us kings. Dragons did.

I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.

Don't you wanna come with me?

I would like you all to surrender. Or I will smite you.

What about my treat?

12 Days of Smuff

12 Days of Smuffmas

Currently writing Steamy

[helaelaemond]

To See God

Pairing: Osferth x female reader

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: You met Osferth in the tavern last night and eventually he took you to his room. He didn't kiss you, he barely touched you, but he looked at you all night like he never wanted anybody more. You wake up in his bed to find him watching you between turning pages of his book. You need him to give in to his desires - and he does. Look up Song of Solomon 7:1-2, 6-12 for the translation of what Osferth is seducing you with in Latin. Cunnilingus, penetrative sex.

Content warning(s): erotic Bible study, first time together, misuse of the Song of Solomon

Rating: E

Requests open

Thank you @arcielee for your help with Osferth <3

The sun is coming through the window in a dreamy haze, and you slowly feel yourself returning from sleep. Under your head is a soft feather pillow, and over your body are warm blankets of wool and fur. It's a strange bed that you've not been in before, and it takes a moment for you to remember where you are.

"Good morning, my lady."

In front of the window, your new friend sits with a book in his lap, and a gentle smile on his face.

"You need not call me that, Osferth," you say sleepily, rubbing your eyes. "I am no lady."

"You are a fine lady to me." He turns the page of his book, and bites his lip as he smiles at you. There is that look in his eye that was there last night - like he wants to see you, to touch you. And God knows you want to touch him. When you had tried to push his leather tunic off last night, he had stopped you with such a pained expression that you wanted to run and hide - until he told you that he wanted to, but that he shouldn't. That he should like to know you better.

And so you stayed up talking long into the night. You lay down by his side and he allowed you to gently touch his face. He had closed his eyes when you did. He told you his name, his father's name, his life as a king's bastard. A no one, he said, until he came to Uhtred's service. You told him of your life, of the loss of your land and your search for a new home in a new place, and he had listened. He had really listened. That had meant more than any kiss.

But now you have woken with a hunger. There is heat between your legs just from the way he's looking at you.

"What are you reading?" you ask. You nestle down into the warm bed and watch how his long fingers run along the edge of it.

"Quid videbis in Sulamiten nisi choros castrorum quam pulchri sunt gressus tui in calciamentis filia principis iunctura feminum tuorum sicut monilia quae fabricata sunt manu artificis." His voice is warm and soft, just like his bed. You don't understand many words at all, but the tempo of the Latin is familiar to you. You notice his cheeks begin to flush as he reads. "Duo ubera tua sicut duo hinuli gemelli capreae."

"What does it mean?" you ask.

"It's, er..." He trails off, and he grips the book so hard his knuckles turn white. "It's from the Song of Solomon."

"I don't know that part of the Bible very well," you admit. "Will you show me?"

Osferth hesitates, as if held back by a great secret that he cannot bear to face, but then he smiles and gets up. He sits on the bed next to you, and puts the book between you. The words mean nothing to you on the page - no one in your family could read, and you can't. Still. It looks pretty, and you run your finger down the lines that are a mystery to you. "Read some more for me?"

"Perhaps something else, my-"

"I like the sound of this, Osferth."

There is something very satisfying in the way his face softens when you say his name. He nods. "Alright. Ah, where was I? Quam pulchra es et quam decora carissima in deliciis."

"In deliciis," you repeat slowly, smiling. "Delicious?"

He chuckles. "Almost. Delights."

"Oh, you're reading about delights? What kind of delights?"

He shifts slightly, and glances at you. You smile encouragingly. You move closer to him and run your hand further down the page until it rests next to his. If you concentrate, you can feel the heat rolling off his hand, and you can almost imagine what it's like to touch his skin. It makes breathing a little more difficult.

"About delights of... of a... oh, I shouldn't be reading this."

"Why not? Is it not part of the Holy Book?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Then is it not divine, what you speak of?"

He smiles and looks down. His hand moves up the edge of the book slightly, and the tip of his forefinger touches yours. It is the smallest touch, yet suddenly it feels like the centre of everything. The whole world exists where your hand touches his.

"Yes," he breathes. His smile is frozen, and the rest of him seems to be, too. "I suppose it is."

"Osferth."

"My lady?"

"What does it mean?"

The breath he lets out is shaky. He turns his head to look at you, and you're all too aware of how close you are now. You want him so badly you could weep. He is so gentle, so sweet, and behind his soft gaze is a passion that you can see burn in him. He bites his lip, and his eyes drop to your mouth. "How fair and pleasant art thou, o love, for delights."

Hesitantly, he moves his finger over yours, and then his hand covers yours and turns it over. With such a delicate touch, he strokes gentle patterns onto your palm, and it's almost impossible to think of anything else. You scarcely recall how to breathe. "Is the writer talking of the Lord?"

Osferth tilts his head slightly and leans closer. You can taste his breath on your lips, you can feel the warmth of his body in what little distance remains between you. "No," he murmurs. "Of his lover."

"I didn't know they talked about that in the Bible." Your eyes close. Fire has ripped through you. You burn for him, for him, for him.

"I think it's in a woman that man can see the true face of God."

"You believe women hold that power?" You curl your fingers around his, and when he intertwines them, a soft sigh escapes you.

"I think you might, my lady."

His name is a prayer on your lips. "Osferth."

The first kiss he leaves on your skin is against your cheek. His lips are warm, gentle, undemanding. You have been kissed on the cheek before, but it never felt like this. Your head drops to the side in a silent invitation and it is one that he takes. He moves his mouth along your jaw, finding its place on your neck, and he lets go of your hand only to sweep your hair from your shoulder. When his kisses trail up to your ear, you let out a soft sigh again.

"My lady," he breathes against it. "I... don't know how to ask..."

You turn your head and open your eyes just enough to see him. Pretty is his face, shining are his eyes. You are so close that you can see every little freckle, every long eyelash; how wonderful he is to behold. And he is practically begging. "Just say the words."

"My lady, might we... can we...?"

"Say it. Please?"

Another kiss is pressed to your cheek and this time you can feel the way he smiles, and he asks quietly, "can we be together?"

There are barely enough wits left to you to tease him, but you try. "Are we not together now?"

He chuckles lowly. "I want to share... I want to worship you with my body, my lady."

A noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh escapes you, and you turn your head blindly in search for him. After what feels like a lifetime, he grants you his kiss on your lips; the world ceases to exist.

It is all you have been yearning for, this kiss from Osferth. His thin lips press against yours and he parts them, gently slipping his tongue against yours. The hand on your shoulder slips down to your waist, and you run your fingers along his sharp jaw. He shifts closer at your touch, and the kiss deepens. Quiet noises sound in the back of his throat, indications of his scarcely-held back need. When you pull his lower lip between yours and suck for a moment, his fingers dig into your waist.

Between you, the Bible is almost knocked to the floor and he starts. Abruptly, he pulls away and grabs it before it can fall from the bed, and he takes it carefully into his hands. "One moment."

You watch as he walks with it back to his window seat, and it makes you smile to see the care with which he rests it on the bench. There is a reverence in everything that he does. Even when he looks back at you with wanton need, there is a devotion in his face. It makes you blush; it makes you feel your heartbeat between your legs.

"Wait," you say quietly when he steps towards you again. His brow furrows in slight confusion, but you smile reassuringly. "It's alright. Just... wait."

You are still in your clothes from last night: a simple linen dress, copper in colour underneath a grey cover. Loose ties hold them closed - until suddenly they don't. Kneeling on Osferth's bed, you loosen the garments and one by one, you take them off, until you are bare in the morning light.

He looks at you like a man at prayer, full of wonder and awe. "I... you... oh, my-"

"Osferth," you soothe softly. "I would see you. Please?"

There is only a moment's hesitation before he follows your lead. You watch with tension in your belly as he pulls off his long wool habit, and it's just a linen shift beneath. There are hints of his lean body beneath, but when he removes that, too, you realise how little your imagination could do him justice.

Years with the great Uhtred have hardened his lithe body, and though his skin is pale, his muscles are defined, and you can see the shadows they cast across his skin. He stands a little self-consciously for a moment, hands clasped in front of him, but then you hold out your own hand in a silent call, and he comes with a smile. He holds your hand and you admire him for a moment, from his deep eyes to his half-hard cock that presses against his thigh, to the thick hair on his head.

"You're beautiful," you whisper. That makes him blush deeper than anything else before.

"I am nothing compared to you."

"No," you reply. You pull him closer, and he stands in front of the bed where you kneel. It almost makes you the same height as him like this. "There is no need for comparison, Osferth. You are beautiful."

For a moment, he hesitates. But then his face breaks into a smile wider than any he's shown you before. "I meant what I said, my lady. I would... I would worship you, if you allow it."

You look him in the eye as you take his hand and you press it between your legs. His eyes darken when he feels how wet and warm you are. "Allow it?" you echo quietly. "Osferth, feel how desperately I need you. It is not a question of allowing."

After you let go of his hand, his fingers slowly caress your folds, gently pressing just enough to make your thighs tense slightly. "Is it a question of anything?"

You swallow and shake your head. "There is no question at all. I need you. Please."

That is the final drop that makes the dam break. Whatever resolve in him was left to be slow and steady is lost, and suddenly his kiss is deep. His mouth crashes against yours in a kiss that is possessive, adoring, desperate. His teeth clink against yours before his tongue presses into your mouth, and then suddenly he draws yours into his and sucks needily. You scarcely have time to moan in delight before he presses you to lie back on the bed.

You had expected that you would need to guide him through this, for he seems so reserved. After all, he spent all of last night ensuring there was proper distance between you. Yet now he needs you, but he needs no direction. In a strong grip, he pins your hands above your head, and then his tongue is licking a long line from your jaw down to your chest. You can't keep your hands up for long, and the moment he sinks his lips over your breast, they are in his hair.

"Oh!"

He sucks on your nipple and swirls his tongue around it as long fingers find its twin, tweaking and teasing it in rhythm with his mouth.

"Osferth!"

He looks up when you sigh his name, and you meet his gaze. It is impossible to understand how good it feels to look down and meet his eyes with your breast in his mouth. When he realses it, you let out a soft whine of frustration, but it is only so he can lavish attention on your other breast. He works your nipple perfectly and it makes your eyes roll back into your head, it's so good.

When you rake your fingers over his scalp, his groans, and you can feel the vibrations in your ribs. You do it again, and so does he. Where on God's green Earth has a fallen monk learned what women like?

As if he can hear your thoughts, his attention turns south. Hot kisses lead him from the slopes of your chest and down your stomach, marking him as yours at every inch. Fingers find their way back to your cunt, and he runs them back and forth over your folds. With a light touch, he even carefully scrapes his nails, and you squirm at the contact. It's nowhere near enough to hurt - just enough to promise.

"I want to..."

He is kneeling between your legs now, and his cock is flushed and hard against his stomach. You mouth waters at the thought of what you want to do to it, but his fingers are pressing against your core and there aren't enough sensible words left in your head to ask.

"I want to kiss you here," he finishes breathlessly. There is a lovely flush over his chest and up his neck.

"Where?" you pant. As if you don't know.

He pushes his fingers against your wet cunt and drags them up to your clit, a spot that lovers in the past have never really cared to find. Yet he runs circles around it like it's nothing. It makes your spine curl. "Here."

"Please!"

He sinks to the floor and pulls you by the legs to the edge of the mattress so they're hanging off, and he kneels in front of you. You feel so exposed and so bare like this, but it's good, it's so good, because he's here and he's taking care of you and-

"Oh, God!"

His lips are hungry against you. He kisses and nips and sucks with more eagerness than he had at your breast, and he searches to find a rhythm that makes you sigh. When two fingers press inside of you, you grant him noises of delight, and you tilt your hips up slightly. Yes, there, just there, you think.

His other hand rushes up your body and finds one of your nipples again, and you groan. He quickly teases it between two fingers, and then rolls it gently between his finger and thumb, all while the other hand fucks you steadily, and his mouth devours you.

You have barely had a chance to even touch him by the time your first orgasm comes crashing over you. It's sudden and overwhelming, and you cry out his name, God's name, again and again. Your voice is strained and high and you gasp for breath, and without thinking, you pull his hand up and take his fingers into his mouth to suck.

When you look down at him, he is gazing back at you, and his lips and chin and cheeks are wet. He's panting, too.

"Take me," you beg around his fingers, nodding. If he doesn't fill you with his cock soon, you will sob. He is hesitant until you suck on his fingers again, and then his resolve is once more broken. With one hand guiding him in, he sinks slowly into you until his pelvis presses against your slick body.

He is less giving with his noises than you are. "Oh-"

"Louder," you beg. "Let me hear you, Osferth."

Breathlessly, he laughs. He is standing at the foot of the bed now, looming over you like a long-forgotten god claiming his prize. He leans down as he sets a steady pace, and he kisses you. You taste the rich saltiness of yourself on his tongue, and it makes you moan again. He presses his tongue deep into your mouth, as his cock does the same in your cunt. He's claiming you, worshipping you.

"Am I hurting you?" he asks between rough kisses.

"No," you reassure him, and your legs wrap around his waist to illustrate how much it doesn't hurt. "It's good. You feel so good, Osferth."

He smiles. It seems that even when he's fucking you, it's the tender words you offer him that make him blush the deepest. When he arches down to suck on your nipple again, his soft hair falls over his face and brushes your skin. It feels so good. You grasp his arms to try to ground yourself, but you're too far gone.

"Ah, my lady, I-"

"Yes, don't stop!"

"I can't, I'm- I'm-!"

Pleasure is quickly mounting in you as his thrusts get sharper and faster and they make you shake on the bed.

"Your hand!" you beg him, and he needs no further instruction than that. Where his mouth had found a sacrament, his hand now returns. He rubs circles around your clit as he fucks you harder and quicker. His face is tight with the effort, his gasps heavy with every short breath. "Osferth!"

You come crashing a second time, this time around his pretty cock, and every muscle in your body feels like it's spasming. Even as you fly high, you feel him pull out, and he doubles over the bed. Through half-closed eyes, you watch as he fucks his hand faster than he could ever fuck you, and whether it's the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, or it's the sight of him touching himself, you shiver and twitch. With his eyes fixed on your chest, he spills onto the bedsheets. His mouth is open in a silent shout, and his eyes squeeze shut.

Only when the hot, white ribbons have stopped leaking from his cock does Osferth finally let himself go. You watch as he pants and runs his hand over his balls, massaging what is left of the tension away. You smile slightly, and hold out your hand for him.

"My sweet, come lay with me."

He avoids your gaze, and as he straightens up, he looks around. "Forgive me, my lady, I must-"

He hurries to a chest of clothes and strips of cloth, and he begins wiping himself clean. You watch without the capability to have much thought about it, as you're still reeling from the orgasms he gave you. Osferth pulls his linen under-tunic back on, and part of you mourns the loss of the sight of him.

"Osferth?"

He doesn't look at you, and instead he bustles around the room doing... well, you're not sure what.

"Osferth!" Your shout makes him look at you with a start, but you're smiling. You hold out your hand to call him back to you. "Come here. Please?"

"I must-'"

"You must lay down with me, and you must hold me."

There is some tension in his face, but you still smile and beckon him over.

"Don't hide from me," you say quietly when at last he takes his place next to you. You smooth away the worry lines from his forehead with a tender touch. "Why do you try?"

He swallows. "I do not mean to. It is... guilt, perhaps."

"Why do you feel guilty, Osferth?"

"For many reasons, but I'm trying not to."

You smile, and as you stroke his hair, he begins to relax against you. "Did you see Him?"

"See who?"

"The face of God, like you said?"

Osferth smiles widely, and buries his face into your neck. "Yes, my lady, I did. I saw Him in you. And when you cried my name, I think that was Heaven itself."

"In deliciis," you murmur, threading your hand through his hair.

He chuckles quietly again. "In delight, my lady. My delight."