darkadaline

[darkadaline]

Ashes and Honey

Chapter 4

The morning light filtered softly through the bare branches overhead, casting a gentle pattern on the ground that danced with every flicker of breeze. The air was cold enough to nip at exposed skin, but the sun brought with it a kind of reluctant warmth, a promise that spring might not be so far off.

Elin moved slowly through the frost-kissed garden soil, her boots damp with dew, her wolf-fur cloak trailing lightly behind her. Willa walked just ahead, basket on her arm, bending now and again to pluck herbs or unearth a root with practiced ease. Her fingers were quick but careful, never rushed, as if the plants were old friends she didn’t want to bruise.

Elin’s own hands hovered uselessly at her sides. Every time Willa crouched or reached or brushed aside a patch of old dead leaves, Elin’s muscles twitched as if to mirror her—but she didn’t move. She couldn’t quite trust herself not to ruin it. Not to get in the way.

She glanced at Willa again. The woman was humming softly under her breath, something tuneless and low, the kind of sound that smoothed over silence instead of breaking it.

Elin swallowed hard and looked at the small bundle of green Willa had just plucked.

“…What does that do?” Her voice barely rose above the chirping of the birds. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth the moment the words escaped. She stiffened, expecting… something. A scoff, a correction, a hand lifted too quickly.

But Willa only paused, fingers brushing dirt from the root’s knobby skin. She turned her head, smiling gently. “This? Ground ivy. Good for coughs. Sometimes settles the stomach if steeped warm. And it makes a bitter tea—though Finan drinks it anyway.” Her voice softened in amusement.

A breath of a smile touched Elin’s lips before she could stop it. She looked down at the little plant, studying the crimped edges of its leaves, the reddish tint where frost had kissed it.

“Do… do you have to know a lot of them? All the plants?” she asked, braver now, but still quiet.

Willa glanced up from her gathering. “It helps,” she said, rising to stand beside Elin again. “But you don’t learn all at once. A few at a time. The ones that grow where you live, the ones you use most. You’ll remember them by feel before you remember their names.” She plucked another small herb and placed it in the basket. “You’ve a good eye, though.”

Elin blinked. “I do?”

Willa nodded, not making it a fuss. “You watch. You think before you move.”

Elin’s mouth opened, then closed again. Praise always left a strange burn in her chest. She didn’t know how to wear it.

They moved on, the crunch of frost beneath their steps the only sound for a time. Then, tentatively:

“How long do you all already live around here?” Her voice felt raw, the question almost too big for her throat.

Willa didn’t answer right away, just bent to gather more herbs. When she straightened, her voice was calm. “Uhtred built the hall here years ago. It’s home for us now. For as long as it’s needed.”

Elin glanced up, past the low fence marking the edge of the garden, to where the longhouse sat solid and warm in the morning light. Smoke drifted gently from the chimney. Nearby, Uhtred sat on a low bench, sharpening his sword in smooth, practiced strokes. The motion was rhythmic, almost soothing—the rasp of stone on metal, the pause to test the edge, then again.

Finan passed behind him, arms full of firewood. His breath misted in the cold air, his face relaxed, humming something off-key that didn’t match Willa’s tune but didn’t seem to care.

Farther out, Osferth knelt by one of the traps they’d set the day before, gently untangling a rabbit from its snare. He murmured something to the animal, even though it was dead, and brushed snow off its fur with a kind of reverence.

Their movements weren’t loud or boastful. They weren’t putting on a show. They were just… existing. Living. Each task folded into the next, steady and sure.

Elin’s fingers curled slightly at her sides.

The world doesn’t feel as sharp this morning. Not so jagged edges pressing in.

There were no shouts. No fists. No glances that lingered too long, or words that turned her belly to stone. Just the slow rhythm of life.

She looked down at the herb in Willa’s hand, then up at the woman’s face.

“…Will you teach me?”

Willa’s eyes crinkled. “Of course.”

Elin nodded once, tight and fast, like if she thought too hard about it she might lose her nerve. But she didn’t take it back.

Could there be a place for me in this calm?

She looked again at the men in the distance, the quiet strength of their bodies, their certainty. Uhtred looked up just then, catching her gaze. He didn’t say anything, just held her eyes for a moment, then nodded once before going back to his blade.

Elin looked away quickly, heart fluttering, but not in fear.

I want to know… but what if I am not meant to belong?

____________

The longhouse breathed warmth, even as cold wind pressed against the timbered walls. The fire burned low and steady, casting soft amber light across the stone hearth and the thick furs laid out in a rough circle. Shadows danced lazily on the ceiling beams above, lulled by the quiet crackle of flame and the occasional snap of sap in the wood.

Uhtred sat with one arm braced on his knee, watching the fire, though his attention was elsewhere. He could feel the weight of the moment before it arrived—like a hush before the first drop of rain.

Elin sat opposite him, legs tucked beneath her, the wolf-fur coat folded carefully at her side. She didn’t meet his eyes, not yet. Her gaze lingered somewhere just beyond the firelight, as if she were trying to make sense of a shape that hadn't fully formed.

Finan leaned against a carved post, one ankle resting atop the other, hands loose in his lap. Willa sat beside Elin, threading bits of dried thyme into a bundle, pretending not to listen too closely.

Uhtred waited. He knew the shape of questions like this—the kind a person had to circle around a few times before daring to speak aloud.

When Elin finally stirred, it was with a small sound in the back of her throat. Her voice, when it came, was barely above the fire’s whisper. “There’s… something strange,” she said, not looking at any of them. “When I’m near you… you and Finan both. I feel it in my chest. Like it tightens. And sometimes… it aches.”

Her fingers curled slightly, a gesture she tried to hide in the fabric of her tunic. “Is that… is something wrong with me?”

Uhtred exhaled slowly, leaning forward, resting his arms across his knees. “No,” he said quietly. “Nothing is wrong with you, Elin.”

He waited until she glanced up, her eyes flicking to his face like a sparrow testing the wind.

“What you’re feeling,” he said, “is the bond. The thread that ties alphas and omegas together—sometimes strong, sometimes faint, but always there. It’s not just instinct. It’s nature and blood and breath.” His voice was low, steady. No rush. “You feel it because you are meant to. Because you’re not alone in this world. Not anymore.”

Elin blinked, and her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Finan tilted his head, a grin tugging faintly at his mouth. “The first time I stood next to an omega in heat, I was near sick with the pull. Thought I’d swallowed my tongue.” He chuckled softly, and Uhtred could feel the tension in the room ease by a fraction. “It’s like the world knows you belong together before you do.”

Elin looked between them, her brow furrowing. “But I don’t know how to… how to be that. An omega, I mean.”

Uhtred shook his head. “There’s no one way to be what you are. The Saxons treat omegas like property—breeding tools, traded like cattle. But that’s not the way of our people.”

He leaned back slightly, his voice quiet but firm. “Among the Danes, the old ways hold. Omegas are honored, protected, trusted to guide and balance the pack. Not broken down. Not silenced.”

Finan’s voice turned gentler, more serious. “A bond is more than scent or heat. It’s trust. Loyalty. We fight for those we claim. We bleed for them.” He glanced at Uhtred, a small nod between them. “We protect what’s ours.”

Elin’s hands were still folded in her lap, but they’d stopped trembling. Her face was unreadable for a moment, her expression a swirl of confusion and disbelief—then something else. Something softer. A question she hadn’t formed into words yet.

“You don’t have to be afraid of what you are here,” Uhtred said. “You don’t have to run. Not anymore.”

The fire snapped. Elin flinched slightly, but she didn’t look away. She stared at the flames now, her jaw working, as if chewing over every word, testing them for hidden hooks.

And when she finally spoke, her voice was a threadbare whisper. “You mean that?”

Uhtred nodded once. “Yes.”

She is fragile, he thought, yet she has the spirit to ask.

It’s not just words—this is how we live, how we protect our own.

He watched her reach out slowly and tug her wolf-fur coat closer, her fingers brushing the soft edge like it was something precious. Something earned.

If only she could see herself through our eyes.

____________

The soil was cold beneath her fingertips, damp with the breath of winter, but the rhythm of working helped Elin forget how tight her chest often felt in unfamiliar spaces. She crouched low, brushing back dead leaves to reveal the dark green crown of a winter root just breaking the surface. Her breath formed soft clouds in the chill, but the sunlight—low and golden—filtered gently through the trees, warming her pale cheek in moments between shadow.

Willa hummed softly a few paces away, her skirts brushing against the dry bracken as she gathered greens into a woven basket. The sound was comforting, steady. The woods, which once might have frightened Elin, felt almost peaceful now—quiet in the way that didn’t press on her like judgment. Just stillness and trees and the soft rustle of foraging.

Elin reached for her knife to loosen the root from the earth when a voice snapped the world in half.

“Witch.”

It wasn’t a whisper, or a warning—it was venom.

She barely had time to turn. From the edge of the trees, three men and a woman surged forward, faces she knew too well—faces twisted with the same contempt that had haunted her since childhood. Villagers. From her village.

“No,” she whispered, but the word barely left her lips before one of them lunged and grabbed her arm.

“You thought you could run?” another spat, his grip like iron as he hauled her upright.

A scream tore from her throat—sharp and high and startled. The ground slipped beneath her, her knees scraping across dirt as they yanked her to her feet. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, blood pounding in her ears, drowning everything.

Willa shrieked. “Let her go!” she cried, sprinting toward them. She threw herself at one of the attackers, striking at them with open hands, teeth bared like a wild thing. But they barely acknowledged her. One shoved her aside. The other two dragged Elin by her arms, their fingers digging into skin and bone.

“You don’t belong among good folk,” the woman hissed in her face, “You’re a curse—unmarked and unnatural.”

Elin writhed, terror exploding into breathless sobs. “No—please—stop—”

A fist struck her ribs. She gasped, folding inward, the pain blooming sharp and white in her side.

“Silence, witch!”

She screamed again—louder this time. A raw sound, wild and desperate.

And then everything changed.

The air shifted.

A storm came.

“ENOUGH.”

The voice was low, but it cut through the clearing like lightning. Suddenly the grip on her arms vanished. A powerful force pulled her backward, and then she was no longer in their hands but stumbling behind a wall of warm, solid strength.

Uhtred.

His broad frame stood between her and the attackers, and her hands—on instinct, on terror—clutched at the back of his coat. The worn leather was rough beneath her fingers, but real. Anchor. Shield. She buried her face against it, her breath catching in ragged sobs.

Her body shook.

She couldn’t stop it.

Finan appeared at Uhtred’s side like a blade unsheathed. His jaw was tight, eyes hard as flint.

To the left, Sihtric emerged from the trees with a slow, lethal grace, hand already at his sword. On the right, Osferth stood tense, his usually soft features cold and unyielding.

The four villagers had frozen, but their eyes still burned with misplaced righteousness.

“She belongs to us,” the tallest man snapped, his voice cracking. “She’s been judged! We’ll drag her back and finish what we started.”

“Touch her again,” Uhtred growled, “and I’ll feed your fingers to the dogs. You’ll not lay claim to her—not here, not ever.”

Elin clung to the back of his coat, pressing her forehead against his spine, trying to disappear. Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her mind scrambled to keep up. They searched for me. They had their hands on me. They hit me.

And he came.

They all came.

“You’ll face our blades before you get a single step toward her,” Osferth said coldly.

Sihtric took one quiet step forward, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. His smile was tight, cruel with promise. The threat needed no explanation.

The villagers hesitated. Their anger faltered. Faced with warriors whose blood had been spilled on far crueler grounds than theirs, they saw what Elin had begun to understand—this was not a home without teeth.

They began to back away. Muttering curses. Spitting warnings. But they didn’t try again.

They vanished back into the trees.

Silence fell.

Elin still hadn’t moved. She couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t listen. Her fingers fisted the back of Uhtred’s coat with desperate strength, as if letting go might unmake the safety she had just found.

Finan crouched beside her slowly, careful not to startle. “Elin, love,” he said gently, “you’re safe. Can you let go now? Let us help you.”

She didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might tear itself apart.

She just held on.

Harder.

Tighter.

Afraid the moment she let go, they’d come back.

Her fingers twitched against the back of Uhtred’s coat, her knuckles bloodless with strain. Her breath still came in short, sharp pulls. She hadn’t yet looked up.

But Uhtred turned his head slightly, voice deep and low above her.

“No one will touch you again.”

And something in that—his certainty, the weight of it—broke the tightness in her limbs just enough.

Her hands loosened.

Slowly, fingers uncurled from his coat. Her shoulders sagged as if the last of her strength had been burned up in that scream. She took one half-step back, then stopped—unable to go far. Her face was pale, eyes unfocused. She stood slightly beside herself, as though the world hadn’t quite fit back into place.

Finan straightened carefully and reached out—not to touch, but to guide, his hand hovering near her back.

“Come on, little dove. Let’s get you inside.”

Uhtred moved with purpose, not waiting for her to find words. He took her hand—not tightly, not in command, but to lead—and she followed without resistance, numb and silent, as he walked her toward the longhouse.

Willa trailed behind, her basket abandoned, worry drawn sharp across her face.

Inside, the fire was still warm. It crackled softly in the hearth as the door shut out the wind. Uhtred led her to the fire’s glow, but Elin didn’t sit. She stood there, staring at the flames, one arm wrapped around her middle.

“Are you hurt?” Uhtred asked softly, crouching slightly so he could meet her eyes.

She shook her head quickly—too quickly. Her shoulders hunched inward, shrinking herself again like she always had, like smaller might mean safer.

“No,” she said, barely audible.

Willa was wringing her hands, torn, her face flushed with guilt.

“I saw one of them hit her. In the side. She bent over like she couldn’t breathe.” Willa said finally, looking straight at Uhtred and Finan.

Elin flinched at the words. Her eyes darted to Willa, wide and startled, then back to the floor.

Uhtred’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t speak just yet.

Finan stepped forward, voice gentle but firm. “Elin, we need to be sure. You might not feel it now, but something could be broken.”

Her eyes filled with panic. “No—please—don’t—I’m fine.”

“No one will touch you,” Uhtred said immediately. “We just want to keep you safe.”

“But if something’s broken,” Finan added, “we need to know. Willa can look, if that’s alright.”

Elin swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. Her hand trembled as she reached up to touch the side of her ribs, the place where it still burned faintly.

“Willa,” she whispered.

Willa came to her side right away. “Just me,” she said gently. “We’ll go to your room. It’ll be private.”

Elin nodded, barely.

The two of them slipped down the corridor, and Uhtred and Finan followed, stopping at the edge of her chamber curtain. Neither said a word as Elin stepped inside.

She glanced over her shoulder once, to be sure they weren’t coming in.

They weren’t.

She pulled the curtain shut behind her.

Willa helped her out of the wolf-fur coat first, then carefully unlaced her dress. Elin’s hands shook too badly to help much. Her ribs ached sharply when the bodice loosened, and she hissed a quiet breath through her teeth.

“Sorry,” Willa murmured. “I have to see the skin.”

Elin turned slightly, pressing her arm over her chest as the dress slipped down. Her side was already darkening with a purpling bruise, the shape of a fist clear along the curve of her ribs.

Willa sucked in a breath.

“It’s not broken,” she said after a moment, probing gently with practiced fingers. “Tender, badly bruised, but not cracked. You’ll hurt when you breathe deep, or twist. But it will heal.”

Elin let out a shaky exhale.

When they came back out, her coat was back on, the dress fastened again. She looked tired—drained—but less like she might shatter. She sat near the hearth.

Uhtred and Finan straightened immediately when they saw her.

“Well?” Finan asked.

“It’s not broken,” Willa said. “Bruised badly, but nothing that needs setting.”

Both men relaxed visibly, the tension in their shoulders easing like breath released.

But Uhtred stepped towards Elin then, slowly, and dropped to one knee so he could look up at her.

“Elin,” he said, voice low, unwavering. “No one will ever take you from us. Do you understand that?”

She blinked at him, lips parted slightly, stunned by the certainty in his tone.

Finan came beside him, not kneeling but standing near. “We’re your pack, little dove. They might still bark and scream, but they’ll never get through us. You’re ours to protect.”

Elin didn’t speak.

But her eyes welled quietly.

And then—slowly—she nodded.

Just once.

____________

Elin sat curled tight on the woven mat nearest the hearth, her wolf-fur coat wrapped around her like armor. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, thin fingers tucked beneath the heavy pelt. The fire was little more than a glow now—embers crackling softly, sending slow pulses of warmth into the room. Smoke clung low to the rafters, the scent earthy and familiar.

Her eyes were wide and dry.

She hadn’t cried—not since yesterday.

There was something past tears now.

A weight that settled into the hollow of her chest.

Not numb, not really—but fragile, like ice just before it cracks.

Across the longhouse, Willa moved with gentle purpose, preparing tea. She didn’t speak, didn’t ask anything. But every so often her gaze would drift over to Elin—quietly, kindly—as she set herbs into the pot and poured water from the kettle over the fire.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

It just was fragile.

Then the door opened with the low creak of wood and wind. Elin tensed. But it was Uhtred.

He stepped inside without a word, his coat dusted with frost from the morning. He looked at her first—just a glance—and then crossed to the hearth. He sat down with a quiet grunt, stretching his long legs toward the embers, his hands resting on his knees.

He didn’t look at her again.

He didn’t need to.

A few breaths later, Finan followed. He crouched across from her, a little closer than Uhtred, eyes steady but soft. Not asking anything. Just being there.

Osferth and Sihtric stood near the door, silhouettes against the soft grey light leaking in from outside. Neither moved. Neither spoke. They simply stood��watching, alert, as if daring the world to try again.

Elin’s gaze drifted from one to the other.

There was something in the way they stood. In the space they filled.

It wasn’t just presence. It was protection.

They hadn’t circled around her like a prize.

They hadn’t grabbed her, or questioned, or told her to be quiet.

They had stood.

They had come.

Her eyes flicked toward Uhtred, and she found herself staring at his shoulders—the broad line of them, the familiar shape of the cloak she had clutched so hard yesterday her hands had gone numb. Her fingers twitched slightly in her lap, like they were remembering.

The fire popped softly.

Finan shifted, but didn’t speak.

She didn’t know why her voice came then—fragile, as if the sound of it might crack the air—but it did.

“Thank you…for not letting them take me.”

Uhtred didn’t flinch. He nodded once, slow. “Don't thank us for that. They couldn’t have.”

She stared at the embers. They glowed like coals beneath her ribs.

It wasn’t just a statement. It was a promise.

There was a long pause. And then Finan answered, his voice low.

“Because you’re part of us now.”

Elin drew in a breath, then winced. Her ribs still ached, dull and deep.

But the ache reminded her.

She was here.

She had been pulled back.

She had been shielded.

They didn’t hesitate. Not one of them.

He held me behind him like I was something precious.

They didn’t flinch when the mob came.

They stood for me. For me.

Maybe… maybe I am not alone anymore.

Maybe I am worth it.

The fire cracked again.

She didn't speak further. She didn’t have to.

She just sat there, the wolf-fur heavy and warm around her small frame, surrounded by four unmoving shadows who had not let her fall.

And slowly—like morning breaking across frost—stillness returned to her breath.

[darkadaline]

Ashes and Honey

Chapter 3

The morning light was weak but steady as it filtered through the branches of the trees surrounding the herb garden, casting long, cool shadows across the damp earth. The frost of the previous night clung stubbornly to the grass, sparkling like tiny crystals in the pale sunlight. The air, sharp with the bite of early winter, filled Elin’s lungs as she followed Willa, her feet barely making a sound as they shuffled along the damp ground.

She kept to the edges, staying just behind the older woman as Willa knelt low to the ground, gathering roots from the earth. Her fingers moved with practiced ease, pulling the roots free from the soil and tucking them into a basket that had already begun to fill. Elin watched the movements closely, her eyes following the rhythmic pull and release of Willa’s hands as if the very act of observing could make her part of the world in a way she wasn’t sure she belonged.

The blanket she wrapped around her shoulders felt old and faded, the fabric thin and threadbare, but it was the only comfort she had. She held it close, pulling it tighter around her, the familiar weight of it a small solace against the chill that clung to her skin.

Behind her, the sounds of the yard began to shift. The voices of men—Uhtred’s deep, rumbling laugh, and Osferth’s softer, more restrained chuckle—broke through the quiet of the morning. The sounds of swordplay followed soon after, the sharp clash of wood against wood as they trained, the rhythm of combat echoing across the open space.

Elin’s stomach tightened at the noise. She froze, her feet halting mid-step, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. Her mind screamed at her to run, to hide, to retreat into the shadows like she had so many times before. Her body remained still, her instincts tugging at her to flee, but this time, she hesitated. She didn’t move.

Willa didn’t seem to notice the change in Elin’s posture. She was absorbed in her task, the dirt shifting between her fingers as she dug deeper into the earth. Elin’s gaze remained fixed ahead, the garden now a blur as her attention flickered nervously toward the men in the distance.

The laughter rang out again. Uhtred’s laugh—unmistakable, bold, and full of life. It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t threatening. But it unsettled her all the same. The sound was too loud, too abrupt in the stillness of the morning. She could hear the joy in it, the camaraderie, and it felt alien to her, a world she wasn’t sure she was ready to enter. Her heart began to race as she looked over her shoulder, her body tightening as her eyes sought them out.

Uhtred, tall and broad, his presence commanding even in the distance. She saw the smooth, controlled way he moved as he sparred with Osferth, the sharp clash of their wooden swords filling the air. His posture was steady, his stance sure—he was a warrior through and through. Yet, there was something different about him in these moments. The aggression in his movements was tempered by something else—a calm, a steadiness that wasn’t born from battle but from the bond of comradeship.

Her breath caught in her throat as Uhtred’s eyes flicked across the yard, and for the briefest of moments, their gazes locked. His eyes, deep blue, seemed to soften, and Elin felt something stir in her chest. It wasn’t fear this time. No, it was something else—a confusion, a curiosity, a sense of connection that she wasn’t prepared for.

She quickly turned her head away, her heart pounding in her chest as if she had been caught doing something wrong. She felt her face flush, heat rising in her cheeks. But Uhtred didn’t approach. He didn’t come any closer. Instead, he went back to sparring with Osferth. She couldn’t help but notice the way his laughter filled the space, making it feel less empty, less cold.

Still, Elin stood frozen, her fingers curling into the fabric of her blanket. The urge to flee hadn’t disappeared, but it was quieter now. Distant. The weight of it no longer pushed against her chest. She was still afraid. The memories of her past—the fear, the loneliness—were never far from her mind, but there was something different now. Something had shifted.

Her eyes darted between the men, watching them train, the way they moved together with a rhythm that only comes with years of knowing one another. And though she felt small and out of place, she didn’t feel the sharp need to escape. For a fleeting moment, Elin wondered what it would feel like to stay. To not run.

Willa pulled her focus back, her hands moving deftly through the soil, retrieving another root. She didn’t say anything, didn’t acknowledge the way Elin’s eyes kept drifting to the men. Instead, she simply continued, a quiet presence beside Elin as they worked in the garden.

The cold air prickled at her skin, but it wasn’t as biting as before. Elin found herself inching a little closer to Willa, but only by a fraction. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but something about the way the older woman moved so assuredly in the world made her feel… less alone.

Still, Elin couldn’t stop her gaze from flicking back to Uhtred, who was still locked in combat with Osferth. She felt the tension in her chest loosen slightly. There was no fear in his movements. No hostility. Just a calm certainty that made her want to stay, to watch, to understand.

_____________

The fire crackled softly, sending little splashes of light into the shadows that clung to the corners of the longhouse. The warmth from the hearth was a relief against the chill creeping in from the cracks in the walls, but Elin still shivered slightly, her body tense. She sat close to Willa, the older woman’s presence grounding, though Elin’s hands remained restless, twisting the edge of her blanket, the fabric rough beneath her fingertips. She barely noticed the repetitive motion anymore, her mind distant but sharp, watching the flames flicker and dance in the hearth. The flames, twisting in the quiet air, moved slowly, hypnotically, casting shadows across the room in languid arcs.

The warmth of the fire seeped into her skin, but she could not shake the chill of her body.

Her gaze flickered briefly to the door as it creaked open. Uhtred entered quietly, his footsteps heavy but measured, the familiar sound of his boots on the floor unmistakable. He spoke in low tones to Finan, the rhythm of their voices flowing easily between them. The conversation was familiar—about the coming hunting trip. The way they spoke, though, was almost a comfort. Like the crackling fire beside her, it was something she’d grown accustomed to, a steady presence she had stopped fearing.

Her fingers clenched around the blanket as Uhtred’s voice grew nearer. She could hear him now, even through the hum of the fire. He was coming toward her, and instinctively, her shoulders stiffened, her body coiling as if preparing to flee. She didn’t move, not yet, but she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, the fabric knotting around her like a shield.

She caught a glimpse of his figure from the corner of her eye—tall, broad, moving with that unhurried confidence she’d noticed before. His presence filled the room, even if he said nothing, even if his steps were quiet. It was like a storm that hadn't yet broken, the kind that might pass gently or rage with force.

Uhtred stopped just a few steps away from her, and Elin instinctively pulled her knees closer to her chest, curling in on herself just a little more. He didn’t move to sit beside her or speak immediately. Instead, he held something in his hands—something large, folded in the crook of his arm. The shape of it was familiar, but she didn’t recognize it fully until he gently placed it beside her, on the bench.

A coat. Thick and fur-lined, made of dark leather, its collar lined with the soft, inviting fur of a wolf. It smelled of pine smoke—faint but distinct, lingering on the cool air, a scent that pulled something deep inside her. And something else. Something familiar but hard to name. The warmth of it called to her.

“The days grow colder,” Uhtred said, his voice low, almost casual, as if the words weren’t meant to be heavy. “This one’s lined with wolf fur. It kept me warm through worse than this.” He gave a brief, almost absent glance her way before turning to walk away, his movements easy, unhurried, leaving her with the coat.

Elin stared at it for a long moment, the sensation of its presence strange. He hadn’t pushed it on her. Hadn’t demanded she take it. It wasn’t an order.. He just… offered it.

It sat there, a quiet thing, waiting for her to reach for it. Her pulse quickened, and her fingers, still holding the blanket, twitched. She didn’t reach for it right away. Instead, she studied the coat, the way the fur caught the light, the way it seemed to absorb the warmth of the fire and hold it. It wasn’t just the fur, the scent of pine smoke—it was more than that. It felt like... something safe, something solid, something that wouldn’t hurt her.

She shifted her weight, the warmth from the hearth still on her skin, but there was something about the coat that made the air feel different. Like there was a space, a place, where she could settle into something without fear.

Her hand trembled as she reached down, fingers brushing the soft wolf fur, its texture rich and thick beneath her touch. She pulled the coat closer, wrapping it carefully around herself, clutching it to her chest. Her heart hammered in her chest as she held it, afraid of losing it, afraid of it being taken away.

The scent of pine smoke wrapped around her like a cocoon, and for a moment, it was almost like the fire had moved closer, pressing its warmth against her skin, pulling her into its quiet embrace. Elin didn’t move, her eyes wide, her breath shallow as she sank into the sensation, unsure of what it meant but unwilling to let it go.

Uhtred’s footsteps had faded by now, the sound of his movements swallowed by the crackling fire, but his presence lingered—unspoken, unforced. It wasn’t a question she could answer right away, but the coat felt like more than an object. It was a piece of something else. Something she wasn’t yet ready to name.

But for now, it was hers. It was warm, and it was safe. And that was enough.

_____________

A few days later

The wind bit at Finan’s cheeks as he shifted another bundle of firewood from the cart to the stack by the longhouse wall. The logs thudded softly against one another, sending sharp cracks into the cold air. His breath fogged in front of his face, curling and fading into dusk.

Sihtric moved beside him with quiet efficiency, his arms already laden with another bundle. Across the courtyard, Osferth knelt by a low table, sorting herbs under Willa’s instruction, his fingers moving carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration. The quiet bustle of late chores filled the yard, boots scuffing in frost-hardened dirt, breath rising in clouds. The sun had slipped behind the treeline, leaving only a bruised sky and the steady glow of torches near the door.

Finan straightened to stretch his back, rolling his shoulders, and glanced up—and that’s when he saw her.

Elin.

She stood near the edge of the courtyard, half-shadowed behind Willa’s figure, her pale hair catching what little light the sky still offered. She wasn’t hiding exactly, but she wasn’t fully present either—positioned just so, where she could retreat if she needed. The wolf-fur coat hung from her narrow frame like a mantle far too grand for its wearer, though she held it tightly closed with both hands, knuckles white in the fabric.

What struck Finan wasn’t that she stood there—but that she didn’t flinch when he looked at her. Her eyes met his. She didn’t duck her head or turn away. She simply… watched.

Still cautious, still wrapped tight in herself like a bundle that hadn’t yet thawed—but not running.

Not anymore.

He let out a slow breath, and when he glanced across the yard, he found Uhtred already watching her, too. His arms were folded, his stance deceptively still, but Finan could read the tension in his jaw. Not worry, not quite—but something close. Something protective.

Uhtred walked toward him, boots crunching softly in the dirt. He stopped just beside Finan, his voice low, almost amused. “She took it.”

Finan glanced at him sidelong. “Aye, I saw. Still wearing it like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.”

“It might be,” Uhtred murmured.

“She didn’t bolt when you spoke to her, either.”

“No.” Uhtred’s gaze didn’t waver. “And she didn’t look afraid when I left it. Just… uncertain.”

Finan watched Elin again—watched the way her eyes moved, always alert, always measuring. “She watches everything,” he said quietly. “Like a hawk.”

Uhtred’s voice was rougher when he answered. “She used to vanish when we stepped near. Now she watches. She stays.”

Finan nudged his shoulder gently. “You worry too much.”

Uhtred’s reply came with the barest flicker of a grin. “You love that about me.”

Finan smirked. “Aye. Damned fool heart of mine.”

He reached out without thinking and brushed his knuckles lightly down Uhtred’s back as he stepped around him. Uhtred leaned into it, just slightly, as if grounding himself in the familiar touch.

Finan paused beside him, eyes still on Elin. “She’s still frightened,” he said, voice barely above the wind. “But not hopeless.”

Uhtred turned his head just enough. Their eyes met for a second—and then their lips met, too. It was nothing dramatic. No heat, no hunger. Just a soft, steady press, like the quietest vow. A moment of shared breath, held gently between them.

When they parted, Uhtred’s eyes returned to the courtyard. But Finan stayed still, watching him with a tenderness he didn’t try to hide, the corner of his mouth tugging upward with a ghost of affection.

Uhtred’s thoughts lingered in the silence that followed. He could still see Elin in his mind as she’d been a few weeks ago—fleeing, flinching, curled so tightly into herself it hurt to look. But now… now she stood. Still quiet. Still wary. But she stayed.

He remembered the way her fingers had curled around the coat, how she’d looked at him after he gave her the coat—not like a threat, but like a puzzle she hadn’t finished deciding on. And the way her voice had trembled when she’d whispered the softest, stammered thank you, as if she barely dared to say it aloud.

That stirred something old in him. Protective. Fierce. Instinctive.

We wait, he reminded himself. She chooses. Always.

He looked back across the yard at her one last time.

She was still there.

And that was enough—for now.

_____________

The longhouse was quiet now, the bustle of the day long since faded into evening’s gentle hush. A fire burned low in the hearth, its amber glow flickering softly against the rough-hewn walls. Shadows danced lazily across the room, and the faint scent of pine smoke still clung to the air.

Elin sat on a rough bench beside the hearth. Behind her, Willa’s fingers moved carefully through her pale hair, weaving and twisting the strands into a neat braid. The rhythm of the braiding was slow and steady, a quiet lull that filled the room more with feeling than with sound.

The silence stretched between them, but it felt safe—a fragile peace. Elin’s hands rested lightly in her lap, fingers nervously twisting the edge of the blanket still draped around her shoulders.

Then, breaking the quiet, Elin’s voice came soft, hesitant—almost a whisper.

“Willa… why does it feel different? When they’re near?”

Willa paused, fingers still in the braid. She glanced over her shoulder, curious. “Different how, child?”

Elin frowned, searching for the right words, unsure even what she felt. “Heavy. In my chest. Like my ribs know them. Like… I’m supposed to be close. But I don’t understand why.”

The old woman smiled gently, setting the braid aside for a moment to rest her hands on Elin’s shoulders. Her eyes were kind but steady, the calm of someone who had seen much and understood more.

“It’s the old ways, Elin. The bond between an Alpha and an Omega—it’s more than just flesh and blood. It’s in the bones, the heart, the soul. It’s sacred. The pull you feel? That’s the instinct of your nature calling. It means you’re not alone. That you are kept safe, honored.”

Elin’s brow furrowed deeper. “That’s not how people spoke of it in the village. They called it a curse. A weakness.”

Willa’s gaze softened, but her voice was firm. “Many fear what they don’t understand. But just because others speak of it with hate, does not mean it is true.”

Elin looked down at her hands, twisting the blanket tighter around herself. She thought of Uhtred’s deep, steady voice—the way it had rung through the yard like distant thunder. She thought of Finan’s gentle smile, the calm strength in his eyes as he stood nearby.

A strange warmth bloomed in her chest at the memory, confusing and fierce all at once.

She was terrified of it. Terrified of what it might mean. But beneath the fear was something else, something soft and bright—a fragile hope.

The room settled around her like a warm cloak, the crackle of the fire steady and sure. Somewhere deep inside, a shift was happening—something was changing, opening.

Sacred. Kept safe.

Could it be that the pull she felt wasn’t wrong? That it wasn’t a curse?

The puzzle piece clicked quietly into place.

It wasn’t bad.

Just… unknown.

_____________

A few hours later

The longhouse lay wrapped in a deepening quiet, the kind that settles slowly when the day’s work has ended and the body begins to unwind. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, sending flickering light and shadows dancing across the wooden walls. Outside, the night pressed in cold and dark, but inside, warmth clung to the air like a soft cloak.

Uhtred stepped inside after his rounds, the chill from the night still clinging to his cloak and skin. His boots made little sound on the packed earth floor. His gaze swept across the room—the familiar shapes softened by the firelight. Osferth sat near the hearth, his brow furrowed in concentration as he read by the fire’s glow. Willa dozed quietly nearby, her head resting against the rough bench.

Finan was seated close to the fire, his dark eyes reflecting the flames. Uhtred moved silently behind him and let his hand settle briefly on Finan’s shoulder, a simple touch—steady, grounding, unspoken. Finan relaxed under the contact.

Uhtred lowered himself to sit beside him, his body easing with the comfort of the pack around him.

His eyes drifted toward Elin. She sat by the fire, wrapped in the wolf-fur coat he had given her. The flickering flames cast warm light across her pale hair and delicate features, making her seem both fragile and fierce at once.

Their eyes met briefly—no fear in hers. No darting glance, no tightening of the body. She didn’t flinch or shrink away. She simply watched him, steady and still.

That moment stretched quietly, unspoken but charged with meaning.

Uhtred said nothing at first. He didn’t need to. The tension that had knotted in his shoulders over these past weeks loosened, just a little, as Finan’s hand slid over his own, fingers light but firm.

“You’re doing well,” Finan whispered, his voice low and certain.

Uhtred exhaled, the breath deep and slow, and nodded.

She doesn’t hide anymore, he thought, eyes fixed on Elin’s calm silhouette.

She stays—like a deer caught at the edge of the wolf’s den, uncertain if the wolves mean to bite or protect.

He stayed silent, his presence a quiet shadow beside the fire’s glow—strong but not demanding, patient rather than forceful. He didn’t push. He simply sat, offering what comfort he could through calm stillness.

Elin’s scent mingled in the air—soft and guarded, yes, but beneath the cautious wariness there was something new: curiosity, fragile and bright.

The night wrapped them all in its hush, a stillness among wolves. The pack was growing, slowly but surely, and in that quiet room, beneath the flickering flames, something fragile began to take root—hope.

[darkadaline]

Ashes and Honey

Chapter 2

The forest was quiet, blanketed in the hush of early morning mist. Uhtred dismounted slowly, boots sinking into damp leaves, his breath curling in the chilled air. He could hear the soft drip of water from the branches, the distant cry of a crow—signs of life that felt too sharp, too alive, for what lay ahead.

The underbrush parted, and then he saw her.

Curled beneath a thicket of brambles, she looked more like a broken doll than a living girl—knees tucked tight against her chest, arms shielding her head. Her hair was tangled and caked in dried mud, white as snow and ghostly against the earth. Her skin bore the mottled hues of cold and neglect, pale as frostbite, with angry welts peeking through torn fabric. Her frame was so slight he feared the wind might carry her away. She was shaking, violently, every breath a tremble, as though her lungs no longer knew how to take in air without fear.

Her body recoiled from nothing—just the air, the silence, the morning. It was as if every sound had teeth, every shadow a threat. He could see the raw wounds on her ankles, the way her fingers clung to the earth beneath her, white-knuckled, clinging to the forest floor as if it were the last solid thing in a world gone cruel.

Uhtred approached her the way one might approach a wounded doe, each step slow and deliberate. He saw her shaking—small, endless tremors, as if her body had forgotten how to be still. Her scent reached him, faint and trembling, crushed violets muddled by fear. Omega.

Unbonded. Unclaimed. But the scent was wrong—tainted with panic, threaded with exhaustion and blood.

When Uhtred reached forward—slowly, carefully—to see her face, her entire body spasmed. She flinched as though struck, a raw, broken sound catching in her throat. It wasn't a scream. It wasn't even a cry. It was a soundless gasp, strangled and desperate, the kind a creature makes when it’s too hurt to make noise anymore.

He froze, hand suspended in air.

"You're safe now," he said softly, though he knew the words meant nothing to someone who had never known safety.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at him. Her head remained tucked under her arms, breath catching in shallow gasps. Her entire body recoiled, shrinking further as though trying to vanish into the brambles themselves.

Finan arrived with quiet steps, his expression darkening the moment he saw her.

"She’s not going to last out here," he said, voice low. "She’s halfway to death already."

Uhtred nodded. Slowly, he unfastened his heavy cloak and leaned forward, wrapping it around the girl’s frail form without touching her skin. She didn’t resist—but she didn’t acknowledge the gesture either. Her fingers clutched at the bramble beneath her like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

They didn’t speak further. They just worked.

_______________

The ride back to Rumcofa was slow and silent. Uhtred held her before him, one arm secure but loose around her middle, the other guiding the reins. She barely had the strength to sit upright. Her head lolled against his chest, her weight like that of a child, too light, too still. Every time the horse shifted beneath them, her body twitched—small jerks, as though each step brought remembered pain.

She never spoke. Never cried. But her breath told stories—quick, clipped breaths like someone waiting to be hit.

Finan rode beside them, glancing over often, his jaw clenched. Osferth whispered a prayer under his breath, voice catching. Sihtric brought up the rear, one eye on the path, the other on the shadows.

The rain returned as they neared the hall, cold and relentless, soaking cloaks and hair, but Uhtred didn’t feel it. His mind was with the small, trembling form in his arms. He didn’t tighten his grip, didn’t speak. He just held her, carefully, as though she might splinter.

_______________

Finally they arrived at Rumcofa. Inside the hall, firelight welcomed them, smoke curling lazily from the hearth. The warmth bit into their soaked clothes. Uhtred carried her in himself.

She didn’t stir.

He laid her gently on a low bed in a quiet chamber near the hearth. Even in unconsciousness, her body remained curled tight, trying to shield herself from imagined blows. Her fingers stayed balled into fists, the cloak still clenched in her grasp.

Willa came quickly, summoned with broth and clean cloths. Her eyes widened when she saw the girl.

“Gods,” she breathed, kneeling beside the bed. “She’s burning up.”

Finan hovered near the door, arms folded, shoulders tense. His eyes, usually sharp with mischief or mirth, now held a heavy, quiet worry. He wasn’t used to feeling this helpless—standing just beyond reach of someone in need, unable to fix what was broken.

Uhtred stood by the hearth, gaze distant, jaw tight. The crackle of fire couldn’t warm the ache in his chest.

They fell into silence again, both men staring toward the quiet room beyond the hearth where she lay, as if trying to will safety into her bones. Neither said it aloud, but they both felt it—an ache, a need, a vow growing wordlessly between them. They had found her. And they would protect her.

_______________

That first night, Elin shivered beneath layers of blankets. Her skin burned with fever, yet her lips were cold. She whimpered in her sleep—small, helpless sounds like a frightened animal. Her head tossed weakly, and sometimes she muttered things that made no sense, half-formed syllables, the sounds of fear learned too early and too long.

Finan sat with her, cloth in hand, gently dabbing her brow. Her skin twitched beneath even that soft touch, her brow furrowing as though the fabric were a whip rather than a mercy. Her body tensed, instinctive and automatic, as if pain were a certainty—not a memory, but a rule the world always followed. Even in fever, even barely conscious, some deep, surviving part of her expected pain and tried to shield her from it. She shifted away from him, curling tighter into herself, trying to disappear into the edge of the mattress.

Uhtred sat down beside her, trading places with Finan, who stepped back with a clenched jaw. He tried the cloth next, but when he moved close, her brow twitched again. Even as she hovered just above awareness, her body responded—pulling inward, inching away, so far toward the edge of the bedding that she might fall. Her fear filled the room, thick and bitter, cutting through the smoke and firelight.

Uhtred leaned in, voice low and warm and steady. "You’re safe. No one will touch you. Not unless you ask."

But the words vanished into the air. She didn’t respond. She barely breathed.

Finan stood behind him, fists clenched, eyes burning. The scent of her fear was unbearable—more pungent than fever-sweat, sharp and acrid, as if the room itself recoiled from it. He had seen wounds before, seen suffering. But this was different. This was fear so deeply rooted it had become part of her very breath.

"She doesn’t eat," he said quietly, voice strained, as if forcing the words out made them more real. He couldn’t take his eyes off her—the way her body still trembled, the way she recoiled even from the gentlest hands. "She will become weaker and weaker. We need to do something."

A beat passed in the heavy silence before Osferth, who had hovered near the doorway all along, finally stepped forward. "Perhaps," he began carefully, "she would feel safer if it wasn’t one of us sitting with her. A woman might help ease her mind."

Uhtred looked up, brows furrowed in thought.

"What about Willa?" Osferth continued. "Everyone trusts her. She’s kind, and she has the touch of a mother. She already tends to her. Maybe if she stays longer… talks to her more…"

Finan exhaled, slow and heavy. He nodded. Willa had always made their hall feel more like home. Maybe she could reach where none of them could.

"Let’s ask her," Uhtred said."

And so the hope settled—not in swords or strategy, but in gentleness. In the steady hands of a woman who knows how to heal.

Willa came and went with care and gentleness, coaxing small sips of broth into her mouth, speaking in a soft, steady voice. When Elin whimpered, Willa whispered comfort. When she clawed at the blankets in her sleep, Willa smoothed them back. Every motion was quiet, tender, practiced.

“She’s not here,” Willa murmured. “Not really. Lost in fever.”

Uhtred leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed tight over his chest. His eyes never left Elin’s sleeping form.

“She flinches in her sleep,” he said quietly. “Like she’s dreaming of running.”

Willa nodded. “She probably is.”

Finan came to stand beside him, his expression grim. “It’s like she doesn’t know how to rest. Even unconscious.”

Uhtred exhaled slowly, a tension in his shoulders that never eased. “We’ll give her time. However much she needs.”

He didn’t say the rest—but they both knew it. They would wait. And they would not let the world hurt her again.

_______________

When Elin finally opened her eyes and truly woke, the fire was low and the room empty. She did not remember how she had come here. Her body ached—not with pain exactly, but with the memory of it, as though the fear lived inside her bones.

She bolted upright.

The bed felt wrong. Too soft. Too clean. Her feet hit the floor, and she backed into the far corner of the room, dragging a blanket with her like armor. She sank down there, chest heaving, eyes wide, every inch of her poised to flee.

Where was she? What did they want? Her breath came faster. Panic skittered in her chest like a trapped animal. She scanned the room for exits, for weapons, for anything that might aid her escape. She had to get out—before they decided what to do with her. Before they realized she wasn’t worth saving.

A shape moved beyond the firelight in her mind. A man’s silhouette. Broad-shouldered. Towering. Like the ones who used to come when the village needed to punish an omega.

A memory pierced her thoughts—screams. A girl’s scream, high and ragged, echoing across thatched roofs and stone walls. Elin had heard it from behind her own door. She had clutched her hands over her ears, curled into a corner, but the sound had gotten in anyway. It always got in.

Another image—rough hands grabbing at her arm, dragging her out into the square, cold mud on her knees. Men’s laughter. Women looking away. And above it all, the voice that said, omegas are made to be used.

Her lips parted, breath tearing in and out, faster now. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. The firelight blurred into streaks. Her hands clutched the blanket tighter. The walls felt like they were closing in.

Then—

Voices. Just outside the room. A murmur. A footstep.

The curtain creaked open.

An elderly woman entered, tray in hand, but stopped the moment she saw the empty bed. Her gaze swept the room, landing gently on the curled form in the shadows.

“You’re awake,” she said, voice warm but cautious.

Elin said nothing. Her eyes were glassy with panic.

“I'm Willa, the head maid. I’ve brought broth.” Willa moved with exaggerated slowness, setting the tray on the table by the bed and retreating again.

"Where am I?", Elin managed to croak out.

“You’re in Rumcofa, love,” Willa said gently, her voice low and melodic. “Lord Uhtred and his men brought you here. You’ve been terribly ill—burning with fever—for more than a week now, poor lamb. We’ve all been worried sick.”

Her mind was clouded, the fever still gripping her body, but her senses were slowly beginning to sharpen, though she could hardly keep track of what was happening. Everything felt strange and disorienting—this room, the fire crackling softly, the unfamiliar faces.

Willa’s voice broke through the fog. “May I ask your name, sweetheart?”

The question felt like an intrusion. Elin’s throat tightened. She didn’t know if she could trust this woman, or anyone in this place. Her heart was still racing, the echo of the village square, the fear of her chains, too fresh in her mind.

She trembled, fingers curled into the blanket. Her throat was raw, aching from the lack of use and the sickness that had been clawing at her for days.

Willa’s silence was patient, gentle—waiting.

Elin swallowed, wincing at the pain. The name felt strange on her tongue, but it was hers. It was all she had left.

“...Elin,” she croaked, the sound rough, like the dry crack of earth after a long drought.

Willa’s face softened, her eyes warm and kind. A slow, genuine smile spread across her face as she bent slightly toward Elin, her voice now tender, almost coaxing.

“That’s a beautiful name,” she said. “Elin. It suits you well.”

Elin’s chest tightened with a mix of emotions she couldn’t understand—something in her stirred, something unfamiliar. But it wasn’t distrust, not exactly. It was something else, something fragile, like a thread of hope she had almost forgotten how to feel.

Willa’s voice was gentle, almost coaxing. “Well, Elin, you should eat and drink so you get your strength back and become healthy.”

Elin didn’t move. Her eyes flicked to the bowl of warm stew in Willa’s hands, to the cup of water balanced carefully atop the tray, then back to Willa herself—shoulders tense, chin tucked, wary as a cornered deer.

Willa took a small step forward. “I can bring it to you—”

The reaction was instant. Elin’s body locked up, her breath caught sharply in her throat, and her eyes widened, terrified. She pressed back into the wall behind the bed, as far as her trembling limbs would allow.

Willa froze.

“Oh,” she breathed, her tone shifting at once, soft with understanding and regret. She retreated quickly, hands raised slightly in surrender. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She moved to the small table beside the bed and placed the tray down gently. “I’ll just leave the food and water here, all right?”

She turned to go, but at the door she paused. Glancing back at Elin’s wide, watchful eyes, she said, “I know you won’t believe me yet... but you are safe here, Elin.”

Then she left, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

Silence settled over the room like a heavy cloak.

Elin didn’t touch the food. She stared at it for a long time—steam curling from the bowl into the air, the scent of herbs and meat warm and tempting—but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Her body was still thrumming with alarm, her mind trapped in the reflex of survival.

Safe. The word echoed in her head like a foreign language. Willa had said it with such conviction, but Elin couldn’t trust it. Couldn’t afford to.

Safe was a lie she’d been told before.

Her gaze shifted to the closed curtain again. She didn’t blink. Her body remained taut and motionless under the blanket, as if even the smallest sound might bring danger..

Hours passed. The shadows in the room lengthened and deepened, candlelight flickering and fading as night claimed the sky. The food cooled. The water grew still. But Elin didn’t sleep.

She stayed exactly where she was—curled tight beneath the covers, eyes wide and glassy, fixed on the door.

Waiting.

Watching.

Just in case.

_______________

The days passed like trickling water. Willa brought food. Elin refused it. Then picked at it. Then began to eat—small bites, carefully chosen. Bread. Broth. A spoonful of honeyed oats that made her lips part in startled wonder.

Willa never commented on how much or how little Elin ate. She simply returned, a fresh bowl in hand, and settled in the chair by the hearth, chatting idly while she mended linen or shelled peas into a wooden bowl.

At first, Elin never answered. She barely even looked up. But Willa spoke anyway, her voice warm and unhurried - how Osferth had nearly set the kitchens alight with his attempt at stew, how Finan laughed so hard he spilled his ale over Sihtric’s boots. She laughed gently, speaking as if Elin were just another woman at the fire.

Every day was something small. The cow that escaped its pen. A bit of gossip from the traders in town. How Uhtred had grumbled about the rain soaking his cloak. How Osferth, still blushing, had stammered through a conversation with a pretty girl at the market.

Elin stayed silent, but her shoulders didn’t hunch so sharply anymore. Her eyes tracked Willa’s movements. And when the door opened now, she no longer flinched like she expected pain to follow.

The men still made her freeze. Even their voices through the walls made her breath shorten. When they entered the house, she curled tighter in her corner, still as stone. But when they left—when the door clicked shut and their scent drifted away—she began to creep forward.

At first, it was only to the edge of the room. Then, a few days later, she began following Willa in silent steps, padding softly behind her like a shadow. Willa never commented, only made sure to walk slowly, pausing at each task in case Elin wanted to linger.

Sometimes, Elin stood by the window and looked out. Other times, she watched Willa knead dough or stir the fire, the flicker of the flames dancing in her pale eyes.

Then one morning, as Willa stripped the bedding and brought in clean linens, Elin’s voice, paper-thin, slipped into the air.

“…Thank you.”

So quiet it could have been the wind. Willa didn’t react aloud, only let the smallest smile curve her lips. She tucked the linen into place with care, humming softly under her breath, “Your welcome, love.”.

Elin began to eat more regularly. Not just when Willa left, but sometimes even as the older woman sat nearby. She never looked directly at her, but the rigid lines of her posture softened. She stopped hiding behind her hair. One evening, Willa entered to find her not in her usual corner but seated cross-legged on the edge of the bed, her white hair draped over one shoulder as she worked at a knot with her fingers.

It was that same evening that Willa told the story of Finan’s broken chair.

“He practically fell straight to the floor with his legs still crossed,” Willa chuckled. “Jumped up like the floor had offended him. Swore it was Sihtric’s fault for placing the chair too near the hearth, as if that made the wood brittle.”

And then—so soft it might have gone unnoticed—a sound escaped Elin.

A laugh. Tiny, breathless. A half-choked huff of air that surprised even herself.

Willa turned slightly, smile deepening, but she didn’t speak. Didn’t move. As if she knew one wrong word might make the moment vanish like mist.

She only kept talking. “Sihtric just pointed at him and said, ‘You’re getting too fat, Finan.’ I thought they were going to wrestle right there in the hall.”

Elin smiled again. It didn’t last long. But it had happened.

Later that night, Willa paused at the door, glancing back at the girl now perched near the fire with her blanket around her shoulders.

“One day,” she said softly, “you’ll see you were never meant to be afraid.”

She didn’t wait for a response.

But Elin stayed by the fire a little longer that night, watching the flames instead of the curtain.

_______________

And for the first time, she slept without her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

That night, Uhtred and Finan lay in their shared bedding, the fire across the hall a dull glow behind the hanging curtain. The hum of the hall had long quieted, reduced to the occasional creak of timber and the hush of sleeping men. In their corner, beneath heavy furs and the scent of pine smoke and leather, the world felt softer.

Uhtred curled closer to Finan, cheek brushing against his temple, the familiar shape of him grounding in a way nothing else could. Their legs tangled beneath the covers, and Finan shifted only slightly, his hand finding Uhtred’s arm and stroking there.

“She’s starting to come to herself,” Finan said eventually. “Bit by bit. Willa says she ate a full bowl today. Sat in the sun, too. Didn’t bolt when the stable boy walked by.” 

Uhtred hummed, a deep, low sound in his chest. Finan pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, lips warm against skin. They breathed together—slow and measured—their chests rising and falling like two oars in calm water.

“She still stays in her room whenever we’re near,” Uhtred said, voice roughened not just by sleep, but something deeper. Regret. Restraint.

“She’s afraid we’ll hurt her,” Finan murmured. The words cracked a little at the edges. His arm around Uhtred tightened. “It hurts, seeing her like that. Like a bird with a broken wing. You reach out and she just tries to tear herself apart to escape.”

The silence held for a moment, the kind that said everything.

“She doesn’t know what it means to be protected,” Finan said softly, eyes open to the darkness, voice barely a breath.

Uhtred didn’t answer right away. His fingers curled around Finan’s hip, thumb tracing idle patterns into the bone there. The fire popped once in the hearth. In the stillness, it almost felt like the world was listening.

They both stared into the fire, the weight of the truth heavy between them.

“I feel my instincts are stronger,” Uhtred murmured. “When she’s near. I’m meant to protect her. Like my bones remember her before my mind can.”

“She’s an omega,” Finan whispered after a pause. “She’s vulnerable. It’s natural for you to feel like this. But You can’t act on instinct. Not with someone so broken.”

Finan’s nose brushed against his neck, warm breath curling there. They lay pressed together, the space between them filled with warmth and love, even in their worry.

Uhtred’s jaw tightened. “I know. I still can’t understand how you can treat them like that. Omegas were always sacred,” he said. “Protected. Valued. Ragnar used to say the gods whispered to them. That their blood ran closer to the earth’s heart.”

Finan made a small noise of agreement, and Uhtred’s hand found the small of his back, cradling.

He drew in a breath, and it shook on the way out.

“I felt it the moment I saw her in the square,” he admitted. “That pull. Not just instinct. Something older. But it doesn’t matter what I feel. Or you. She has to choose us. If she ever can.”

Finan kissed his collarbone, tender and sure. “She’s safe now. We’ll keep showing her that. Every day.”

Uhtred nodded again, closing his eyes as Finan curled tighter around him, their bodies fitting like pieces carved from the same tree. For a long while, they said nothing more. They didn’t need to.

They had chosen her. All that remained was whether she might one day choose them back.

_______________

A few nights later, Elin sat at the edge of her bed, woolen blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, bare feet resting on the cold stone floor. The chill of autumn crept in through the cracks in the shutters, the kind of cold that crawled slowly under skin already too thin. Her body, still rebuilding from long months of hunger, had more strength now—but it was a quiet, fragile thing. Her legs still trembled if she stood too long, her breath still caught in her chest if she climbed the stairs too quickly.

Outside her small room, the hall glowed faintly with firelight. The little fire in her room not enough. The muffled crackle of burning logs drifted through the curtain, low and constant like a heartbeat. 

She stared at it for a long time.

Just for a little while, she told herself. Just the fire. Just warmth. Then I’ll go back.

Still she sat, knuckles white around the blanket, heart thudding like a warning in her ribs.

It took another handful of heartbeats before she stood. Her knees wobbled beneath her, and she had to steady herself against the wall. But she didn’t sit back down. Her breath came a little faster, though not from fear this time—just effort. Just living. It was hard sometimes.

Elin padded slowly to the curtain, listening, trying to hear if somebody was out there. Nothing.

She hesitated, fingers on the latch. Then, slowly, she pushed the curtain aside.

The world didn’t break into chaos.

The main hall lay in quiet hush, lit only by the dying fire in the hearth. No voices. No footsteps. No eyes waiting in the dark.

Clutching the blanket tighter, she slipped out. Her bare feet made no sound on the wooden floor as she crept forward, steps careful and measured. With every one, she waited for something—a shout, a hand, pain—but none came. Only the soft groan of timbers and the fire’s glow ahead.

She made it to the hearth.

Lowering herself to the ground took effort. Her body still ached when she bent too far, and the floor was cold beneath her, but she didn’t care. She wrapped the blanket more tightly around her, knees drawn to her chest. It was the one Finan had left folded by her door two days ago. She’d touched carefully first, then clutched it like a lifeline.

It still smelled faintly of pine and woodsmoke. Of fire. Of something else too—something unfamiliar and soft, like warmth made solid.

Like safety.

She didn’t believe it yet. Not fully. But she could pretend, here in the quiet, when the others were sleeping. Here, alone, she could curl in on herself without anyone trying to fix her or reach for her or drag her back into being someone she wasn’t ready to be.

From the far end of the hall, Uhtred had seen the flicker of movement—heard the faint scrape of the curtain. Then he’d spotted the small figure making her way to the hearth, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

He watched her settle, knees hugged close, firelight dancing against her pale hair.

When her eyes flicked toward the darker corner of the hall, where he stood half-shrouded in shadow, he stepped back without a word. He let her have the space. The silence. The choice.

Her gaze lingered a moment longer, uncertain—but there was no one there.

She looked back at the fire.

And she stayed.

The blanket smelled like pine. Like smoke. Like hands that had never tried to hurt her.

And for the first time in her life, she had a feeling of home.

[darkadaline]

Ashes and Honey

Chapter 1

The cold crept under the thin, tattered blanket as Elin stirred awake. Her hut — if it could be called that — leaned precariously against the outer wall of the village, its roof patched with broken thatch and torn cloth. Frost laced the cracked wooden walls. She pulled the blanket tighter around her fragile body, but it did little to warm her aching limbs.

A dull throb twisted in her belly, a constant companion she barely noticed anymore. She could not remember what it felt like to be full—only the gnawing, hollow ache that had lived inside her for as long as she could recall. Time blurred when every hour was just another to survive. Her skin burned where it cracked from the cold, and her joints creaked when she shifted her weight.

Elin moved slowly, careful not to make noise. The thin soles of her battered shoes scuffed softly against the dirt floor as she peered through a jagged hole in the wall. Morning mist clung low to the ground. Villagers bustled about, their faces hard and closed.

She stepped outside, head bowed low. The moment her pale figure emerged, conversations faltered. People turned away, muttering prayers under their breath. A woman selling turnips spat at her feet. "Witch," the crone hissed.

Elin kept walking. Children were yanked from her path, mothers' hands tight around tiny wrists. No one touched her. No one spoke to her. But the hatred was louder than any shout.

Elin didn't react. She kept her head bowed, her white hair a tattered veil around her face, and moved on, each step heavy. This was the rhythm of her life. Fear. Loathing. Isolation.

Sometimes, she allowed herself to feel it — a prickling under her skin, a stirring deep inside her chest. Her instincts, faint and weakened by years of denial, whispered of safety, of protection. But she knew better. That craving was a curse. Her kind — omega — was cursed. There was no safety here. No protector. Only herself, and the fragile thread of survival she clung to.

Her hands trembled as she clutched the shawl tighter around her shoulders and disappeared into the back alleys, hoping to survive another day unseen.

_______________

At Rumcofa, the morning began with the usual clatter of preparations. Uhtred leaned over a map spread across the long table, Finan at his side, Sihtric sharpening a blade nearby. Osferth entered, dust from the road still clinging to his cloak.

"You look troubled, monk," Finan said, straightening.

"There’s trouble," Osferth said, voice tight. "In Hlenwic."

The villages around Rumcofa were isolated — scattered like forgotten stones. Hlenwic was worse than most. Uhtred knew it. They patrolled these parts often, sometimes traded with the more decent folk, but law held no sway here. Between the stronger holdings, there was only fear and brute survival. That kind of lawlessness seeps into the bones of a place. They’d seen it before — what it did to people. What it did to omegas.

Finan grunted. "A nest of vipers, that place."

Uhtred’s brow furrowed. "Explain."

Osferth shifted uneasily. "They speak of a girl. An omega. They treat her poorly. Some say she's cursed.”

Finan cursed under his breath, pushing off the table. "Ignorant bastards."

Uhtred’s jaw tightened. Among the Saxons, omegas were often little more than breeding stock. He had seen it — suffered the stench of it — even when his own wife Gisela lived. Among the Danes, it was different. Omegas were precious, revered. Protected.

How much harsher this world was for an omega born powerless.

Finan leaned closer, his shoulder brushing briefly against the other's. It was subtle — too subtle for most to notice — but Uhtred’s eyes flicked to him, and in that moment, no words were needed. Finan’s anger was Uhtred’s. His resolve mirrored Uhtred’s. They didn’t need to speak when the path ahead was already clear between them.

"We ride," Uhtred said, rolling up the map.

Finan grinned at Sihtric. "When Uhtred gets that look, best not argue."

Still, as they gathered their gear, a strange unease gnawed at Uhtred’s mind. A whisper of something important waiting for him beyond the mists.

_______________

Smoke drifted on the air as Elin kept to the edges of the village, wary of the center where danger always lurked. She wasn't drawn by curiosity but was tending to the few snare traps she had set nearby, her hands quick and practiced even as shouts carried faintly to her ears.

The granary. It was ablaze, tongues of fire licking greedily at the old wood. Villagers shouted and scrambled to contain it. 

"Witch!" someone screamed.

Hands grabbed her, rough and unforgiving. Someone struck her across the face — her vision flashed white, a piercing burst of pain stealing her breath. Stones pelted her thin arms and legs, each impact blooming fresh bruises across her fragile skin. She fought against the hands dragging her, clawing at the muddy ground, begging in broken gasps for them to let her go. Her feet scrabbled uselessly in the muck, and the more she struggled, the tighter their grip became, wrenching her forward with cruel, relentless force.

Rough hands yanked her forward as she fought and kicked, her hoarse cries begging them to let her go. Each frantic jerk only made their grip tighten cruelly. She clawed at the muddy ground, nails splitting, her breath coming in broken sobs of terror. A blow to her temple sent her sprawling, dazed, they clamped a heavy iron collar around her neck, the cold metal biting into her skin. Panic surged — she twisted, tried to flee — but another strike cracked against her shoulder, stealing the strength from her legs. The chain rattled sharply as they dragged her into the square like a captured animal, and threw her to the ground. Her head swam as the collar tethered her cruelly to the whipping post, trapping her in place.

_______________

Rain began to fall, thin and biting at first, then getting stronger and stronger lashing against her like a punishment. It soaked her through, weighing down the rags she wore until they clung heavily to her skeletal frame, chilling her already shivering body to the marrow. The iron collar around her neck grew colder, a vicious shackle that gnawed into her raw, tender skin. Each breath rasped painfully against the metal, each inhale a shudder of agony. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, her body wracked with tremors she couldn't stop. Misery seeped into her bones, cruel and unrelenting.

The villagers' hateful murmurs never ceased, twisting into cruel laughter and whispered threats that floated on the storm winds. She couldn't understand all the words, but the tone was enough to freeze her blood. She cowered against the whipping post, rain blinding her, body convulsing from cold and terror.

Her mind spun in dizzying, chaotic circles, each thought more horrifying than the last. She imagined cruel hands seizing her, ripping her from the post, dragging her into the shadows where screams were swallowed by the dark. She saw flashes of other women, other omegas,  she had glimpsed over the years — bruised faces, broken bodies, empty eyes after nights no one spoke about. Fear gnawed at her insides, savage and insatiable, a living thing that tightened around her throat. What punishments awaited her? A public beating? Worse? Her skin crawled at the thought of hands on her body, of being stripped of even this last shred of dignity. She curled into herself, shuddering, the iron collar biting cruelly into her neck with every trembling movement. She was utterly alone, the cold soaking through her bones, and no one was coming to save her. 

_______________

The first light of dawn filtered through the thick, low-hanging clouds as Uhtred and his men approached Hlenwic. The village slumped against the bleak landscape, a scatter of crude huts and sagging roofs patched with moldy thatch. Mud clung to the narrow paths like a second skin, churned by countless footsteps and the wheels of worn carts. Smoke hung heavy in the air, a sour mixture of damp wood and old cooking fires. Pigs rooted lazily in the filth beside crooked doorways, and half-starved dogs slunk between shadows. Broken fences leaned drunkenly, and the few villagers already awake cast wary glances at the approaching horsemen before scuttling inside, bolting their doors. The whole place reeked of suspicion and decay, a village slowly rotting from the inside out. Tension coiled tighter as they pressed on toward the marketplace, the heart of this miserable settlement.

Then Uhtred saw her.

Huddled against the whipping post, little more than a sodden heap of white hair and torn cloth, was the omega Osferth had spoken of.

He narrowed his eyes, a sharp breath catching in his throat. Even filthy and battered, her white hair gleamed like moonlight. Her skin was paper-thin against the cold. Her deep blue eyes — wide with terror — met his for a heartbeat before she flinched away.

"Christ," Finan muttered beside him. "She looks like a wraith."

Uhtred didn’t answer aloud, but he heard more in Finan’s voice than the words alone. Their bond was old, forged in blood and hardship, and Uhtred didn’t need Finan to say the words aloud. The familiar note of concern, and something deeper — something Finan wouldn’t name yet — hummed just beneath the surface. Finan always might make light of the moment, might cover the flicker of feeling with a jest, but not this time. Uhtred saw it — the tightness at the corners of his mouth, the tension coiled just beneath the surface.  He caught the way Finan’s eyes lingered a moment longer, the brief stiffening of his posture. He felt the same pull, and he saw Finan feel it too. Not just pity, not just outrage — something older, instinctive, buried deep. Uhtred didn’t blame him. Even filthy, she was striking. Even trembling, there was something about her that beckoned. But it wasn’t time to speak of that. Not yet.

Uhtred's gaze returned to the girl. That ancient, unspoken instinct inside him stirred again, fierce and certain. But he shoved it down. Focus.

The villagers spilled from their homes, chattering nervously.

Uhtred pulled his horse to a halt, scanning the gathering crowd. His voice cut sharply across the mutters: "Who is in charge here?"

An older man, thick-bodied and small, reluctantly stepped forward, his eyes wary.

"You did this?" Uhtred demanded, voice like iron.

Only then did the crowd erupt again, louder, more vicious: "She’s cursed!" they shouted. "Witchspawn!"

"She brings misfortune," the man said. "We lost half our harvest due to a fire. It’’s her doing."

Uhtred cut him off with a sharp, dismissive gesture. "Release her. Now."

The man sputtered, but one look at Uhtred's face silenced him. The chains were unlocked with reluctant hands.

Uhtred stayed seated atop his horse, towering above the villagers, his eyes sharp and commanding. He gave a small, deliberate nod toward Osferth — the monk appearing the least threatening among them. Osferth understood immediately. He dismounted slowly, careful not to startle the trembling girl. With painstaking gentleness, he knelt in the mud before her, moving as one might approach a wounded animal. He offered a waterskin, his heart breaking as he saw how her bones jutted against her soaked, clinging rags, her body a frail testament to years of cruelty.

Elin flinched violently even at his gentle approach. She pressed herself tighter against the post, breath hitching in panic.

Finan’s face darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. Sihtric turned his gaze away, jaw tight.

Uhtred stood back, watching carefully. He knew omegas — their needs, their instincts. He had been taught to honor them. But this — this was different. This girl was broken, fragile and wild with terror.

He would need to go slower than he ever had before. Gentler. More careful.

_______________

The tension thickened.

The villagers milled uncertainly, voices rising in anger and accusation. The headman stepped forward again, jabbing a thick finger toward the chained girl. "She must be punished! She set the fire!"

Uhtred sat tall on his horse, voice cold and cutting through the noise. "There is a raider in these lands," he said. "Already fields and camps have been set ablaze in neighboring villages. Your suffering comes not from her."

The villagers muttered among themselves, doubt and suspicion shifting their stance. Some looked uneasy. Others clenched their fists, unwilling to let go of their hatred.

Uhtred’s gaze swept over them, hard and commanding, forcing them to listen.

And in that moment of distraction, Elin ran.

She bolted like a startled deer, barefoot and trembling, tearing across the muddy ground toward the dark woods beyond.

"Shite!" Sihtric cursed, lunging after her.

"She runs like a bloody deer," Finan said, a note of grudging admiration in his voice.

Uhtred's instincts roared to chase, to catch, but he forced himself to remain still. In all his years, he had seen fear in the eyes of men and women alike—fear of battle, fear of death. But this was something else entirely. This was not fear born of reason or circumstance. This was pure, primal terror, the kind that tore through thought and left only the desperate urge to escape. It was the blind, instinctive scramble of a creature that knew only pain and betrayal. He recognized it instantly, and it carved into him deeper than any sword. It stayed his hand, made him lower the reins, and instead filled him with a fierce, aching resolve: to be different. To be safe. To be the one who did not strike her down.

"Split up," he ordered sharply.

Finan, already moving, muttered darkly, "We’ll be lucky if we don’t scare her to death before we gain her trust."

Finan glanced at Uhtred as they split up, and for the briefest second, concern flickered between them — not just for the girl, but for what she stirred in them both. Uhtred gave him a nod, silent assurance that they were aligned, even in this. They didn’t need to say, be careful. It was already understood.

The girl was faster than any of them expected, her terror lending her a desperate, wild speed. She darted through the muddy streets, a fleeting blur of pale hair and torn rags, and before they could close the distance, she was already out of the village and disappearing into the woods beyond. They followed, scattering into the woods after her. The trees closed around them, the underbrush clawing at their horses legs. After a few tense minutes of searching, Uhtred caught a glimpse of her — a pale figure half-hidden behind a tree. She stumbled, her thin legs giving out beneath her, and fell heavily to the ground.

He spurred his horse after her, heart hammering, the primal pull growing stronger with every pounding beat.

[darkadaline]

Ashes and Honey

Pairing: Uhtred of Bebbanburg x Finan the Agile x reader

Summary:

In a world where trust is hard-won and safety rarely given, one omega begins a quiet journey toward belonging—with two warriors who refuse to let her walk it alone.

Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

[darkadaline]

NAVIGATION

Welcome to my blog!

I will post collections of fanfictions I like as well as my own works here.

Thank you for visiting!

Masterlist collection

Here you can find a collection of my favorite works from other authors.

Masterlist - My own works

Here you can find my own works.

[darkadaline]

My Masterlist

These are my own works. :)

SWAT:

Donovan Rocker

Gentle Guidance

The Last Kingdom:

Uhtred of Bebbanburg x Finan the Agile x OC

Ashes and Honey - Series (ongoing)

[darkadaline]

Gentle Guidance

Pairing: Donovan Rocker x virgin!reader

Summary: After dating for a while, you spend the night at Donovan Rocker’s place for the first time.

_________

Standing outside Donovan’s door, your heart pounds so loudly it’s all you can hear. You’ve been here before, spent time with him, but tonight feels different. Because tonight, you’re staying.

You swallow hard as the door swings open, revealing Donovan in a fitted T-shirt and sweatpants, barefoot, looking as effortlessly handsome as ever.

His smile is immediate, easy. "Hey, sweetheart."

The warmth in his voice soothes you instantly, and you exhale a little. "Hey."

He steps back, holding the door open. "Come in."

The scent of something delicious fills the space as you step inside. You glance toward the kitchen, where two plates are already set on the counter.

"You cooked?"

He smirks. "Yeah. I know you’ve had a long week." His hand rests on the small of your back as he guides you toward the kitchen. "Figured you deserved a home-cooked meal."

Your chest tightens in that now-familiar way—the way it always does when he does something thoughtful without even thinking twice about it.

"That’s really sweet, Donovan," you say softly, looking up at him.

His smirk softens, his fingers brushing lightly against your spine. "Told you, I take care of my girl."

The words send a pleasant shiver down your back, and you quickly lower your gaze, suddenly hyperaware of how big he is compared to you, how effortlessly he moves around you.

Throughout dinner, he keeps the conversation light, asking about your day, making you laugh with his dry humor. But you also notice the way he watches you—the way he makes sure you’re eating enough, the way his eyes flicker with quiet concern whenever you glance away, lost in thought. And even though your nerves still hum beneath the surface, you find yourself relaxing under his quiet, steady presence.

After dinner, he takes your plate before you can protest. "Sit. I got this."

You hesitate. "I can help—"

"Sweetheart." His voice is firm but laced with amusement as he gives you that look—the one that says you’re not winning this argument.

You sigh dramatically but obey, curling up on his couch as he finishes in the kitchen. When he finally joins you, he doesn’t sit right away. Instead, he leans over the back of the couch, his hands resting on the cushions beside you.

"You comfy?" You nod. "Good." He leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple before moving around to sit beside you - close but not imposing, and you feel his warmth seep into your skin. His arm rests casually along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing the curve of your shoulder.

You try to focus on the movie he put on, but your thoughts drift—he is all you can think about. The way his warmth seeps into you, the scent of his skin, the effortless way he envelops you without even trying.

You shift slightly, not because you’re uncomfortable, but because you don’t know what to do with yourself. You feel his fingers pause for half a second before resuming their slow movements.

"You nervous, baby?"

His voice is low, knowing.

You tense. "I—"

He doesn’t let you finish. He turns toward you, pulling you gently against him. His free hand comes up, tilting your chin so you’re looking at him.

"Talk to me," he murmurs. Your breath catches. He knows. He always knows.

"I…" You hesitate, your skin burning under his gaze. "I just—tonight feels different."

He studies you for a long moment, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "It is different," he agrees, his voice softer now.

Your stomach tightens, anticipation curling deep. He’s so close, his body heat wrapping around you, his gaze locked onto yours like he’s memorizing every tiny reaction.

His fingers slide down your arm, slow and deliberate, until they find your hand. He laces your fingers together, his grip firm, grounding.

"Come here," he says, his voice gentle but certain.

He shifts, guiding you onto his lap, your knees bracketing his hips as his hands settle on your waist.

Your breath catches. You’ve never been this close before—not like this. His touch is warm, steady, and his eyes search yours for any hesitation.

"You’re safe with me," he whispers. "I won’t rush you."

You nod, and he leans in, pressing his lips to yours—slow, unhurried, savoring the moment. His hands slide beneath your sweater, fingers tracing up your spine, coaxing a soft gasp from you.

He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, his grip tightening on your waist as he guides you against him. The feel of him beneath you is overwhelming in the best way—solid, warm, wanting, but he keeps his movements controlled, measured, letting you set the pace.

His lips trail down your jaw, lingering at your pulse, and when he feels the way it flutters beneath his mouth, he smiles against your skin.

"I got you, sweetheart," he murmurs.

You shiver at the words, at the way he holds you so effortlessly.

His hands roam slowly, exploring, testing, learning what makes you sigh, what makes your breath hitch. You feel his restraint in the way his fingers hesitate before moving lower, in the way he keeps checking your reactions.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he whispers against your neck.

"It’s not," you breathe, fingers curling into his shoulders.

His hands tighten on your thighs, and he shifts beneath you, lifting you with ease as he stands, carrying you effortlessly.

"Bed," he says simply, his voice rougher now, and your stomach flips at the explanation.

You don’t question him. You don’t want to.

He moves through the dimly lit hallway, cradling you against his chest, and when he reaches the bedroom, he sets you down gently on the edge of the bed, kneeling before you.

His hands rest on your knees, thumbs tracing slow circles.

"Are you sure?"

The weight of his gaze, the patience in his voice—it makes your heart ache in the best way.

"Yes," you whisper.

His expression darkens with something deeper, something devouring, and he leans in, capturing your lips again, his hands sliding up your thighs, parting them slightly as he moves between them.

The sensation of him covering you, surrounding you, is intoxicating. He guides you back against the mattress, his weight pressing into you, but he never stops watching you—never stops making sure you feel safe.

His touch is slow, reverent, as he explores every inch of you, discovering what makes you tremble beneath him. His lips follow the path of his hands, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

"Breathe, baby," he murmurs against your skin. "Just feel."

And you do—every press of his lips, every brush of his fingers, the way he moves so deliberately, so completely focused on you.

He doesn’t rush the moment. His fingers tease, coax, easing the tension in your body before slipping lower, his touch gentle but insistent. He takes his time, learning how to make you relax, how to make your body respond to him.

"I need you to be ready for me, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice rough but still patient.

A shaky breath escapes you, and he takes it as encouragement, his fingers working you open with slow, measured strokes until your body softens beneath him, until he feels the subtle shift that tells him you’re ready.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, his forehead resting against yours as he aligns himself with you.

"Stay with me," he whispers, holding your gaze as he moves forward, inch by careful inch, giving you time to adjust, to breathe.

It’s overwhelming, yes. But with him, it feels safe. It feels right.

Donovan moves with an exquisite slowness, each thrust measured, letting your body adjust to him. His hands never stop touching you—one steady on your hip, the other smoothing over your thigh, your waist, your ribs. He watches you so intently, as if memorizing every reaction, every sound you make.

"You feel so good, sweetheart," he murmurs against your lips, voice rough with restraint.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, overwhelmed by the way he fills you, how perfectly he moves inside you. He keeps his pace unhurried, patient, letting you catch your breath, letting you feel everything.

"You're doing so good, baby," he praises, his hand slipping down to your thigh, lifting your leg higher against his waist. The shift changes everything—you gasp as he sinks just a little deeper, hitting a spot that makes your whole body tense.

He feels it immediately, his grip tightening. "There?" he asks, his voice lower now, huskier.

You nod, unable to find words, and he groans softly, rolling his hips just right, sending another wave of pleasure coursing through you.

"That's it," he coaxes, his lips brushing over your jaw, down your neck. "Let go for me, baby. Let me take you there."

His fingers slip between your bodies, finding the spot that makes you whimper, circling with careful precision. The added sensation has your breath stuttering, your thighs trembling against him.

"Donovan," you gasp, your hands clinging to him.

"I got you, sweetheart," he whispers. "Just let go."

The pleasure builds quickly, tension coiling deep in your core, until it becomes too much, until you can’t hold back anymore. Your body tightens around him, and he groans, his grip on you tightening.

"That’s it, sweetheart," he rasps, his voice rough with need. "Let go for me."

And you do. The pleasure crashes over you, stealing your breath, leaving you trembling beneath him. Your body clenches around him, pulsing, and the sensation pushes him right over the edge.

"Fuck—" His voice breaks, his rhythm faltering as his hips snap forward, his hands gripping your waist like he needs to ground himself. His head drops to your shoulder, his breath warm and ragged against your skin.

"You feel so good," he groans, his voice raw, "so perfect."

His muscles tense beneath your touch, and with one final thrust, he buries himself deep, releasing with a low, guttural moan. His body shudders, pressing flush against yours as pleasure overtakes him, his heartbeat thundering against your own.

For a long moment, neither of you move. His weight is warm and solid above you, his breath still uneven against your skin. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder, then another, softer this time.

"You okay?" he murmurs, lifting his head just enough to look into your eyes.

You nod, still catching your breath. "Yeah… that was…"

His lips quirk into a tired smile. "Yeah."

He presses a slow, sweet kiss to your lips before carefully pulling out, making sure you’re comfortable. He disappears for only a moment before returning with a warm cloth, gently cleaning you up, his touch careful, reverent.

"You need anything, sweetheart?" he asks as he settles back beside you, pulling the blanket over both of you.

"Just you," you murmur, snuggling into his chest.

His arms tighten around you, his lips pressing into your hair.

"Then sleep, baby," he whispers, voice husky with exhaustion. "I got you."

And with him holding you like this, you believe it.

________

You wake up to golden sunlight filtering through the curtains, the scent of him still clinging to your skin. His arm is heavy around your waist, his breath slow and even against your shoulder.

You shift slightly, and he stirs, his grip tightening instinctively. "Mmm… stay," he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

You smile. "I was just—"

"Just a little longer." His fingers trail lazily down your side.

You give in, letting yourself sink back into his warmth. Because right now, in this moment, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

[darkadaline]

My Masterlist of fanfic collections

Masterlist I

Masterlist II

Masterlist III

[darkadaline]

Masterlist III

SWAT

Masterlist SWAT

Caring - Chris Alonso

His Girls - Jim Street

Stitches - Chris Alonso

Nsfw Alphabet - Chris Alonso

Alone - Chris Alonso

Chris being affectionate - Chris Alonso

Chris and lap - Chris Alonso

Game to loose - Chris Alonso

Sexy time - Chris Alonso

Join me - Chris Alonso

Dating Chris Alonso - Chris Alonso

Late night cuddles - Chris Alonso

Protective - Chris Alonso

First meeting - Chris Alonso

You weren't supposed to know that - Chris Alonso

Unknown - Hondo

Swat Masterlist 1

Poly!20 Swat Masterlist

Poly Swat Masterlist

Sex Club - Chris, Hondo, Street

Don't be afraid - Chris Alonso

Safe - Chris Alonso

Love me - Chris, Street, Reader

Punishment - Poly

Cold - Jim Street

Secrets - Jim Street

Orgy - Poly

Sleepover - Poly

Never again - Jim Street

You're everything you need - Jim Street

Period sex - Jim Street

I can help with that - Jim Street

Introduction - Deacon

Jim Street Masterlist

Swat Masterlist 3

Swat Masterlist 4

Jim Street Masterlist 2

Hurt - Chris Alonso

Chris Alonso Masterlist

Hondo Harrelson Masterlist

Jim Street Masterlist 4

Can't help falling in love - Chris Alonso

Meeting the parents - Chris Alonso

Nothing to loose - Stris

In moments like these - Jim Street

Random facts - 20Squad

Period pain - Hondo

Baby, it's cold outside - Jim Street

Didn't you already ask me that - Jim Street

Estrange - Jim Street

Dog - Jim Street

Worth the wait - Jim Street

Opposites - Jim Street

Aftercare - Jim Street

Light out - Chris Alonso

Migraine - Chris Alonso

Frienship Headcannons - Chris Alonso

Difficult - Jim Street

Late - Jim Street, Chris Alonso, OC

Roommates - Deacon, Rocker, OC

VIKINGGS VALHALLA

Not just friends - Leif Eriksson

Keeping you warm - Leif Eriksson

Vikings Valhalla Masterlist

Heartbeat - Leif Eriksson

New beginnings - Harald Sigurdsson

Bleeding hearts - Harald Sigurdsson

A quiet interlude - King Canute

Frat party - Leif Eriksson

Alliances - Harald Sigurdsson

Slave - Masterlist H.S.

Near death - Harald Sigurdsson

Not so quiet now - Harald Sigurdsson

Arranged - Harald Sigurdsson

Renegades - Leif Eriksson

SAND CASTLE - Cpt. Syverson

Morning cuddles

A little more heart

Yrsa

Feral instinct

A night in red tee

The fallen wolves - Poly

L is for looks

The night of many firsts

First time

Syverson Masterlist

A cold tent but a warm Captain

Things you do that drive him crazy

Holding hands

Chocolate

Needles

I'll protect you

Ramble on - Poly

Not asking for help

Have ypu ever seen the rain

AUGUST WALKER

Gentle monsters

August and the maiden

Like a virgin

[darkadaline]

Masterlist II

Altered Carbon

Love again

Gone Soft

Takeshi Kovacs - Masterlist

Takeshi Kovacs - Masterlist II

You'll understand when you come my way

It's alright to feel broken

Intuition

Kinktober Day 29

Hand size

Height difference

Are you scared of me

These pages burn bright - Masterlist

Heaven on the weekend

As you begin to fall asleep

Lone wolf

Home

Wide open

Addicted

Sleep is for the weak

Reflections

Don't hide from me

Take my hand

Small price to pay

Bionic Exile - Masterlist

People disappear here - Masterlist

Touch me

Hold on to me

Straight to my head

Jealous, Protective

The Raven

Take care of you

New sleeve

Suicide Squad

Rick Flag

Peeping Tom's

What do you long for

Rick Flag - Masterlist

Thief

All manner of devotion

Kink master

What will stay

Heat up

Virgin

Shy

Say it

You'll understand when you come my way

Kinktober Masterlist

Heaven on the weekend

The Lady in the middle - with Syverson

Taron Egerton

Truth & Dare

Anxiety

I'm here

Steamy

Hurt

Cuddler

Midnight declaration

Taron Egergon Masterlist

Virgin

Lingerie

Helping hand

Peaky Blinders

An introduction - Tommy Shelby

Rough - Tommy Shelby

Shorty - Tommy Shelby

These Shelby eyes - Tommy Shelby

One day you'll speak - Tommy Shelby

Right place, right time - Tommy Shelby

Fluffy blanket - Tommy Shelby

When it comes to you - Tommy Shelby

Cold tea - Tommy Shelby

Virgin - Shelby brothers

Older man - Tommy Shelby

Seasonal love - Tommy Shelby

You're not like her - Tommy Shelby

Helping hand - Tommy Shelby

Fading innocence - Tommy Shelby

Bound for more - Tommy Shelby

Quiet post girl - Tommy Shelby

Daisy - Tommy Shelby

Naive - Tommy Shelby

You felt right - Tommy Shelby

Nightcap - Tommy Shelby

Shelby brothers Masterlist

Birmingham - Tommy Shelby

To be alone - Tommy Shelby

Crosses on my body - Tommy Shelby

Making amends - Tommy Shelby

Flipped - Masterlist T.S.

Silence - Masterlist T.S.

Thomas Shelby Masterlist

Clueless - Tommy Shelby

Protect you - Tommy Shelby

Who did this to you? - Tommy Shelby

Scraped Heart - Shelby Family

My brothers friend - Tommy Shelby

You'll be save here - Tommy Shelby

Messing with the Peaky Blinders - Shelby Family

[darkadaline]

Masterlist I

Marvel

Stucky

Brave new World - Drabble

Sneaking in

No one as sweet as you

Accidents happen

Protective boyfriends

Flinch

Stucky - Masterlist

Nightmare

Run while you can

Bucky Barnes

Shy

Stuck with you

Protector

Though I have never reader it

Comfort

Protective

Protective Bucky

Your Protector, Forever

Bucky is only soft for you

Drunk

Safe space

Bucky Series - Masterlist

Bucky Barnes - Masterlist

Silverfox Bucky - List

The first time

Marvel Cast

Homesick - Anthony Mackie

Lost in Disneyworld - Anthony Mackie, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans

Come on, little Lady, give US a smile - Anthony Mackie, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans

Sebastian Stan

Too Shy for Romanian

I am not that short - platonic

I'll take care of you - platonic

To write love on her Arms- platonic

Sleepless nights - platonic

You're letting me win

One hell of a blind date

Being mobbed by paps

Jealous Stan

We're not really strangers - Masterlist

Night in Hollywood - Chris Evans, Sebastian Stan, Henry Cavill

Polar opposite

Hickeys

Birthday Girl

Set