#sigtryggr imagine

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Godless and Free

Pairing: Sigtryggr Ivarsson (The Last Kingdon) x f!reader Warnings: Talk of religion, mild angst, sexually explicit content. Word count: ~5k

Summary: It has been a year since Sigtryggr took her away from Winchester. Now, settled into a life in Jorvik, the two must learn to navigate their differences.

Author's note: Based on this request, but also a sequel to Little Warrior. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

The wind whipped through her hair, its icy chill pricked like tiny daggers against her heated skin as she raced through the woods – more a rapid stumble than a full run – it was an inky black night, the glow of the moon and stars above were all that illuminated her way, preventing her from crashing face first into the roughened trunks of the trees. Her lungs burned with exertion, her feet bloody from the repeated snap of twigs and stab of jagged stones against her bare soles. She would not, could not stop though; a fate far worse than sore feet and breathlessness awaited her if she allowed herself to slow down. 

“Christian…”

The taunt filtered through the air as a loud whisper, seeming to come from everywhere and yet nowhere all at once. She was suddenly uncertain of if she was running to or from the voice. She collided with something solid, and was sent sprawling upon her bottom. Her thin, cotton nightdress did nothing to cushion her fall, and she yelped at the impact of a gnarled root that protruded sharply from the earth. Pain bloomed hot and intense across her flesh. She stared fearfully up into a familiar pair of blue eyes – once they would have softened in sympathy at her discomfort – now she saw only hatred reflected back at her in their depths. Sigtryggr’s mouth twisted in disgust as he spat the word “Christian” again, as though it were poison upon his tongue. She wanted to plead, to cry out for mercy, but when she opened her mouth only a pathetic whimper escaped her lips. She trembled, a prey animal beneath a stalking predator, as fear sent acrid bile creeping up the inside of her throat. He lifted his axe in a high arc above his head and brought it down in a heavy swing.

She awoke with a gasp, her heart racing as cold sweat slicked her hair to the back of her neck. The pale light of dawn had only just begun to reach out across the heavy furs she lay beneath, bringing with it the realisation that she was not, in fact, being chased through the woods, but tucked safely in bed, next to the man who had once held her captive. Now she lay beside him of her own volition, though since leaving Wintanceaster he had haunted her dreams, not as a symbol of liberation, but one of terror. Instinctively, her hand went to her neck, fingers reaching fruitlessly for the wooden cross she had once worn around it, and found the skin bare. Her hand dropped uselessly back to the furs, curling into a fist. That little cross had been a source of comfort to her in the life she had before this one, that was until her heathen lover had torn it free and discarded it the first time they had lain together. She had not minded at the time, the reckless act had enthralled her, but that had been in the safety of the confines of Alfred’s study, which was familiar. Now they were settled in Eoferwic, the furthest from home she had ever been, and the absence of her cross made her ache.

Sigtryggr stirred beside her, disturbed by her startled awakening. A tired noise of displeasure rumbled in his chest, as he rolled to face her. His slender fingers reached beneath the furs, gripping the dip of her waist.

“It is early, Little Warrior, too early to begin the day yet” he whispered, before tugging her against his bare chest with gentle ease. “You are trembling. Why?”

His tired eyes opened wider, regarding her with mild concern as she felt her racing heart slow beneath the comfort of his touch and the soothing sound of his voice. So different from what she had dreamed, and yet eerily similar. “I had a dream,” she murmured as her body pressed against his, “about you.”

"You dreamed of me?" he asked, his gaze softening as his hand lifted from her waist to her face, and his thumb stroked tenderly against her jawline. 

She could sense the desire that simmered beneath the surface of him, his body so tightly wound against her own and prepared to pounce at the slightest hint of invitation. It hurt her to know that the next words from her mouth would snuff that out, causing him to withdraw from her, but she could not lie to Sigtryggr. He did not just see her when he looked upon her; that piercing stare bore down to the very core of her, flaying her open. There was nothing she could hide from him, he was far too perceptive.

"I dreamed of you," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she clutched the furs tighter to herself, as though the very act would protect her from whatever hurt or offense she would inevitably see reflected back at her in his stare. "You were chasing me. You meant to kill me."

The wolfish grin that spread across his face was not the reaction she had anticipated, and she frowned as he huffed a soft laugh, the gentle expulsion of air fanning across her cheek. He cupped her face, pressing a soft kiss of reassurance to the crease of her brow. “I do not allow those I mean to kill to warm my bed,” he muttered, “now sleep. You are safe.”

She cuddled against him, allowing him to tuck her head beneath his chin as he wrapped both arms around her. His warmth quickly lulled her back into a gentle slumber, though she noticed as her breaths softened and she inhaled his scent that he smelled faintly of soft earth and fallen leaves – like the woods.

Hours later, with the morning sun now streaming vibrant through the gaps in the wooden beams of their longhouse, they broke their fast on salted pork and oat cakes – long gone were their days of scraping green mold from their bread crusts during the siege of Wintanceaster – food in Eoferwic was plentiful with no one at the city walls to starve them. The settlement here was a prosperous one for the Danes; they had crops, livestock, homes. The space she shared with Sigtryggr was modest, but comfortable – the self-contained hut was a single room consisting of a small hearth for a fire with a space to prepare food, a large bed laden with furs and a wooden table with chairs, which they now sat at to eat.

When Sigtryggr had given Wintanceaster back to Edward, and asked her to go with him, she hadn’t hesitated. The month they had spent together had not seemed long enough, especially not when they had only just begun to explore the depths of their feelings for one another. However, the journey north towards Eoferwic had worn her patience beyond its limits, quickly dissipating the lover’s haze she had lost herself in. She did not voice her complaints to Sigtryggr – she was all too aware of what he had sacrificed to keep her safe – however, long hours spent astride his horse made her backside sore and, as eager as she was to welcome him between her thighs when they made camp each evening, the hardness of the ground was unforgiving against her knees and back. She grew miserable and withdrawn, waving it away as travel weariness whenever her lover queried her sullen silences.

She had expected her spirits to lift once they arrived at their destination, and to an extent they had – a comfortable bed, and days not spent on horseback did wonders for morale, but at her core she was homesick. When Sigtryggr had thrown away her cross, in her mind that had been symbolic of his disapproval of her faith. Out of respect to him, she had not prayed since leaving Wintanceaster, afraid she would offend him or, worse, that he would mock her. It was painfully apparent from the suspicious stares directed her way by his fellow Danes that they did not trust her. Sigtryggr was putting himself at risk by keeping her as his woman, the absence of her faith was the least she owed him. However, far from home and without being able to speak to her god, she was afraid. The nightmares had begun shortly after that, and she had kept them to herself – until now.

“I want to talk about my dream,” she said, placing the remnants of her oat cake upon her plate, and dusting the crumbs lightly from her fingers. She watched as Sigtryggr chewed a mouthful of salted pork slowly, eyeing her carefully as he lifted his gaze from the table towards her.

“It’s nothing,” he said with a shrug once he’d swallowed, “I would never hurt you.”

“It’s not nothing,” she insisted, “I’ve been having this same dream since we arrived here.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest. “Are you afraid of me?”

She swallowed thickly, looking down at the crumbs upon the table then back up at him. A look of impatience had settled over his features, she could see it in the subtle lift of his eyebrow as he waited for her answer. “I was your prisoner once.”

He narrowed his eyes and she instantly wished she could take back what she’d said. But it was too late now. “And now you are my woman. You chose to come with me.”

“How has anything changed?” she demanded, her voice becoming shrill as she fought back the tears from it, rapidly losing the battle against a tide of emotions she had held at bay for months. “I am as much your prisoner here as I was back in Wintanceaster. I have not even my faith anymore, only you. My life is in your hands.”

He leaned across the table, nostrils flared in anger and instinctively she shrank away, fearful of his reaction to her admission. When he spoke, his voice was angry, but it was not loud. There was a dangerous lowness to it, a quiet edge that was more menacing than any furious shout. “You are free, free to leave anytime you’d like. And if this is how you feel, I suggest that you do.”

She felt as though all the air had left her as she watched him stand up from the table and leave without another word. There was a part of her that longed to chase after him, to demand that he stay and talk about all of this, yet she remained rooted to the spot, unable to move from her chair as her chest felt too tight and unshed tears pricked at the rims of her eyes. She had done it. She had finally done it; shown the depth of her ingratitude for all he had done for her and he had hated what he saw, grown tired of her. A tear tracked its way down her cheek as she wondered if he would come back.

He did come back. Darkness had fallen, the day having passed at a glacial pace as she busied herself, sweeping the floor, making the bed – no task taking enough time to while away the seeming crawl that the passage of time had halted to. She lay on her side, facing the wall when she felt the dip of the mattress next to her as his weight settled into the bed. She wanted to wail like a child when he didn’t tug her against him as he did every night when he slipped into bed beside her. She had grown used to him pulling her against his body as though she weighed nothing, either nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck as sleep claimed them both, or rolling her onto her back as his hardness nudged insistently at her inner thigh. Tonight, he did neither of those things. It was the first night since they left Wintanceaster that he hadn’t touched her.

No dreams came for her that night, though she was certain at some point she felt the gentle brush of Sigtryggr’s lips against her own. When she opened her eyes to greet the morning sun, his space in the bed was empty. She threw back the furs, eyes wide in panic as she moved through the small space. His weapons were gone, boots and clothes too.

Has he left me?

Not caring that she was dressed in only her nightgown, she pulled open the door, looking out upon the settlement. It was eerily quiet. The grassy plane that the longhouses encircled, worn down to the earth by repeated footfall over time, was mostly empty, void of the usual men that gathered to talk and spar. A few small children ran past giggling with a dog barking at their heels, and she could see Brynhild draping wet clothes to dry over a length of twine pulled taut between two posts.

Besides Sigtryggr, Brynhild was the kindest to her of the Danes. She was unsure of how old she was, but she had a manner of speaking which sounded more ancient than time itself. She was a portly woman, seemingly as wide as she was tall, and her long hair was grey as iron, always neatly braided and then pinned into buns at the sides of her head. Her blue eyes sat deep in her well lined face, yet still twinkled with vivacity. She was a person that smiled with her eyes rather than her mouth, and they softened as she watched the young Saxon woman rush breathlessly over to her.

“Brynhild, where is everyone? Have you seen Sigtryggr?” she asked, too worried to be embarrassed about the shrillness that the urgency in her question lent to her tone of voice.

“Gone to Dunholm,” the old woman answered simply, “all fighting men and women gone.”

“What for?” she asked. Dunholm was English land, the Danes had no business being there, unless to cause trouble.

Brynhild shrugged, then groaned with effort as she stooped to lift a damp undershirt from her wicker basket. The younger woman was quick to step forward, taking over from her and beginning to drape the laundered items over the clothesline.

“You are a good girl,” Brynhild commented, her eyes sparkling in one of her subtle smiles, “Sigtryggr was smiled on by the gods when they gave you to him.”

She stiffened at the mention of him, pausing to look sadly over her shoulder at the old Dane. “He’ll come back to me, won’t he?”

“If the gods mean for him to.” Brynhild took the empty wicker basket from her as she offered it back. Her words provided little comfort.

Sigtryggr had left without a word. The last thing he had said to her was that she should leave. Perhaps he hoped she would not be there when he returned. Dejectedly, she turned to go back inside, suddenly feeling much too vulnerable in the little that she was wearing.

“Wait, before I forget,” Brynhild called after her.

She turned, and saw that the old woman held out Sigtryggr’s dagger to her, hilt first. It was a simple weapon, the steel of the blade was dull, yet its edge was wickedly sharp. The dark wooden handle was carved with runes that she did not know the meaning of. She looked quizzically from the weapon to Brynhild’s face, hesitating.

“Take it,” she urged, thrusting her hand out again for emphasis, “he told me to give to you. Keep you safe.”

Slowly, she reached forward and took the dagger from her outstretched hand with a quiet thanks, then turned and walked back inside of the home she shared with Sigtryggr. She turned the blade over in her hands, wondering why it had been left for her. She would get no sense from Brynhild beyond what she had already told her, and she dare not speak to any of the other women left behind – they treated her with mistrust and their answers would not be kind. 

Did Sigtryggr mean to return to her? Had he simply given her his blade as a means to arm herself when she went off by herself out into the world? Why had he left and not said anything?

The days passed by with an agonising slowness, and upon the fifth morning, when she had woken alone once more, she climbed from the bed and prayed – the first time she had done so since leaving Alfred’s study. The earthen floor was cool against her knees, a strange contrast to the warm furs upon which she placed her elbows as she clasped her hands before her and closed her eyes. She surprised herself when her thoughts immediately landed on Sigtryggr and not herself.

“I pray, Lord Jesus Christ, be Sigtryggr’s true armour. Cover him, therefore, O God, with your strong breastplate. Cover him all in all with his five senses, so that, from his soles to the top of the head, in no member, without within, may he be sick; that, from his body, life be not cast out

by plague, fever, weakness, suffering, until, with the gift of old age from God, departing from the flesh, be free from stain, and be able to fly to the heights, and, by the mercy of God, be borne in joy to the heavenly cool retreats of his kingdom.”

She kept her hands clasped in front of her, as she knelt before the bed with her eyes closed, and her thoughts drifted to her wayward lover. “Please come back to me,” she whispered. She would stay, she decided, if only to know for certain that he intended for her to leave, that their time together was at its end.

Upon the seventh night, she jerked awake, torn from sleep by the blare of a war horn that pierced through the silence with a loudness that made her heart feel as though it would burst forth from her chest. She snatched up Sigtryggr’s dagger from beneath her pillow – the place she had stashed it for safekeeping since Brynhild had given it to her, partially for her own protection, but mostly because having a little piece of her lover in the bed with her helped sleep to find her with greater ease. She moved quickly from the house, and peered out into the distance. She could see flames upon the wooden fortifications that encircled their settlement, and hear the shouts of men. The shouting grew louder, signifying that the people whose voices they belonged to were drawing closer. She looked down at the blade clutched so tightly in her fist that it made her knuckles white with the effort, and decided there and then that it was better to run. It was craven, she knew, but it was her best chance of survival. Her and a single dagger were no match for whatever army advanced upon them.

Having hurriedly tugged on a red linen shift over the top of her nightdress, and pulled on her boots, she rushed out of the door, dagger in hand. She thought of Brynhild – she couldn’t simply leave the old woman defenceless, but as she looked towards her dwelling, she could see that the portly old woman was already outside, her back towards her, and marching purposefully towards the source of the noise.

What was she doing? Did the old woman have a death wish?

She called out after her, wondering if she’d even hear her amidst the cacophony of noise. Apparently she did as, without turning around, she waved her off dismissively and carried on walking. She stared after her, jaw agape, torn between chasing after her and simply fleeing. Growling in frustration, she took off running in the opposite direction – she could offer no protection, simply another body for the advancing forces to cleave through before they inevitably killed Brynhild too. She made for the treeline, deciding that hiding in the thick of the woods was her best chance of survival.

The moment that she was running amidst the trees, the light of the settlement swallowed up by dense woodland, icy fingers of fear began to dance along her spine. She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs, visible whimpers escaped her with every laboured breath as she ran as though hunted. She was living her nightmare, and this time she couldn’t jolt into wakefulness to end it – this was real. It was a cloudy night, with no moonlight to illuminate her path, and so she stumbled in darkness, tripping and almost falling several times over unearthed roots. She managed to right herself each time and continue to run, until a particularly bad pitch in her step shook the dagger loose from her grasp, sending it clattering to the ground where she could no longer see it.

“No!” she cried, dropping to her knees and scrabbling at the dark earth with trembling fingers in search of it. It was all she had left of Sigtryggr. Her nails scraped uselessly in the dirt, never making contact with the blade she desperately sought. She hadn’t even realised she had been crying until she felt the droplets fall upon her hands.

She yelped in surprise as her fingers brushed against someone else’s, drawing her hand back as though scalded. She looked up, her eyes able to make out the figure of Sigtryggr crouched before her, the dagger she had dropped held loosely in his fingers. She had been so frightened, so absorbed in her own sense of panic that she had not even heard his approach.

“Looking for something?” he asked softly, offering the weapon back to her.

It was in that moment that she realised that this was nothing like her nightmares. She had nothing to fear from him, he would never harm her. All of her fright dissipated in the moment that she looked upon his face – so familiar even in darkness – and she lunged towards him, throwing her arms around his neck, causing the blade to fall back to the ground as Sigtryggr toppled backwards, wrapping his arms around her waist, as he laid heavily on his back.

She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, his long hair tickled her nose as she sobbed helplessly against him. Her words made little sense, even to her. “I was lost, I was lost,” she babbled, hiccuping around her tears.

Sigtryggr hushed her with a soothing sound, stroking his large hand over the back of her head, before coaxing her to look at him. “You are lost only if I am searching for you, little warrior, and I have found you. You’re safe.”

She was overwhelmed by the urge to interrogate him, to demand to know where he had been for the last week, why he had left her, but at the feeling of him beneath her, the sound of his sweet words and how earnestly he looked into her eyes, all questions died upon her tongue. Suddenly aware of the feeling of him beneath her, how real he felt after so many nights without him, she was eager to feel more.

Reaching between them, she tugged open the lacings of his trousers. Knowing straight away what she was after, Sigtryggr crushed his lips to hers, forcefully pushing her skirts above her hips as he kissed her as though he meant to devour her. It was too much and not enough. She felt as though she could not breathe, but could not bear to be parted from him as her tongue licked messily against his. The scrape of the rough woodland floor against her knees stung, and yet not for a moment did she wish to climb off of him. With hastened desperation, she grasped  the base of his manhood, panting heavily as he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. His eyes screwed shut in pleasure as she dragged him through her slick, and the vision of his face in the darkness, contorted in ecstasy, was one she wanted to etch into her mind, to ensure she would remember it always. She didn’t care that time had not been taken to prepare her properly, and sank down onto his girth with a cry of both pain and gratification as he stretched her open. The impossible fullness was the most complete she’d felt in days.

One of his hands grasped her hip, guiding her movements as she began to undulate atop him, while the other sank into her hair, anchoring her against him. Catching sight of his Mjölnir pendant against his leather breastplate, she took the cord of it between her teeth, biting down as she impaled herself upon him over and over, urged on by his soft, breathy moans. She stilled only when he came inside of her with a jerk of his hips, holding her hip with such force that she knew he would leave bruises. She let his Mjölnir fall from her lips, as he groaned low against the hollow of her throat, then fell bonelessly backwards, staying inside of her, taking her with him as he went. She had not peaked, it did not matter, the feel of him, his essence, filling her, reminding her he was real and not something her frightened mind had conjured as a comfort was all she needed.

When she had finally caught her breath enough to speak, she lifted herself enough to look down at him. “We have to go, we cannot stay here, we are being attacked.”

“That was just us,” he said softly, pulling her back down to him and tenderly kissing the top of her head. “I told Brynhild not to open the gates until she heard the horn and saw the torches, so that she would know she was welcoming us home.”

“Why did you leave?” she asked, lifting her gaze to look at the sharp line of his jaw. She was trying desperately to remain the balmy glow of their coupling, but could not quite keep the biting edge of anger from her voice.

“Uhtred wishes to take back Bebbanburg,” he explained, stroking a hand lazily up and down her back as they remained entwined upon the woodland floor. “We rode to Dunholm to keep him and his men away from Eoferwic.”

“And..?” she asked with a curious raise of her eyebrow.

“We had to lend fighting men and women to his cause, but he will not trouble our settlement here.”

“I am surprised you do not wish to join his fighting,” she murmured, tracing the lines of his leather breastplate with her fingertips in the darkness.

“I have fought for all I want, and it is here,” he replied, “I owe a debt to Uhtred for what he did for us in Wintanceaster, and that debt is now paid. I have no need to fight for him.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, quietly relieved that he would not be placed in harm’s way for another man’s cause. “Why did you not tell me you were going?”

He hesitated a moment, his hold on her tightening subtly. “I…I was going to, and then I was unkind to you before I left. I feared you would leave, and I knew if I went without telling you why then at the very least your curiosity would keep you with me.”

Her heart ached at his words, how could he ever believe that that was all that bound her to him? She reached up, cupping his cheek, nuzzling her face against his. “I am not going anywhere.”

“You say you still feel like my prisoner…”

She sighed, shaking her head. “I just…I do not know what my place is here. I wish to keep my faith, Sigtryggr, but will you cast me out if I am to do that?”

He sat up, keeping her upper body cradled against his chest. Sweeping her hair away from her face, he gazed down at her, intensity burning in his eyes, visible even in the gloom. “It is no secret that I hold no love for your nailed god, the followers of his faith have taken much and more from me. But it was a Christian woman that I fell in love with back in Wintanceaster, and I did not bring her north to change any part of her. Do you understand?”

She nodded, her eyes misty and voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

It was bright outside when she awoke – back in their bed, with no memory of how she got there – and Sigtryggr’s side was empty. For a moment, dread gnawed a pit in her stomach, worried she had dreamed his return and that he was still gone from her, until she looked bleary eyed around the room and saw him huddled in a corner beside the fireplace.

“Sigtryggr? How did we get back here? What are you doing?” she mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

He turned, looking at her over his shoulder, offering her a cunning smile, before he rose and crossed the room, greeting her with a soft kiss against her forehead. “You fell asleep in my arms,” he told her, “and I carried you home. Come, I have something I want to show you.”

She accepted his outstretched hand, smiling at the warmth of his rough palm against her softer one, and rose from the bed. He led her to the corner where he had been kneeling a moment ago and gestured towards it. He had laid down a sheepskin upon the floor, with a small wooden altar erected against the wall, complete with a half burned tallow candle.

“Now we both have a place to speak to our gods,” he smiled, and opened his free hand, allowing a length of leather cord wrapped around his fingers to dangle against his palm. Threaded onto it was a handmade wooden cross, whittled so crudely that it almost made her want to laugh. She simply smiled though; despite its crookedness, it was all the more perfect for the fact that he had made it for her.

She pushed her hair out of the way, as he came to stand behind her, fastening it around her neck. Her fingers toyed with the cross as it settled upon her chest. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her back against his chest, the word that fell from his lips was warm, moist, spoken with desire against her neck. “Christian…”

It sent a shiver down her spine, and this time for an entirely different reason.

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[witchezandwonderz]

Under the Danes Command

Pairing: Sigtryggr x Reader. Request: Number 25 nd 30 with Sigtryggr 💕 "Don’t worry, I’m not the type to bite. Unless you provoke me, of course." And, “You think you can resist me, but I can see the way your gaze lingers. Don’t worry, I’ll make it easy for you.” Word count: 3.2k @leftoverp1zza @somebody6468 @cheesesandwichsanto Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated :)

The air reeked of blood and ash. The cries of the dying had faded now, leaving behind an eerie silence broken only by the shuffle of scavengers—both men and crows. Y/N pressed a trembling hand to her mouth as she stepped over the body of a fallen warrior, her skirts brushing against the crimson-soaked ground.

To say that the attack was a surprise would have been an understatement.

She had been ordered by king Edward to accompany a small group of Saxon soldiers on their travels, just in case they needed her help. However, it did not go exactly to plan. As soon as they were aware of an attack, one of the soldiers ordered her to hide in a bush until silence rang out.

The man in front of her- a groaning Danish warrior with a gaping wound across his abdomen- looked up as she knelt beside him. His lips moved, but his words were lost in the wet rasp of his breathing. She worked quickly, her hands steady even as her heart pounded in her chest. She murmured soothing words she didn’t believe, and he didn’t understand due to the language barrier, as she reached for the knife at her belt, cutting away his bloodied tunic.

The sound of hooves broke her concentration.

She froze, her hand hovering over the wound. She looked up, squinting against the sun, to see a group of riders entering the grounds. She had a quick span around of the grounds before flapping her hands in a slight panic.

Danes.

If she ran now, they would see her. If she froze, they would see her. She really was in a lose lose situation. So, she continued helping the man before her and began praying in the hopes that her god would somehow save her.

The praying, however, quickly transformed into curse words as she heard hooves approaching- the pace speeding up, and the crunches in the dirt louder and louder.

“You, girl.” A voice called out, she chose to ignore it.

“Are you aware that you are helping a Dane?” The voice called out once again. Begrudgingly, she turned her head around to see where the voice was coming from. Still squinting to escape the sun, a broad, tall and messy haired man approached her.

"I am aware." She announced before turning back to her subject, "though I am still helping him nonetheless." Applying more pressure to the wound with one hand, she used the other to feel for instruments within her basket.

The Dane who had approached her let out an accepting grunt. Realising that there is little chance of her turning to face him again, he walked around to get a better view of her.

"Why?" He asked, crouching down to be eye level with her.

She took a small breath in an attempt to not let out a sarcastic and rude remark to him. She looked up at him briefly, looking into his bright, yet blackened eyes for the first time. "I am a healer, therefore, I am trying to heal."

He smiled at her response, for he could tell that she was holding her tongue.

"Do I not scare you?" He asked yet another question.

She did not look up at him this time though- she saw these next few moments vital for the injured mans life.

"Honestly, yes, but if you want to kill me then you will do it whether I am scared or not." She replied with upmost honesty, he appreciated that.

He allowed her to work in silence for the next few minutes, watching her and her movements carefully. He was impressed by her work.

"I need you to burn your sword." She told him, in a more commanding tone than she had intended.

He scoffed slightly, in disbelief of how she had spoken to him. He raised an eyebrow, "And why would I do that?"

This man really loves a question, she thought.

"Because he is one of your men, is he not?"

He hummed in response, before commanding one of his other men who stood at a distance, curiously watching the scene play out. The two stood in an awkward silence, waiting for the man to return with the sword. When he did, Y/N wasted no time before firmly holding the burning metal to the mans wound. She tried to gently comfort him while his screams rang out, echoing throughout the tree's.

"I am Sigtryggr, by the way." The Dane announced once the screams had died down.

She finished securing the bandage before rising to her feet. She wiped her hands on her skirts, glancing at him once more. “I’m Y/N.”

Sigtryggr studied her for a moment longer, a ghost of a smile flickering on his lips. “Well, Y/N, you’re very brave.”

She straightened her back, meeting his gaze evenly. “For a woman, you mean?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up further, "Where I am from, women are respected," his smile grew as he spoke, "so, no, not for a woman."

He turned to his men, barking orders in his language. As they moved to gather the injured and salvage what they could from the battlefield, she couldn’t shake the weight of Sigtryggr’s gaze lingering on her.

He then turned his attentions back to her, now crossing his arms and searching for her eyes once more. She cursed him in her mind, for she was tempted to run away- but she knew that would be a risky and ridiculous idea.

"You will come with us." He told her, though she knew it to be a command, his soft tone made her think differently.

"I have duties, King Edward's men will come for me." She spoke clearly and confidently, but the truth was that, she did not know this for certain. She did know one thing for certain, though; she was not important enough for the Saxon's to come and find her. In fact, they may assume that she is dead and not bother at all.

He smiled faintly, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Let them.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She wanted to argue, but deep down, she knew she wouldn’t win. He wasn’t asking; he was commanding.

Before she could protest further, Sigtryggr turned to one of his men and barked orders in his language. The warrior brought forward a horse, its reins extended toward her.

"Don’t worry, I’m not the type to bite. Unless you provoke me, of course." He teased, an hint of an amused glint within his eyes.

Her jaw tightened as she met Sigtryggr’s gaze, his teasing doing little to mask the unyielding authority in his voice. The reins dangled before her, and she hesitated for only a moment before reaching out to take them. She felt conflicted- she knew she did not have a choice, and she accepted that. What conflicted her was the fact that she had been raised to be told that northmen were heathens, evil, complete and utter evil. Yet, she had spent her entire life being disrespected by men, and this Sigtryggr may be the first man to show her even an ounce of respect. Odd.

“I’m not afraid of your bite,” she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended.

Sigtryggr’s grin widened, revealing a flash of teeth. “Good,” he said, turning away with a satisfied nod. “Fear would only slow you down.”

The surrounding Danes chuckled at their leader’s words, though none dared interrupt the interaction further. Y/N mounted the horse, her movements quick and precise, a lifetime of working alongside soldiers lending her a practiced ease. As she settled in the saddle, she couldn’t help but glance at the injured Dane she had just saved. His breathing was shallow but steady, and he managed a weak nod in her direction. She returned it with a small, fleeting smile.

As they rode deeper into the woods, the battlefield disappeared behind them, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the distant call of birds. The men began conversing, and bellowing laughter but they spoke in words that she could not understand. Sigtryggr looked behind him often to check on her, but she did not see it this way, she saw it as him ensuring that she was not trying to escape.

Finally, they reached a clearing where a makeshift camp had been established. Fires crackled, and the scent of roasting meat mingled with the damp earth.

Sigtryggr dismounted and approached her as she slid down from her horse. His dark eyes studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“You’ll be safe here,” he said simply. She looked at him and hummed in response, before quickly looking down at the ground once more.

His lips twitched in amusement. "You do not believe me." He stated, seeing straight through her, “you’ll find I’m a man of my word, healer. My men know better than to harm someone under my protection.”

“Protection?” she echoed, crossing her arms. “I did not have a choice.”

“No,” he admitted, his tone growing serious. “ Saving one of my men took courage... and skill.” He tilted his head, his gaze narrowing slightly. “I respect that.”

Before she could respond, one of his men approached, speaking in their language rapidly. Sigtryggr nodded and turned back to her. “Rest while you can. You’ll be busy soon enough.”

With that, he walked away, leaving her standing alone amidst the camp. She exhaled slowly, the weight of the day pressing down on her.

A young boy, no older than fourteen, approached her hesitantly, holding a wooden bowl filled with water. His eyes were wide with curiosity but not unkind. He held the bowl out to her, speaking softly in his language. She hesitated, before accepting the bowl politely and muttering a quick 'thank you' with a small smile. The boy smiled shyly, before scurrying away.

She knelt by the fire, washing the blood from her hands. The water turned crimson, swirling like ink before sinking into the earth. As she worked, she caught snippets of the Danes’ conversations, their language sounded harsh, and violent. She wondered what they were saying, if they spoke of her, or if she was just another strange piece of the day’s spoils. She prayed that they were not speaking of her.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a shadow fell over her. She glanced up to see Sigtryggr standing there, his arms crossed and his dark eyes glinting in the firelight.

"You look scared." He stated, in a soft voice, his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at her. She could have sworn that he had a slight hint of concern on his expression.

Y/N had held it together the entire day. Managing not to break. Managing to uphold her brave façade. But she was scared, she was absolutely terrified.

She looked up at him, and the mere hint of concern in his face made her break. Tears began to fall, relentlessly. She tried to stop them, but whenever she tried to stop them it seemed to make it even worse.

Sigtryggr did not expect it, he had thought that she was fine, selfishly. Panic flashed through him- it was not often that he had to comfort upset Saxon women.

He knelt beside her, his movements slow and deliberate, as if not to startle her further. His dark eyes softened, and the sternness that usually defined him seemed to fade. He didn’t speak immediately, instead allowing her to cry, her quiet sobs the only sound between them as the camp buzzed faintly in the background.

When her tears began to subside, her breaths hitching but less frantic, she spoke. "I am not scared of you, Sigtryggr, but I am scared of your men. They keep looking at me and then laughing and I am scared of sleeping, what if they come in and I am alone and you are not there and-" her words tumbled from her mouth. The more that she spoke, the more that her subconscious took over. He had to stop her, for she was becoming more and more unsettled.

"I will not allow any of that to happen." His words were soft, and short, but comforting nonetheless. He rubbed her back in an attempt to soothe her.

"You will stay with me." He concluded. She peered up at him, her sobs now calming down. "Really?" She asked, rubbing her nose. He smiled at her, she did not realise how sweetly innocent she seemed. Sigtryggr nodded lightly.

The days turned into weeks, and Y/N found herself increasingly drawn into Sigtryggr’s world. Though she had been plucked from everything she knew, she could not deny that life among the Danes was different—challenging, yet strangely freeing.

Sigtryggr kept her close, often bringing her along on his rides through the surrounding areas or sitting by her side at the fires in the evenings. At first, she had thought it was to ensure she wouldn’t run. But as the days wore on, it became clear there was another reason-one that neither of them spoke aloud but lingered in every shared glance, every quiet moment.

She often found his eyes on her, watching her with an intensity that both unnerved and intrigued her. She caught herself stealing glances in return, admiring the way his dark hair fell across his face, or how his features softened when he smiled. There was a magnetism to him, an unspoken pull that left her breathless.

One evening, after the camp had settled into a gentle hum of activity, Sigtryggr approached her. She was seated by the fire, grinding herbs. Without a word, he crouched beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him.

“You work too hard,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing.

She glanced at him, arching a brow. “If I don’t, who will patch up your men when they decide to test their luck against Saxon blades?”

His lips curved into a small smile, but his gaze remained steady. “And who will patch you up, healer, when you wear yourself down?”

She stopped what she was doing to turn her attentions to him fully, then confidently stated "You will." Before returning her attentions to her herbs, once again.

Sigtryggr’s brows lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face at her bold reply. But then his expression softened, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Without thinking, he leant over and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat at the unexpected gesture. The warmth of his lips on her skin lingered, the soft touch more intimate than she had anticipated. She felt a rush of warmth spread across her cheeks, her breath catching in her throat.

Sigtryggr pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his expression unreadable for a moment. “I didn’t think you’d mind,” he murmured, his voice low and almost teasing. She shook her head, trying to reduce the growing smile on her face.

"I didn't mind." She said quickly- much quicker than intended. Her eyes still focused on anything but him. She cursed her shyness sometimes.

His eyes searched for hers, and he felt frustrated that she would not look at him. She did this often, he had noticed. Whenever he tried to say something flirtatious, or compliment her, she would refuse to look at him. In his culture, he was very much familiar with women who he wanted being more than welcoming. But Y/N had a shyness that he did not understand.

“You think you can resist me, but I can see the way your gaze lingers. Don’t worry, I’ll make it easy for you.” He suddenly said, his tone carrying a determination that she had not heard before. Sigtryggr took all contents out of Y/N's hands and crouched in front of her, so that it would make it difficult for her to look away.

Y/N’s breath caught as he did so, his sudden, close proximity making her heart race. His hands gently held hers, and his eyes were fixed on her with a fierce intensity. Y/N felt an overwhelming wave of heat rise to her face.

His gaze held her captive, leaving her frozen in place. “You really do try to avoid me, don’t you?” he asked softly, his voice low and thick with a certain knowing. His lips curled into a half-smile. She returned the smile, her eyes still fixed onto his.

"No." She said softly, "I am just not familiar with this feeling." She admitted, naturally moving her head down to look at the floor. Without a second thought, Sigtryggr used his hands to lift her chin, so that she would look at him once again.

Y/N swallowed hard, her mind racing. She had thought about this conversation a thousand times, they had become too close for it to disregarded. Sigtryggr’s smile softened as he noticed her growing anxiousness.

“I know, you have told me stories of your life and yet have never mentioned a man” he said, his voice a touch more tender now. “ But I see it in your eyes, Y/N. You want this. You want me.”

She felt her chest tighten, her heart pounding harder than before. His words hit her like a wave, washing over her with an intensity that left her breathless.

Unable to speak, Y/N looked down, her hands trembling slightly in her lap.

Sigtryggr reached out and gently cupped her chin, lifting her gaze back to his. “You’re so beautiful” he murmured. His thumb brushed lover her cheek, "and gentle, and intellectual."

Y/N felt her heart flutter, the warmth of his hand making it impossible to think clearly. She opened her mouth to speak, but she could not think of words, she was too focused on him.

“You don’t need to say anything,” He murmured, leaning forwards, his lips brushing against hers. It was a soft, tentative kiss, almost as if he was waiting for her to pull away. But she did not, she did the exact opposite and found herself leaning into him, her eyes closing. The moment was soft and sweet, but it was also full of something deeper, something unspoken.

When they finally pulled away, Y/N’s heart was still racing. Sigtryggr’s eyes met hers, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You’re not as shy as you pretend to be,” he said, his voice low and full of satisfaction.

Y/N couldn’t help but blush, yet somehow found a new confidence stirring within her. She did not look away, but instead used both hands to reach forward and gently hold each side of his face. She looked at him for a moment, before pulling him back in and capturing him in a kiss of her own.

It was slow at first- tentative, but the more she felt him respond, the more her confidence grew. She deepened the kiss, her hands threading into his dark hair as she pulled him closer, as if she couldn’t get enough of the feeling of him near her.

Sigtryggr’s hands found her waist, pulling her gently toward him, his grip firm yet tender. He let out a soft, low sound as their kiss became more urgent, more desperate, as if the tension between them had finally snapped.

Sigtryggr pulled back, his breath ragged. He brushed his thumb against her lips, "not here," he murmured, his gaze flicking briefly to the camp around them, where people still lingered by the fire.

Y/N’s chest rose and fell as she caught her breath, nodding in agreement at his words.

Sigtryggr took her hand, his grip strong and steady, and the two disappeared into the shadows.

[rhaenyrathecruell]

Fuck me please

[thedarkprinceofulaid]

The gilded cage

The journey by ship to Ulaid was long and brutal, and Finan finds himself relieved when land is in sight. At one time in his life he loved the ocean, yearned for it even, but these days the bitter salt in the air reminded him of where fate had brought him the decade earlier, for years, trapped in a never ending horizon of water with an always nagging pain in some area of his body. Still… he is relieved. They are one enormous step closer and they’d survived the journey.

The relief of land in sight is quickly washed away when Finan squints his eyes and can just faintly make out the form of Ulaid’s fortress, the outline of the tall stoned palace and ramparts. Within that instant, a shiver runs down his spine.

It’s been so long.

The Irishman takes a deep breath in through his nose as his heart starts to thud in his chest, such unpleasant and painful memories washing over him like the tides, the smell of home arising in his senses. This is where he had been raised, where he spent the first quarter of his life. He’d spent more time here than anywhere else. And there it stood— the gilded cage of his own suffering and foolishness. His thoughts drift to her, how his own suffering was null in comparison. It still aches at his heart like nothing else could. Watching the person he loved tortured and murdered had made him wish for death almost every day since. It had replayed so often in his nightmares, but seeing the setting in which it happened brought memories back that were beyond comparison. The last time he’d heard her voice was when he killed Halvar for his wife’s vengeance, and it was like a dream of forgiveness, of retribution for not only Revna but for her. She guided his sword, he once thought. He shakes his head at the thought.

Forgiveness imagined, perhaps. I deserve to rest in Hell for my part in it all, darling. I was weak, then…

I hope you’re resting among the beauty of Heaven like you deserve. I’ll love you always.

The Irishman brings his fingers to his forehead, rubbing the tension away fruitlessly. Uhtred would let him lead this dance into oblivion, and Finan believed that he deserved whatever fate would befall him in doing so. In any case, his wife would survive. This would not end the way it did in the years past.

The first group of men leave the ship in two small boats, directed by Finan to the areas of scouting by sentries along Ulaid’s border, the ones who warn of any imminent threat to the King by sea. If the sentries are killed successfully, the mission will press on, and they will send a signal that it’s been done. Finan only prays that his long held knowledge of the fortress is enduring.

The Irishman watches the horizon as twilight fades into darkness, and many hours later the signal is witnessed by him and Uhtred; three firelit arrows sent to the sky, followed by three more.

With a grin, Finan goes to Bjorn and pats him on the back. “Proceed with the ships. I will see you at the gates, my friend…”

“Ladies,” Finan drawls almost lightheartedly to Hild and Lagertha. “With me.”

Dispatching the ship onto a few smaller boats, Finan and Uhtred lead Hild, Lagertha, and Sigtryggr onto a boat with a band of warriors. They begin to row forward while Bjorn leads the ship in the direction of the Fortress.

Finan stands as the small boat he directs reaches the shore, his adrenaline already thrumming in his bloodstream. He jumps out onto the sand, giving Uhtred a firm nod. He knows where to lead them, but each step of the way will be like revisiting the ghosts of his painful past.

Finally, we share the same ground. I will see you soon, Revna... I’m sure of it.

@lagertha-lothbrok @warriorabbesshild @asksihtrickjartansen @lordaldhelmofmercia

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Reunited 5

Pairing: modern!Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: So this is it. The journey has come to the end and I'm a bit sad but also very happy. This fic has a lot my own struggles within it and it has helped me to think over and let go of certain things that had accumulated. But before Sihtric and reader can look forward into the bright and shiny future they have to resolve some unsorted questions. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Warnings: it's emotionally tense with some angst and self reflection but still sweet

Summary: It was supposed to be a short two week trip that turned into five long years apart, just because your best friend couldn't keep her mouth shut. Will the reader and Sihtric manage to repair their broken relationship and find their way back to each other? Or will the reader decide to stay with the handsome and talented Sigtryggr?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word Count: 7,8 K

Please remember that comments and reblogs are two things that make writers smile and keep us motivated.

You felt a surge of betrayal twist through you, an uncomfortable déjà vu that made your stomach drop. The whole scene was surreal, and your mind spun, trying to piece it all together. But before you could say a word, Sigtryggr's hand found yours under the blanket, his grip firm and panicked.

“This—this isn’t what it looks like, I swear,” he stammered, his face pale and clearly horrified by the scene unfolding. He scrambled to sit up, looking between you and the woman standing in the doorway. “This is… this is Stiorra, my ex-girlfriend.”

Stiorra crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised as she regarded him with a mix of annoyance and disbelief. “And in case there’s any doubt,” she interjected, “I’m the one who threw him out.” Her eyes flicked to you, and a slightly sheepish smile softened her expression. “Told him to never come back, actually.”

Sigtryggr winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not exactly a high point in our relationship,” he muttered. Then, as if desperate to regain some semblance of control, he gestured toward the kitchen. “Stiorra, why don’t you, uh… wait in the kitchen? Give us a moment?”

With a sigh that suggested she was equally exhausted by this awkward situation, Stiorra shrugged. “Fine. But we’re talking after,” she said, shooting him a look that clearly communicated there was unfinished business between them. She turned on her heel, retreating to the kitchen and leaving the two of you in a tense silence.

You exhaled, still feeling the sting of surprise. “So, let me get this straight. Your ex-girlfriend who kicked you out now has a key and comes barging in?”

Sigtryggr’s cheeks flushed as he stumbled over his words. “It’s… complicated. We broke up months ago. She kept the key for emergencies, but I didn’t think she’d actually use it. I mean, she made it pretty clear she never wanted to see me again.” He shook his head, his eyes wide with a mixture of embarrassment and desperation. “I had no idea she’d be coming by today, I swear.”

You let out a breath, half-amused by his genuine horror at the situation. Despite everything, there was something undeniably ridiculous about it all. Here was this cool, collected artist, now completely rattled by his ex-girlfriend unexpectedly showing up while he was in bed with someone else.

You finally cracked a small smile. “You couldn’t make this up if you tried.”

He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. “This really isn’t how I imagined our morning together going. I’m sorry.”

Before you could respond, Stiorra’s voice called from the kitchen. “I’m making coffee. There’s milk and sugar somewhere—if Sigtryggr actually bought groceries this week, that is.”

Sigtryggr’s eyes met yours, full of sheepishness, and you couldn’t help but laugh, the tension starting to dissolve. “I’ll take that as a hint to get dressed,” you said, sliding out of bed and grabbing your clothes, feeling his gaze following you apologetically.

“Take your time,” Stiorra called again, her voice faintly dripping with irony. “I’ll try not to make it more awkward.”

As if more awkward was even possible, a stifled laugh escaped you as you slipped into your clothes, feeling like you were in some strange, twisted sitcom. Sigtryggr joined you, tossing on his shirt and jeans quickly, his eyes darting nervously between you and the kitchen.

Once you were both dressed, you headed to the kitchen. Stiorra was there, leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, her lips twisted in a wry smile. She looked at you and Sigtryggr with an expression that was part curiosity, part thinly veiled irritation. Two other steaming mugs waited on the counter and you grabbed one like a life saviour.

"Well," she drawled, swirling her coffee. "I see you’ve wasted no time finding a replacement." Her gaze flicked from you to Sigtryggr, her tone razor-sharp. "Or were you just waiting for the perfect moment to jump into someone else’s bed, Sigtryggr? Good to know you’ve been so… resilient."

You saw a flicker of hurt cross Sigtryggr’s face as he tried to respond, his gaze darting briefly to you before returning to Stiorra, as if caught in some unresolved pull. He shifted beside you, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Stiorra," he managed, his voice tight, "you know it’s not  like that. It’s been almost half a year..."

But she didn’t give him room to explain. She looked down at her coffee, a hint of sadness breaking through her sarcasm as her fingers tightened around the mug. "I didn’t come here to make a scene," she murmured, her tone softening. "I just… I thought I wanted to move on. But maybe I was wrong."

You swallowed hard, your eyes darted from Sigtryggr to his ex-girlfriend and truth be told the only coherent thought was the increasingly intensive wish for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. Facing lions in the Colosseum would have been a more appealing option than drinking coffee in what you’d thought was your new boyfriend’s kitchen, watching it turn into a stage for a soap opera. Whoever said, "If something looks too good to be true, it probably is," had clearly known exactly what they were talking about.

Stiorra lifted her gaze to meet Sigtryggr’s, her defiance melting into something softer, tinged with regret. 

"Siggy, baby, I’m so sorry!" she blurted, her voice cracking as her teary eyes searched his. The sudden burst of emotions startled you both, leaving the room steeped in uncomfortable tension. "Leaving you wasn’t what I thought I wanted," she continued, the words tumbling out, unrestrained and unguarded. "It was the biggest mistake of my life, and I just hoped you… you might feel the same. I couldn’t wait any longer—I just needed to tell you this." Her gaze darted back to the steaming coffee in her hands, as though she couldn’t bear to face him anymore. “I never imagined you’d move on so fast, not after everything we had together.”

You glanced over at Sigtryggr, who looked as if he’d just been slapped with a cold fish. The usual calm, steady demeanour he carried so effortlessly was gone, replaced by a vulnerable uncertainty you hadn’t seen before. His mouth opened as if to respond, then closed again, his mind clearly spinning in too many directions to form coherent words. He looked at you briefly, but his attention was drawn back to Stiorra, as if caught by an invisible thread that still connected them.

His eyes softened, a hint of that old, unguarded affection surfacing as he stammered. “Stiorra, I… I didn’t expect this. I thought… we were over. I thought you’d moved on.”

The longing in his voice was unmistakable. You felt an odd pang, a mixture of empathy and unease as you watched him struggle. The way he looked at her, his gaze clouded with both confusion and something undeniably tender, told you more than his words ever could. And strangely you didn’t even feel betrayed. You felt a deep understanding, even sympathy kindling within you. 

It was clearly time to make an exit before this scene turned into a full-blown tragicomedy. But before you could even think of a polite way to excuse yourself, Stiorra’s gaze shifted to you, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

“Oh, I know who you are,” she said, her tone casual—almost too casual. “You must be the mysterious girl who broke Sihtric’s heart. I’ve seen your picture, actually. He still keeps one in his wallet.”

“What?” The words hit you like a frying pan to the face, and you nearly dropped your coffee mug. This was beyond surreal; it was a nightmare layered with unwanted revelations. You glanced around, looking for any possible way to evaporate from the room as a wave of nausea crept over you.

Stiorra caught your reaction, her gaze sharpening as if sensing your unease. “No,” she said, her eyes assessing you calmly. “Not like that. Sihtric and I were never… involved.” She gave a casual shrug, one that seemed both reassuring and indifferent. “But I know him well enough. He worked for my father, Uhtred, for quite some time. And we have some mutual friends—Finan, Osferth. They’re close, practically brothers.”

You swallowed, still processing the shock as she spoke, and noticed the way her gaze flickered, slightly more empathetic now. Sigtryggr shifted beside you, clearly uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading, his gaze moving between you and Stiorra.

“Stiorra,” he said, clearing his throat, his voice a mixture of discomfort and quiet insistence, “I think we’re all getting a bit caught off guard here.”

Stiorra shrugged, but her expression softened as she looked back at him. “Maybe,” she admitted, voice gentler now. “But some things are better said than left hanging.” She turned her attention back to you. “Haven’t seen him in a while, but… he never really got over you, you know.”

The words landed like a stone in your chest, and for a moment, you felt the weight of everything you’d tried to put behind you pressing in. 

“Wait, hold on!” you blurted out, the words escaping faster than you could stop them and surely much louder than you wanted. “I broke his heart? What the hell are you talking about? He was the one who found someone else less than a week after I was out of sight.”

Stiorra’s eyes widened at your outburst. She hesitated before responding, her voice softer, almost cautious. “Wait… really? I don’t know all the details,” she admitted, glancing away briefly, “but I know for sure that Sihtric has been a mess since you left. Osferth and Finan have been trying to get him back on his feet, trying to knock some sense into him. But he’s just… shut everyone out, suffering in silence.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but something in her expression stopped you. There was a subtle reproach that made you falter.

Her words stung. You knew them—Osferth and Finan—Sihtric’s closest friends. Meeting them had felt like a significant step, almost as if you were meeting his family. Sihtric barely spoke about his parents or any siblings, but these two were an inseparable part of his life. The night he’d introduced you to them still lingered vividly in your memory.

Finan had taken to you right away, looking at you with an approving grin, clapping Sihtric on the shoulder and saying, “Finally, he’s found someone who might actually keep him in line.” His easy laughter and quick wit made you feel like you’d known him for years, and there was a warmth to his acceptance that had meant more than he probably knew.

Osferth, meanwhile, had been a bit more reserved, a touch of shyness in his gentle eyes. But there had been a sweetness in the way he’d talked to you, always quick to ask if you needed anything, checking that you felt included. You’d quickly learned he was the steady, caring presence in their group, looking out for both Sihtric and Finan with a brotherly devotion.

Those early evenings with them had been filled with laughter and endless stories from their nights out. You’d felt embraced by the friendship, a part of the easy bond they all shared. But when Sihtric walked out of your life, that sense of belonging had vanished too. They had been his friends, not yours, and your connection with them had ended as abruptly as your relationship with him.

“Look,” Stiorra continued, her voice pulling you back from your thoughts, “there are always two sides to a story. But only one truth. If you want to know more, maybe… maybe you should talk to Finan and Osferth. They know him better than anyone and could probably tell you more than I can.”

Without another word, you stood up, the urge to leave overpowering any sense of decorum. Sigtryggr reached out, his face a mix of surprise and worry as he tried to get your attention. “Hey, are you okay? What’s going on?”

You shook your head, barely able to meet his gaze. “I just… I need to go. I need…” The words trailed off, but you didn’t even bother to finish the sentence as you hastily grabbed your purse and headed to the doors without a single look back. 

You knew that Osferth worked as an assistant stylist at one of the top fashion studios, and Finan had a reputation as a brilliant set designer, always moving between shoots with an infectious energy. They were well-known figures in the industry, so it didn’t take long to track them down at a nearby studio where they were scheduled to prepare for an upcoming campaign.

The studio was bustling when you arrived. Assistants hurried about, racks of clothes lined the walls, and the hum of people preparing for a major shoot filled the space. You spotted Finan first, standing with his hands on his hips, joking with a lighting technician, his signature grin lighting up his face. Beside him, Osferth was focused on arranging a set of accessories on a table, his usually reserved expression serious as he worked.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, and Finan caught sight of you. His grin faded, replaced by surprise that quickly gave way to guarded curiosity. He nudged Osferth, who looked up in shock, the familiar softness in his eyes now laced with uncertainty and distance you hadn’t expected. The two exchanged a look before approaching you, their movements careful, almost wary, as if they were unsure of how to greet you.

“Hey,” you managed, your voice catching. “I… I need to talk to you. About Sihtric.”

“Well,” Finan said, crossing his arms, his voice lacking its usual warmth. “If it isn’t the ghost from Sihtric’s past.”

The jab landed harder than you’d expected, his accusatory tone sinking into you like a heavy stone.

Finan’s gaze was steely, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he fixed you with an unforgiving look. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him?” he said, his voice thick with frustration. “Twice now, you’ve come crashing into his life—first, tearing him apart, and now, strolling back in like a stranger, as if he doesn’t deserve even a shred of understanding for everything he’s been through. The least you could do is thank him for what he did for you.”

“What he did for me?” you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, caught in a haze of disbelief. You couldn’t even process the meaning behind his accusations, feeling as if you’d just walked into an ambush. You regretted coming here, every instinct screaming at you to turn and leave, to escape this room and the anger that pressed down on you from all sides. Blinking back tears that threatened to spill, you took a shaky step back, but Finan didn’t relent.

He moved closer, his gaze piercing, his voice unyielding. “Do you know how long it took him to get his life back together after you left?” he continued, his tone unwavering. “To even begin piecing himself back together? And then you show up out of nowhere, with no idea what he’s been through, and somehow make him fall all over again.”

Stunned, you stared at him, but he wasn’t finished. “We’ve been trying to help him move on for ages. Osferth and I—do you know how many nights we’ve spent picking him up after he shut everyone out, barely holding on? He’s been carrying this burden alone since the day he let you go.” Finan scoffed, his voice low and dark with exasperation. “And you—you have the nerve to walk back and judge him?”

You wanted to move but you felt rooted to the spot as you couldn’t keep the tears from rolling down your cheeks anymore. “Thank him? For what? For dropping me and finding another less than a week after I wasn’t in sight? For ruining my life, leaving me gathering the shards?”

Finan drew a deep breath, but Osferth interrupted him, placing a calming hand on Finan’s arm, though his face still held traces of disappointment as he looked at you. “Finan wait. Something’s not right there.” His eyes shifted to you, his expression softening, but only slightly. “And that’s all you know about what happened?”  he asked, his tone measured but no less serious. 

“What else is there to know?” you snapped, frustration simmering in your chest. “I thought he loved me, and the next thing I know, he’s moved on like I never existed. I think I have a right to be a little angry.”

Finan exchanged a glance with Osferth, as if confirming something, then sighed, rubbing his temples. “So, Gisela never told you why he did it?”

You felt your stomach clench at the mention of Gisela. Confusion gave way to a creeping unease, your mind racing to piece together what they were trying to say. “Gisela?” you repeated, barely masking the surprise in your voice. “What does she have to do with any of this?”

Osferth shifted uncomfortably, his gaze turning thoughtful. “Gisela came to him. Said it would be better if he… stepped aside. She told him about that offer you got, the scholarship and the contract – that once in a lifetime opportunity for you. She’s the one who convinced him to let you go. She told him it would be best for you to focus on your future, that he was holding you back.  And Sihtric… well, he thought he was doing what was best for you.”

“Best for me?” The words felt hollow, ringing with an irony that cut deeper with each syllable. You felt a wave of disbelief crash over you, your stomach twisting as you processed his words.

Osferth nodded, his gaze sombre. “He figured if he just… cut ties, you’d have no reason to look back. He tried to bury how he felt, make you believe he’d moved on. But we both know it tore him apart. He’s never been the same since you left.”

You felt your knees weaken, the ground beneath you seeming to tilt as the truth settled over you, each piece of information landing like a blow. The anger, the hurt, the betrayal—all of it twisted into something else, something that left you feeling hollow. Your legs gave way, turning to jelly, and you would have surely hit the ground if Finan and Osferth hadn’t steadied you from each side.

“Easy there!” Finan’s voice had softened, a warmth returning that you hadn’t expected as he guided you, his anger replaced by concern. He quickly waved to a set assistant walking nearby. “Get a chair—and some water!” he called, his tone firm but urgent.

You barely noticed the assistant rushing off. A chair was brought over, and Finan and Osferth eased you into it, the world around you blurring as you tried to comprehend what you just heard. Osferth knelt beside you, his eyes steady and full of sadness as he handed you the water.

“I… I didn’t know,” you stammered, the words feeling small, inadequate. You looked at them, your voice cracking. “I thought he… I thought he didn’t care. I thought he wanted me gone.”

Finan shook his head, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. “It was never about him not caring. He thought he was doing the right thing—for you.”

“He’s been living with that choice,” Finan added quietly, his eyes meeting yours, “because he thought it would give you a better life.”

Osferth placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his tone gentle. “Sometimes people make the hardest choices for the ones they love. Doesn’t mean they don’t hurt just as much.”

“Maybe… maybe it’s time you hear it from him,” Finan said softly, his tone no longer accusatory but understanding.

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

The worry gnawed at you, growing with each unanswered call, each message left unread. Sihtric had vanished after the fashion show, and as the hours without a word turned into an entire day, you found yourself pacing around your apartment like a caged animal, restless and frustrated.

You hadn’t wanted to go to his place—not at first. The idea of stepping into his space felt like giving up the neutral ground you’d hoped to keep. But as your concern deepened, it became clear that there was no other option. With a resigned sigh, you grabbed your things and headed out, finally making your way to his apartment.

When you arrived, you looked up to see a warm glow coming from Sihtric’s window. Relief flooded over you—he was home. You exhaled deeply, feeling the tightness in your chest ease, if only a little. You deliberately chose the stairs over the elevator, hoping the walk up would give you time to gather your thoughts. But even with the extra moments, your mind remained frustratingly blank, and your heart raced like a drumbeat in your chest.

Standing in front of his door, you raised your hand to the doorbell, trying to ignore the nervous twist in your stomach. But instead of ringing, you pressed your palm and ear to the door, straining to hear any sign of movement on the other side. Come on, you can do this, you urged yourself, taking a deep, steadying breath. Finally, you lifted your hand and pressed the button, feeling your pulse quicken as you waited for him to answer.

A sinking feeling twisted in your gut as there was only silence on the other side but you refused to give up. You pressed the doorbell again, then again, determined to get some response. Still, nothing.

“Sihtric,” you finally called. “I know you’re in there. I can see the light. Please, just talk to me.”

Silence stretched, pressing down on you. Frustrated, you balled your fists and pounded on the door, the echo of each hit ricocheting down the empty corridor. Somewhere down the hall, a door creaked open, and you glanced over your shoulder to find a pair of curious, disapproving eyes peering at you through a crack. But you were beyond caring about nosy neighbours. Ignoring them, you turned back to Sihtric’s door and knocked again, your voice catching slightly as you called his name once more.

Just as you felt the last shimmer of hope begin to slip away, you heard a faint shuffle behind the door, the sound of hesitant footsteps drawing closer. Relief flickered through you, only to fade as his voice, rough and bitter, cut through the silence.

“Just… go away,” he muttered, his tone carrying a heaviness that felt like a punch to the chest. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Sihtric?” you called, pressing a hand against the door. “Please, open up. I just want to talk.”

Silence. But you knew he was there, so you waited. A bitter, muffled voice finally answered. “Why? There’s nothing more to talk about,” he replied, his tone rough, barely masking the exhaustion in his voice. “Just… leave me alone.”

Ignoring his dismissal, you leaned closer, unwilling to let him shut you out. “Sihtric, please. I was wrong. I was wrong not wanting to listen to you, shutting you out. Please open the door, so we can talk. I just… I need to understand.”

He scoffed from the other side, the bitterness in his voice cutting. “Understand? You want to understand now? Why? You have your perfect little life, your perfect job, your prince charming.” His words were laced with sarcasm. “You want to judge me? I already gave you the chance for that at the show. I saw it on your face. I don’t need more of that.”

You pressed your forehead against the door, your heart pounding as you tried to will back tears slowly gathering in the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry. Sihtric, can you hear me? I’m so sorry. And I wasn’t judging you, Sihtric. I was just… surprised. I’m not here to make things worse. I came because I care.”

On the other side of the door, Sihtric stood still, barely breathing, his entire body tense. He could feel the ache in his shoulders and neck, the result of hours spent tossing and turning through a sleepless night, haunted by thoughts of you and his own spiralling decisions. Every muscle felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion, regret and anger.

He wanted to open the door. Part of him ached to see you, to hear your voice without the barrier between you. But another part—larger, stronger, the part that had convinced him to let you go years ago—held him back. That part reminded him of everything he’d become, the mess he’d made of his life since then, and the humiliation of his drunken, jealousy-fueled outburst at the fashion show. He clenched his fists, fighting the shame that burned inside him, wondering if he could ever face you again.

His heart pounded, each beat reverberating with the bitterness that had taken root within him. What did he have to offer you now? He was broken, he knew that much, and he’d spent too long building up his defences to believe someone would want to come close enough to help him pick up the pieces. Especially not you—the one person he’d hurt most by pushing you away.

Drawing a deep shaky breath he slowly slid down to the ground, resting his back against the door. His elbows propped on his knees he buried his face in his hands, the world reduced to the darkness behind his closed eyelids. 

The memories of the fashion show flashed in his mind—your face when he’d approached you, the shock and disappointment in your eyes, the way he’d stumbled through his words, lost in a haze of jealousy and alcohol. The regret was a deep wound now, throbbing with every word you spoke on the other side of the door.

What could he say to you? That he was sorry? Sorry didn’t even begin to cover the tangled mess he’d made of things. 

The sound of your voice, pleading, coaxing him to open the door, tore at him. He could feel you there, so close, and it made everything hurt more sharply. Sihtric let out a shaky breath, feeling the first sting of tears pressing at the corners of his eyes, but he held them back, unwilling to let himself break down, even now.

“Why are you here?” he muttered under his breath, as much to himself as to you. His voice was rough, barely hiding the bitterness he felt, not even toward you but toward himself. “What good can come from this?”

He sat there, torn between the urge to stand up, unlock the door, and reach for you, and the dark, cynical voice in his mind that told him to stay hidden, that he didn’t deserve whatever you were here to offer.

And yet, through it all, he couldn’t help but listen, couldn’t ignore the hope in your words, the softness in your tone. He could almost feel you on the other side, feel the warmth you brought, a warmth he hadn’t felt in years. 

But that hope was terrifying. Because if he opened the door, if he let you in… The very idea of you seeing him like this—broken, regret-filled and barely holding it together—filled him with shame. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to do that. He probably wasn’t. 

Silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Sihtric’s breathing grew uneven, and for a moment, you wondered if he’d even heard you. Then, his voice cut through the quiet, rough and worn, tinged with a bitterness that struck you like a physical blow.

“I don’t need your sympathy,” he muttered, the words laced with frustration. “I don’t need anything from you. Just leave me alone—I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Sihtric,” you called softly, pressing your hand flat against the door. “Please… just open the door.”

When he didn’t respond, you clenched your fists and banged against the door, louder this time, not caring who heard. “Sihtric, I’m not going anywhere! You don’t have to shut me out. I know… I know what you did for me. I know why you left.”

There was a pause, so deep and tense you could hear the faint sounds from the street outside, muffled and distant. Finally, his voice broke the silence, barely audible, fragile. “Who told you that?”

You took a steadying breath, hoping he could hear the sincerity in your tone. “Finan and Osferth,” you replied. “They told me everything. How you thought leaving was best for me, how you made it look like you’d moved on just so I wouldn’t come back… how you suffered through it all because you thought it was the right thing.”

There was another pause, and then he laughed, a hollow, defeated sound that twisted painfully in your chest. “So, what?” he said, his voice wavering, barely holding steady. “You came here to pity me? To see what a mess I’ve made of myself?” He sounded tired, as if the words themselves were an effort. “I don’t need your pity either.”

For a moment, all you could hear was his unsteady breathing. You imagined him, standing just on the other side, close enough to touch if only he’d open the door. It was driving you mad—having him so close but so far away at the same time. You silently cursed yourself for turning him down, for refusing to listen when he had tried to talk to you before. Why had you been so cold? Why had you let fear take over?

But it wasn’t just your fear that had brought you to this moment. Gisela. The thought struck like a dagger, bitter and sharp. Why had she meddled? Why had she pushed Sihtric into making that choice without ever telling you? All those times she’d been there, comforting you, assuring you that moving on was the right thing to do—she had known. She had known the truth and had kept it from you. Why, Gisela? you thought bitterly, your hands balling into fists against the door. Why did you do this to me? To us?

You closed your eyes, pressing your forehead against the door, the whirlwind of emotions inside you felt unbearable, but amidst the chaos, a single thought began to crystallize with startling clarity. I’m not letting this go. Not this time. You had spent too long blaming others for what had happened—Sihtric, the universe, now Gisela. Too long nursing your pain, placing it on a pedestal like some kind of shield to justify not moving forward, not letting yourself feel again. But you couldn’t hide from the truth anymore. This wasn’t just pain or regret—this was love. It had never stopped being love, and it was time you faced it.

You straightened slightly, you weren’t going to let the past define what was left of your future. This was your chance, and you weren’t going to let fear or pride hold you back any longer. Sihtric deserved the truth, and so did you. He needed to hear it, to know that you still loved him—not the sanitized, half-forgotten version of love you’d pretended to bury, but the real thing. The kind of love that ached, that fought, that refused to let go.

And he needed to know the part you’d played in letting it all fall apart. The anger you’d clung to, the walls you’d built to protect yourself, all of it had driven you away from him when you should have stayed and fought, and you needed to own that. 

“I’m not giving up on this,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him, though you hoped he could feel the determination in your voice. “Not this time, not again.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the door as your only support as you leaned against it. “Sihtric,” you began, your voice trembling, but there was no hesitation in your words. “Please, just listen to me. Don’t make the same mistake I did. Please, I’m begging you just hear me out. I’m here because… because I never stopped loving you.”

You could feel his breathing hitch on the other side, but he didn’t say anything, and you went on, needing him to hear everything.

“I wanted to hate you,” you confessed, your voice breaking slightly. “I tried. I thought that if I could just hate you, it would be easier. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t hate you, not really. Even when I tried to move on, to make a life without you… I couldn’t let go of you. No one else could replace what you mean to me.”

On the other side of the door, Sihtric let out a ragged breath, his hands covering his face. 

The weight of your own words took their toll, and slowly, your legs gave way. You slid down to the ground, sitting with your back pressed against the door, your head resting against the wood as you stared at the empty hallway in front of you. 

“When you wanted to talk to me that day at the shoot… I was so cold because I was scared, Sihtric,” you whispered, the confession falling from your lips before you could stop it. “I was afraid that if I let you in, even a little, I’d break. That all the walls I put up to protect myself would come crashing down.”

Sihtric listened, his face buried in his hands, feeling every word you spoke burning holes in his soul. He wanted to reach for you, to say something, but something kept him still, the knowledge of everything he’d put both of you through holding him back. His breath was shaky, his heart pounding as he imagined you there, only inches away.

“I tried to move on, Sihtric,” you continued. “I tried to make a life without you. I even tried to love someone else, to find what I had with you with someone new. But it didn’t work. No one… no one ever felt like you.”

Sihtric’s hands dropped from his face, and he pressed his palms flat against the door, his fingers splaying out as if they could reach you through the barrier between you as he felt his resolve breaking, his walls crumbling bit by bit.

“I thought letting you go was the best thing I could do for you,” he murmured. “I thought that if I hurt you enough, you’d decide to leave me behind… and you’d never look back. I wanted you to be successful and happy, even if it meant I couldn’t be.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you listened, your heart breaking all over again. “Don’t you see?” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “I was never happy without you. I kept telling myself that I could be, but deep down, I knew… I knew I’d never feel whole again.”

For a moment, the two of you sat there, separated by inches of wood and miles of unspoken feelings, both of you held captive by the same painful memories and buried longing.

“You don’t understand…” he continued, his voice breaking. “I’m not who I used to be. I’m not… I’m not enough for you, you need someone better. I don’t even know who I am anymore. You should be out there, living that life you’ve created and earned, not here… with someone like me.”

You swallowed hard, tears pooling in your eyes but refusing to fall. “I don’t need someone better, Sihtric. I need you,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “The real you, flaws and all. I can’t pretend anymore that everything’s fine without you in my life. I don’t care about perfect, Sihtric. I just… I just want you.”

The silence behind the door was deafening, stretching longer than you could bear. Your chest tightened, every second dragging on like an eternity. You strained to hear anything—a shuffle, a breath, even the slightest indication that he was still there—but there was nothing. The hollow quiet seeped into your heart, threatening to shatter it into a thousand pieces again.

Was this really the end? The thought weighed heavy, pressing against you until you couldn’t sit upright any longer. Slowly, you laid your head down on your knees, clutching them tightly as if to hold yourself together. You felt the sting of finality creeping in, the cruel certainty that you had done everything you could. It was time to stand up, to walk away, and this time, not look back.

But just as you started to gather the strength to rise, a faint, almost imperceptible sound reached your ears. A click. Your breath hitched as the unmistakable sound of the lock turning echoed softly through the silence.

You turned your head at the sound of the door creaking open, and there he was. Sihtric stood in the doorway. He looked exhausted, dark rings encircling his beautiful large eyes, face shadowed and tired. His hair was disheveled, and his shirt was rumpled, hanging loosely on his frame, but you didn’t care. All you could see was him, standing there, finally letting you in.

You jumped to your feet, propelled by a wave of relief and emotion, and lunged at him before you could think twice. The sudden movement caught him off guard, and the two of you stumbled backward into the apartment, the door swinging shut behind you. Your arms wrapped tightly around him, holding on as though he might disappear again if you let go. Tears streamed down your cheeks, soaking into his rumpled shirt as you buried your face against his broad, muscular chest.

For a moment, he stood frozen, his hands hovering uncertainly by his sides. Then, slowly, hesitantly, his arms came around you, pulling you closer. He let out a shuddering breath, the tension in his body giving way as he held you tightly, like he was afraid this was just another fleeting dream.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled against him, trembling with emotion. “I’m so, so sorry, Sihtric. For shutting you out. For not fighting harder. For letting my anger win.”

His chest rose and fell beneath you as he struggled to steady his breathing. His voice was rough, as he finally spoke. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was me… all of it. I pushed you away. I thought it was the only way.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. 

“I should’ve fought for us,” you said, your voice breaking. “I should’ve seen through it, through what you were doing. But I didn’t.”

His hand came up to cup your face, his touch tentative, almost disbelieving. “You couldn’t have known,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I made sure of that. I wanted you to move on, to be happy.”

“I wasn’t happy,” you said, shaking your head. “I could never be happy without you.”

He closed his eyes, his forehead resting against yours as a tear slid down his cheek. “I don’t know if I can fix this. If I can fix me.”

You reached up, your fingers tracing the stubble along his jaw as you steadied your voice. “You don’t have to fix anything. We’ll figure it out together. Just, please, don’t push me away again.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He just held you, his hands trembling slightly as they clung to you. Then, he leaned in and his lips brushed yours in a soft, lingering kiss that carried the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

Sihtric's lips trembled against yours, as you pressed into him, your hands clutching harder the fabric of his shirt, silently telling him that you were here, that this was real. You kissed him back pouring all your emotions into that one single gentle touch of lips, getting more heated and desperate with each passing moment.

When he pulled back just enough to catch his breath, he began to press a trail of kisses across your cheeks, your forehead, the bridge of your nose. 

“I love you,” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough and low. “I’ve always loved you. Even when I tried to forget… when I tried to move on, I couldn’t.” His lips found yours again, more insistent this time, as though he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t hold back the flood of emotions he’d kept buried for so long.

“I tried to find someone else,” he admitted, his voice breaking as he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breath was warm and unsteady. “I thought I could replace what we had. But it was never the same. No one could ever be you.” His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his grip firm but gentle. “I don’t want anyone else. I can’t. It’s always been you, and it will always be you.”

Without warning, he scooped you up into his strong arms, holding you effortlessly as though you weighed nothing. You gasped softly, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with something raw and unrestrained.

“I need you,” he said, his gaze locked on yours. “I need you in every part of my life. And right now… I need to show you how much I love you.”

You smiled through tears, you fingers tangling in his thick, disheveled hair. You pulled him closer and with a low almost desperate growl his lips captured yours again as he carried you further into the apartment.

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

The soft hum of voices and the gentle clinking of glasses filled the air as you arrived at the exhibition, a feeling of anticipation settling in your chest. Gisela was waiting for you near the entrance, her ever-poised demeanor slightly off-kilter as she scanned the crowd. When her eyes landed on you, a flicker of something—relief? Concern?—crossed her face, and she hurried over.

“There you are,” she said, taking your hand as though to steady you. Her tone carried an edge of urgency, and you could tell she was gearing up to say something important. “I’m glad you came. But listen, before you go inside, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Her voice lowered conspiratorially as she leaned closer. “Sigtryggr… he’s here. And he brought someone. A girlfriend, apparently.” Her words were careful, but her gaze flickered with unease, clearly gauging your reaction.

You raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement rising in you. “That’s fine, Gisela,” you said, squeezing her hand lightly. “Sigtryggr and I… we weren’t meant to be. I’m happy for him.”

She blinked, slightly taken aback by your calm response, but pressed on. “Well, I thought you should know. But I also have someone I want you to meet.” Her voice brightened slightly, as though trying to distract you from the potential awkwardness waiting inside.

You tilted your head, an affectionate smile creeping onto your face. “Actually, Gisela, I have someone I want you to meet first.”

Before Gisela could respond, Sihtric stepped forward from behind you. He wasn’t dressed to blend into the crowd of sharply tailored suits and polished shoes that filled the gallery, yet somehow, he looked effortlessly striking. 

A dark, fitted leather jacket hung perfectly over his broad shoulders, paired with a simple, black t-shirt that clung to his lean, muscular frame. Fitted jeans and scuffed boots completed the look, adding a touch of ruggedness that made him stand out in all the right ways.

His dark hair was neatly tied back, but a few rogue strands fell across his sharp cheekbones, softening the intensity of his piercing eyes. He looked effortlessly cool, the kind of man who drew attention without even trying, and the subtle smirk on his lips only added to the effect.

Sihtric slipped his hand into yours, your fingers intertwining, and the look on Gisela’s face was priceless. She was frozen, her gaze locking on him as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Her usual poise faltered, and for the first time, she seemed genuinely at a loss for words. Her eyes flicked between you and Sihtric, wide with shock, her mouth opening and closing slightly as though searching for something—anything—to say.

“Sihtric,” you said warmly, your voice filled with affection as you glanced up at him. He responded by slipping his arm around your waist, his hand resting at the small of your back.

Gisela finally found her voice, though it was a touch higher-pitched than usual. “I… didn’t realize…” she stammered, her gaze darting to you as if silently questioning how, when, and why this had happened.

You cut her off with a gentle but firm nudge to the side, brushing past her with a smile. “Gisela, we’ll catch up later. Right now, there are a few people we’d like to say hello to.”

Sihtric’s arms wrapped securely around you as you walked into the exhibition together, his warmth grounding you. You caught sight of Sigtryggr and Stiorra in the center of the gallery, standing close, their heads tilted toward each other as they shared a quiet laugh. Whatever lingering awkwardness might have existed between you and Sigtryggr seemed to dissolve as you approached, Sihtric at your side.

“Sigtryggr,” you greeted warmly, your smile genuine. “It’s good to see you.”

Sigtryggr turned, his expression flickering with brief surprise before softening into a polite smile. “And you,” he replied, his gaze briefly darting to Sihtric before settling back on you. “I see you’ve… moved on as well.”

“Seems like we’ve both found where we’re meant to be,” you replied, your tone light, though the weight of those words resonated deeply within you.

Stiorra raised her glass with a mischievous grin. “Well, well. Isn’t this a picture-perfect reunion?” she quipped, her tone teasing but kind.

Sihtric’s arm tightened around your waist as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “A reunion, maybe,” he murmured just for you, his voice warm and low. “But what matters is where we go from here.”

And as you stood there, surrounded by art, by people who had once been tangled in your past, you couldn’t help but smile as for the first time in a long while, the future felt beautifully, wonderfully yours.

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

Doctor's Assistant chapter 1

Note: inspired by a request from @sigtryggrswifey.

Warnings: none (yet).

pairing: Doctor!Sihtric x Assistant!Reader/You (f) (x Doctor!Sigtryggr).

summary: Two doctors opened a new practice, and you are their assistant.

wordcount: 3,3k

Masterlist

The new practice.

You had been a doctor's assistant at the same practice for many years when you got the news that you were to be transferred to a new practice at the other side of town. Somewhat reluctantly you had agreed to the transfer, not really wanting to give up the practice you had grown fond of and familiar with all the doctors and their patients, but you also knew it was time for a change too. You were told the two doctors at the new practice were young and eager, unlike the old and somewhat grumpy doctors you had worked many years for. So you looked forward to your new workplace after a bittersweet goodbye at your old place.

After a well deserved break of two weeks, you found yourself staring up at the new building where you would spend most of your week from today forward. You felt nervous and excited. You wondered what kind of patients you would get to meet here and how busy it would be, since it was a new practice. But you mainly wondered what the two doctors would be like, since you knew nothing about them and had no idea what they even looked like or what their names were. You also worried if you would fit in, as some doctors look down on their assistants and treat them like garbage.

The things you did know was that the three of you were all new at this practice, but you all had years of work experience already. And with that knowledge you walked up the narrow stairs to the second floor, where the first thing you saw was your new workspace: the front desk. The entire place was so new that it was squeaky clean, and you wondered if the painfully bright white paint had fully dried, as you could still smell it. You walked up to the front desk when you suddenly heard loud laughter emerge from a room on the right side, down a narrow hallway. You carefully walked over to where the two male voices continued to sound. Your heels clicked lightly on the wooden floor, and the voices suddenly stopped as you closed in on them. Then, before you could even knock on the door, you were startled as the door flung open and a tall man with bright blue eyes stared down at you. His hair was braided and the sides were shaved. He was wearing a black knitted sweater with black jeans and black boots underneath. He had a large scar on his face as well as a well kept goatee and moustache, and around his neck he wore a silver hammer pendant.

'Hi!' the impressive man said with a beaming smile, 'you must be our assistant.'

'I am,' you confirmed and shook hands with the tall, handsome man.

'My name is Doctor Ivarsson, but you can call me Sigtryggr,' he said, 'or Sig, since that's easier to pronounce.'

'O-okay,' you chuckled and introduced yourself while the doctor still held your hand in a firm handshake.

'Nice to meet you,' Sigtryggr smiled at you.

'Nice to meet you too,' you said and felt yourself suddenly become a little shy under his gaze.

'Okay, okay. Hurry up, prince charming,' the second voice you heard before sounded mockingly from inside the room, 'let her in, I want to see who we're dealing with too.'

Sigtryggr finally let go of your hand and beckoned you in the office as he held the door open for you. You stepped inside the room and laid eyes on the bearer of the second voice you had heard. Another stunning man looked up at you as he was seated behind a desk, and a cheeky yet sweet smile appeared on his face, which was also scarred, but more subtle than the other doctor's face. He also had a well kept goatee and moustache and, like Sigtryggr, he also had a hammer pendant around his neck, except his pendant was bronze instead of silver. His long, dark hair was tied back into a bun, and he wore a white shirt which left nothing to the imagination; the doctor was insanely muscular and well built, and you wondered if Sigtryggr was also that muscular underneath his cosy sweater.

'Ah,' the muscular doctor clicked his tongue and looked at Sigtryggr, 'now I understand what took you so long, trying to win her over already, huh?'

Sigtryggr smiled and shook his head while the other doctor got up and made his way over to you, and you felt your cheeks heat up a little.

'My lady,' the doctor said with a smooth, warm voice and held his hand out, 'I'm Doctor Kjartansson, but you can call me Sihtric,' he quickly looked over at Sigtryggr and then back at you, 'or Siht, if that's easier for you to pronounce,' he winked.

'Gods, you're such an ass,' Sigtryggr scoffed with a smile, while Sihtric grinned at you.

You shook Sihtric's hand as you chuckled and introduced yourself to him, his tattooed fingers also holding you in a firm but gentle grip.

'I like your eyes,' you blurted out as you looked up into Doctor Kjartansson's mismatched pair.

'Awh, thanks, sugar,' Sihtric smiled, then looked at Sigtryggr again, 'I think I won her over already.'

'Yeah, yeah,' Sigtryggr rolled his eyes, 'we'll see about that.'

'Who said I could be won over?' you taunted both men as you all sat down.

'Feisty lady, are we?' Sihtric hummed with a smile while he sat back and crossed his arms.

'You have no idea,' you snorted, making both men laugh.

'Well, let the games begin,' Sihtric grinned at you.

'Yeah, okay, anyway,' Sigtryggr cleared his throat and became serious, 'jokes aside, welcome,' he smiled again, 'we're glad to have you on our team. We were told you have a lot of experience and we heard nothing but good stories about you. We really need you to get this practice up and running smoothly. Of course, we already have some of our own clients who came with us when we moved to this practice but, as the whole place is new, we will still need time to adjust.'

'We take it that you have everything you need to get yourself settled at the front desk?' Sihtric asked and pulled his hair tie out, then raked his fingers seductively through his wild locks while he wetted his lips slowly with the tip of his tongue.

You wondered if the doctor knew how good looking he was, and if he was doing this on purpose.

'Y-yes,' you said as you tried not to stare at Sihtric's biceps, 'I, eh, I am ready to get started.'

'Good,' Sigtryggr smiled, 'then I say we get to work. If you need anything, darling, this is my office, and Sihtric's office is on the other side of your desk.'

'Sounds like I'm cosy in the middle then,' you joked.

'Cosy in the middle,' Sigtryggr nodded.

'Or,' Sihtric smirked and got up from his chair, 'you could be cosy in my office too.'

'I bet she'll be cosier in this office,' Sigtryggr retorted.

'I'm sure I will be cosy enough at my desk, guys,' you chuckled and got up.

Sihtric held the door open for you, and only then you truly noticed how comfortable he was dressed, with his black sweatpants and black sneakers underneath. You were amused and intrigued by the contrast between the two good looking doctors, but, as handsome as Sigtryggr was, you felt very much drawn to Sihtric, and you shyly walked past him out the door. He smiled at you and followed closely behind as you walked to the front desk, but not too close, as he took his time to check you out in those tight denim jeans with your black blouse on top.

'If you need anything,' Sihtric said as you got seated behind the front desk, 'you know where to find me, yeah?'

'I'm sure I'll be able to find you, yes,' you smiled.

'Are you sure?' Sihtric asked and leaned on your desk, 'I mean I could show you where my office is.'

'It's down this hall, right?' you teased, as if there was another hallway.

'It is, sugar,' Sihtric smiled and leaned in, 'you don't want to check out my office right now? It's nicer looking than Sig's.'

'Oh, really?' you feigned interest.

'Totally,' the doctor said with a smug face, 'come, I'll show you.'

You couldn't help but chuckle when you followed the less formally dressed doctor to his office, and you had to hold your laughter when Sihtric showed you his hyped up office, which was even more depressing looking than the other doctor's office. Sigtryggr had a few props in his office and a tiny plant on his desk, but Sihtric's office was… completely empty, except for his desk with a laptop, a phone, three chairs, and an examination couch.

'Oh, wow,' you snorted, 'oh, yeah, I absolutely love what you've done with the place.'

'Right?' Sihtric laughed, 'much cosier here, no?'

'For sure,' you nodded, 'but, eh, you don't want a fancy skeleton in here, like your rival has in his office?'

'That skeleton was actually mine,' Sihtric pouted and sat down in his comfy chair, 'Sig just stole it when we unpacked our stuff.'

'Geeze, fighting of skeletons and the assistant?' you mocked, 'you two must be very busy.'

'You should know,' Sihtric shrugged, 'you're in charge of our schedules.'

'Well, I'll make sure it's fully booked by the end of the day, doctor,' you chuckled and turned on your heels.

'You go and do that for me, sugar,' Sihtric grinned before you closed the door.

It felt like your first day at the new practice went by faster than you could blink. You enjoyed the constant bickering of both doctors when they had a moment to spare, and the rest of your week wouldn't be any different.

The next day you found the two men arguing at your desk as you climbed up the stairs, early in the morning.

'There she is, why don't we just ask her,' Sihtric said and skipped over to the stairs, 'good morning, sugar,' he smiled as he held his hand out to you and helped you up the last few steps of the stairs.

You fought a smile and felt a pleasant tingle in your body as you held Sihtric's big, warm hand. Today, your "favourite" doctor was dressed in a black hoodie with black jeans, while he was wearing yesterday's black sneakers. His long hair was braided today, which made him look so attractive, it made you lightheaded.

'Show off,' Sigtryggr coughed while Sihtric offered you his useless help up the stairs, 'and good morning to you, darling,' Sigtryggr, who was dressed in all black again too, smiled at you and was quick to hand you a cup of coffee he had bought for you on his way to the practice.

'Good morning, doctors,' you chuckled and shook your head while you got seated at the front desk, 'thanks for the coffee, Sig, that's really sweet.'

'See,' Sigtryggr elbowed Sihtric, 'I'm sweet.'

'Whatever,' Sihtric rolled his eyes, 'look, we have an important question.'

'Oh?' you frowned and sipped your hot drink.

'If you have to pick,' Sigtryggr began.

'Between the two of us,' Sihtric continued, 'who would you rather date?'

You stared at both men and grimaced while they gave you their sweetest smiles and puppy dog eyes, as they both leaned with their elbows on your high desk.

'You guys can't be serious,' you snorted, 'really?'

'Really,' Sihtric said.

'We're very serious,' Sigtryggr added.

'God, eh,' you chuckled and felt your cheeks heat up, 'how can I possibly choose between my two favourite doctors?'

'Oh, you have to, lady,' Sihtric smiled and leaned in closer, 'it's a life or death situation, sugar.'

'Oh, come on,' you sighed and sat back, 'fine… I'll save both and date both of you.'

'What?' Sigtryggr frowned, 'no, that's not an option.'

'No, you can't pick both,' Sihtric agreed and turned to Sigtryggr, 'look, she'd totally date me, but she just doesn't want to hurt your feelings.'

'Oh, please,' Sigtryggr scoffed, 'as if she'd date a guy with that haircut.'

'There is nothing wrong with my haircut,' Sihtric looked offended, 'it's almost like yours, but better.'

'Better? You mean worse?' Sigtryggr teased, 'because you look like a homeless person when it's loose, I don't.'

'Hey, the ladies find it very sexy when my hair is all loose and wild,' Sihtric said firmly.

'Ladies? What ladies? When was the last time you took a girl home?' Sigtryggr provoked.

'Listen, I'll give you a new scar that will match the one on your face if you keep going,' Sihtric jokingly threatened.

'Fine by me,' Sigtryggr shrugged, 'then our lovely assistant here can patch me up, ain't that right, darling?' he looked at you, and you tried to come up with anything to say.

'She won't have time for that because she'll be out on a date with me,' Sihtric snapped back and then looked at you, 'ain't that right, sugar?' he smiled.

'I… eh,' you stammered. 

But before you could continue, the phone on your desk rang.

'Okay,' you then laughed and waved the two doctors off, 'someone here has to actually do their job.'

'That's right,' Sihtric smiled, 'and you,' he nudged Sigtryggr's shoulder, 'stop talking to my future wife.'

'Your what?' you giggled as you reached for the phone while Sihtric shoved Sigtryggr to his office.

'You heard me,' Sihtric said as he looked back over his shoulder and winked.

You tried to collect your thoughts again as you answered the phone, and your ridiculous nerves became less as a few minutes passed. But when Sihtric walked past your desk to his own office, he winked at you with a sly smile, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat for a second. The pretty boy doctor, with his fine haircut, made you nervous like no one else had ever done before. And once you simply accepted the fact that you definitely had a crush on him, it only got worse. It also didn't help that an hour before lunchtime he came over to the front desk, and sat down in the chair next to you while you answered the phone. You felt your cheeks heat up when Sihtric rolled the chair closer to yours, and you tried your hardest to not let him see your slightly trembling hands as you added an appointment to the other doctor's schedule in the computer.

'So,' Sihtric smiled and leaned in once you hung up the phone, 'what would you like for lunch, sugar?'

'For lunch?' you blinked, 'I, eh, I brought my own lunch. I always do.'

'Oh,' Sihtric said, a little disappointed and leaned back in the chair.

'Why?'

'Well, I wanted to buy my future wife lunch,' he shrugged.

'You're not his future wife!' Sigtryggr yelled with a laugh from his office, down the hall.

'Hey! Stop talking to my future wife!' Sihtric snarled, just as a patient stepped out of the elevator.

Sihtric froze and cleared his throat, then bit down a grin while he watched you help the old and rather confused patient to Sihtric's boring office. When you made your way back to the front desk, you met Sihtric in the narrow hallway, and he stopped you by trailing his fingers down your arm, to grab your hand gently.

'Think about what you want for lunch, okay, sugar?' Sihtric said softly with a sweet smile, 'you can pick anything, I'm buying.'

'What about Sig?' you asked, quietly.

'He eats lunch on the road when he prepares to go on house visits,' Sihtric almost whispered and leaned in as he lightly stroked your hand with his thumb, 'it'll be just us, if you don't mind?'

'Oh, I see. No, I- I don't mind,' you whispered.

'Good,' Sihtric smiled and bit down on his lip, then stepped back as he reluctantly let go of your hand.

Just when Sigtryggr left the building, your lunch was delivered, and Sihtric sprinted up the stairs with the delivery in his arms after he had locked the entrance door. During your lunch break, which lasted an hour, the practice was closed and only emergency phone calls were answered, which were rare. You ate your salad while Sihtric ate a slice of pizza, followed by two chicken wraps.

'That's a healthy meal,' you chuckled.

'What?' the doctor frowned, 'there's lettuce in this wrap.'

'Oh, so healthy,' you teased, 'such a good example you are.'

'Hey,' Sihtric nudged your shoulder and smiled, 'watch it, lady.'

'Or what?'

'Or I'll pin you down on my examination couch and we'll see how healthy you are,' he taunted.

'Sure, because that's how it works,' you laughed and finished your salad.

'Well, I can surely check your heartbeat and stamina that way,' Sihtric winked.

'Fine,' you shrugged, 'you'll find out I'm perfectly healthy then.'

'Oh, will I?'

'Yep,' you smiled and cleaned your desk up as Sihtric finished his food too.

You got up to throw away the bag and empty wrappers in the trash, and walked into the little kitchen to make yourself and Sihtric some coffee. The doctor followed you and washed his hands while you leaned back against the kitchen counter.

'Are you single, sugar?' Sihtric asked bluntly, 'I know we taunt a lot, but we never even asked about your relationship status.'

'Eh, yeah,' you chuckled, 'I am. You?'

'Of course, lady,' Sihtric smiled, 'what kind of a guy would I be if I'd tease you all day while I have a woman at home?'

'You'd be a pretty common guy,' you grimaced.

'Well,' Sihtric stepped closer and towered over you, almost trapping you between his body and the kitchen counter, 'I'm not a common guy, sugar,' he whispered.

His duo coloured eyes darted over your face, and you felt yourself swallow hard as your own eyes trailed down to his lips, which he licked as he hummed, and you quickly looked back up into his eyes again.

'But you don't want a common guy, do you?' he spoke softly with a half smile, then leaned with both hands on the kitchen counter, locking you between his strong arms, 'hm?' he hummed.

'I don't,' you agreed, as you felt his warm breath on your lips.

'Hm,' Sihtric hummed again, amused, 'we still have about twenty minutes,' he whispered and smiled cheekily, 'how about that examination?'

You wanted nothing more than to be dragged into his office and pinned down on that couch by him, but you did want to be unprofessional, or risk anyone walking in on you or simply hearing you. You also wanted to get to know Sihtric a little better before you gave in to his charms, no matter how badly you wanted to grab his face and kiss him. This was only the second day you worked with him, you'd be a fool to mess around this soon already and risk your job.

'Actually,' you smiled, and teasingly trailed your fingers down his muscular arms, 'I think your schedule is fully booked for today, doctor.'

Sihtric brushed his lips lightly over yours, which made you lightheaded and exhale sharply, which was exactly the sound Sihtric needed to hear, and he understood your hint. Now he knew that you were clearly interested in him, and maybe even desperate for him, he was in no rush to get in your pants. He enjoyed a chase and a tease, and he knew he was going to enjoy this game when Sigtryggr would also seek out his chances with you. But Sihtric already knew he had nothing to worry about, as he had already seen that the way you looked at Sigtryggr was way different than the way you looked at him.

'Unfortunately, I think you're right,' Sihtric breathed, his lips almost touching yours, 'but, just in case you ever need a house visit outside of working hours, sugar,' he smiled, 'I think you should save my private number.'

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @andakth @chompchompluke @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @moonchildrenandflowercrowns @foxyanon @djarinsgirl27 @sigtryggrswifey @liandav @diiickbrainn

[tovalhallaandback]

A Game of Revenge and Loyalty - Chapter 16

Pairing: Stiorra Uhtredsdottir/Sigtryggr Ivarson

Summary: The career academy may have taught them how to win the Hunger Games, but nothing of how to win the game of love. A forbidden love becomes more complicated as they quickly learn, the Hunger Games were not the only thing they signed up for when they decided to volunteer.

AKA - It's a Hunger Games AU! Mentor/Mentee vibes. Career vibes. - But not in the way you might imagine! TONS of angst but a promised happy-ish ending.

Trigger Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! HG Canon typical violence and atrocites. TLK Canon typical violence and atrocities. Better tags on AO3, with each chapter having a content warning drop down for those who do not wish to be spoiled.

Chapter 16 Now Available on AO3

[breanime]

Bre's Random Thots: HOTD and TLK Edition

In relation to this poll-- don't forget to vote!

Warning: Steamy, NSFW, yandere tendencies, if you know what I am, you know what this is gonna be lol

Characters: Aemond Targaryen, Sihtric Kjartansson, Finan the Agile

I'm considering writing: Sigtryggr Ivarsson, Uhtred Ragnarsson, Cregan Stark

Obsessed Arranged Marriage--Aemond Targaryen

Aemond found no sleep the night he was told that his hand had been promised to you, afraid if he closed his eye, he would awaken from this dream. You were to be his. You, with your sharp wit and bright mind and pretty face and soft-looking, plump lips. Aemond had spent months pining for you, fixated on his sister's pretty new friend, wanting nothing more than to touch you, hold you...

Claim you.

And now, you would be his, bound to him by law and vow, promised to him through weeks of negotiations that neither of you had been privy to. He had spent the first part of the night pacing, thinking of all the ways it could go wrong. What if your family withdrew and broke their promise? What if, after the vows had been said, you did not accept him? What if you never loved him? Aemond's pacing had ceased at that thought, his stomach churning in a swirl of despair and rage at the idea of you rejecting him. But then, as he pictured you, his mind supplied him with an answer to his silent question. What if you never loved him?

He would have you still.

Aemond stood, silent and tense, as he pictured you, his pretty wife, bound to him until death took you both. Even if you never loved him, he would have you. You would be his, and he spent the next portion of his evening imagining, in great detail, all of the ways he could claim you. He pictured the way your mouth would look around his cock, stuffed with him, eyes wide open and gazing up at him as you sat on your knees. He thought of the sounds you would make as he fucked you--no, made love to you--no. Fucked.

The last of the night, until the sun rose and his body, already dedicated to pleasing you, sagged with exhaustion, was spent fucking his fist, pretending it was your mouth, your cunt, your tight, tiny asshole, until Aemond had emptied his balls.

And still, he wanted you.

Aemond watched the sun rise over King's Landing, heard the low grumbles of Vhagar rising in the distance, and sighed. His hand was still feebly wrapped around his now soft cock, abused to exhaustion at just the thought of you, his wife to be.

He felt himself twitch in his hand, tempted at the reminder of what you would become to him--his wife, and Aemond couldn't help but smirk, amused at his own desperation. You were to be his, and his alone.

He would have you.

Sihtric Kjartansson--Modern Jealous

Sihtric had an Instagram for two reasons: one, because Finan said it was weird not to have one, and two, because you had an Instagram.

He scrolled through his feed, ignoring most of the posts, but taking note of a few. Edward posted a picture with Uhtred at some conference the latter had been forced to go to, using Sihtric's friend to gain clout, no doubt. Meanwhile, Uhtred posted a story--tagging Sihtric, of course--showing the guys going absolutely insane at the bar last night. Sihtric bit his lip as he watched the story, his mismatched eyes immediately finding himself in the background, even with Uhtred's shaky camerawork. Sihtric was easy to find, after all.

He was always standing next to you.

In the video, Uhtred was showing the crowd to the camera, grinning widely with Finan at his side, gesturing to a very drunk Osferth off to the side, clearly flirting with some girl while another watched, arms folded. Aldhelm was there as well, smiling shyly, eyes on his cup, as Aethelflaed, always that much more affectionate when tipsy, laid her head on his shoulder. Sihtric smiled warmly for a moment at the memory--it had been a good night, last night. The smile, however, quickly slid into a smirk as the images flashed in front of his eyes, documented by Uhtred. Sihtric saw himself, his tattoos glistening against his skin, holding you to him, his large hands on your waist. You were laughing, and Sihtric could almost hear the sweet sounds of your pleasure over the music, could see the way the sweat slid down your neck as you laughed. Even now, he felt himself stiffen, his cock rising at the thought of your neck, exposed for him, covered in his kiss, his bite. He had experienced a similar thought last night, and Sihtric watched as he acted on it.

In the video, Sihtric pulled you that much closer, one of his large hands gripping your ass, his tattooed fingers curling into your soft curves until his face was buried in your neck. He watched himself latch onto you, and his eyes widened as he saw, for the first time, the face you made when he did that. Sihtric grinned, teeth bared like a wolf, as he watched the way your face contorted; your cute little nose scrunched up as your pretty mouth fell open in a gasp, how your tiny little hands clung to him, wanting him closer, and Gods, Sihtric couldn't wait to see you again and get you closer, fuck, the way you looked, he just--

--the video morphed into the next slide, and Sihtric was reminded that this was Uhtred's story, as vivid as the memories were, what he was looking at now (a scowling Brida flipping off the camera while Cnut, red as a tomato, raised his empty glass in a toast), was public. Anyone could see it.

Anyone.

Could see it. You. Your sexy, beautiful face alive with pleasure.

Sihtric scowled, suddenly frustrated. That face was for him, and him alone. It wasn't fair that others could see it, would see it... but then again, Sihtric thought, barely registering the next slide of the story being shown-- Osferth with a third, different girl--maybe this was too his advantage. Sihtric enjoyed marking you up, displaying his claim on you. He liked to touch you too, keep an arm on you or his hand on your thigh, so everyone around could tell that you were his girl. And so now, with this video, that fact was broadcast that much further. really, he should be thanking Uhtred. Because now, everyone who followed him (which were a LOT of people, it was insane), could see those few seconds on his story and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you were Sihtric's woman. The story flashed twice more, depicting Finan and Uhtred teasing Aldhelm-- about his crush on Aethelflaed, Sihtric knew, and then a video of a fondly exasperated Hild in a Sihtric-Uhtred-Finan bear hug while Osferth could be seen making out with a fourth girl in the background, before the story--and Sihtric's temper--flashed again.

The next image was of you and Uhtred. This did not spark Sihtric's temper at all; he loved how close you were with his friends, they all adored you, and Sihtric felt he could trust any of them to look after you if he was ever gone. In fact, the picture was cute. Sihtric took a screenshot so he could keep it. You stood beside Uhtred, posing the same as him, your face smug and proud in a perfect imitation of his brash friend. Since you were copying Uhtred, you were standing like him, feet apart, face forward, chest pushed up, that cute expression on your face making Sihtric's heart swell with affection. Immediately afterwards, Uhtred's story switched to a text box, and Sihtric saw that Uhtred had tagged him in it. The text read: "Stop asking about her, she's with @Sihtric" accompanied by an emoji rolling its eyes.

And that'd when the jealousy went from mild to... something else. His thumb moved as quickly as his mind did, until he was hearing a ringing tone followed by Uhtred sighing, "Yeah, Sihtric?" He already knew where this was going.

Sihtric knew he was being ridiculous, overprotective, and unnecessarily possessive, but he didn't know how else to be. You were his, and his only, and he thought he has made that clear. He answered Uhtred with a low voice, eyes narrowed.

"Who's been asking about my woman?"

Waking Up Together--Finan the Agile

Finan loved waking up with you. He loved how you cuddled into his chest, loved the way his big arms engulfed you, loved how soft you felt against him. He almost always woke before you did, a habit of his warrior lifestyle and constantly being on the move. He didn't mind it so much now, though, because it gave him some quiet time to reflect before the day took his mind away.

He loved you.

Carefully, because even after all this time, Finan still secretly feared he might somehow hurt you, he ran his fingers down your arm. Your skin was warm under his touch, and Finan smiled to himself as you nuzzled into his broad chest. He found himself kissing your hairline, his eyes fluttering shut as he breathed in your scent. He had humped you on the riverbank last night, his forehead pressed against yours as he fucked into you. Finan sighed at the memory, his cock, already half-hard simply from being near you, growing even harder as he recalled the feel of your wet pussy pulsating around him. He kissed your forehead now with a tenderness that would have surprised many if they knew about it. But you did that to him, brought out his softer side, his need to protect you, to take care of you, to bring you pleasure and security and to love you.

But then again, you brought out another side to him as well.

Finan smirked, kissing down to your nose, as he thought back to earlier the previous day, sometime after him having you for breakfast, his strong hands keeping your legs open as he licked into you and before him pressing against your round ass, his cross slapping into his chest with every thrust shortly after he fucked you on the riverbank, to right after suppertime.

Finan held you close now as he thought back to the way he had slammed you on the table, tearing your dress, grinning wildly as the fabric ripped, exposing your perfect breasts to his probing tongue and hands. He had his face buried between your tits then, biting into your supple flesh and then soothing it with his dripping tongue. He had no patience then, and he took you hard and fast, much to your mutual satisfaction. Finan had fucked you like a beast, hands gripping your hips and pulling you to him as you laid on your back, legs in the air, head thrown back in pleasure. You always took him well, and Finan adored the way you loved a rough fuck. He was so big, so thick, he loved the way you would tremble taking him.

Now, Finan was fully hard. He wanted you, and he sighed sweetly as he held you, lips brushing against yours. Your nose twitched at the feel of his beard against your soft face, and Finan chuckled. He leaned forward, the mattress moving beneath him as one large hand fell to your ass, cupping it firmly as he pushed you even closer, his hard cock pressing against your soft tummy. He felt your lips pucker, and he knew you were waking up. He kissed you, soft and slow, his mouth pressing into yours with a low groan, moving against you until your lips parted. His tongue slid into your mouth easily, and he rolled on top of you, smirking when you spread your legs to make room for him.

"Good mornin' to ya, love," he whispered, his accent thickened from waking up and from the deep, insatiable desire he felt for you, "Can I fuck you?"

************************************************************************

Okkkkk goodnight! Please let me know what you think, how you feel, which one you liked best. I wrote this all at once just now, so please know that NONE of these are WIPs (Work In Progress), I just was inspired by the awesome fics I've been reading lately, and @fvckthisbxtchup specifically got my engine revving today, so if you did like any of these, thank her! Love you babe!

Again, please let me know what you think of these. I haven't written in a long time, I'm rusty, I admit that, but I also had so much fun writing these, and I wanna interact with these fandoms more so... this! This is my third time writing Aemond and my first time wiritng Sihtric and Finan, so let me know how I did! :D

I did this poll regarding some more snippets or fics or drabbles or whatever I may do in the future, please vote if you haven't already!

Thank you for reading! I really appreciate it!

[askstiorrauhtredsdottir]

A large hand places on Stiorra's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Princess, how are you feeling?" Sig asks softly, leaning in to brush his lips over the shell of her ear.

@asktwodanebrothers

Feeling Sigtryggr’s hand on her shoulder, Stiorra feels comforted by his presence. She can’t explain the feelings coursing through her when they are near each other, just that she feels inexplicably drawn to him. Like he’s a part of her that she didn’t even know was missing until he came into her life.

“I’m still feeling a little shaken by what’s happened, and worried about my father. I can’t imagine the pain he’s going through. They had loved each other for so long… I don’t think I could bear it if something like that happened to me.” She softly says as she looks into Sig’s eyes.

@asktwodanebrothers

[lady-wyrd]

I like to imagine Stiorra and Sigtryggr finding each other in every lifetime 🖤

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Little Warrior

Pairing: Sigtryggr Ivarsson (The Last Kingdom) x F!Reader Warnings: Canon typical violence and death, kidnapping, slight Stockholm syndrome, attempted sexual assault, sexual tension, coercion, corruption kink, talk of religious beliefs, female masturbation, loss of virginity, smut. Word count: 4.6k

Summary: When Sigtryggr and his men seize Winchester he takes a special interest in one of their captives (I have essentially yeeted Stiorra from the story and adapted the storyline of how her and Sigtryggr become an item to suit my own). Based on this request.

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

They come in the night. As Winchester sleeps, the Danes descend upon it.

She is woken by the blood curdling shouts and screams of the townspeople, accompanied by the acrid stench of smoke from nearby burning buildings.

Her heart lurches in her chest, panic causing bile to rise in her throat as she acts purely on instinct, scrambling from her bed and out of the house wearing just her nightdress. The only thought in her mind is that she doesn’t want to die trapped in her home as it’s burned to the ground.

Once she is outside, she watches wide eyed with horror at the destruction around her. Buildings are ablaze, people lay dead and dying upon the ground, the thick coppery scent of blood makes her want to vomit.

It’s only when the coolness of the night air begins to chill her skin that she realises just how perilous her situation is - a thin layer of cotton is all that separates her flesh from the horrors around her. She worries about what these Heathens will do to her if they see her in such a state of undress.

She trembles at the thought, dread gnawing at her insides. It’s too risky to go back inside, her only option is to hide. She takes her chances beneath an overturned farmer’s cart, crawling beneath the gap and cowering, waiting for the chaos around her to die down.

Clutching the cross around her neck, she sends up a silent prayer to God to keep her safe. Her destiny is in his hands now.

The aching in her joints for having been crouched for so long is beginning to become unbearable when the noise eventually quietens. She wonders if the Danes have left, if King Edward will return to rescue Winchester or if they have managed to capture it in his absence. Where are the Wessex guard?

She freezes when she hears the sound of approaching boots upon the ground, her heart hammers wildly against her ribcage when they come to a stop in front of the cart she’s hiding under.

“I can see your feet, Christian”, comes the voice of a man. He speaks softly and quietly, and it sends shivers down her spine.

Too paralyzed by fear to do anything, she remains as she is, her breaths coming quick and shallow, a rapidly dying hope in the back of her mind that he might give up and leave her alone. But there is no such luck.

“You will come out,” he commands, “or I will drag you out, the choice is yours.”

She clamps a hand over her mouth to muffle the frightened whimper that escapes her, attempting to force herself further back against the wooden confines of her misguided hiding place.

A large hand appears beneath the cart, reaching towards her before wrapping itself around her ankle.

She shrieks, thrashing against the hold it has on her as she’s dragged out. She lays wide eyed on the cold earth, her breathing erratic, as she looks with terror upon the Dane that towers above her prone form.

His long brown hair is wild and unkempt, half of it pulled back, and a ragged scar runs the length of the left side of his face. He regards her with mild amusement and she becomes aware again of her state of undress.

The thought that he might rape her sends her senses into overdrive, pure adrenaline driving her decision making. She knows she’s in no position to run, her only other option is to fight him, so as he crouches down towards her, she lunges upwards, slapping and scratching at his face and shoulders.

He is quick to overpower her, pulling her to her feet and twisting her arm behind her back.

“A fearsome little warrior, she is,” he chuckles, keeping her arm taut behind her as he gently urges her forward. 

He guides her towards the front steps of the King’s estate, where several people are kneeling before a group of Danes. As they draw closer she recognises a few of them; King Edward’s sons and a few of the Wessex guard.

She is certain she’ll be killed. The man presses on her shoulder, urging her to kneel beside the other captives. She takes up her position, the stone step is hard against her knees, and she is all too aware that she is the least valuable of everyone gathered there.

“Send them to where they keep their dead King,” the man says, looking at Edward’s children and then nodding towards the chapel.

“We need to send a message to Edward,” a dark haired, heavily pregnant woman says, as two of the Danish men pick up the boys and carry them off. “We must force him to yield Winchester to us.”

It makes her shudder to think that this woman will be a mother, when she is capable of such atrocities. 

“And what do you propose, Brida?” He responds.

Brida regards her with a look that makes her blood run cold. She has never seen anyone look at her as though she is worth less than nothing, her brown eyes are filled with utter contempt. “Send him her head,” she tells him, “it is more shocking to Christians when you are prepared to kill women and children alike.”

She gasps audibly, stricken by terror at the notion that they intend to behead her, until she feels his hand upon her shoulder.

“You will not touch her,” he says cooly, “slaughter the men, but she stays with me.”

“And what will you do with her?” Brida asks, raising an eyebrow.

“That is for me to decide,” he responds dismissively.

He makes a cut throat gesture at the Danes that flank Brida, then nods towards the kneeling guards, before pulling her back to her feet and directing her inside of the King’s estate.

She winces as she hears the sound of blades making thick, wet impact upon flesh, followed by dying screams of agony. Despite her shock and disgust, she cannot help the twinge of relief that lightens the feeling in her chest that that is not what destiny has in store for her, at least not yet.

The room that he brings her to is what she assumes is a study. It is filled with books, maps and writing materials, the space is occupied by a wooden writing desk, a chair and a settee.

As her eyes travel around the room, taking in her surroundings, she’s startled out of her reverie when her gaze settles back upon him. He is standing so close, silently observing her, his expression unreadable.

Once more she is reminded of how little she is wearing, and now that she is alone with him, fear of what he might do to her returns in earnest.

“S-stay back,” she stammers, backing away, eyes scanning the room for something, anything, that she can use as a weapon.

He smirks, unmoving, as he looks her over from head to toe. “Be calm, little warrior. Do you know who I am?”

Her face contorts in confusion. “No…”

He straightens, tilting his head slightly, clasping his arms behind his back. “I am Sigtryggr Ivarsson. I am a Dane. If I wish to hump a woman I do not need to do so by force.”

She softens slightly, fear does not grip her heart quite so icily as before. His name is meaningless to her, but she is relieved that he means her no harm.

Sigtryggr leans in, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. “But make no mistake, little warrior, I will have you, and you will beg me for it.”

She draws back quickly in disgust - not at his words, but at the reaction they elicit from her. The way warmth pools in her lower belly fills her with immense guilt. This man has invaded her home and killed people she knows, people she loves, she should despise him.

Swallowing thickly, unease prickling at her, she elects to change the subject. “What have you come here for?”

“To take what I am owed,” he says simply.

“And what is it you believe you’re owed?”

“Land. Your people drove me from mine,” he explains, anger lacing his tone, “your boy King will give back what he stole, or I shall keep Winchester and send him the heads of his children.”

She inhales shakily, feeling like she wants to cry. “A-and…how do I factor into all of that?”

He softens, shrugging slightly. “You don’t, but I can’t imagine your King will yield quickly, and it is always nice to have company. You are brave, for a Christian.”

“So I am your prisoner?”

“No, little warrior. You are free to leave any time you’d like, and take your chances with Brida.”

The implication is not lost on her. Her freedom is an illusion when the alternative is death. Sigtryggr is her only guarantee for safety.

“Shall we find something else for you to wear?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

She looks down at the thin material of her shift, seeing how dirty it is from having been crouched beneath the cart, dragged out and then forced to kneel on the steps of the estate. Her cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“Yes, please,” she whispers.

He nods. “Wait here.”

Sigtryggr leaves her alone in the study, not bothering to lock the door behind him - a sign of his confidence that he knows she won’t try to escape.

He returns a few moments later with a white cotton shift that is similar to the one she is currently wearing, She assumes it belongs to Ælflæd, something he has found within a bedchamber.

“Where is the rest of it?” She asks.

“What do you mean? It’s the same as what you have on, and it’s clean,” he says simply.

“Yes, but this is meant to go under–” she sighs, “nevermind.”

She takes the shift from him and begins to change, noting the way that he turns from her, keeping his eyes fixed on the shelves of books that line the walls of the room. The small mark of respect makes her smile. She had not anticipated such manners from a Heathen.

He pulls a book from the shelf when she is finished, flipping through its pages. “Can you read?”

She nods and he hands the tome to her.

“Read to me.”

“Can you not read?” She asks with a raise of her eyebrow.

“I can,” he says with a smirk, “but where’s the fun in that?”

She sighs, settling into the chair in front of the writing desk, while Sigtryggr sits upon the settee a few feet away, and she reads to him.

Over the next few weeks their days are spent much like this. She reads aloud to him, though none of the books are particularly interesting, mostly religious texts and historical records of Wessex. She’s not convinced that he pays any particular attention to the words, but he seems to enjoy the sound of her voice.

They find a Hnefatafl board and Sigtryggr teaches her how to play. They while away hours strategising ways to remove each other's pieces from the board. He has a sharp mind, is calmer and more analytical than any other Dane she’s ever met. He bests her with his cunning multiple times, until she finally begins to get the hang of it and he begins to lose to her.

“Another game?” She asks. “How many have I won now?”

He shoots her a sideways glance, a faint smile upon his lips. “I am not keeping count.”

She giggles. She is beating him, but he does not seem to mind.

They sleep upon furs and blankets that Sigtryggr has brought down to the study and fashioned into a makeshift bed. Her stomach flutters at laying in such close proximity to him, but true to his word he never touches her. Shame blooms hotly in her chest as each of the days pass and she finds herself yearning for it.

He brings her food, and the hopelessness of the situation looms over her as with every meager meal the bread tastes more stale.

“Read to me, little warrior,” he requests, reclining on the settee, his forearm slung over his forehead.

She grouses, hunger pangs causing her stomach to rumble painfully. “I cannot concentrate,” she whispers.

“What is the matter?” He asks, sitting up to look at her.

“I am hungry. I’m always hungry.”

He nods, stepping towards her and offering her his share of the bread.

She looks from his outstretched hand to his face uncertainly. “What will you eat?”

“I will manage, and you will read to me,” he tells her, as she takes the offering and he settles back down.

She smiles to herself at the gesture, warmth spreading throughout her. So she eats, and she reads to him.

Sigtryggr disappears each day, leaving her alone in the study. She only leaves to bathe and to relieve herself, but she is perfectly happy to stay put and await his return, especially when she is all too aware of the alternative.

Each day when he returns he brings news of the continuing siege. King Edward and the Wessex guard surround the walls of Winchester, but will not attack as his sons are being kept captive in the chapel. They have yet to yield to Sigtryggr’s demands for land.

She fiddles with the cross around her neck, eyeing the Mjölnir that sits around his carefully. “Can there not be a peaceful resolution?”

"It is more difficult to live peacefully with enemies than to fight them,” he tells her.

“But we live peacefully,” she retorts.

“We are not enemies, little warrior.”

The sentiment makes her heart flutter, though there is the lingering question in the back of her mind; what are we?

He leaves her alone again as usual one morning and she busies herself poring over maps to pass the time.

She turns when she hears footsteps, expecting to see Sigtryggr but instead it is a man she does not recognise. He appears Saxon, so she cannot understand why the Danes have allowed him to move around the estate so freely.

The stench of ale upon him as he draws closer is nauseating. His eyes hold malicious intent as he advances towards her, and her blood runs cold at the sight.

She stands, backing away from him. “Whatever you are planning to do, please reconsider,” she pleads, “Sigtryggr will punish you if anything happens to me.”

“I have allied myself with the Danes,” he slurs, “but at what cost? They treat me like a dog, while Sigtryggr coddles you. Tell me, whore, is your cunt really that good? Perhaps I ought to find out for myself.”

She yelps as he lunges for her, grabbing her and pinning her against the desk. Fury flashes through her as she struggles against him, attempting to free herself from his hold.

“Whatever treatment they give you, you have brought upon yourself, traitor,” she spits.

Her head snaps to the side, a sharp sting spreads across her cheek as he strikes her.

She barely has time to adjust her focus before she feels him forcefully being pulled off of her.

“Eardwulf!” Sigtryggr snarls angrily. “Fucking coward!”

His fist makes impact with Eardwulf’s face knocking him to the ground, before he is dragged away.

She curls up on the furs, shaking as tears stream down her cheeks, waiting for her heart rate to calm. What could have happened to her if Sigtryggr had not returned when he did doesn’t bear thinking about.

She is unsure of how much time has passed when he returns.

“Are you alright?”

She turns towards the sound of his voice, gasping when she sees he’s covered in blood. Rushing towards him, she places her hands upon his face. “You are hurt…”

Softly he grasps her wrists, keeping her hands where they are. “This blood is not mine, and Eardwulf will not hurt you ever again.”

Her lips part in shock at the thought that he has killed for her, saved her life twice now. She studies his face, taking in the stormy blue of his eyes, the fullness of his lips.

She allows her gaze to linger there for just a moment too long, embarrassment making her hot, eager to distract herself. She traces a finger over the scar that runs the length of the left side of his face.

“How did this happen?”

“A man tried to take my eye during battle,” he explains softly, “so I took his life.”

“But you were hurt.”

“Injured, yes. Left with a scar, yes. But very much alive.”

“As am I, thanks to you.”

She drops her hands from his face and he steps away from her, pulling off his blood soaked light armour and clothing.

She feels her throat run dry at the sight of his bare torso, all lean, lithe battle hardened muscle, adorned with scars. She longs to trace her fingers over each of them.

Looking away, she feels ashamed for harbouring such thoughts and desperately tries to ignore the throbbing ache in her core.

As night falls and Sigtryggr lays asleep beside her, the feeling that lingers between her legs has yet to subside. It is maddening, robbing her of rest. Every time she closes her eyes the image of him stood bare chested before her enters her mind.

She has never touched herself before, it is impure to do so, yet she needs relief or she is sure she will go mad.

Sparing a glance in the darkness towards Sigtryggr, she makes sure his eyes are closed before reaching a tentative hand between her legs. She lets out a shaky sigh as her fingers make impact against the sensitive flesh.

She is not quite sure what she is supposed to do, but finds that a combination of rubbing the area and bucking softly against her hand feels most pleasurable, so continues to do that, holding her free hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds she makes.

There is a feeling that builds within her, a zenith that she feels she must press towards, so she continues in earnest, until finally she feels something within her release and her entire body shudders, a soft moan stifled against her lips as white hot pleasure rolls through her body.

Laying there afterwards she does her best to calm her breaths, feeling guilty for having done something so depraved.

She is startled by Sigtryggr’s voice beside her. “If only you’d beg, little warrior, I could do that for you.”

Her breath hitches and she quickly turns away from him. Not knowing what to say, she feigns sleep, clutching her cross and praying silently that he’ll forget.

She is grateful when he speaks of it no further, and life goes back to normal, or at least what normal is for them.

That is until a couple of weeks later when Brida storms her way into the study, clearly having grown impatient with the lack of progress being made.

“It has been more than thirty days since we captured Winchester, and your negotiations with the Saxon King are not working, Sigtryggr,” she glowers at him, “the time for talking is over. We are killing more captives.”

She does not miss the way that Brida’s eyes linger upon her as she says this, a shiver of fear causes her skin to break out into gooseflesh.

“I will choose who we execute, not you,” Sigtryggr tells her.

“You cannot protect this Saxon forever,” Brida retorts.

“Oh, but I can,” he says, placing himself protectively between her and Brida. “She is mine, and I will decide what happens to her.”

Brida scoffs, turning and leaving. Sigtryggr follows, leaving her alone to ponder the fact that he has once more saved her life.

When he comes back several hours later, he looks so tired. The expression he wears is one of defeat and she feels her heart ache for him.

“Read to me,” he says softly, sitting heavily upon the settee.

She regards him quietly, she wants to comfort him. She wants to comfort herself. She has grown weary of denying him.

Before she has time to think about what she’s doing, she crosses the room, and places herself upon his lap, her thighs astride his.

“What are you do–”

His words are cut off as she presses her lips to his eagerly, before pulling away. “I’m begging, Sigtryggr, please. I–”

He surges forward, kissing her again, his mouth possessing hers hungrily as he grasps her hips, lifting her as he stands to deposit her onto the makeshift bed upon the floor, his body caging hers in against the furs.

“I knew you’d give in, little warrior,” he whispers against her neck, kissing his way down her throat to her collarbone.

His fingers toy with the hem of the shift she wears, a silent plea for consent in his eyes as he looks at.

She swallows thickly and nods, nervousness and excitement fluttering ceaselessly in her stomach.

He pulls the garment over her head, throwing it to the side before sitting back on his haunches to admire her.

“Gods…you were worth the wait. So beautiful,” he whispers reverently.

She squirms beneath his gaze, turning her head away at the intimacy of the gesture, feeling shy and uncomfortable.

“Look at me,” he tells her softly. His fingers grasp her jaw, turning her face back to him.

Slowly he undresses, until he is as naked as she is. She feels the familiar ache between her thighs as she drinks in the sight of him, chiseled and battle hardened.

“Now we are equal,” he reassures her.

He reaches for the cross around her neck, toying with it between his fingers, before giving a quick, hard tug, causing the cord to give way. “What we are about to do is no business of your nailed god,” he tells her, tossing it to one side.

He kisses her once more, slower this time, their mouths saving the feel of the other’s against it. Trailing featherlight kisses down her body until he reaches her breasts, he wraps his lips around one of their hardened peaks, sucking gently.

The sensation causes her to moan, a pleasurable sensation shooting through her body, pooling into wet warmth between her legs as she arches against him. 

Sigtryggr repeats the motion on the opposite breast, before descending further down, leaving wet kisses in his wake.

She freezes up when he grips her thighs, placing them over his shoulders so that his face is level with her most intimate of parts.

“What…what are you doing?” She asks anxiously.

“I’m going to taste you,” he says matter of factly, making pointed eye contact.

“You cannot do that,” she protests weakly, “it is an unclean thing to do.”

He grins at her, shaking his head slightly. “Christian,” the word leaves his mouth as a half hearted insult, before he presses forward.

The first swipe of his tongue against her folds causes her to gasp, her hands burying themselves in his hair as he uses his grip on her thighs to pull her closer, his tongue moving against her firmer, deeper, faster.

A groan of satisfaction rumbles in his throat, the vibrations causing her insides to clench as she bucks against his face, chasing the edge of oblivion that his tongue is pressing her towards.

He sucks at her pearl, before laving his tongue over it and she cries out as she spasms against his mouth, ecstasy numbing all of her senses as he continues to lap at her.

Once she relaxes, he pulls away, sitting back between her legs, his chin slick with her juices. His fist runs over the length of his cock as he takes in her blissful state and her eyes widen as she sees the size of him.

He is thick, long and slightly curved. She has never looked upon anyone’s manhood before and she trembles as she wonders how it will possibly fit inside of her.

Sensing her trepidation, Sigtryggr caresses her cheek with his palm. “Relax, little warrior, I have prepared you well.”

He presses the head of himself against her entrance and she braces herself, but then he stops. Her eyes flit to his questioningly.

“Beg for it,” he whispers.

She whines, wanting to hide her face in furs that they lay upon.

“Beg,” he says again, more insistently.

“Please,” he pushes forward, aided by her arousal and release, “please,” he pushes forward again, more of her swallowing him up, accompanied by the sensation of stretching and the slightest of stings, “please,” he pushes forward once more, finally sheathed fully inside of her.

She realises as he settles on top of her, giving her a moment to get used to the feeling of him, that this was merely a means to distract her so that she wouldn’t focus on the possibility of it hurting and grow tense. She smiles, stroking the wild tresses of his dark hair. Always so cunning.

He withdraws his hips slowly, before carefully pushing forward again. He repeats the motion several times, watching her face carefully.

As her breathing quickens, her brow relaxing as her jaw begins to slacken, he increases his pace, hips snapping against hers faster and faster, their kisses frenzied as they pant into each other’s mouths.

She feels him throb inside of her, the sensation pushes her back towards the precipice she’d fallen over earlier, but before she reaches it he is pulling out, spilling pearlescent ropes of spend across her belly.

He wipes her clean with a blanket, discarding it before laying down beside her and pulling her into his arms. A satisfied ache settles within her, she feels she could fall asleep like this, but his voice lulls her back to full consciousness.

“I have released the King’s sons back to him,” he tells her quietly.

“What will happen now?”

“He is sending a warrior named Uhtred into Winchester to negotiate terms, if I accept those terms then my men and I will move on.”

Her heart sinks. She cannot bear the thought of him leaving, not now she knows what it’s like to be in his arms. “Oh,” is all she is able to muster, pressing tighter to him.

They fall into a quiet doze, until he gently squeezes her shoulder. “I must go and speak with Uhtred.”

She watches sadly, quietly, as he dresses. He leans down to kiss her before he leaves and she pushes her lips eagerly to his. If he is to abandon her then she will cling to every last moment until he does.

When Sigtryggr returns later, she is dressed in her shift again, though her cross remains discarded. She is seated by the window, staring listlessly out of it.

He carries a bundle of clothing in his arms and she looks at him curiously.

“To keep you warm,” he explains, deepening her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I have discussed terms with Uhtred and we have reached an agreement. I will leave Winchester, on the condition that you accompany me…not as my prisoner, but as my woman.”

She grins, running into his arms and wrapping her arms around his neck.

As they ride away from Winchester, side by side on horseback, she does not feel as though she is leaving her life behind. On the contrary, it has just begun.

Series masterlist || Next chapter >>

[witchezandwonderz]

Masterlist

(Ongoing, of course- I will be updating regularly)

Prompt Quote list (Brand new!)

The Last Kingdom

Aethelstan

In the Heart of the Blood Month

In the Shadows of her Heart

Threads of Destiny- Part One

Threads of Destiny- Part Two

Threads of Destiny- Part Three

Threads of Destiny- Part Four

Threads of Destiny- Part Five

Threads of Destiny- Part Six

Threads of Destiny- Part Seven

Sihtric

The Silent Watcher

The Ice Between Us- Part One

The Ice Between Us- Part Two

Scar and Remedy- from prompt list.

Echoes of the Past- from prompt list

Chains and Promises- from prompt list

Haunted By You- Prompt list

Sihtric's Secret

Ashes of Us

Even the Quiet Burn

Mine to Ruin (smut)

Finan

Words Unspoken

Forged in the storm - from prompt list

Shadows of the past- from prompt list

Nightmare

Alfred

The Hearts Reckoning

The Hearts Reckoning- Part Two

Sigtryggr

Under the Danes Command

No Peace In Love

Osferth

To Be Wanted

House of the Dragon

Jacaerys

The Crowns Rebellion

Ashes and Embers

Aegon

The Dragon's Empress

The Dragon's Empress- Part Two

Headcanons p1

Letters in the Dark

Aemond

Headcanons p1

Vikings

Ivar

Whispers of the Seer

The Stars We Shared

No Peace In Love

The Northman and the Noble

My Valkyrie

Not Made to Kneal

Memories in the Dark (smut)

Slow Justice

Slow Justice: Part Two

To Hear Her Laugh Again

Hvitserk

In the Shadow of Our Kiss

[sigtryggrx]

"Right, right. That lady with the fuckin' wig." Or was she dead now? Sigtryggr hadn't a clue which Lady was different than the others. And he wasn't going to ask, either. Althea's explanation was plenty, and he could only imagine how much people attempted to experiment as time passed. Exploding things here, other things there, perhaps as dangerous as magic could be. Though to the Witcher, he'd found his views...easily warped, easily changed – he could always fit the situations he was thrown into.

Sig paused as well, drink halfway up to his mouth, "That explains why the guy didn't fight back much when I took his ticket off of him. Think they knew somethin' we don't?" His eyes shone with a hint of mirth, turning to look at Althea as she laughed, "Fuck if I know. Lord Chrysitanthaum, maybe? Her partner dead yet?"

Valkyrie. She shouldn't have liked that as much as she did. Althea didn't often enjoy other people's company when engaged within, that she'd find any common ground with a witcher of all things was a twist that the witch would have never seen coming. Still, the world was turning, she'd served only one shape for so long: fear, doubt, and self-consciousness polluting her ego. The Legion of the Dead gave her freedom Althea didn't know she'd lacked, there was a certainty to her power now, and the witch contained multitudes - enough to see past the circumstances surrounding the Iskaran's birth.

"It's very that, yes," Althea said as she glanced around, "Lady Juliana of House Chrysanthos invented the steam engine fifty years ago and since then everything has just been... exploding every year." Even the vessel they sat on had a plume of smoke rising from one of the stacks, flame, and fuel propelling them forward as warforged creations hummed about. "Inevitably someone is going to blow themselves up, that's how these things usually go..." There was a beat, "but now that you mention it, the tickets for this cruise were quite cheap..." Her tongue found her cheek before she found laughter escaping next, "So. Gladiator. Witcher. What's next?"

[icarusignite]

Hey Author, I wanted to ask if you could maybe write a story about ! Sihtric x reader! Could you perhaps write something where the reader is the younger sister of Ragnar, Uhtred and Thyra. In sihtric's age.

Maybe she could have met him in the forest when the two were children and became best friends from that day on. Nobody knew about it because the families are no longer good. Years later, when Kjartan kills the parents of the reader and Uhtred. the reader goes with him and Brida. She is younger than Uhtred and brida maybe Uhtred could teach his little sister to fight and she will be a shieldmaid maybe even the best!!!

When sihtric joins uhtred, the reader is very happy. Sihtric loves the reader, but thinks she would never want anything from him, so he marries his wife from the series

The relationship between the reader and sihtric becomes very bad due to the married

The reader is angry because she doesn't like his wife, she’s jealous and she is very hurt. And she makes him feel her anger!!! Maybe we could have a little fight with his wife, that would be cool.

At some point I don't know how they could confess their feelings for each other.

I love drama in story’s like that. I hope you like it too and it gave you ideas to write it. Maybe you could say if you write it.

Thank you, your reader 🫶❤️

#drama #brokenheart #anger #bestfriends #love

I am so jealous that she is his wife. I just don't like her😑

I have to put my cell phone away, otherwise it will be broken later

I wrote a similar request to another author, but I thought I could also ask another one, hope it doesn't bother you! 🫶

Heyyy finally got this done. It is longer than I expected lol cuz I wanted to give them a shared background story lol. I tried to add all the requested components but his wife just isn't his wife yet so he was planning to marry her but then ofc he changes his mind after the reader rages at him. I love angry confessions lol.

Cheers, hope you enjoy the story 🫶

Word Count: 4.8k | AO3

In the heart of the forest, the sun shone through the canopy of leaves and the birds sang a merry tune. A group of children ran through the underbrush, their laughter echoing through the trees.

"I saw a wolf, Uhtred, I saw it, it had sharp teeth and yellow eyes!" Brida shouted excitedly, brandishing the branch she held in her hand as a pretend sword.

"Brida, Uhtred, don't let them get to me," Thyra shouted from the platform the children had built in the trees. "And protect my little sister!"

"I am a warrior like Father and Young Ragnar. I don't need Uhtred to protect me!" you shouted back at Thyra, who only rolled her eyes at your childish antics. 

"Father and Young Ragnar are much bigger than you, you cannot possibly be like them!" Uhtred laughed.

You crossed your arms and glared at him until he raised his hands placatingly.

"Now then, what shall we do about the wolf?" you grinned. "I say we skin him and gift his pelt to the lady of the hall."

Your hair whipped around your face as you fought your imaginary foes, eyes bright with determination and a fierce sense of bravery. You took careful steps, your feet moving in sync with your makeshift sword, as you circled around the supposed wolves who were coming for your sister. Suddenly you heard the sound of branches snapping and twigs crunching underfoot, signalling the approach of another person to your little corner of the forest. You instinctively raised your branch in front of you, ready to defend yourself and your friends against any potential enemies. 

"Did you see that?" Uhtred's voice wavered and everyone's necks turned in the direction the noise originated from. 

A figure stepped out from behind the trees, making Uhtred and Brida freeze. 

"Uhtred?" Thyra's panicked voice came from her spot in the trees. "What is happening?"

"Stay up there!" he warned, grabbing your hand along with Brida's and pulling back a few steps. 

 "It's Sven, Kjartan's son," Brida breathed.

"Sven?" Thyra's voice shook.

"He won't hurt you," Uhtred reassured.

You pushed Brida and Uhtred forward, "But he'll kill you, so go!" 

"What, we're not leaving you!"

"And I will not leave my sister. Just go, please."

Several other young boys, Sven's friends presumably, tore out of their hiding places, giving chase to Brida and Uhtred as they sprinted away. One of the larger boys made his way toward the tree Thyra was in. You ran after him, hoping to get to him before he reached your sister. You tackled him to the ground but he easily threw you off to the side before going to haul Thyra out of her hiding spot and toward Sven.

"Don't touch her. Don't you dare touch her!" you shouted, and another boy grabbed you by the hair and yanked your head upward.

"Shut your yapping mouth or you'll be next bitch," he murmured into your ear.

Thyra whimpered as Sven cornered her against a tree, sword in hand. 

"Uhtred! Uhtred!" she wailed and it made your heart race. 

You knew Sven was going to do something to her, you could see it in the smirk he sent your way just before he reached forward and ripped the top half of Thyra's dress off her shoulders. A broken sob escaped her mouth and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make herself small. The sight set your nerves on fire. With an animalistic screech, you headbutted the boy who was holding on to you. When you slammed your head against his nose, you heard a satisfying crunch and he howled in pain as blood gushed down his face. You gave another holler before you ran and threw your entire weight onto Sven, forcing him away from your sister and managing to knock him onto the ground.  You watched out of the corner of your eye as Thyra fled the scene, screaming for Uhtred and Brida to come to your aid. One of Sven's friends pulled your small frame off him easily, and dragged you deeper into the forest, pinning you against a tree with his arm across your neck, suffocating you. You twisted in his hold and kicked him between the legs, making him drop you so that you could crawl away. Sven was right there though, and he grabbed your jaw, turning your head so that your eyes met his. He was several years older than you and now you were frightened. 

"Hmm, you're not as pretty as your sister, but I suppose you'll do," he snickered.

You closed your teeth around his arm, biting down until you tasted blood. He swore and when he went to pull you off, you drew back to punch him. And then you were raining blows down frantically upon him before he had a chance to get up. His hand scrambled around for his sword and brought it up in a deadly arc across your face. You flinched at the burning sting and he used it to his advantage in order to throw you off him. He stood there frozen for a moment, just watching your crouching form on the floor, your hand pressed tightly to your cheek as you took in deep shuddering breaths and blood seeped from between your fingers. Perhaps he then remembered who your father was because he turned and ran, his cruel friends following close behind. 

"Are you...are you alright?" came a timid voice after a while, and it made you jump. 

"Who-Who's there?"

You blinked through teary eyes to spot a young boy around your age step forward from behind a nearby tree. He looked at you with concern, his eyes taking in your injury.

"Are you okay?" he asked again softly.

You shook your head, fresh tears streaming down your face. You were terrified, hurt, and you couldn't quite remember the way home so you were also lost. 

The little boy took a step closer, his eyes reassuring, "Don't worry, I'll help you."

You cringed away from him, "Who are you."

"I am Sihtric. I won't hurt you."

"Can you help me find my way back home, I don't remember the way," you whimpered.

Sihtric took your hand and started to lead you out of the forest. You clung to his hand tightly as he led you through the forest. You were still scared, but somehow his presence brought you a sense of comfort and safety. As you emerged from the dense cluster of trees, you could see your home in the distance. Your heart leaped with relief, and you began to quicken your pace, Sihtric keeping pace with you, never once letting go of your hand. As you drew closer, you saw both your parents standing at the door looking out anxiously. When your mother caught sight of you, her eyes lit up and she rushed towards you, scooping you up into her arms. You winced, your left hand still pressed up against your face. She let out a gasp and carefully pried your hand away, and showed the angry red line, that ran from your cheekbone to your chin, to your father. Earl Ragnar swore loudly before taking up his sword and leaving the house in a fury to confront Kjartan and his son, already having been told the story of what happened by the other children. 

"Is-is Thyra okay?" you whispered to your mother, making her smile affectionately.

"Oh my darling girl, look at the state of you, and you're still worried for your older sister. Thyra is perfectly fine, she just had a bit of a fright, now let's get you inside and cleaned up hmm?"

Sihtric lingered outside your door, uncertain of what to do. Your mother noticed him standing there and approached him, still clutching you in her arms.

"Thank you for bringing my daughter home," she said, her voice kind. "You're a very brave young boy."

Sihtric just shrugged, looking a little embarrassed, "It was nothing, I'm just glad she's okay."

As he turned to leave, you grabbed his hand. 

"Wait," you said. "Will I see you again?"

"If you like...?" he gazed up at your mother in hesitation. 

Your mother nodded, her lips turning upward, "You are welcome here anytime."

You grinned shyly, the memory of your adventure already fading into the background, "We can explore the forest together then, just like real warriors."

With a wave goodbye, Sihtric turned and disappeared back into the woods, leaving you with a newfound sense of wonder and the excitement that comes with making a new friend. From that day forward, Sihtric became one of your closest companions, spending endless afternoons exploring the forest and getting into all sorts of adventures. You always looked out for each other, and the bond you forged that day in the woods never wavered. Even though his father had been banished by yours, he continued to find ways to meet with you in the forest, a place where he didn't have to be Sihtric Kjartansson, a bastard child of Kjartan the Cruel. He was just Sihtric, your friend, and perhaps more, judging by the lingering glances you both often exchanged.

This continued up until that fateful day when your entire world was burnt to the ground. You had lost everyone, your parents, your grandfather, and your beloved sister. Your older brother Ragnar the Younger had been away and you felt yourself all alone in the world, that is until Uhtred and Brida took you in. Uhtred felt a strong sense of responsibility for you, being one of the last surviving members of the family that had so lovingly raised him. He had been unable to save Thyra from being taken but he swore to himself that he'd never let harm come to you. 

As the years went by, your childhood wish came true. You had indeed become a fierce warrior, and Uhtred made sure that you knew how to protect yourself and others. You fought in the Battle of Edington against Skorpa and made a reputation for yourself, but the young boy with whom you had spent your childhood days remained a fond memory you found yourself often reminiscing. 

______________

It was in King Guthred's camp in Cumberland where Sihtric finally found you again. He had been sent there to infiltrate the camp and abduct Uhred but when his band of spies attacked, you were the first one there to save your brother, along with Hild, Halig, and Clapa. He had recognized you immediately, the fierce young woman with sharp piercing eyes reminded him of the little girl in the forest whom his half-brother had maimed. However, when you first saw him, you had only looked at him with disdain. He was just another miscreant to you, sent to harm your brother, and you could not imagine him as your childhood companion. He felt his heart sink at that, at the malice in your eyes, at the fact that you did not seem to remember him at all. 

Once he had sworn his allegiance to Uhtred, he made his way to the great hall, where you sat conversing with Gisela. He wanted to talk to you, to hear you speak. Gisela caught sight of his yearning gaze on you and gave him a knowing look. She excused herself and left you sitting there all alone, giving Sihtric an opportunity to take her spot. He settled himself beside you, taking a moment to map out the planes of your face. He had waited years for this moment, to see you again, but now that it was happening, he was unsure how to proceed.

You looked at him and raised an unimpressed eyebrow, "I hear that you will fight for Uhtred now?"

Sihtric nodded.

"You better not betray him, or I'll stick a knife in your throat while you sleep."

A laugh burst out of him and he looked at you with soft eyes, "You are exactly as I remembered."

"Am I now?"

"Do you not remember me?"

You sighed, "Of course, I remember you. How could I ever forget?"

"Well the way you were looking at me like you wanted to take my head off, certainly didn't feel like you remembered me."

"You know you did try to hurt my brother."

"Right...I'm sorry for that by the way. You have my word, I will never betray him."

You twirled your dagger between deft fingers, "I'll hold you to that."

Sihtric laughed again, "Gods, I've missed you."

Your heart skipped a beat. You had always felt something for him but never dared to act on it.

"You did?" you asked, surprised.

He nodded, "I thought about you all the time, wondering where you were and what you were doing. If you were well. And then I heard the stories, of your brother's victories, and they always spoke of his brave sister who fought beside him."

You felt your heart swell with happiness. For the rest of the day, you and Sihtric continued to converse, your exchanges growing more relaxed as you fell back into the familiar comfort of knowing each other. You both shared stories of what you had been doing since you last saw each other.

Sihtric hesitated for a moment, then gathered up his courage to ask you the question that had been weighing on his mind ever since you had been separated, "Are you perhaps with someone now?"

"Why, are you asking because you're interested?" you gave him a playful smirk.

Sihtric's cheeks flushed red as he stumbled over his words, "I... well... I mean... that is to say..."

"Relax, I'm just messing with you. And gods no, me with someone? What an absurd idea. Although... I might be open to offers."

You winked at him.

His eyes widened in surprise and he cleared his throat nervously, "I, uh, I wasn't... I didn't mean..."

"My brother does enough of that for the both of us. Someone's gotta stay sensible and keep him out of trouble, especially since Brida isn't here to do it anymore."

You chuckled at his discomfort and reached out to touch his arm. 

Relief washed over him, and he smiled shyly, "That's good to hear."

You shoved his shoulder, "Good to hear? I am glad my lack of companions brings you such joy Sihtric."

"That is not what I meant and you know it."

"Oh really, so what did you mean then?"

You bat your eyelashes playfully and he rolls his eyes. 

"You haven't changed one bit."

"Perfection doesn't need to change Sihtric."

"Oh very funny."

What he didn't say out loud was that you were indeed perfect. To him at least. He had spent the past few years of his life missing you and he couldn't bear the thought of losing you again. He kept his admiration to himself as he listened to you speak, feeling a deep yearning in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to tell you how he felt, to take you in his arms and never let go. But he was afraid. Afraid of ruining the friendship he had just rekindled. Afraid of the disappointment he would feel if you rejected him. He wondered if you knew how he felt. Did you have any idea of the effect you had on him? He doubted it. After all, you had been children when you had last seen each other. Maybe you had moved on and found someone else. Maybe you didn't even remember him the way he remembered you.

As the next three years went by, you fell into an easy routine with Sihtric. He was part of Uhtred's inner circle and you were his beloved sister so the two of you were seldom separated. Your teasing banter and friendly competition entertained everyone in the group and soon they were all making bets regarding which one of you would be bold enough to confess to the other. The feelings you two had for one another were obvious to everyone, everyone except you and Sihtric it seemed. Even your brother often sent teasing smiles your way when he paired you with Sihtric for tasks. Perhaps this was why the entire group was flabbergasted when Sihtric asked for Uhtred's blessing to marry. 

Uhtred had mentally prepared himself for Sihtric to eventually ask for your hand. He would ask you for your opinion of course and if you were agreeable, he would have been more than happy to bless the union. 

"Who is it that you wish to marry Sihtric?" he raised an eyebrow.

Finan sniggered behind him, sure that his companion would utter your name. You were all on the road back to Winchester and it had been a dull journey so far so he was curious at this new turn of events. You had to admit, you found your heart racing at his request as well. You held your breath, not daring to hope. 

"Sidgeflaed, Lord," Sihtric replied.

"Sidgeflaed? The whore in Winchester you've been spending a lot of time with lately."

"She says she loves me, Lord."

Finan snorts and Sihtric squared his shoulders defensively.

"I swear, she says she loves me!"

"She would. Sihtric she's a whore," Finan chuckled. "What she loves is your silver."

The entire group burst out into laughter.

Sihtric kept his attention on your brother, "I wish to marry her. She says she loves me and I love her."

Uhtred noticed your rigid form out of the corner of your eye. Your knuckles were white from how hard you were gripping your horse's reigns and your jaw was clenched tightly. He could tell that something was bothering you and he had a feeling he knew exactly what it was.

"I will speak to Gisela when we arrive at Winchester and then perhaps I will let you marry your girl. But in the meantime, you are to give her no more of your silver."

You felt a pang of jealousy and sadness at his words. He had chosen someone else. You thought that perhaps now since you had been reunited, he might've chosen you. You kept your emotions in check long enough to flash Sihtric a strained congratulatory smile, but inside you struggled to hold back tears. And then your sadness turned to anger, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal. How could he marry someone else when you had loved him all along? You wanted to scream at him and ask him why, you wanted to beg him not to marry this other girl, you wanted to run away and never see him again, you wanted to see him every day of your life. Instead, you kept a placid smile on your face and once you all reached your destination, you were the first one to bolt home, leaving your brother to deal with your horse. 

Gisela looked up in surprise when you burst through the door and rushed to your room, the door slamming behind you. Once you were in the private confines of your chambers, you let the tears flow freely. A few moments later, there was a soft knock on the door. You quickly wiped your tears and tried to compose yourself as your brother's wife, entered the room. She had been there for you ever since she married Uhtred, almost like a second mother. 

"Oh, my darling, what's wrong?" she asked gently, placing her arm around your shoulder.

You sniffed morosely, "Nothing, I'm fine."

"Well, you don't look fine."

"It's really nothing. I am just being immature, it's no big deal."

Gisela's lips turned upward as she ran her fingers through your hair, "I have two kids under the age of seven. I think I can handle immature."

You just shook your head and leaned against her, allowing her to pull you into a tight embrace, her comforting scent calming you down. Just then, someone cleared their throat loudly and Gisela looked up to see her husband smiling down at her.

"Am I interrupting something?" Uhtred asked.

She shook her head, "No, your sister is just upset, but she refuses to tell me why. Perhaps you can shed some light on this matter?"

"No, you can't tell her. She's going to think I'm being childish," you whined from the crook of her neck.

Uhtred sighed in fond exasperation, "Sitric has asked for my permission to marry."

Gisela's brow wrinkled in confusion. Shouldn't you have been happy if that was the case? She had watched you become close to him over time and she knew how fond you were of him. 

"To marry someone else," Uhtred clarified.

Her eyes widened in understanding as she rubbed soothing circles on your back, "It's okay love. It's okay to be upset. You are a strong and resilient woman and you can get through this." 

"Shall I refuse him?" your brother asked, making you shake your head frantically.

"No, I am just being selfish. I want him to be happy, and if... if that other girl is the one he loves, then I will try and be happy for them. I don't want to get in his way."

"If you say so."

After Uhtred left you alone with his wife, you wrapped your arms around her once more.

"Thank you, Gisela. You're always so kind to me."

Gisela smiled at you warmly, "Of course, my dear. That's what family is for."

Over the next few days, you made it your priority to avoid Sihtric at all costs, going out of your way so that your paths didn't cross, and when meeting him was inevitable, you made sure that you interacted with him as little as possible. Your tone when addressing him was cold and clipped, only saying what was necessary. It was obvious to everyone that you were trying to distance yourself from him and eventually even Sihtric picked up on your strange behaviour.

He had been trying to find a chance to talk to you alone ever since his first announcement regarding his matrimonial plans. He sensed the strained tension that lingered in the air whenever you were around him, and it filled him with a sense of despair. He was doing this all for you and now you wouldn't even look at him. He thought that by marrying someone else, he would be able to take his mind off you. He didn't want to push you into something you did not want and ruin your friendship by confessing his feelings but now it seemed that he had only made things worse. He had to make things right again somehow. As luck would have it, he spotted you walking down the street alone one day. He called out your name, hurrying to catch up to you. 

When you turned around and saw him coming towards you, you tried to quicken your pace, hoping to avoid him, but he was much too fast. He grabbed your arm and pulled you into a nearby alleyway, away from prying eyes. You aggressively yanked your arm away from him and glared. 

"What are you doing, Sihtric?" 

"I had to talk to you," he responded, his voice low and urgent. "You've been avoiding me, and I need to know why."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," your voice was flat as you fixed your eyes on something over his shoulder, avoiding eye contact. 

"Damnit would you at least look at me when I'm speaking to you."

"No."

"Why are you acting like this? Would you please talk to me."

"Just leave me alone Sihtric. Go spend time with that whore you've been humping. You should get to know your future wife some more," you spat out.

Sihtric flinched at the venom in your words. Your entire body was tensed and you blinked rapidly a few times as if to hold back tears.

"I can't leave you alone," he said, his voice rising. "You're my friend. I care about you. I need to know what's going on."

"I am not your friend, don't you dare call me your friend. You do not care about me at all!"

"How can you say that? What have I done? Would you at least tell me?"

Your face hardened, "If I was really your friend, you would have told me about Sidgeflaed. You never even mentioned her."

"Is that what this is about then? You're upset that I told your brother before I told you? If that's the case then I'm sorry you had to find out like that," he approached slowly, arms reaching toward you.

You shoved him away, "You don't get it, do you? You still don't get it."

"Then explain it to me... please."

"You're marrying her! How could you marry her? If you really cared about me, you wouldn't be breaking my heart like this!" you screamed at him then, and tears streamed down your face. 

"What?"

"How could you marry someone else Sihtric? How could you do that to me when you know how I feel about you? Do you expect me to attend your wedding with a smile on my face? Congratulate you for every child you have with her?"

"What do you mean I know how you feel about me?"

You turned to walk away, and Sihtric couldn't hold back any longer. He grabbed your arm again and spun you around to face him, pushing you against the wall, his face inches from yours. 

His voice rose in anger, "You know what, no! You don't get to say something like that and walk away from me. What did you mean when you said I know how you feel?"

"You know very well what I meant. Do not humiliate me any further," you gave him a weak laugh.

Realization dawned on his face as his eyes widened.

"You have feelings for me?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, "What does it matter? It's not like you feel anything for me."

Sihtric scoffed derisively, "That is the furthest thing from the truth."

"Huh?"

"Don't act like you don't see it. Like you never saw the way I've always looked at you."

Your eyes narrowed in anger, "How dare you? You never once told me how you felt. How dare you blame this on me?"

"I'm not blaming-" he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry okay. I'm sorry I hurt you."

"That doesn't change anything. You're still marrying her."

Your voice broke at the last word and Sihtric's heart clenched at the sight of your melancholy expression.

"I'll try to be happy for you. I swear it. You-you should be able to be with the person you love most and I will make my peace with the fact that it will never be-."

"I don't want to marry her!"

"But-"

"I thought that by marrying someone else, I could forget about you. I was wrong. I can't forget about you."

"Oh don't pretend to care now."

Sihtric tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and ran his fingers down your jaw. 

"I care about you more than anything," he whispered, stepping infinitesimally closer. "I love you."

"You do?"

"Weren't you listening silly girl? It's you I love, it's you I wish to choose."

"I don't appreciate being called silly," you sulked. "And you're really not going to marry her then?"

"No. No, I can't keep lying to myself."

"You really hurt me you know."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Sihtric begged, his voice pleading. "But please, just give me a chance to make it up to you. I love you. I always have, ever since we were children, and even when I couldn't see you, I never stopped thinking about you. I just didn't want to ruin what we had by telling you."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You had always secretly hoped that he felt the same way, but had convinced yourself that he didn't. Now, standing in front of him, you could feel the tug of your shared history and the depth of his emotions.

"Please, just one chance. Let me show you how much I care about you. I promise to never take you for granted again," Sihtric continued sincerely.

"Okay," you murmured, your voice softening. "Okay, I'll give you a chance but if you hurt-"

"Never. I will never hurt you again."

Sihtric brushed the remaining tears from your eyes tenderly and smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. He couldn't resist the pull he felt, because then he was leaning in and pressing his lips gently against yours, unsure if you would reciprocate.

You were caught off guard by the suddenness of the kiss, but as his lips moved against yours, you felt your heart stutter in your chest. You closed your eyes and kissed him back, allowing yourself to be swept away by the rush of affection you felt for him. 

You both stood there for a few long moments, lost in each other, oblivious to the world around you. When he pulled away, Sihtric grinned.

"I suppose I'll have to ask your brother's blessing again," he looked into your eyes hesitantly. "That is if you would do me the honour of allowing me to be yours?"

"Yes. Yes of course."

"Thank you."

He pressed a delicate kiss to your scar and then you were pulling him back towards you by his collar, mouths pressed in a passionate embrace as you both gave in to the undeniable attraction that had been simmering beneath the surface for years.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he mumbled against your skin like a prayer. 

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

No but imagine firefighter!Sihtric x reader x firefighter!Sigtryggr

haha no just kidding... unless 👀

[tovalhallaandback]

A Game of Revenge and Loyalty - Chapter

Pairing: Stiorra Uhtredsdottir/Sigtryggr Ivarson

Summary: The career academy may have taught them how to win the Hunger Games, but nothing of how to win the game of love. A forbidden love becomes more complicated as they quickly learn, the Hunger Games were not the only thing they signed up for when they decided to volunteer.

AKA - It's a Hunger Games AU! Mentor/Mentee vibes. Career vibes. - But not in the way you might imagine! TONS of angst but a promised happy-ish ending.

Trigger Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! HG Canon typical violence and atrocites. TLK Canon typical violence and atrocities. Better tags on AO3, with each chapter having a content warning drop down for those who do not wish to be spoiled.

Chapter 15 Now Available on AO3