#leofric x you

[witchthewriter]

𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Warnings: knife flirting, a bit nsfw but not much

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISTP

Hufflepuff

Neutral Good or Lawful Good

Capricorn Sun, Cancer Moon, Libra Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・I'm going to be completely honest. He hated the thought of you going into battle, or going near any sort of danger.

・He was your protector, he was the one to make sure you were okay, that you were safe.

・But you wanted to be able to keep yourself safe, as well as anyone else that needed your help

・Uhtred was enamored by you; not only did you have the attitude of a warrior, but you could pull almost anything off.

"If you don't marry her Leofric, I definitely will."

・That earned a slap on the back of the head to the Dane/Saxon

・But that did bring on a whole lot of insecurities for Leofric. He definitely thought he wasn't good enough for you. That he wasn't good looking enough. Didn't have the right social standing for you.

・For a long time you thought he didn't like you

・However, you were used to it, with being a warrior woman

・Men felt emasculated by you. Even by looking at you. You didn't wear skirts.

・This, this, this , this and this were/are your daily attire. Depending on your day and what is going on etc.

・Leofric is a very sweet man. Well, he is to you. There's nothing he will deny you.

・Honestly, this man goes along with whatever you say (mostly to keep you out of trouble).

・He smiles a lot more when he's around you. Uhtred brought it up once; it was that moment that Leofric realised he was truly in love with you.

・Uhtred is your best friend. You bicker with each other every time you're together.

・Leofric kept himself from you for a long time because he thought you were with Uhtred. That you were 'his woman.'

・When you heard that you choked on your ale.

"The hell I am! I'd rather pluck out my eye balls then be his woman."

・You knew Uhtred's arrogance, and saw him like a brother. A purely platonic relationship.

・When Leofric found out that you liked him. He instantly denied it.

"No, no, she doesn't feel that way. No."

・Uhtred was like cupid trying to get you two together

・And when he was successful; Leofric and you, became inseparable. Whenever you were pulled away to do your duties, it felt like a piece of you was missing.

・When Leofric didn't have you in his company, he felt lost. He felt sad. You were the light in his life. The only thing he truly cared about.

・Some people rose their eyebrows at you; some even going as far to say something. But you both shut that shit down immediately.

・Just a girl and her bodyguard.

・A woman and her large shadow.

・Leofric wanted to marry you as soon as possible. To tie himself to you in the eyes of his Lord and country.

・He wanted everyone to know you two were together.

・The proposal was very sweet, romantic - just the two of you.

・The ring was his mother's, nothing too flashy. But an heirloom all the same.

・You jumped into his arms before he even finished his sentence.

"Yes! Yes you fool! Of course I'll marry you-"

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Gomez & Morticia Adams

"Think they'll try us?" (You) x "Fuck I hope so." (Leofric)

"What did I do?" (You) x "Today or in general? Either way it's bad." (Leofric)

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

He Doesn't Think He's Good Enough For Her

Sacrifice and Devotion

Challenging Social Conventions

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Too Sweet by Hozier

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞

・Leofric has had some ... experience in this area. He's a man, in his thirties - so of course he has.

・The first time you two had sex together was very rushed. It didn't start off that way though.

・The kiss had started off slow and steady.

・The second you pulled back, thinking it was a mistake, he pulled you back in. A hand on the back of your head and the other gripping the back of your shirt.

・Making sure you were completely pressed against him. Reminding himself that you were in his arms. That you felt the same way.

・Normal sex with Leofric is slow and sensual. He likes to take his time with foreplay; touching you everywhere he can. Sucking on your neck, massaging your breasts, sucking, flicking and biting on your nipples

・He doesn't want you to be quiet, Leofric wants to hear you moan. He needs to hear it.

・The thing that has become an obsession in his mind is the thought of fucking you. Making love to you. Eating you out. Ploughing into you for hours, making you a sweaty mess.

"You had enough? Aye?" He'd say in between thrusts. Making you mewl beneath him. Grabbing whatever you could to ground yourself.

"Mmmm," was all you could come out with. The ability to talk had been fucked out of you long ago.

He chuckled, low and gutteral, "one more round love, you can go one more round."

[errruvande]

Scars (Leofric x Reader)

Summery: Reader and Leofric are talking about their scars. Word counts: 3.286 TW: mention of blood, slight hint of raping, otherwise everything is as innocent as a newborn baby and Leofric being an absolute sweetheart because he is when he’s not busy mocking Uthred ;D

AN: I'm back on track it seems and this is my first (of many) fic with Leofric. Why? Cause I love him dearly 💖This man is shamfully overlooked and this is the exact time we need to fix it! more Leofric content for y'all 👀

AN2: I reposted it, cause wehn i origianlly posted it i was in shadow-ban and post've been hidden

“Drink this after meals, lady, it will soothe the pain,” you were pacing towards the door with a few wooden cups in your hands, and when one of your feet was already outside, you turned to face Mildrith. “And please, do not put it into ale, only into water, my lady.”

“Y/N, I do not deserve you.” She said in a soft voice and you answered with a smile. 

The day was chilly, fall’s wind was biting and the air was getting more and more moist with each day. Uthred and his men were scouting the Mercian borders from time to time, scaring away the tiny parties of the Danes and helping villagers. 

You walked from Uthred’s house to your own, that was on the other side of Cookham, putting more speed at your pace when you finally saw the wooden door of your home. You blew it open, pressing your back to the wood with all the weight you had - hands busy with gathered cups and fingers stiff at their adge. You put the cups down on the little table you had just near the doorway and tried to heat up your fingers by blowing the warm air from your mouth on them, as you turned to the center of the room to seek the heat of the fireplace, leaping up on the spot from seeing a man, crouched before the fire, back facing the doorway. 

You didn’t need to ask for the name, because only one man from all the ones of Uthred’s and his friends could bust in your home without bothering himself to ask you first. 

Well, actually there were two, Uthred himself wasn’t much of a high behaviour, but we’re not talking about him now. 

“Leofric?” You paced deep into the room, arching the sitting man. They just arrived from yet another scouting, as you saw Uthred, all waisted with exhaustion, when you were with Mildrith. 

“Y/N…” he lifted his stare up your legs to your body and finally to your face, a gloomy smile shone on his face. “It’s nothing, I didn’t want to bother you.” The Dane’s ax probably has found its way through Leofric’s mail and tipped the skin on his side. 

You exhaled, crouching next to him. “Let me help.” You bent forward to take the needle from his hand, but Leofric tugged it back. 

“I’ll manage, thank you” he grumbled, twisting his body uncomfortably to take a better look at the wound he was trying to treat. You pushed him slightly to the forehead, almost making him fall back and seized the needle from his trembling hand. 

“Why are you men always so tempted to do everything on your own, when you have people trained specifically in the field?” He said nothing, much to your surprise, because Leofric always had something to say, something to joke himself out of troubles. You put the needle aside. “What did you want to treat with that needle? This wound merely needs a bandage soaked in herbed water.”

Leofric pouted, scratching his nape. “I remember you mended Uthred’s wound, it was the same and I tho-“

“No, it wasn't,” you said softly as you poured some smelly water into the bowl and put a long, thin piece of fabric into it, along with a few small ones. “Uthred’s one was deep and dangerous and this one…” you lifted the hem of his tunic to study the wound, letting shivers run down Leofric’s skin, for your hands were still cold from the gloomy weather. “This one just needs to be cleaned up.”

Leofric looked at you, the brown eyes clenched into yours and you saw a glimpse of shame glinting in them, but only laughed softly. “Put the tunic off”

He gave you a look. “I know that every girl is trying to lay her eyes on my beauties, but Y/N, I thought you're a better woman” Despite his wound, even though it wasn’t any bad it still hurt much, Leofric was in a good mood. He leaned on his arm and laughed.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes at the joke. “Then, I guess, my Gods have favoured me.” He smiled, now wholeheartedly, looking at you putting the bowl next to your knees. “I’m serious, Leofric, take off your tunic.”

He breathed out all the air he had and grabbed the hem of the tunic, lifting it up carefully, trying no to touch the wound. The skin around it was reddish and itchy and you saw the muscles on his side twitching, for he wanted to scratch it badly. You were focused on the wound, helping Leofric to lift the tunic by barely touching the hem and shielding the wound from its soft material, as you were distracted by the other scars around it. The higher the tunic was lifted the more scars you saw on Leofric’s body, and if you would try to count how many of it he has, you’d have lost in the number after reaching twenty or so, and that only scars at his belly and chest.

Leofric noticed your eyes wandering from one scar to another. “A man of many scars, eh?” he said with a smile and you gulped, mind busy with making a response.

“Well…” You murmured quietly, then seizing Leofric’s eyes with your stare you just laughed out “I think your mail sucks…” Leofric laughed sharply, nodding a few times.

The laughter died on your lips when you tugged the bowl with the soaked fabric closer, suddenly remembering that you had a wound to treat. Leofric was sitting in front of you, legs twisted before him and you knocked slightly on his knee. “I need some space.” you said, making his legs rest on the floor on the both sides of you, as he nodded.

You made yourself comfortable, sitting between his thighs so you could easily reach his side. Leofric hissed and jerked on the feeling of the cold, wet cloth and the liquid that was pinching badly on the raw meat of the wound. “This hurts more than the wound itself!” He pouted like a child and the light giggle that rolled off your lips only made him roll his eyes.

Now, when you were done with cleaning, you pressed another piece of fabric, the long one, to his wound, you had to lean forward to wrap it around Leofric’s body and tie the two edges. 

“Y/N, if you wanted to put your head on my bare chest you could’ve simply asked me.” Leofric said, and even if you couldn’t catch his stare on your head - cheek just slightly rubbing against his skin - you heard it in his voice that he was smiling. “I have no heart to decline to lay with such a beautiful woman!”

“Leofric!” You snapped at him so savagely, he almost leaped on the spot, but burst into laughter after. The urge to punch him was so tense, you felt the blood in your hands boiling. “You’re such a child!” You growled. “Stop laughing, you’re not helping!”

You tied the fabric so tight around Leofric’s body, he let the hiss at the tightness of it, and demanded him to sit on the spot for a few more minutes, for the wound should absorb the useful elements of the liquid, or it won't help. 

“Take this.” You stood up and paced to the table where the vasin with ale was standing and poured it into two cups, handing one of them to Leofric and collapsing next to him on the floor. You were gazing at him over the edge of your cup, eyes again attracted to the numberless scars on his body.

“I’d tell you about mine, if you tell me about yours.” He sneered, putting his cup on the floor. “This one, on your hand?” Leofric glanced over your forearm, on which the huge white scar was placed. He gaped at the look of it. “Looks painful.”

You only nodded. “I was playing with my friend when I was a little child - a catch,” you added, smiling on Leofric shivering from the word. It seems the big man didn’t quite like running. “and when I was running from her, I fell on one of the pikes my father made to place them on the fence.” You were rubbing the white bulge on your hand. “The pike went through my arm.”

“Sweet Christ!” He shrugged, looking at the scar. “You must’ve been terrified? I have one scar from the arrow that went through my leg,” Leofric tugged the hem of one of his trousers leg and pointed at the dot-looking scar on the right calf. “The bastard Dane got me with his damned arrow, that beast hurt as hell.” He saw your face winced and scoffed silently. “It’s your turn, ask?”

It was rather an unfair game, for you had so little scars and Leofric had so many of them, and you had a few you were interested to hear him speak about. You pointed to his chest - the scar there was almost as long as broad Leofric’s chest was and started near his right side and ended on the left side of his chest.

Leofric laughed, tapping the scar. “That’s one from childhood, too!” He looked through you and the smile on his face suddenly vanished, turned into a scowl. “I was with my sister, Eadgyth, we went swimming to the river, and I was helpless in the water then, so the stream got me and led me right into the fisherman's net. I nearly died then, with a rope tangled around my chest so tight I thought it was about to burst into pieces.” You realized you weren’t breathing, pictures of a little boy tugged into the hurling water and his sister screaming for help flashed in your mind. “The rope razed into my skin so deep, people said they saw my bones. The local healer was a clumsy bastard, so he mended it poorly.” He pouted, pouring ale into his mouth and then grubbing your hand swiftly he placed one of your fingers to the wound. “See? Fucking disaster!”

It was true and your eyes widened on the feeling of the old scar that was mended so poorly, it was all out of place. “I would’ve done it better.”

“You would definitely have.” Leofric smirked, noticing he still had his hand on yours and you were still rubbing the scar gently, and he must have admitted he felt uncommonly light in the chest under the timid touch. “Well, it’s not even my biggest, eh.” He smiled again, recalling the moment of getting his biggest scar, which also was gifted to him when he was a boy of 15 years old.

“It’s not?” You thought your scar on the hand was big, and it was, enough to scare little children from running near the workplaces, but you didn’t think you would see something bigger than Leofric’s chest’s scar.

“I annoyed my sister so damn hard by beating up the boy she was interested in,” and after a pause he added that the boy was a rascal and only wanted to hump her. ‘she beated the shit out of my bare back with the rye stems…” Leofric saw you giggling shamelessly, or they ale did instead of you, and leaned forward with a frown. “That was pretty painful, why are you laughing?” He turned his back on you, grumping loudly. “Look how she destroyed my poor back! It was the most beautiful back in the whole of Wessex and look at it now!”

You gasped silently, letting the tips of your fingers run over Leofric’s back, feeling a dozen thin but long scars underneath your fingers. His back was as one of a slave, he hardly had a one inch of smooth skin on it and his whole body shivered when you put your palms flat to his back, covering the scars. 

“I wish I had you to beat the shit out of everyone who tried to use me…” Gavilly whisper left your mouth without your concern, the ale decided what you wanted to say. “I wouldn’t have rewarded you with that…” 

You haven’t noticed the tears started to roll down your face, smashing at Leofric’s back. You felt his back stop moving as he held his breath, mind too busy figuring out what to say. But you were already too overwhelmed with memories and emotions - your hands slid down Leofric’s back and you leaned on it like on a pillow, chick pressed to one of the dozen tiny scars. 

Both of you were silent for a few heartbeats, feeling the tension filling the room. 

“Y/N?” Leofric tried to half-turn, putting his arm right under your belly to make sure you won’t fall off his back as he tried to look at you. You answered with unconscious sniff. 

He lifted you from his back with his hand slowly and, for you were crying bubbling in his hands, he let you sink into him and tangle your hands around his chest, finding comfort in his towering figure. Leofric didn’t know what to say, placing his hands softly on your back, but he knew well enough that saying nothing was better than saying something stupid. You nuzzled into his chest, feeling his heart thundering heavily, it was beating like war drums and you suddenly felt his hands clenching into your back, pressing you tighter to himself. There was war waging inside his mind and Leofric found himself figuring the ways to find the bastards and beating the living soul out of them. Should he just cut them open from their guts to throats? Or put them in the first row of the shield wall? That would be too much of an honor for them, Leofric thought, to die for Wessex, they have to just die, for nothing, for the things they have done to you.

A few minutes passed in silence, with your light sobbing being the only sound in the room. Suddenly, you tore yourself off Leofric’s body, sniffing and wipping your face with your palms.

“I’m sorry…” You murmured, looking shamefully at the floor.

“You don’t have to.” He bent a little, trying to see your face, but you just sniffed, a trembling smile tugging on your reddish face.

“I don’t know why I said this, I didn’t have to bring it up on you…”You shifted from one leg to another, as you felt Leofric closed the distance between you and wrapped his hands around you, just as he did a few minutes ago. 

“Do you want me to find them?” He leaned back a bit to be able to see your face. “I’ll make sure they suffer, oh, I will…” The graveness in his voice scarred you a little, but the smile on your face drew itself without asking you.

You shook your head. “No, Leofric, I don’t.”

“Anything else I can do?” He asked, the hard note in his voice turned into one soothing.

You took your time to answer, still being in close proximity to Leofric’s bare, scarred chest. Your eyes glued to that huge scar he had already spoken about, and you couldn’t help yourself to cover it with the tips of your finger, feeling Leofric drew air as his broad chest had risen immediately. You brought your gaze to his face, eyes meeting his with a glint of shyness. “Do you have any funny stories?”

Leofric’s mouth fell open with a light sigh. Well, he definitely didn't expect that exact request. He dropped his stare, trying to remember something light and laughed, stepping back from you and tugging up the trousers leg again, pointing at his other calf being crossed with a tiny white mark. “That's one from my nephew, Osferth.” Leofric said and you thought this is the first time you saw a smile as adorable as it was now on his face, while he was remembering the little boy. “He was sent to the monastery and I’m visiting him when I can, for neither his mother nor his father is allowed to see him,”

You gasped at what you’d heard. “This is cruelty! Why?” 

Leofric shrugged. “He’s Alfred’s bastard, that’s why. But you’re not supposed to know.” He added then, whispering. You nodded, still the glint of surprise in your eyes. “So he’s around seven now. The boy is not really interested in being a monk, though he’s godly enough. I was talking with one of the nuns which looks after him when this little rascal tugged the saxe out of my belt and started running with it like demented and then accidently he bamped into my leg and, well,” he pointed at the scar and sneered. “Osferth was terrified with the amount of blood and I was trying not to swear like a pig in front of the kid and the nuns.” You tried to still the laugh, picturing Leofric jumping on one leg and growling through the closed teeth, when he had the urge to just shout in pain.

“It could have been a disaster!” You laughed out, much to Leofric’s joy and he nodded, agreeing.

Leofric saw a fire flickering in the window. It was late evening already and people were lighting up their ways home with the torches. He turned his eyes back at you, your body, so tired of that emotions’ thunder you had, shifting from foot to foot from not being stable enough, but still smiling at the thought of grumpy Leofric holding his grumpiness in front of the child. 

He wrapped his hand around your exhausted body, steadying you for a moment, and in the matter of a heartbeat lifted you up, going straight to your bed. “It’s almost night already, you need to rest.” He lay you upon your bed carefully and stepped back a few paces. “Is there anything you need?” You shook your head, and Leofric was about to grub his tunic from the floor and take his leave, when you stopped him. “Actually…” and you dropped your stare, fidgeting the light material you were lying on. “Would you mind staying? I have had trouble sleeping these last few days…” you saw his lips forming a thin line as he threw a stare at you. “It's alright if you won’t, I bet you’re exhausted after helping Uthred with Danes.”

“I’ll stay,” Leofric came closer to you, and you made space for him to sit on the bed next to you. “I have a few more stories in my bag to tell you, eh.” He glanced over you with a smirk. “You know what they used to say?” You curled up one brow, already smiling on whatever Leofric was about to say. “Leofric is not only good looking, but a damn great at telling stories!” He saw the mirth in half-closed eyes of yours. “I’m not joking, you ask them about me when you’ll visit Winchester, see for yourself.”

Twenty minutes hadn’t passed and Leofric already was feeling you dozing off, murmuring something absurd along with his words. Have you ever thought of being talked into sleep by Leofric? Probably not. But there you were.

When Leofric woke up the next day’s morning, he felt the frail warm breath spreading across his back with your hand resting on his side. He lingered, not desiring to break the feeling he had not felt in years - the lightness in his chest.

When you woke up the next day’s morning, you saw a tray with food on the other side of the bed, and you thought that if Leofric could write, he would leave you a sweet note.

AN: I hope you liked it 💖

tlk taglist: @thespiritoflife @lauwrite1225 @mrsalwayswrite @emilyhufflepufftlk @katbookwurm @cxrgans @mollands @rivers-for-me @kingslionheart @the-irish-girl

@easilydistractedbyfanfic @valhallasubstitute i dared to tag you, too, cause i saw in my reblogs you were so happy to see a bit content for Leofric, I thought you may like to see more of him? 🙈

[northbndtrain]

the last kingdom ep. 1x02 = uhtred & alfred (2 of 3 4)           + Uhtred visits Alfred's library for the first time.

[tlkfaerie]

Celebrations

༺☆༻ Pairing: Sihtric x reader ༺☆༻

Word Count: 4.1k

summary: a celebration in Uhtred's hall leads to a mutual confession in a river.

Author's note: heyyyyy. This is set in my imaginary peacetime lol. I would say end of S2 but also Sihtric's S3 hair because I love mullets.

MDNI! 18+ -͟͟͞☆ TW! : smut, loss of virginity, mentions of alcohol, slapping, crying, p in v, confessions of love etc

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　 . ✦　　　 　˚

You were Uhtred's ward, so naturally, you followed him wherever he went. He had reluctantly taken you in as an oath after Leofric could no longer look after you. Your ancestry was a shoddy thing - it seemed everyone you had ever met was unaware of your origins. And yet, you had fallen into the care of Leofric, who had begged Uhtred to care for you in his final, forceful moment in battle.

Though you had begun as a pain in his side, he grew to love you deeply. You revelled in the sibling-like bond that the two of you shared, though sometimes it was hard to listen to him when he told you to do certain things. You had become his arseling. You were often confined to your room when thins became heated, hiding with Gisela or forced behind Finan's side, never allowed to be at the forefront of anything important.

You didn't mind entirely, however, because Uhtred's natural urge to provide for you meant that you were safe. And on nights like tonight, you enjoyed yourself the most. Ale was being squandered throughout Coccham's infamous Pagan hall, thrown in goblets and beakers to any man whose eager hands were willing to receive.

Uhtred warned you not to have more than one glass, but as there was no danger, you knew he wouldn't bother to keep an eye on you. He smirked as he had left you, somehow knowing that you would not follow his commands. Gisela, even, did not adopt on the somewhat maternal role she often forced upon you. You loved her as a sister, but tonight you knew you could not bump into her in your state.

After what could only have been your tenth glass, you observed Osferth sitting alone, looking rather sheepish. As someone you considered your greatest confidant, you slumped next to him, entertaining him with slurred conversation that you imagined was perfectly clear. As the two of you laughed, you were unaware of the conversation that had been brewing slowly across the hall.

Finan draped himself across one of the benches as he watched Uhtred turn serious, sniggering slowly at the man's mildly drunken state. He turned to Sihtric, who had been quiet for most of the night. Though he was always somewhat subdued, today seemed to pique a particular silence within him. Uhtred did not fail to notice. He had been observing how Sihtric ogled you for some months now.

"Good men have begun asking about my ward," he begun, taking a great chug from his cup. He could not hide his smile, knowing exactly what he was doing. The Dane immediately turned his absent head towards his Lord, envy filling his chest at the news. Sihtric wasn't surprised, however. He saw how oblivious you were to the stares around you. Though your position with Uhtred was close enough to scare of some men, others had tried to court you.

Your beauty was known throughout the land, praised above even royalty. As a result of this, you caused Uhtred many problems in his dealing and bargaining with other men, though he would never tell you that. He never ceased to remind you that you behaved like a wild pup, and that no man would consider you for marriage with branches in your hair and mud in your hands. He was teasing, of course, but this had urged your sense of independence so much that you hadn't even considered suitors.

None, other than Sihtric. As he did his work for his Lord, fought for him alongside other men, you couldn't help but feel drawn to him. He was a wonder to speak to, incredibly soft yet opinionated and strong. He let you do things like weave flowers into his hair, play with his sword (albeit very, very reluctantly) and helped you with chores. He had been nothing but kind to you, but his conscious prevented him from making any sort of romantic move.

"She is wild, she will need a strong man. A good man," Uhtred continued, eyeing Finan, who quickly chimed in. He knew he spoke slightly too ill of you in this moment, but it was for a greater purpose, and so he allowed himself the indulgence.

"I could happily take on such a task, Lord," the Irishman raised his glass, staring at Sihtric from where he sat at the very edge of his seat, eyes downcast. He felt ridiculous. He was a warrior in every sense of the word, stoic and observant. Why could he not simply find the courage in him to ask for more than your platonic company. He burned for you. For you to be his wife. To claim you as his.

Finally, Sihtric cleared his throat. "Lord, I wish to be with Y/N. I wish for her to be mine." he seemed almost tortured as he said the words, making Finan burst out with laughter. The two were a close pair, but Finan's laughter did not infect Sihtric as it usually did.

"I'd be able to see that even if I was blind, Sihtric," he began, walking over to his good friend, "she is a fine runt, I like her, but she won't stay idle forever, not with that face." Sihtric grinned slightly, reminiscing on the night that Finan had bestowed you with the glorious nickname 'runt'. After you'd confessed that Leofric was only some distant uncle, and that your parents could have been anyone, he'd stuck ale in your hand and branded you the group's pretty runt.

Sihtric laughed, shoving Finan off of his shoulders, telling him to go and find his own woman for the night, "or have you had every woman not claimed here tonight already?"

Without waiting for Finan's reaction, Sihtric returned his gaze to Uhtred and the other men at the table. Uhtred smiled, tearing copious amounts of bread in his hands and shoving them down. Sihtric declared his Lord a pig for the moment, earning him a slap to the back.

"You and Y/N are suited, I would see that she marries for love, not for convenience. You will allow her to be who she needs to be. I trust you, Sihtric." And with that message, he was gone, up to find his woman, and to enjoy the rest of the night with her. In truth, Sihtric had forgotten what they were even celebrating, content to watch you with Osferth, talking in your endearing manner. He decided now that he would have to make his move.

Your cheeks were red at this point, and you had been mindlessly listening to Osferth tell one of his stories, when a tall silhouette, forming into the figure of Sihtric, came and placed his hands on Osferth's shoulders. Delighted to see him, you opened a space for him on the bench, but instead, Osferth stood and left, wishing you goodnight. You hadn't realised just how late it was, but you didn't care - not when one of your favourite people was sat in front of you.

"Y/N, I hope you haven't exceeded Uhtred's ale limit tonight," he spoke sarcastically, tilting his head to meet your somewhat dazed eyes. His gaze alone made you sober up instantly. You felt the urge to pull him closer, to be around him constantly - even if he did call you a pup, and ruffle your hair as if you were truly Uhtred's dog.

"I can see as clearly as a sorcerer with his runes," you declare triumphantly, but no sooner than you lift your arms to prove yourself do you find yourself utterly drenched in ale. Uhtred's ale, to be exact.

"Did you see that coming, lady?" Sihtric swipes your chin with his finger, licking the ale off of his finger. You want to cry as you look at him, knowing he finds this funny but unable to see much of the humour in it. You had wanted to look nice for him tonight.

"Uhtred. . .you bastard turd," you begin, spewing insults at him, not caring that he loved every minute of it. Truly, he had not intended to disturb you and Sihtric, he had just been curious to observe how one of his most trusted men claimed his woman.

"I would have Sihtric wash your mouth for those insults, but I fear he would enjoy it too much." Uhtred spills more ale, holding your neck between his arm and chest, allowing you to heave more insults at him. When he finally lets you go, you glance once more at Sihtric before storming out of the hall altogether.

Gisela tuts at Uhtred, crossing her arms, "I told you that interfering would do nothing. The poor girl is drenched in ale," she exclaims, Uhtred now no longer smiling, pining after his wife as she walked away from him. Ever the patient man, Sihtric simply smiles, undeterred. If anything, your wet hair made him want you even more.

For now, however, he was a little concerned. You had a tendency to believe that you were entirely invincible, which normally he found adorable, but you had walked out of the hall barefoot, and with no furs on. If he did not find you soon, someone less kind would.

After what proved to be a very short search, since you had left all manner of footprints and a trail of the sweetest smell, Sihtric found you. He chuckled to himself, but that quickly stopped when he saw your clothes on the floor, and you in the river, washing your naked body.

He was about to turn around to leave you, but you were quicker. You caught the back of him, calling his name boldly. Part of you didn’t realise what you had just done, seeing as you were fully exposed, your body hidden from Sihtric only thanks to the water. But you felt as though the moments before Uhtred had spoiled your night could be redeemed. You watched the man reluctantly walk over, unable to keep his eyes from your face. You were freezing cold, but welcomed the temperature. It made you feel alive, and encouraged you - although, that might have just been the ale.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be out here alone. Not like this,” he seemed almost ashamed that he couldn’t look away. You had always noted his polite demeanour, always trailing behind everyone, making sure everything was well. Now, all you could notice was how handsome the man was. How big he was. His hand reached for yours, long fans being, attached to his enormous arms that were oh so unfortunately shielded by his furs. I want him to take those furs off, you thought.

Normally, a scolding from one of the men, Beocca or even Gisela would irk you. You were more than happy to do whatever you pleased on your own, you weren’t so delicate as to need protection wherever you went. But when Sihtric’s stern voice spoke to you, it made you weak at the knees. You quickly realised you’d listen to just about anything he said.

He was so lenient with you. . .so caring and, always there. You were a fool for not asking him about his feelings sooner. You needed to do it now.

“Y/N. . .”

“Sihtric. . .”

You both spoke at the same time, releasing breathy laughs as you stumbled over each other’s words. You wondered what he was going to say, swishing your hand in the water to keep yourself upright. He had kneeled down to your height by now, looking over you in a protective manner, as if shielding you from the real world.

“Y/N, this might be the wrong place to tell you, but I enjoy your company, more than I do anyone else’s,” he began, inhaling deeply before continuing, “and I would like you to be mine, if that is alright with you. I want you to be my lady, and only mine.” He looked you right in the eyes now, eyebrows tilted and mouth slightly open, off his guard entirely as he analysed your face.

You were beaming. The water no longer seemed quite as cold. Instead, you leapt from your position beneath him, leaning against the grass before kissing him. You were a mess, giving in entirely to him and his mouth. His hands instinctively went around your waist, calloused hands against soft flesh. The softest, he thought. He had become somewhat excited, his hands and lips moving faster. You could scarcely keep up as he took more and more from the deep kiss. Your torso was coming out of the water slowly, freezing cold air meeting your bare skin.

When he stopped for a moment, he realised your situation. He could not help his own smirk, realising his luck at the sight of your nakedness before him. Your hair clung to you, wet and dripping, as was the rest of your form (in more ways that one). But he soon snapped back into a sensible mode of thinking, removing his enormous black furs, letting them swamp your shivering body, holding you tightly to him.

“No other man shall see you the way I see you, if that is what you wish, of course,” he shook his head, realising how quickly he was moving. You revelled in the way his strength wrapped around you, taking the moment to watch his almost childish grin.

“I want only you, Sihtric,” you tilted your head back, sharing his happiness, unbothered by your current situation. Some men lingered, but were too drunk to notice the scene before them. “Please,” whispering into his ear now, you looked at him with adoration. Pure love. He reciprocated, scanning you with his eyes hand his hands, unable to shake the sense of pride that you were so small in his furs, and he, in his leathers, his chest burning for you. You just fitted against him so well.

“Come to my room, now,” he dragged you to his chambers, his hand swamping yours as he gripped tightly, walking faster than you had ever seen him walk. When you arrived in his home, you noted the flower crown you had weaved for him and all of the other men, sat on a nearby shelf. Uhtred had feigned disgust when he saw them, but he too kept his close to his chest when he fought. You had meant it as a silly gesture, but seeing that he had kept the fading flowers made your heart swell.

You soon realised your boldness may had landed you in trouble, as you had never been humped before, and by the looks of it - Sihtric knew exactly what he was doing. You had jokingly called Uhtred and Finan whores several times over the years, but never had you considered Sihtric would be right there beside them during their antics.

“Sihtric - I . . . I haven’t,” you started. Looking rather sheepish as the furs exposed your shoulders, falling down your frame. He came up to you, so close in fact that you felt his warmth, his breath fanning on your lips.

His eyes widened, not from shock, however, but more so from challenge. As if he found the whole thing amusing. “I know, Y/N. I will be gentle, if this is all truly what you want, lady.” The words stung with just a tinge of teasing, but you ignored it, as his eyes grazed over your lips and shoulders. His hands were under your chin, admiring you.

Just as quickly as you had decided, the furs were gone, and you stood entirely naked before him, his own form still fully clothed. The power imbalance felt strange, more apparent, but somehow incredibly arousing. He had full control of you, and you loved it.

“You are perfect, my lady.”

You blushed, feeling the best rising above your neck and into your very mind. Sihtric kissed you again, pulling you towards him. One hand travelled all across your body, landing firmly on your ass, and gripping tightly. You had never known someone so sweet to be so . . . commanding.

“Sihtric,” you moaned feeling his hand brush your inner thigh. It was so sensitive, and he hand evens done anything yet. Finally, his rough fingers padded against your clit, your legs spreading just slightly to accommodate him. He trailed his finger up and down slowly, curling ever so slightly, but stopping as your breath hitched in your throat. A quick kiss to your forehead and his fingers were inside, the distraction lasting no time at all. You felt so unbelievably full.

“Fuck,” he whispered, loving the feel of you. You were so warm, so irresistible. Another hand gripped your breast, his forehead resting against yours. Your eyes were screwed shut, unable to hide your small, constant whimpers. His thumb still remained outside, rubbing all of the right places. He was everywhere all at once.

“Fuck, on the bed,” he started, removing his fingers from you quickly, causing you to jolt. He was tender, but seemed altogether impatient. “Please, Y/N.”

You obeyed him, smiling to yourself as you laid on his sheets, touching your breasts, staring at his as the distance between you gave you the safety to tease. He removed his own clothing, admiring you, muttering things like ‘good’ and ‘beautiful’.

You shut your eyes for a moment, and when you reopened them, he was shirtless, his clothes strewn all over his wooden floor. He stalked towards you, a sweet smile mismatching his predatory gaze. You observed all of his scars, some fresh and some old, against his skin. You could truly think of nothing but him.

“Sihtric please, I need you.” You scrambled, wanting to put so many things into words but unable to, wriggling beneath him.

“There is no rush, Y/N. Relax, my pup.” There was the nickname again. You slapped his arm, knowing it would do absolutely nothing. He laughed, climbing to join you on the bed, intense gaze never wavering.

"Are you comfortable?" He asked, both hands on your hips, holding you like you were weightless. His bare chest was addictive, and you practically clawed to get a feel. All you could do in your desperation was nod.

"Tell me, love." this new term suited him well, causing you to whine louder than normal, not wanting to listen to him but doing so all the same. He was just so sweet. Biting his lip, he refused to do anything until you verbalised your thoughts, prolonging your teasing.

"Yes, Sihtric please, Gods," you moaned, begging for more, which he absolutely loved. He was willing to give you everything. Feeling a sense of enormous pride, he couldn't help the confidence that came over him - he was barely doing anything to you and you were a stuttering mess beneath him.

"No, love, the Gods are not here, it's just me," he stroked your throat, pinching your perky nipples, watching as your skin grew redder from the pressure, "you yield to me so sweetly. So well."

As he adjusted your placement underneath him, his arm muscles moved together, as though they were a flowing pattern, working with one another around him. He had been crafted with the most careful hand. You wanted him to devour you.

"I've wanted this for so long," you exclaim, which seems to catch him off guard, despite his role as a skilled warrior. He beams, his eyes shining as he takes another kiss from you, sloppy and rushed, but filled with passion that had been held back for so long. For years.

Before he speaks, he flips you over, onto your stomach, kneading the skin of your ass with one hand and bringing one of your arms behind your back with the other, restraining you somewhat.

"And I too, Y/N. Now that I have you, I will keep you forever. I truly love you," though he promised to be gentle, he slapped your ass, rubbing the soft flesh soon after, causing your frustration to rise.

"Sihtric, I love you too, but if you do not do something soon, I will have to ask another man to hump me," you groaned, knowing it would hit a nerve. You sensed that Sihtric always felt the need to be a good warrior, a great fighter. You wanted him to let loose entirely - to ravage you.

"Then you would have another man sent to an early grave," he came close to your face, pressed into the pillow. He gave you a quick peck to the chest, another slap to your ass, "perhaps filling you up will be the only way to remind you who you belong to."

And with that, he began to push himself inside of you. The pain was instant, his large cock practically tearing you apart, causing you to wince so hard you started to tear up. But this quickly turned into pleasure once he was fully inside, allowing you time to adjust as he stroked your hair a little.

Sihtric was mesmerised by how you took him. You were so unbelievably tight, clenching and squirming, ever the troublesome ward that he knew you as, though to see you give yourself to him in this moment impressed him. He was stripped from his own thoughts, however, when he heard you snivel, concern immediately telling him to check up on you.

"Y/N, my love, are you alright? Is the pain too much?" His concern made you smile, especially as he began stumbling over his own words, back to the Sihtric you knew. He clumsily leaned over to check your face, sighing as he recognised your smile. Though, he surprised himself a little at how much your wet checks turned him on. Your nose had grown red, drying hair all around your face in a tousled mess, your cheeks and eyes glossy. You looked a beautiful mess. Sihtric deemed you his wife then and there.

His aching cock throbbed inside of you, releasing a lengthy moan as he watched you nod and beg for him to start thrusting through the pain, hands barely fitting around his wrist as you grabbed for him.

"You are so needy," he mused unconsciously, beginning a slow rhythm which had you biting the sheets, "you fit so well underneath me. You were made just for me."

"yes, yes, please Sihtric, more." you yearned for his touch even while it was burning into your skin. He towered over you, feeling love and pleasure in excess as he quickened his pace, feeling you all around him, so tight and so eager. This was not how he thought his night would end, with you whimpering beneath him, begging for him and him alone.

You had not expected this either, to crave him so deeply. "More? Y/N, what has become of you?" He asked, taunting you with a chuckle and a pinch to the cheek. You joined him, but your laughter turned into moaning, as he continued with his words, "Anymore and I should have to lock you up, insatiable brat."

You smiled, the sheer size of him brushing up against you and your clit causing you to near the edge. He felt you clenching harder suddenly, basking in the tight muscle around him. You mumbled a pathetic please, and Sihtric almost retorted with something, but your further sniff reminded him to hold back for now. He would save that treatment for another time.

"Come for me, Y/N," was all he needed to say before you were coming for him, his free hand returning to your clit to guide you through the pleasure. You had truly felt nothing like it, understanding now why all those brutes out there cared so much for whoring and claiming their women. If it felt like this, you didn't know how anyone could leave their bedchambers.

Sihtric came not long after you, pumping you full of himself. You felt the liquid drip from out of you, falling down your thigh and onto his bed. He remained inside of you for some time, helping you breathe as the two of you looked at one another. You truly were grateful for Uhtred practically throwing his ale onto you now. Sihtric was too.

BONUS: ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The next morning, Gisela and some of the servants brought out generous amounts of food for the burning heads of the men, smiling as she recalled how she had warned her husband not to take it too far. Osferth expected you any moment now, to sit beside him and ramble about something. When you came in, however, it was beside Sihtric, a slight, almost invisible limp to your walk.

Osferth felt a tinge of disappointment when your nonsense didn't attack his ears. Instead, Sihtric seated himself next to Finan, who smiled slyly at him when you placed yourself on Sihtric's lap. You slapped Finan when he proclaimed that Uhtred now owed him silver. And lots of it.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Into My Arms

Pairing: Osferth x f!reader Warnings: Canon typical violence, smut, fluff. Word count: ~1.4k

Summary: Osferth is tired of her underestimating him, of being seen as nothing more than "Baby Monk", so goes out of his way to prove to her that he is so much more than that. A little birthday treat for @doomwhathouwilt - based on this request.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She points the tip of her sword to her opponent’s chest, dragging him closer by the shoulder as it plunges forward to the hilt, before sliding it back and watching him crumple in a heap before her, his lifeless eyes staring up towards a gray sky. She cannot hear the screams of pain, the cries of triumph around her over the roar of the blood in her ears.

Her body aches with exertion, the arrows in her quiver are long spent, meaning she has to use her blade to defend herself. As the fighting dies down she is left only with the hammering of her heart, panting for breath as the world swims back into focus, and she is greeted by the coppery smell of viscera and the rancid stench of shit. She feels like crying, the adrenaline that courses through her is beginning to subside as she watches what little remains of their opponents flee, the majority of their forces having been cut down.

There is rarely a dull moment on the road with Uhtred and his men; she's been with him since he parted ways with Brida, accompanying him and Leofric on their travels. She enjoys never settling anywhere for long, drinking ale and sharing stories beneath the stars. It keeps her skills as an archer sharp, their battles are frequent, though lately she finds herself tiring of them, there is little joy to be found in taking the life of another.

She longs to give up, to declare she can take no more, but as her weary eyes look up, taking in the aftermath of the battle, she is met with the very reason why she continues on. Osferth’s eyes, vividly blue and wide with fright remain fixed ahead, his grip on his weapon so tight his knuckles are blanched with the force of it. Though he fights courageously, there is fear in his heart and she worries about what will happen to him if she simply walks away from all of this. They all give him a hard time; he is a Christian, always seems to say the wrong thing and has no qualms with passing judgment on their behaviours that he deems inappropriate. Despite all of this, he is steadfast in his loyalty to the group, and so she along with the rest of them would gladly lay down her life for him.

They sit around the campfire, tending to the minor injuries they’ve sustained, cuts and scrapes alike. She bats away Sihtric’s attempts to dab at her temple with a moistened rag.

“It’s a scratch, leave it be,” She says with resignation. Her eyelids feel heavy as she stares ahead into the flames, she longs for sleep.

“I think this calls for ale and women!” Finan declares, slapping his thighs and standing up.

“And prayer,” Osferth adds, with a hopeful smile.

“Yes, but in that order,” Finan counters with a grin.

She remains seated as the four of them head towards the village, she has no desire to join in with their festivities.

Osferth glances over his shoulder, pausing and allowing the group to move ahead when he notices she remains where she is.

“Are you not joining us, my lady?” He asks, brows pinched together with concern.

“Not tonight, no,” She says quietly. “I’m not in the mood.”

He nods, returning to the fire and seating himself next to her. “Then I shall stay with you and keep you company.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I don’t. But I want to.”

She looks at him, a warm smile spreading across her face as she sees the sincerity in his eyes.

“There’ll be women waiting for you in the village,” She teases.

The tips of his ears turn pink. “I’m not interested,” He tells her with a shy grin.

“I doubt you’d know what to do with them anyway, Baby Monk,” She chuckles lightly.

“I do, actually,” His voice is stern, his expression hardened and she worries she’s offended him.

“I was only jo–”

Her words are cut off as Osferth leans in, pressing his mouth to hers. His lips are soft yet firm against her own and the kiss steals her breath away. He keeps their foreheads pressed close, his thumb tracing lightly over her cheek as he pulls back.

Her heart flutters wildly as her breaths come shakily. “Y-your blood still runs hot from battle, Baby Monk, we should not do this.”

“I am tired of waiting for you to see me as I see you,” He whispers. “Let me show you how much I desire you.”

This time when his lips capture hers, she returns the gesture with equal enthusiasm, allowing herself to get lost in the basic primal urge of feeling wanted.

Deft hands exchange caresses across each other’s bodies, each pass of their fingers serving to remove an item of clothing until the two of them lay bare beneath the night sky. Her flesh prickles against the chill of the air, but she barely notices as her eyes drink in the sight of the man before her.

She looks appreciatively, silently cursing the robes that have been swamping the hard planes of muscle of Osferth’s torso. Her breath hitches at the sight of his hardened length, it’s thick and long, flushed pink at the tip, it appears that he is full of surprises.

“You are beautiful,” He declares softly, taking his time to gaze upon her own form, and she feels her skin grow heated at his compliment.

As he moves his body to cover hers, his mouth travels a path from her neck to her chest, leaving a trail of wet, opened mouthed caresses. He suckles on the hardened peaks of her breasts and she arches against him, a soft moan escaping her at the jolt of arousal that rushes through her.

She halts Osferth’s movements when he attempts to move lower, the ache between her thighs is unbearable and she is certain she needs no further preparation. “Please,” She whispers. “I want you.”

He inhales sharply at this, pupils blown wide with lust and hovers over her as she spreads her legs further to accommodate him. The gentle stretch as he pushes slowly inside is exquisite torture and causes her to gasp.

He pauses for a moment, softly stroking her hair. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, it feels good,” She reassures him. “Please don’t stop.”

He kisses her deeply as he bottoms out, allowing her a moment to adjust before he begins to rock his hips. His strokes are sure and even, and she finds herself wondering if this is practiced or purely instinctual. She had expected Osferth to be clumsy and inexperienced, yet every thrust of his hips finds a spot inside her that leaves her crying out as her toes curl involuntarily.

“I have wanted you for so long,” He whispers into her ear, as his hips snap against hers with more urgency. “You feel better than I have ever dreamed.”

She feels her eyes grow misty with emotion at this, the combination of his soft confessions and the pleasure she is experiencing becoming too much, until the tightly wound coil within her lower belly finally snaps, and she falls apart, clenching ceaselessly around him, as her cries of ecstasy are offered up to the stars above them.

Osferth shudders, pulling out of her with a strangled groan, stroking frantically at himself as he paints her upper thighs with his spend before collapsing beside her.

As the euphoria begins to wear off, she becomes aware of the tickle of the damp grass against her back, the coolness that licks against her sweaty skin.

He gently tugs her to his chest and she goes willingly, draping herself across him, listening to the rapid thud of his heartbeat.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

“Just fine, Baby Monk.”

“Could you…could you just call me Osferth? Simply Osferth.” He asks gently.

She lifts her head from his chest, raising a questioning eyebrow at him and he smiles fondly down at her.

“It seems more fitting for you to call me by name if you’re to be my woman.”

“Your woman?” She feels her stomach flutter.

“Yes, my woman,” He gives her a squeeze. “If that’s agreeable to you.”

She squeezes him back. Nothing has ever sounded better.

[humanpurposes]

From Eden

Chapter 2: Some part of me came alive

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

Osferth x Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+, suggestive themes, religious guilt, pathetic yearning

Words: 3400

A/n: I did not spellcheck the names. Also available to read on AO3.

Since joining Lord Uhtred, Osferth had seen enough of the back of his horse’s head to make him sick. They moved constantly, never settling anywhere for long. So he savoured each stop, and every night he spent in a bed rather than a forest floor or a field, he made sure to express his gratitude in his prayers.

Only the ride from Wincombe was anything but dull. The girl from the abbey, Bridget, was rather impossible to ignore, pressed tightly against his back and shrouding his cloak around his shoulders to keep them both warm.

He slowed the horse once they had caught up with the rest of the group. She settled then, holding her hands on his shoulders, turning her head and resting her temple at the base of his neck through the thick material of his tunic. A thrill ran down his spine, one he hardly allowed himself to feel. 

The snow was starting to settle now, crunching under the hooves of the horses. The sky was overcast with grey clouds, yet the world seemed so bright. Bridget marvelled at the sight of the land beyond the abbey, letting out breathless little gasps at hills and woodlands.

“When was the last time you were this far from the abbey?” Osferth asked, turning over his shoulder a little.

Her wide eyes glanced up at him before she lifted her head. He suddenly felt cold with the absence.

“I haven’t been beyond the woods in over a decade,” she said, her voice was light, finding its place between wonder and sadness. 

He had much been the same, hardly venturing from the walls of the minster in Winchester, until he decided to seek out Lord Uhtred.

“Is that how long you have been at the abbey?” he asked.

“Yes,” is all she said. He had half expected a tale of her life, of her mother and father, but she simply sighed and looked ahead, peering over his shoulder to the others riding in front of them.

He told her of their company, of Lord Uhtred, a man born to a Northumbrian Lord and raised by Danes, hoping to reclaim his home. He told her how he had found himself tied to other matters. He was a warrior, a loyal servant and friend of King Alfred, but most recently he had become intent on his pursuit of the seer, Skade.

“What is his interest in her?” Bridget asked.

Osferth tutted to himself. Uhtred’s obsession with Skade had brought them nothing but misfortune and death thus far. “He believes himself to be cursed.”

“And do you believe that?”

“She is of the devil,” he said, “sent to tempt the hearts of men. That is all I care to know of it.”

And yet Uhtred remained intent on finding her.

As they rode on, he told her of the other men, Finan, the Irishman, and Shitric, the Dane, the greatest and the bravest warriors he had ever known– save for his Lord, of course.

“And what of you?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

She nodded ahead. “Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Finan the Irishman and Shitric the Dane. Where do you come from?”

He frowned and suddenly his cross felt heavier around his neck. He had been left to the monastery with no name, no title, just the weight of his father’s sins. “I am simply Osferth,” he said. 

“That can’t be true,” Bridget said. “What was it Finan called you? Baby Monk?”

His body went rigid. God, he hated that name, even more so now that she had said it.

She chuckled softly. “That makes you something,” she said.

He doubted she would soon forget the topic. “I was born in Winchester,” he said with a reluctant sigh.

“And how did you come to serve Lord Uhtred?”

“My uncle said he was a great man. I sought him out, to join him.”

“So you do have a family?”

Hardly. He had few memories of Leofric, even less of his mother.

One of Bridget’s hands slipped from his shoulder, resting against his arm. “I can stay silent if you’d prefer, seeing as you’re so intent on remaining mysterious,” she said.

“No– no,” he insisted as he cleared the tight feeling in his throat. “My life is anything but mysterious, I assure you.”

“A simple man, formerly of the cloth,” she mused.

He sounded painfully dull with the way she put it, but what was the alternative? Bastard… coward… boy.

“I suppose so,” he muttered.

As the sun slipped below the hills and night crept into the sky, Lady Aethelflaed at last decided they would make camp for the night, despite Uhtred’s determination to press on to Saltwic.

They found cover under a grove of trees where they could tie the horses, gather firewood and seek some shelter from the snow.

Osferth dismounted first, swinging his leg over the horse’s head before he turned back to Bridget. She braced herself on his shoulders as he put his hands on her waist and guided her down. Perhaps the fall was further than she anticipated; her hands tightened their grip on his shoulders and she took a sharp breath before her feet touched the ground.

“Are you alright?” Osferth asked.

“Yes, of course,” she mumbled. Her eyes flittered between his face and the ground. He had an awful feeling he had done something wrong and quickly released his hands from her.

He made quick work of unloading the canvas, bedroll and furs from his horse before he went about his usual duties, building the fire, beginning on the broth to feed the men. Bridget stood restlessly, fiddling with her hands in front of her skirts, reaching for her hair to fix a habit she no longer wore. He watched her in the corner of his eye as he worked, and gestured for her to join him by the fire once the flames came alive.

She still had his cloak on her and when she moved to take it off he stopped her. She smiled in thanks and pulled it back over her shoulders.

Even then she was unsettled. Her head turned everywhere, watching Uhtred setting up a tent for himself and Lady Aethelflaed, Finan and Shitric as they sharpened their swords and poured themselves cups of ale. 

“Your first night away from the abbey,” Osferth said and bit his tongue immediately after. It was a rather obvious thing to point out.

She cautiously eyed the other men around them, setting up their own beds and fires.

“You needn’t fear them,” Osferth said. “They will not harm you.”

As she turned towards him, her eyes and skin caught the light of the fire. In that moment she was golden and radiant, the very image of the angels he praised in his prayers. Suddenly his mouth felt dry– perhaps he needed a drink of ale.

She smiled softly. “I am not afraid, Osferth.”

His eyes were drawn to her lips and her teeth as she said it. He had never known his own name to sound so pleasant.

Lord Uhtred appeared from the tent to fetch a bowl of broth for Lady Aethelflaed, before he, Finan and Shitric joined them by the fire to eat and drink.

Finan handed Bridget a cup of ale. “The more you drink the easier it is to fall asleep,” he said, “you’ll need it with the cold.”

She winced at the first sip but laughed it off with the others. “Stronger than I’m used to,” she said.

“Does she have a bed?” said Uhtred.

“She’ll have mine,” Osferth said without hesitation. 

Finan and Shitric shared an amused look. Bridget tilted her head at him. There was that strange feeling in his stomach again, like he’d done something wrong.

“I’ll just sleep on the ground,” he clarified.

The fire kept them warm enough for an hour or so, but as the night grew darker it brought heavier snow and wind, nipping at the bare bits of Osferth’s skin, his face and fingertips. Without his cloak he felt the cold seeping through to his very bones.

He was as quiet as usual, while Finan and Sihtric reminisced back on battles and nights spent in alehouses. Bridget watched them with wide eyes and wonder.

He hardly noticed Lord Uhtred’s departure and subsequent return with a bedroll, dropping it at his feet.

“Lord?”

“You’ll sleep better with it,” Uhtred said. “Now retire, all of you, we leave at first light.”

Osferth pointed Bridget towards the tent he had set up and told her to use as many furs as she needed.

Once he had taken the broth pot from the fire and gathered Lord Uhtred’s bedroll, he made towards the tent. Until a firm hand stopped him by his shoulder.

“You’re a better man than I, Baby Monk,” Finan muttered into his ear with an audible grin. “I’d have her sharing my bed.”

He brushed Finan’s hand away and clenched his jaw to stop himself smiling.

Was he truly being that obvious? He wanted to think that he wasn’t, but with every step he took towards the tent, the more he thought of her, lying on his bedroll, wrapped in his cloak and his furs to keep out the cold, the more he began to doubt himself.

She only caught his attention back at Wincombe when she approached him in the hall– the girl from the woods who had directed them towards the abbey. She seemed curious, fascinated at the prospect of him having left his order in Winchester, and when Haesten had attacked, she had acted courageously in spite of her fear. Heaven above, she had killed one of the men, which was one more than he could claim from his first battle.

He was acting by the guidance of the Lord, he told himself, in offering her his care and protection. He intended to honour his word. 

He was glad to be out of the snowfall and under the canvas. His cloak had been left on the branch of a tree, hanging within the tent, and Bridget had settled on the bedroll, huddling in a single layer of fur. He could see her shivering.

He laid out Lord Uhtred’s bedroll, in what small space he had. He fastened the cloak around himself, leaving his boots and his gloves on as he settled. It was too cold for anything less.

Bridget was on her side and facing him, fur pulled up to her chin, eyes squeezed shut, teeth chattering and lips trembling as she let out shaky, icy breaths.

Even as the snores of the other men sounded from the other tents, she was still shivering.

He whispered her name, and she responded with a short “hmm.”

“You’re cold,” he said.

She opened her eyes. “Finan’s trick with the ale didn’t work,” she grumbled.

He smiled. “Don’t trust everything Finan tells you.”

She angled her brows in a helpless expression and smiled back.

An idea crossed his mind, one that would have Finan grinning like a devil, but he couldn’t just leave her to the cold. He adjusted the fur around him and held it out. 

“May I?” he asked at the questioning frown on Bridget’s face.

She shuffled closer to him, dragging the fur with her as she settled herself under his arm and against his chest.

Osferth brought the fur around her, pulling her in a little closer, her head fitting perfectly under his chin. He felt the gentle force of her breath against the collar of his cloak, leaving his skin feeling deprived of her. 

She fell asleep quickly. A subtle feeling of pride swelled in his chest, but sleep did not come as easily to him. He could hardly rest, he had to make sure the furs were wrapped around her, that his arm wasn’t pressing in too harshly to her body, but that his hold was firm enough to keep her warm.

And then there were her little hums and heavy breaths. They were soft sounds, unobtrusive, soothing in a way, and his heart leapt at each one.

He tried to think of the last time he had been this close to someone. He and Finan and Shitric had found themselves in uncomfortably close proximity, finding sleep where they could on their travels. Having Bridget by his side, nestled against him, her face delicately fallen and a picture of peace in his embrace, was entirely different.

He let his hand trace over the curve of her waist and settle against her back. He liked the feel of her under his touch, their breaths moving together, her body pressed against his.

But what was it the holy book preached? The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace.

He clenched his jaw and tucked the edge of the fur under his hand so his palm would not touch her, not directly at least.

Bridget insisted she was used to rising early, especially after she had slept so well– a detail which had earnt Osferth a smug look from Finan, which he met with another frown.

The mind governed by the flesh is death.

He recited those words in his head over and over again, as he helped Bridget into the saddle, as she put her hands around his waist, as her hips gently rocked against him with the movement of the horse, but he kept his head high and his hands tight on the reins.

It took a matter of hours to reach Saltwic. The men were all glad to be under a roof with some more substantial food in their bellies; spit-roasted meat, bread and more than a few mouthfuls of ale. 

Though before long, Osferth found himself being dragged out of the hall by his shoulders and Finan’s insistence that they should make use of their time to train.

Bridget was already waiting for them in the courtyard. She had shed her nun’s robes now, dressed in garments she must have been given by Lady Aethelflaed; a shirt, tunic and breeches. Modest, but he doubted her sisters at the abbey would approve. She wore them well. 

By her side she held a sword, shorter and slimmer compared to the blades wielded by Lord Uhtred and his men. Osferth looked down at his own weapon, long and slight, made to match his body.

“Which would win in a fight, a Baby Monk or a Little Novice?” Finan said cherrily, striding between them.

Osferth and Bridget shared a look of confusion.

Finan held his arms out as though he were expecting an answer. “Let's find out, shall we?” Then he withdrew, leaving nothing but empty space and a few settled snowflakes between them.

Surely he did not mean for them to attack each other without even showing Bridget how to properly wield a sword. Not that Osferth was a well seasoned fighter himself. He had seen battle, but he often let himself fall into the background unless it was necessary. 

Bridget had a fighter’s instincts at least. She had hardly hesitated to slay one of the attackers at Wincombe. He might have been dead if she hadn’t. With that he felt a little less guilt about taking a single step forward as he adjusted the grip on his sword. 

She reacted sharply, like an animal to a hunter. In a heartbeat her posture had completely changed. She was poised, her eyes wide and alert, her feet in a fighting stance and her sword at her side.

It was easy to pick up on her movements, the little signs of instinct in every reaction. Finan had often told him this was a weak point of his, the inability to read his opponent, but with her, he was acutely aware of where she was putting her weight, where her eyes were looking, each little intake of breath as they stalked around each other.

When she moved first, he raised his blade to block her, then matched her again when she took a swing at his middle.

Their swords met with a ringing clash. The metal hissed as he drew his blade along hers until they fell apart.

His heart was racing and his breaths shallow. He was becoming impossibly warm under the weight of his robes and chainmail.

Bridget was poised again, a gleam in her eyes and a small smile playing in the corner of her mouth.

“The girl’s a natural,” Finan called, “she’s picking this up faster than you did, Baby Monk!”

Osferth meant to shoot his friend a glum glare until he saw a flash of movement, her hair and the wave of her sword. He looked back to Bridget in time to parry her strike, but not before she moved around him and delicately placed her blade on his shoulder, over his chainmail, close enough to his neck to affirm her victory.

She was close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin. 

She smiled, proud of herself but without cruelty. It made his chest ache, not unpleasantly.

“Where did you learn to fight?” Finan asked.

A small part of Osferth died as she turned her eyes away from him. She lowered her sword and stepped away.

“I learnt a little from my brother,” she said.

“Good man himself,” Finan said, drawing his own blade and nodding for them to follow his lead as he brought them through a few stances.

“Yes,” she said softly, “yes he was.”

Osferth hardly let himself look upon her as they trained, unless Finan asked them to spar. They became less evenly matched each time they did so. He found himself slipping further and further into his own mind. Each time she smiled at him it awakened something bright and unnerving within him. He clasped at the memory of having her waist in his hand, her breath against his neck, her body pressed into his.

He excused himself once Finan decided they were done and decided to forgo the suggestion that they replenish themselves in the hall with more meat and ale.

He went to the chapel, tucked away in the corner of the estate within Lady Aethelflaed’s private apartments. It was far from the noise of the stables, the rowdiness of the hall, the heat creeping under his skin every time his eyes met Bridget’s.

The chapel was small, cold and dark, lit only by a collection of candles at the altar. He came to his knees on the stone floor before it, clutching his cross in his hands. 

He asked for peace of mind, for clarity, for an answer.

Why her? Why had the Lord seen fit to guide them to Wincombe and urge her to join them? Why had his mind become so utterly consumed by her, not some lewd temptress of cruel intention or evil spirit, but a woman of beauty, warmth and courage? Perhaps it was a tempting of faith, a lure to sin and depravity.

“The mind governed by the flesh is death,” he whispered to himself, “but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace.”

A breeze blew through the chapel, ceasing when the door was quietly closed.

Osferth froze, stroking his thumb over his cross.

Soft footsteps moved against the flagstones until a figure stood at the altar. She was still in her training clothes, her hair flowing freely down her back. Most of her face was obscured in shadow, save for the edges of her cheek and her nose. He watched her hands as she lit a taper and brought it to the wick of a new candle. 

She bowed her head in a silent prayer, the flames lighting the curve of her lips. She whispered something to herself but the words eluded him. He wondered what she might be praying for, if she felt the same turmoil as he did.

The room remained silent, save for the hum of the flames. Ordinarily he found peace in silence, but now it felt unbearable.

Bridget turned around, still bathed in darkness, an intangible vision, like a ghost, untouchable. The colour of her eyes were lost to darkness but he felt them boring into his.

She took a step closer to where he knelt. He held his cross a little tighter as traced the shape of her slightly parted lips, and felt a restless urge rising in his gut.

“What are you praying for, Osferth,” she said.

Without thinking he flexed his hand to regain some feeling in it. He might as well have been a lifeless entity otherwise.

The mind governed by the flesh is death.

“Strength,” he uttered, desperately keeping his eyes on her face, not the curves of her body and the belt cinching in her waist. “And courage also.”

Bridget suddenly retreated into herself. She kept her hands clasped in front of her and smiled. “I pray for that too.”

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[arcielee]

Farewell Wanderlust

Warnings:  Death mentioned in graphic detailing, night terrors, SA implied/mentioned, overall sexism because it is the 9th century. MDNI, 18+ Pairing: Osferth x OFC Word Count: 2136 Summary: Torn from her home country, Keavy finds herself trying to survive across the Irish sea. She happens across Uhtred and his motley crew, and finds herself befriending a monk who is determined to become a warrior.       Author’s Note: This will be a hybrid of the books and TLK show. The timelines will be adjusted for the plot and the names will match the Old English/9th Century. Please be mindful of chapter warnings as this shit will have dark moments and mature themes.   Thank you to my darling beta reader @aspen-carter​ for helping me with this first chapter and to my darling @killergirlfuria​​ to help me with the summary, as I am terrible at them. UPDATE: Thank you for this gif! @itbmojojoejo​ ♥  Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! Dividers are by @saradika​​​ Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond​ @annikin-im-panicin​ @watercolorskyy​ @schniiipsel​ @aspen-carter​ @aemondx​ @fan-goddess​ @babygirlyofthevale​ @randomdragonfires​ @httpsdoll​ @tssf-imagines​

Chapter 1 

The day was warm and bright, a beautiful day suitable for the celebration of the marriage between Æthelred of Mercia to the trueborn daughter of King Alfred. Wessex swelled from the festivities, with the bittersweet smell of ale, foods, and sweat that meshed with the wave of bodies gathering within the city walls. 

Osferth was tall and lithe, able to see over the heads of the crowds, and surefooted to slip in-between the masses as he searched for one man in mind, as his uncle had encouraged.

Uhtred of Bebbanburg. 

Before this, his life had been spent in the shadows of the monastery, well aware of his paternal heritage but unallowed to breathe a word about it. His clandestine confinement consisted of the repetition of scripture and prayer to atone for sins that were not his own, and it did not feed his faith, but instead allowed his bitterness for his banishment to fester within. 

This changed on his thirteenth name day when Leofric came for a visit; he remembered him to be large, his voice low and grizzled as he regaled his time spent with the Dane slayer and he even shared about his mother; she had died during childbirth, but his uncle swore her strength was passed to him. 

“I know you are angry, little man, but this is the safest place for you right now,” and his large palm rested on his thin shoulders, a fatherly squeeze for reassurance. 

Osferth was heartsore when he learned of uncle’s death; the memory of those days they spent together was something he cherished, replaying in his mind and becoming a balm for his bitterness. His grief allowed a moment of complacency until his eighteenth name day when the abbot brought him a sword and a piece of parchment; he realized the scrawl of words belonged to his uncle and they brought a newfound peace, a drive with how Leofric spoke that  a man could be set on a path, but only his steps could create his own destiny. 

The letter ended with a mantra, destiny is all.

So he left the monastery, wearing his weatherbeaten albe and with the baldric wrapped around his slim waist, that kept the gifted sword sheathed at his side. 

He traveled, following the trail of celebrators into Wintanceaster until he saw him ahead, lounging on the steps and surrounded by his men; their eyes were watchful as Osferth pushed forward, he only stopped when he saw the blue eyes of the ealdorman-of-many-monikers focus on him.  

“Lord,” he began, “you knew my uncle, Leofric.” 

He saw how his eyes softened at the mention of the name and Osferth knew he held his attention. “Leofric was a great man,” Uhtred tilted his head up, looking over the young man. 

Osferth nodded. “I have come to serve you, to be at your side as my uncle had.” 

The motley men that surrounded Uhtred varied from Dane to Saxon; he heard the scoff and lilt of a dark haired, dark eyed man who muttered how they had no need for a baby monk. Osferth swallowed, “I have come to serve as a warrior, lord.” His eyes did not leave Uhtred. 

He could see the quiet assessment from Uhtred, how his blue eyes surveyed him, and then he heard a smaller man, who was standing apart, who spoke out loud of his heritage beyond Leofric–that he was Alfred’s bastard. 

“You are Alfred’s son,” Uhtred said, in part a question, but also a clarification. “Your father would not be pleased to learn you’ve come to offer me your sword.” 

“And what has he done for me?” He struggled to smooth the bitterness that edged his tone. “Sent me away so I could become a priest or a monk, to be forgotten or simply denied my very existence altogether?” It was his turn to scoff. “But if I were to stay in Wessex, what would I expect to find? Favour?” 

Uhtred raised his brows with his words and looked over at his Irishman, who only shrugged in response. “You may never see Wessex again,” his eyes did not break away from him.

“Then I would give my thanks to God for that,” and their looks showed Osferth it was not the expected reply. “It is the stench, lord,” he clarified, his eyes flitting around the people crowding the city.  

Uhtred grinned, but before he could speak further, a guard called to his attention that the king called for him. Osferth shifted his weight under the guard’s gaze and Uhtred stood up, his eyes rolled over him once more before he said, “If you have a sword, you may stay,” and followed after the guard. 

His lips curled with what he considered his small victory and his hand fell to the hilt, a pat on the pommel to reassure it was there. He felt the dark eyes of the Irishman focus on him. “Can you wield that, baby monk?” he asked Osferth. 

“Well enough,” he replied and he heard a chuckle, looking behind to see a Dane with his arms wrapped around a woman whose auburn hair burned more red in the sunlight. “Though, I am willing to learn…”

“Well, thank the gods for that,” and the Irishman stepped down and placed a palm onto his shoulder, a squeeze to show comradery, or perhaps to feel for his strength, with a hold that reminded him of his uncle; his grin showed beneath his beard. “Let’s leave this noise and see what you are capable of then, baby monk.” 

+ + + +

Keavy would allow her mind to return to the days she spent at the nunnery, a brief reprieve that allowed her to relive the only bit of peace she experienced since she arrived across the sea. 

It began with the abbess and her pitied look when the slavers rolled through; Keavy was barely ten years of age, thin, quiet, and did her best to stay hidden. She remembered the warmth in her kindly brown eyes when the abbess looked to her and called for the cost of the little girl. 

He had scoffed at first, but when she pressed, he only requested a cup of ale in exchange and it was quickly provided. Keavy watched the bob of his neck, how it spilled from the corners of his mouth and stained his tunic as he downed it. He belched when it was finished and shoved her forward. “She is yours, nun, but know that she has been cursed.” 

She fell to the ground, her legs weak from the weeks at sea, unable to stop herself from hitting the dirt path. Keavy felt the burn in her palms and knees, her scars that lined the left side of her jaw and cheek–a parting gift of desperation from her mam the night their village was raided. 

It was a night seared within her blood and that often returned to her with violent flashes when she slept. She was haunted by the cries from the villagers, how her daid handed her his dagger before taking a sword and leaving to fight with the other men. Her mam had begged and screamed for him not to leave, as anyone could see from the flames curling from the rooftops, licking the night sky, to the blood soaked earth that this battle was already lost. 

Stories had terrorized the coast of Irland of the blood-lust traders and slavers who ravaged the shores, taking whatever they deemed profitable. They spoke of how villages would be nothing but ashes, how the surviving men would be sold off as slaves, of the horrors of what would happen to women and girls. 

Her hands shook as she tied the belt around her waist, hiding the sheath beneath the layers of her skirt while her mam continued her screams. Keavy clung to the dagger as if it would keep her tethered to her daid, crying when her mam finally ripped it from her hold; her own hands shaking as she attempted soothing sounds that were choked by her tears. “I will not kill you, child,” she breathed and Keavy saw the manic fire in her blue eyes. “But you are far too pretty to survive across the sea.” 

Her daid kept the blade sharp, his prized possession that came from his father before and his before that. She did not feel it until it nicked into her jawbone and only then did she cry, the blood spilling onto her clothes; she screamed for her mam to stop and fought back to pry it from her hands when the door barged in. 

They were faceless, large and covered in blood and grime. Her mam was killed without so much as a scream and another grabbed her, searching for cloth for her wound and unaware as she tucked the dagger back into its sheath beneath her skirts. There was the tear of fabric and he pressed it to her face, before dragging her from her home, dragging her towards the shore. 

She would never forget the heat of the flames, how she choked on the soot and smoke as she stumbled over the fallen bodies around; her hand pressing the cloth on her face and the other gripping her side, holding the handle of the blade. There was a bold moment that seized her chest, to plunge it into his side and run to find her daid, but then she saw him, one of the dead amongst the many bodies, with his sword in his hand and his eyes empty as they bored forward. 

Keavy remembered how the fear replaced and gripped her heart and her vocal chords; she would not scream because she knew that no one would come for her. 

She did not know how she survived crossing the sea, nor could she remember much more than the crude stitches that were given onboard, an attempt to save her, and the burn of her fever that ached her bones. “It is because God has a plan for you, little one,” the abbess would tell her later.

“I am cursed,” she would say, partly in defiance, partly to watch the reaction of the abbess and her wide brown eyes. 

“Hush, child,” she would scold her, as always. “That man was a godless heathen and knew not what he said. He thought your worth was equal to a cup of mead!”

The nunnery she was brought to was built to overlook the rolling fields of Ebchester, with a river that curved through the hills. Here the abbess seemed relentless for the salvation of Kaevy’s soul and Keavy would allow the repetition of her fables and scriptures, all while palming the Celtic silver cross she wore beneath her plain tunic. 

She remembered the day when Lady Gisela arrived, how her kindred spirit called to her and the lady was all too pleased with the bold Irish girl who shadowed her steps. The abbess allowed her to stay, Dane or not, and Keavy was delighted with her company over the other Saxon nuns. 

Gisela had a kind smile and took care to answer her questions about her life before Ebchester. Keavy admired her worldly insight and her attention was rapt to the stories she told her about the love she shared with Uhtred of Bebbanburg. 

“My lady, how do you know he will come for you?” Keavy asked, with a genuine curiosity of the faith Gisela held that seemed comparable, if not stronger, to the faith the nuns held for their Christian God.

“It is something you know,” Gisela smiled and it was as bright as the sun that warmed them. “You will know this when you are older.” 

Keavy saw a glimpse of Uhtred of Bebbanburg, of Uhtred Ragnarsson, when he arrived as the savior promised. The day began with the arrival of strange men who spouted of the power of their God and how it allowed them to marry Gisela against her wishes; the abbess held onto Keavy tightly as she struggled forward, choking on the same helplessness she felt the night her village burned. 

Uhtred was a force when he arrived, barging through the doors; when the abbot refused to be quiet, he killed him to silence him. The nuns cried, but Gisela and Keavy watched him. “Child, look away,” the abbess had whispered, but she was a young woman now and could not help the sense of satisfaction she felt as she watched the abbot bleed out on the wood floors. 

Keavy remembered when they had left and for the first time she had prayed, not to a deity in specific, but the quiet prayer for Lady Gisela to enjoy her happiness. The stories she had shared stayed with her and allowed a sense of hope that she had not felt before.

Chapter 2 | masterlist

[sttdevilish]

HATE BOND

Osferth x f!reader

English is not even my second lenguage is probably the third so I'm sorry FOR EVERY WORD I PUT ON THIS FIC.

The second apology on advance is cuz i didn't even finish the third season so im writing about CRUMBS AND IMAGINATION so if you see something off is because most of the time they are talking I'm looking at Osferth not to the subtitles.

Probably this is gonna be like four chapters but i don't promise anything :2 i hope u guys like it <3

Being in Winchester was not like you though, at least not as an independent woman, neither if you were Dane and Uthred's sister too, you always hear the Saxons say that when you were on Wessex with Uthred and the boys.

Uthred was always protective with you, even if you were a warrior like him, Finan, Sihtric or like Halig was, you were his sister first and that was all that matter when people insult you or were being creepy, mostly men. Now remembering last night, when all of us were on the alehouse and an old man approached on your side of the table, you were in silence listening to the story that your brother was telling when the man started to said that you were a Dane whore that was with them just because they probably hump you for some silver and saying that you didn't belong to Wessex, noticing how they all stop talking to stare at the man, Uhtred getting up from his chair when the man repeated that you were just a whore.

Answering to the old man that you were more warrior than all of Wessex or him could ever be and not only a whore, advertising that he should watch his tongue and walk away from your side, replying by trying to pour his ale on you, not fast enough even for Uthred that raised his hand to pull his sword, you push the man with your hands and punch him, when the man tried to give the same punch to you, Uthred tried to stop him with the others, that didn't happen, pulling the man by his neck and pushing him to the table, you take out the dagger on your thigh, pointing at his neck. The man started apologizing as fast as he could when you pressed the dagger on the skin, letting him go when he whined with pain, kicking on his ass out of the alehouse.

Still immersed in your thoughts about last night, you didn't see the person who suddenly stopped in front of you, getting your head smacked on his arm and having you almost on the ground. Furrowing your browns and letting go a loud groan and facing him to start complaining, you looked up at him, your first thought was why his hair was so ugly looking and the second if you should hit him for stopping even if you were not paying attention in front of you.

He widened his eyes at staring at you, opening his mouth to say an apology that never came out of him before you started talking, your familiar loud voice making Uthred smile even if you didn't have seen I'm behind you.

"Fuck, you retarded ugly hair, why you stop in the middle of the street?" Getting closer and tilting your head, your eyes moving to his clothes and to the cross on his neck, seeing clearly now that it was a monk. Seeing how his hands went up to still want to apology even if you were crushing his words with yours, noticing his cheeks starting to get on a pink tone and looking up behind you when others spoke.

"Y/N! Where were you ?" Uhtred talked behind your back, moving your attention to him, the monk at your side passing his eyes from you to Uthred again and sighing a moan. 

"With woman, why you are talking with a monk? This stupid is literally in the middle of the street." Arching one of your eyebrows and shaking your head slightly, you glanced at the taller boy in front of you before moving to face your brother.

"Talking about the baby monk, I should introduce you to him, this is Osferth, he wants to come with us on battles from now, well, with me. His mother was Leofric's sister, a bastard son of her." Your brother nod his head to point at him. 

"I am so sorry lady-" Finally starting to talk and trying to not sound that scared by the look you were giving to him before, you stopped him with a sarcastic laugh.

"A monk with us? What is going to do, pray to their fake God on our battles or kill Danes with that cross? Doesn't look like a pointy cross to me." Pointing with your finger at the cross and then looking at Uthred, him smirking a little before nodding at you and getting up from the stairs.

"I said he has to change that for a sword, but I'm sure you can teach a man how to kill someone with a cross if he doesn't change it for a sword." Uthred said, shrugging his shoulders and getting near to you before putting one of his hands on your shoulder, pressing on you as you make another disappointed sound to them.

"He must, we are not into babysitting, and I'm afraid not into teaching monks to kill with ugly crosses too." You furrow your eyebrows again to both of them, shaking your head and letting out a sight.

"Then I can go by your side, Lord?" The monk talked with a paused soft voice, looking only at him and deviating to look at you for a second, noticing how his hands were clenched together in front of him now and his lips were pressed.

"Yes, if my sister doesn't curse you first with her looks." Uthred laughed out loud, shaking your body by pushing your shoulder, you moved your body to escape the grab and starting to head to the stairs with the others. 

"Osferth, you maybe want to change the cross and the haircut, if you piss off my sister, I'm not going to be the one to save you from her, don't think anyone would want especially to piss her, but don't be scared, she is a good woman, just feral as my brother Ragnar too." Uthred chuckled looking at the monk scared face.⠀ ⠀ ⠀

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The old you would kill yourself if you think about how you've been doing the past months, still sometimes thinking about what was wrong about when you were supposed from the beginning to not like the monk at all. That shit was turning tables all the way, and you didn't even know how it happened or how it started. 

Maybe started when you saw the same fear in his eyes before jumping to the boat on Cookham, the same fear that you felt on your first battle, noticing how all the travel his hands were shaking onto his lap and he was about to pass out. Maybe it was when, noticing his tears of killing his first man, a bad way if you think about it because even your first kill was a clean cut in the throat, and you didn't drop a single tear. But you feel something in your chest pressing when your brother screamed at him and you screamed back at him without thinking, saying the first thing that came to your head about the monk staying at your side to not fuck the whole mission and to not being harm, just pushing Osferth behind your back after saying it and walking away with him following like a lost pup, getting to the side when you pushed your sword towards the men to kill them, sometimes moving your head back to look at his sad look, him making sure he was still alive and good by little nods to you.

"You need to stop being a crying child, Uthred or I won't always be there to kill for you, Monk, you choose to be with us, my brother doesn't need a child to protect in battle." The only words that came from your mouth when you were standing aside your horse with him in front of you once the battle finished came in a demanding tone, even if you were sure that the point was not scaring him more.

"I'm sorry, you don't have to protect me or either Uthred." Osferth give you the same sad look, his hands pressing into his back after saying to you that, knowing he probably was really sorry for bothering you at least.

 "I do not want to see you dead, my brother is starting to care for you. I don't care about having you following me like a pup if you want protection, but you need to fucking learn how to swing the sword, not like you did it there." You started to feeling the same way as your brother, but that words never come out of your mouth. Looking at him and shaking your head before you get up on your horse.

You sighed, noticing how he just nod and apologize once more in a soft voice and move his body closer to the horse, the same feeling starting to ache on your chest and even before thinking it too much, you move your hand down to his head, reaching him the top because of the high of the horse and messing his hair with your fingers.

" Don't think it too much, I would be more surprised if you have known how to fight being a little monk, I can teach you, but don't poke anyone's neck with the sword like a piece of meat again, or I gave you a stick to fight. " Moving out your hand from his hair, you kick the side of the horse with your boot to start going with the others.

He tried to hide his face with his own horse with embarrassment, noticing the warm feeling on his cheeks and his heart pounding harder on his chest by the way you touched his hair. Hearing a laugh on the other side that he identify as Finan, getting on the horse and trying not to look at him before start to following the others too.

The feeling of the cold took you out of your own thoughts, sniffing your nose and moving your shoulders, trying to get warm but still shivering. Looking aside to your horse, Osferth looked back at you, a soft smile growing.

"Are you cold, my lady?"

" All of us are cold, Osferth, obviously I am cold to the bones and my ass sores from being in this fucking horse and my head hurts from watching my brother with a foot on Valhalla and this fucking seer looking at me like a dog all the time, why you ask?"

Osferth burst out a laugh, furrowing your browns and looking in front of you at hearing a soft laugh of your brother too, Uhtred looking at both of you from the wagon, hearing Osferth's horse neigh before approaching to you, moving one of his hands to his own cloak on his shoulders, taking it off and pulling it over you. Not having enough time to react to his actions, your hands going on the cloak for a moment and sending him a glance before shaking your head, trying to deny Osferth's cloak, your own hands getting to the lace of the cloak to try to pull it off, feeling how one of his hands pressed on top of yours.

"I don't want it."

"Wear it, Y/n"

"You are deaf? I say I don't want-"

"I said you wear it, so do it." You opened your eyes to look at him in surprise, noticing how Osferth voice was now demanding it and not asking, you pressed your lips together, doing a grouting low sound on your throat and smacking his hands out of you to pull the cloak on your body, noticing that the cloak was too long and big enough to cover all of you to the foots.

"Imbecile." You said, getting again your hands on the reins and kicking with your boot on the horse to go in front of the wagon with Sihtric.

"She likes you, probably the only man I saw touching his breast was the first and the last, he now has no hands to touch any more..." Uhtred whisper with a soft smirk looking at the monk, looking how Osferth just sighed and his eyes wide, now noticing that, his eyes following you before looking at Uthred with a cautious look now.

"I was pushing my cloak, she would keep me alive hopefully, for you, not because she likes me, I believe it God is great."

"If you think Y/N is going to get more gods than her appreciated Freyja, yeah, you are dead before this night." Finan moved his horse closer to them, sharing a smile with Uhtred.

. . .

You glanced over and over at your brother, letting a big sigh escape before covering your face with your hands, still looking at your brother without moving or giving any attention to anything more, only the light of the campfire being able to help you stare at him in the dark. Moving your legs closer to your chest and pressing both before resting your chin on them. Hearing a sound besides you without moving your eyes of your brother, knowing by the sound of the boots trying to make the softest noise that was Osferth, seating next to you and extending his hand with a bowl in front of your face.

"He is not going anywhere, you don't need to stare at him all night, eat this." Moving the bowl closer to you, knowing that by this time he was not going to accept a no, you grabbed the bowl and moved the soup with the spoon at the side before finally look up to Osferth. His eyes seemed tired from trying not to get down to sleep, waiting for you even if you said you were going to stay up all the night to watch your brother and that they could sleep peacefully. A soft smile growing on his lips when you finally looked at him and grab the bowl, cheering in his insides.

"He's dying, and I can't do anything about it, nothing to break the curse." Your lips pressed together, clenching your jaw, the anger you were feeling coming back with your own thoughts. "I'm going to cut that bitch head and put it like a collar on my horse, maybe with that the gods would tell respond about it."

"Lord Uthred said that we can't break the curse if we kill her, even if I don't think it is a curse." 

"Say again that is not cursed when you are seeing how he is dying by nothing more than her presence, and I'm going to do two collars with both of your heads." You shake your head, getting closer to the bowl to drink the soup, drinking all of it before leaving the bowl on the side.

Osferth glanced at how your brother muttered something in his dreams, looking at you again and letting go a big sigh, his body shifting to put his back on the tree at your side.

"Lady, I'm praying for him, he is going to be okay, I know God is good, your gods too, I'm sure they want to keep him alive."

"I'm going to start prey to your God if that makes my brother well again. Freyja is just silenced every time I ask something about him, probably she is mad about that I let Skade alive in the first place, that's because she is letting the bitch kill my brother. Skade doesn't follow the natural order of gods, she must die and I would be glad to do that." 

Getting your head down and placing it on your knees, you looked at Osferth, this time giving him an ironically smile.

 "I don't know if he is going to make it to see Ragnar again, maybe when we arrive is too late."

"Lord Uthred is strong, he would see his brother again, you're helping him too, I saw the marks that you put around him on the ground and the rocks that you put in his clothes." 

The silence was not loud enough between the two of us, hearing the snorts of Finan at the side of the campfire and Uthred still muttering things while sleeping. You were now keeping your eyes on Osferth and he was doing the same to you, noticing how even in the dark, he was starting to blush when you keep your eyes on him without saying nothing but keeping a little smirk on your lips.

You put one of your hands on his face before thinking it too much, caressing his red cheek and moving your thumb against his chin, pressing the finger up to his lips before stopping yourself, for the only thing your eyes moved from theirs were for looking down to his lips, the first thought that came to your mind stepping so loud on your head that you wide your eyes open, hearing how he swallowed, now all his face was warm and red, his eyes staring at your own lips a couple of seconds before looking at your eyes again.

You pushed your legs to move and lean on him, pressing your chest with his and feeling how both sighed for air, your hands now cupping his face before pulling him up enough to bring your lips together, pressing them hard and for a short moment, Osferth making a loud sound of surprise and not moving his body at all but pressing his lips back before you moved your head, looking at each other with a surprised expression as well after breaking the kiss. 

"Good night, Osferth." Trying your best to keep calm, you mess his hair moving your hands and caressing his face, getting up and starting to go next to where your brother was sleeping without a response from him, afraid enough to look at him while you started to walk. Sitting at his side and coming back to stare at Uthred, this time your head not even thinking about the curse, just about how soft his lips felt on yours and how you wanted to make that kiss longer and keep going with more, how he didn't move an inch but kissed you back awkwardly, maybe a clumsy kiss from his part, probably his first kiss too and she didn't even ask for it, but you were not regretting anything, not with Osferth.

He was still in the same position, the warm sensation on his chest going up to his face again and again just by thinking about what happened. It was his first kiss, or at least the one that meant something to him, and he was so happy about it that he probably imagined a whole more kisses with her in the seconds after. His thoughts passing fast to surprised ones, he was already in shock by just the caressing hand on his face and he was about to whine of happiness when the kiss happened even if it was not long enough. 

Closing his eyes and resting his head on the tree, Osferth fell asleep with a big smile and the same thoughts about you kissing him.

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Taglist <3

@meadowofsinfulthoughts

[author-morgan]

Title: Pleasures of Politicking Rating: M Pairing: King Ecbert x fem!Reader Summary: Sometimes, you’re the only one King Ecbert desires to see. Can be read as a sequel to The Best Laid Plans. Part one of the planned birthday fics for wifey: @mrsragnarlodbrok. 🎁❤️🍻 Happy Birthday!!!

THE PROBLEM OF the Northern invaders weighs heavily on his mind —and the crown upon his brow is a heavier weight still. Ecbert may only be the King of Wessex, but he shoulders the weight of all England. None of the other petty kings have his strength and will, not even Ælla of Northumbria, for all his pride and bloodlust.

Lesser lords, nobles, and smallfolk alike fill the great hall of Wincestre —all come to voice their concerns and woes. Most are piddling requests to appeal to and stroke Ecbert’s ego. Others have come with calls for justice against supposedly broken oaths, unfaithful spouses, and stolen sheep. It’s dull and tiresome and wears on the king’s patience. He loves his subjects, as all good kings should, but one can only endure so much yapping over insignificant squabbles in the face of the pagans who have come to murder, rape, and plunder riches from Wessex and the entire English countryside.

Ecbert lifts one of his hands from the throne’s armrest and shakes his head, cutting off Ealdorman Wulfstan’s declared grievance against his neighbor and known political rival, Leofric. “I will hear no more today,” he announces —the morning court has worn on his nerves enough as it is.

Whispers of indignation rustle through the hall, even amongst the nobility and gathered clergymen. It is not like the king to end court so soon and after hearing so few of those who have traveled far to reach Wincestre. “All of you” —Ecbert looks over those gathered, anger stirring in his gut— “leave.”

The doors of the great hall open wide, letting people shuffle out and to the courtyard. Æthelwulf stays, lingering after most have cleared —he does not understand the cause for his father’s short temper this morning. He steps to the dais, and Ecbert’s gaze falls upon his son —his only son. “This includes you, Æthelwulf.” There are protests on his son’s tongue and lips, but Æthelwulf quells the extempore thoughts and bows low before leaving too.

You step from the shadows near one of the great stone pillars —gaze lowered in piety. “What of me, my king?”

King Ecbert almost laughs —it’s an absurd question for the one he considers his closest confidant to ask. No, right now, you are the only person he wishes to speak with. The only one who truly understands the inner workings of his mind and heart. “Never you, my dear,” he answers, extending his hand toward you. “Come,” he beckons, motioning to the space beside him on Wessex’s throne. “Sit with me.”

You go to him and take the space at his side. Ecbert swore never to marry another after the death of his wife, but there are times when he wonders if such an oath is worth breaking or if you should both carry on as you do now —as king and fidus Achates. If nothing else, marriage would finally make the bishop and priests’ woeful complaints of his sinful ways out of wedlock null. But even without ceremony, you are the Queen of Wessex in all but name —everyone knows it, and nobody with half a mind would dare say otherwise.

He draws you into his side, arm draped over your shoulders as you both look ahead at the empty hall. “Did you hear?” Ecbert inquires —his hand slipping from your bicep to the nape of your neck. “Ragnar Lothbrok and his band of pagans have left our shores.” The news reached him in the early hours of the morn, and he had not wished to wake you so early for such affairs. Where once there were ten longships anchored on the river, now there are only two and a handful of lingering tents. The scouts watched from the forest for hours, but Ragnar Lothbrok was gone with his dark raven banners and shields.

“So suddenly?” You were there when Ecbert made his offer to Ragnar Lothbrok, not but five days past —an exchange of land for the help of the Northmen in strengthening Wessex. It seems a strange thing that such a fearsome and capable man as Ragnar would tuck tail and run after coming to treat with King Ecbert. You cannot imagine what drove him and his kin back across the sea with so little to show for their travels.

“A smaller party remains,” he tells you —twisting a lock of hair around his ring finger and tugging on it every so lightly, just enough for you solely focus on him. “Though, it does raise the question of what is to be done.” He’s thought of summoning the most senior of those left to treat with, but that will only serve to anger the lords and residents of Wessex even more.

“We cannot trust these Northmen.” It’s obvious, of course. In truth, it is likely foolish to put any trust in Ragnar —or any pagan. An oath not sworn to the Father or on the Holy Book is hardly an oath at all. Ecbert smiles and nods his agreement. “Nor should we entertain their presence and whims.” Their supplies are not endless. Soon they will turn their gaze to villages and towns to plunder. Such behaviors cannot be tolerated.

“No,” Ecbert concurs. “That is why I am sending Cuthberht and a score of men to remedy this.” To either drive them back across the sea or slaughter them. He hopes it will be the latter. A slaughter will be cleaner —no loose ends. You nod. It is a sound choice, an easy one too.  

Still, even with one encampment eliminated, more will return —of this, you are certain, and so is Ecbert. There has been no peace since the first raid on the monastery at Lindisfarne, and now their gaze has turned southward. But England will not be able to fend off the Northern invaders if every petty king is at each other’s throats as they are now. With Northumbria, Mercia, East Anglia, and Wessex divided, England will have no choice but to fall into ruin. “England must be better prepared for the future when Ragnar and other Northmen return,” you advise.

“Yet we cannot unite amongst ourselves,” he sighs, reaching for your hand, thumb running over your knuckles —and the bare spot on your finger where he’s considered putting a ring too many times to count. Perhaps that should be his ambition —to become the King of all England and finally crown you as his queen. Ecbert lifts your hand and presses a lingering kiss on your knuckles.

You twist your hand in his grasp, threading your fingers with his, and fall silent as you ponder what can be done, what should be done. “If you could bring Mercia under heel and yoke.” It is not the first time you have considered such measures, but it is the first time you have spake of them to Ecbert.

He shifts on the throne. His curiosity piqued by the proposition, and his hand slips from yours and to your thigh, fingertips pressing into your flesh through the linen and silk of your dress. Ecbert always enjoys listening to your ploys. Often, they are taken to heart and implemented too. If you’ve a plan to unite England, he will hear it. “How would I do that, my dear?” He asks, brow raised. “Since Offa’s death, there are no less than a dozen claims to the Mercian throne.” Mercia would sooner tear itself apart than cooperate —a large host of Northmen may even be able to take the kingdom for themselves and instill Dane Law.

“Ælla.” Ecbert smiles at the mention of the boisterous King of Northumbria. Mercia lies between Wessex and Northumbria. The two kingdoms could serve as pincers and bring the unruly lords of Mercia to heel. “Ally with King Ælla,” you tell him, reaching for the golden pendant set with a polished black onyx resting on his chest, “and quash this petty rivalry among kinsmen.”

The King of Wessex goes quiet, a hand stroking over his beard while he thinks over everything you’ve said and what he’s long been considering. “Split the kingdom?” He proposes. A fair bid to share the land of Mercia, so long as it's divvied equally.

“Or install a puppet ruler,” you supplement, tugging on the pendant to draw him nearer.

Ecbert shifts again, and this time he gathers you in his arms, pulling you across his lap. The smile beneath his golden and silver-speckled whiskers twinkles in his steel-grey eyes —as do the golden flames of the candles burning in their wrought iron candelabras. “Sometimes I believe you are crueler than even I am,” he muses, one hand squeezing your waist, the other cradling your cheek. It is not the first time your advice has led to bloodshed. “And then I thank God you whisper in mine own ear and not another lord or king’s.”

You smile for him, reaching to comb your fingers through his beard, and he leans toward you, closing the distance. His lips are on yours before either of you can think further about the consequences should someone decide to barge into the great hall and see such sinful deeds. You answer his kiss, slowly at first, then with more fervor when you settle your hands on either side of his neck, drawing yourself closer.

Parting, you press your forehead against his and meet his heated stare. “Surely you have already considered such things, though.” You refuse to believe this is the first time he’s considered such actions.

“Perhaps,” he professes —one of his hands slides over your long skirt and then under it, his fingers running over your ankles and calves —masked from his touch by wool stocking— and finally to your knees and thighs, bare and warm. His palm is hot, resting against your inner thigh, his thumb rubbing distracting circles. “I do so love to hear you speak of politics,” he admits, his voice suddenly rough with want.

You shiver under his touch and burning gaze. “Ecbert,” you chide, doing your best to keep a stern tone and countenance —you cannot deny your desire for him, but here of all places to commit such sacrilege? You’ll not be able to look upon the throne of Wessex the same afterward. Ecbert cares little, though. He is king, and he would gladly take you at the foot of a church altar were you willing. 

He knows how to play you like the court bard does his lute, and he kisses you again, but this time he catches your bottom lips between his teeth and gives a light tug, pulling a muffled cry from your throat. A final detrimental crack in your resolve, and then the tips of his fingertips stray farther, brushing against the damp folds of your cunt, and you shatter completely, caving into him. Ecbert makes a strangled noise of approval upon finding you so ready and willing for him.

Resignation passes over your expression, alas, and Ecbert’s lips twitch upward —another victory, even if it is small compared to winning a battle or kingdom. A gasp and weak moan escape your lips as the pad of his thumb circles around your clit, his other fingers slipping through your slick folds —teasing. “Shh, my dear.” He hushes you with his mouth as he strokes his fingers through your heat, feeling your muscles tense and flutter and his cock twitch —already straining against the ties of his britches. Ecbert nuzzles his face into your neck —lips dragging over your pulse, the beard on his jaw scraping against your skin. He’ll see you come undone by his own hand before taking his fill.

Nimble fingers fill you without warning, first one, then two. He bites his lower lip, twisting and scissoring his fingers deeper inside you, making you squirm, then repeats the same motion —this time slower, ensuring you feel the torturous drag of his knuckles. You can’t help but softly moan as Ecbert curls his fingers inside you, sweeping repeatedly over just the right spot for your vision to blur and your limbs to tremble. Ecbert watches your face twist and the warmth rise to your cheeks, his name a hushed whisper on your lips.

He curls his fingers again —moving faster— his thumb pressed tight against your clit as you rock your hips, trying to increase the friction. “Ecbert!” You plead, a little louder and breathier than before. The coil in your stomach tightens, and when you gasp aloud, he presses his mouth to yours, swallowing the noise as a man starved does a warm meal.

But his impatience wins over —he needs to be sheathed within your warmth— and Ecbert withdraws his fingers, letting you up. He fumbles with the laces of britches once your rise, just enough to free his cock, and you quickly ruck up the skirts of your dress and straddle him fully. He’s so hard and warm beneath you, cock twitching —aching— all for you. Ecbert’s cheeks are flushed in the summer air, fighting to keep his regal and temperate composure. But you hold an obscene amount of power over him —even without sitting astride his lap with a hand lazily stroking his cock, guiding him into your cunt.

Ecbert helps lower you onto him, grabbing handfuls of your thighs and bottom, and as you sink onto his cock, you clutch at his back, nails digging into the rich-blue fabric covering his shoulder blades. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, groaning as he slowly slips into you, inch-by-inch, letting you reacquaint yourself with every vein and ridge of his cock dragging along the walls of your cunt. When your hips meet, you both still —a moment to adjust. But then he rocks his hips against yours, urging you to move too. His thrusts soon meet yours, hips rising from the throne. You squirm atop him, the head of his cock striking that place deep inside you with every roll of his hips.

The coil in your stomach tightens again, and this time you’ll have your end —you can feel it build inside you like a million sparks racing through your veins. “Ecbert,” you whimper, the fire in your core burning brighter, stomach fluttering with each husky grunt rumbling through his chest. He lays his lips on your neck, and you know he’ll leave more than just a small mark there —you’ll have to conceal it at mass so as to not draw more scrutiny from the bishop. Sighing into him, you direct one of his hands to your clothed breast, silently begging him to touch you there. He obliges a merciful king, indeed. 

You balance yourself better with a hand on his shoulder, sliding your other hand between your bodies, but Ecbert pushes your hand aside, replacing it with his own. He tussles around, moving your skirts out of the way, and presses the pads of his fingertips against your clit, rubbing tight circles. The friction draws a long, drawn-out moan from your parted lips that you do your best to muffle against his neck as you cling to him.

The falter of your pace causes you both to fall out of rhythm, but it doesn’t matter. Not with how your cunt is clenching around his cock with each thrust. Ecbert makes a noise, halfway between a grunt and moan when your fingers twine into his gold-silver hair, tugging lightly at the roots, then your name spills like a prayer over his lips, and you can’t help it —between the smooth grind of your hips and the little whimpers and groans betraying both your lips— you press your mouth to Ecbert’s, feel the warmth of his tongue against yours. He relinquishes beneath you, giving himself over wholly in a surge of heat.

Ecbert ruts up into you thrice over, fingers still rubbing at your clit until it's too much. The warmth of his release, the friction, the tightness in your gut. Your head lolls back, eyes closed, and lips parted, and only when you are descending does he pull his hand from between your bodies. He wraps his arms around you, drawing you flush against him. You rest your head against his shoulder, labored breathing slowing in unison with your beloved king’s.

He presses his cheek against the crown of your head —all the annoyance and ire he felt earlier during court is gone. Perhaps he will be more amicable now should he invite the leeches and lepers back into the great hall to continue the morning’s affairs. He’ll have to reconvene at some point anyways.

But his thoughts stray from duty to desire again —though there is no reason why those cannot be one and the same given some circumstances. Ecbert runs his hand up your back, under a veil of hair, and comes to rest on the side of your neck, his thumb stroking the edge of your jaw and cheek affectionately. You lift your gaze to meet his, smiling lazily, but his expression is one of curious intent. “How would like to become Queen of Wessex?” Ecbert queries.

All you can do is kiss him —and it is both an answer and a promise.

[Vikings taglist: @ahotmesswithprivilege / @alicedopey / @angeliod / @charming-merlin / @darkravenqueen98 / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @gearhead66 / @gossamarnie / @gxorg / @hc-geralt-23 / @katie007123 / @ksziggy / @midnightmuze / @mikariell95 / @moonlightsspirit / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @n0sferatus / @naaladareia / @queenyalo / @savagemickey03 / @xiakahazou / @xinyourdreamsx / @xxdearlybeloved / @yalos-writing ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Vikings taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐔𝐡𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐝'𝐬 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

Warnings: violence

a/n: nsfw included (ha duh)

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ESFP

Gryffindor

Neutral Good

Aries Sun, Sagittarius Moon, Capricorn Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・Trusting other's wasn't easy for Uhtred. Well, until a person saves his life.

・It didn't seem like a big deal at the time. The decision was easy to make. With four men against thirty, it was more than an unequal fight.

・Standing out of sight, you grabbed one of your silver-tipped arrows and aimed.

・The leader of the large group of men faltered in his step. His gaze trying to locate the source of the arrow, which had landed exactly where he was about to step.

"Hiding is cowardice," the man bellowed. His thick furs unable to hide his fear.

With a raised eyebrow you huffed, not taking the obvious bait.

・You saw one of the men raise a dagger and as he was about to throw it, you released another arrow. Straight into his shoulder.

・Then the fighting started. It only took ten minutes for it to stop.

・You didn't just have great aim with an arrow, you were deadly with daggers as well.

・Now years later, you're found by Uhtred's side. Where he goes, you go. There isn't an issue with him bringing you along on his travels - he knows you can look after yourself.

・A favourite of Finan's, Osferth's & Sihtric's. As you were the only person Uhtred would listen to. Truly listen to.

・And allow himself to be told off by.

・So the three men think you are some sort of powerful being.

・Osferth actually had a bit of a crush on you for a while. Whenever you spoke to him, he would blush.

・Finan and Sihtric teased him relentlessly, and Uhtred overheard them one evening. But he was not jealous. Not in the slightest.

・Osferth nearly died on the spot when he heard Uhtred speaking though.

"I think anyone could fall in love with them. They make it so easy."

・However, it did take a while for Uhtred to tell you about his past. A long, long while. It came in little packages. As if he couldn't say too much at once.

・Showing emotion wasn't one of his great strengths

・But gods forbid if anything happened to you

・There was a time that you had been kidnapped and he nearly tore himself apart trying to find you. All logical thinking had disappeared.

・He knew he couldn't live without you, but knowing that it was a possibility, hit him like a physical blow.

・You are his heart, the person that he always wants to be around. There is no him, without you.

・For years he did not know what his destiny was.

・But now he knows.

・It's you.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Overly arrogant, flirty (Uhtred) x Absolutely unfazed (You)

"Give me attention." (Uhtred) x "If the world knew you were like this, they'd be shocked." (You)

"Wtf did you do now?" (You) x "It was an accident!" (Uhtred)

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

You Save His Life & He Could Not Get You Out Of His Head

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Lívstræðrir by John Lunn, Eivør

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point.

・Uhtred is a giving and passionate lover. As soon as you get time to yourselves, his hands are holding you tight against him. Lips attached to yours in a firm and feverish kiss.

・Behind closed doors is where you see Uhtred's full abilities.

・It's not as if he cannot please you while travelling, it's that he cannot reach the limits that he can when he's able to be fully naked and without interruption.

・At home, with the warm glow of the fire in your joint chamber, he shows you how much he loves you.

・Your naked form underneath his, chest to chest, heart's beating in the same rhythm.

・If you've been apart for a long time, then Uhtred cannot keep his hands off of you, nor can he endure your clothing. Sex is rougher, slightly quicker, but that doesn't mean once is enough.

・No, once is never enough for Uhtred.

・There never goes a night without him at least making you cum. Thrice.

[mrsarnasdelicious]

House Full of Heathens

Slightly Fix it and Very Poly. Reader x Sihtirc, Reader x Finan, Reader x Osferth, Reader x Leofric, Sithric x Uthred, Sithric x Finan, Sithric x Osferth, Finan x Osferth.

Ch 1: No Oaths

You have found yourself in the company of Skorpa of the White Horse, though you are not sure how. They are a fragtag band, only fortunate enough that the people of Cornwalum are no fighters. There is no silver in the plunder and the livestock is skinny. No worthy sacrifice for Loki or Tyr.

Skorpa does not know who you are. That your father is Harald Finehair, a great King among Danes. Nor does he know you ran away to escape that life. To be free and anonymous.

You have half a mind to leave Skorpa behind and strike out on your own. Find a comely man to fuck and a nice fat bull to dedicate to Loki.

This opportunity is presented in the guise of Uhtred Ragnarson. His ragtag band of Saxons strikes a deal with Skorpa, though you know Skorpa is lying, you see it in those piss coloured eyes. Fucker. You have no time to warn Uhtred of the deceit, though. Things escalate quite quickly. And before you know it, King Peredur is dead. His silver is ripe for the taking. Sadly, there are no comely men to be found., only Peredur’s shadow queen. And she is looking at Uhtred like his cock is made of gold.

And of course, Skorpa makes off with the silver. You don’t follow him out of Peredur’s timber keep. You have long since had your fill of his band of poxy whoresons.

“Oi, Uhtred, one of Skorpa’s men is still here.” Says a tall man, who is in Uhtred’s company. You take off your helmet, throwing it at his feet. Uhtred looks up from Iseuld and begins to laugh. “That, Leofric, is no man. This is a Shield Maiden.” He says. The man gapes at you. You smirk at him. “Yes, Leofric, I am no man.” You purr. “But! The Battlefield is no place for a maiden!” Leofric protests. “Don’t you know some of the fiercest warriors are women.” Says Uhtred. Leofric opens his mouth, but Iseuld shakes her head.

“Come, I will help you to the rest of the silver.” She says, The men follow her out of the keep.

The men dig up the dungheap with their hands and the last of their dignity. You and Iseuld stand by and watch. “The gods have it in for this one.” You say. “Utred?” Asks Iseuld. You nod. “They will test him, time and again. They will reward him for his labours, but gods will he have to fight. Especially with Kings.” You say. Iseuld nods. “Are you a seer?” She asks. You shake your head. “I am sometimes given dreams. I had dreams of Uhtred and his companions. I dreamt of glory and I dreamt of death. And maybe those death’s don’t have to come to pass.” You reply

The silver is swiftly divided and you approach Uhtred. “Son of Ragnar, my sword is yours.” You tell him firmly. He gives you an up and down. A small smirk tugs at his lips. “I will gladly accept. What is your name?” He asks. “I am called Y/N.” You reply, extending your arm. He clasps you by the elbow. “Just Y/N?” Leofric asks. “Y/N Haraldsdottir.” You reply. “Harald? You mean Harald Finehair?” Uhtred furrows his brow at you. You nod in answer. “Is that someone I should know?” Leofric asks. “He is one of the greater Dane Kings.” Uhtred replies.

Leofric bodily turns to you. “Princess.” He gives you a stiff bow. You burst out laughing. The Saxon looks at you, obviously startled. He casts his gaze to Uhtred, utterly nonplussed. “Something I said.” He mutters. Uhtred smiles widely. “I think this shield maiden has not been named heir to her father’s realm. This is not uncommon, even for sons.” Uhtred replies. “I am not a princess.” You add. “Very well, not a Princess.” Leofric concedes.

You ride out with Uhtred’s little band. Back to Wessex. For them at least. You have not yet been in Wessex before. It is just heading into the next adventure.

Uhtred parts from the group. To do what, you cannot quite make out. “Stay with Leofric.” He says to you, before he leaves. You have half a mind to just leave and find another useless band of Danes. You swore Uhtred no oaths. But you stay with Leofric anyway. He smiles so charmingly and he has a sharp sense of humour. You decide you quite like him.

You ride beside him on the trek back to Winchester. It is a hard ride and by the time you arrive, you feel like your arse is made of wood, but at least you got somewhere substantial.

“You go find yourself an inn or an alehouse. I will come find you and tell Uhtred where you are.” Leofric says. “Where will you go?” You ask. Leofric looks down and chuckles gently. “I am going to have to see the King.” He says. “Find me after that?” You smirk up at him. Leofric ponders on the answer for a little while. But then he grins widely. “If you have yourself a room at an inn, I will.” He says. “I got silver enough for it.” You answer. “So you do.” Leofric agrees.

He takes his leave and you are left to your own devices for a few hours. You explore Winchester on your own, wandering the narrow streets and take in the houses and people and the animals in the streets.

There is a cart selling meat pies, and you buy one. You enjoy the rich flavours as you walk and eat your pie. Then you find yourself an ale house to have a pint. And Leofric finds you there.

“There you are.” Says the Saxon. You look up from your drink. “I’ve been looking for you for a good while now.” He sits down beside you. “I have been trying to enjoy the piss water you Saxons call ale.” You retort. “That is called ale because Alfred wants people to be able to work come morning.” Leofric gestures to the barmaid. She nods and pours him a pint, too. “It sucks. I’d rather have water next time, but clean water is likely not an option in a place like this.” You reply. Leofric nods and pulls some silver from a pouch at his hip.

“You Saxons are so dirty.” You say. Leofric looks at you, mildly disgruntled. “There is shit in these streets, I have seen you bathe only a handful of times and by the gods, clean water is harder to come by than gold.” You tell him. Leofric scoffs, but he can’t tell you you are wrong. “So that means you won’t take me to bed?” He asked with a sly smirk. You ponder on a reply for a while. You know he has no opportunity to wash. He’ll smell of horse and sweat. His mouth will taste of ale and old blood, but so will yours. You suppose you’ll just not suck his cock.

“I’ll find an inn.” You say, draining your ale and getting up. Leofric follows your example. He throws a few more coins on the table, for the barmaid. “Come, I know a good place.” He says. “A clean place?” You ask, with a wicked smirk. “Woman, you sure are something.” Leofric scoffs. But he takes you by the hand and leads you from the alehouse to a three story, timber built inn. It is a very good looking building, less run down than the alehouse.

“Is this to m’lady’s liking?” Leofric asks. You look up at him and smile. “Yes it is. Also, I am not a lady. I am a shield maiden.” You tell him. “I doubt you are a maiden. I won’t be the first man you hump.” He sounds very convinced. You chuckle and pull some silver from your coin pouch. “My pay.” You tell him. “Very well.” Leofric agrees.

It takes you only a handful of minutes to be given a key to a room and head upstairs.

Once the door shuts behind you, Leofric shoves you against its wooden surface. His eyes are dark and full of desire. “Go on then, take me.” You hiss. Leofric chuckles and cups your face with his huge hand. He does smell of horse, but not as bad as you expected. You close your eyes and hear Leofric make an approving little sound. Then he leans in to kiss you slowly. It is almost experimental. Not like he does not know how to kiss, but like he is trying to find out what you will like best.

You wind your arms around his neck and kiss him back greedily. Leofric groans loudly. He is not expecting you to be so forward. But you are a Dane, not a Saxon. You know how to please a man for true. And this most certainly does not include meekly doing as you are told.

You start shoving him backwards, to the bed. Leofric grunts against your mouth, but puts up no fight. It is not easy, Leofric is absolutely huge, but slowly you manage to shove him to the bed. Leofric falls down on the bed, looking up at you. He grins and pulls you down on top of him. “Come here.” He growls. “Gladly.” You murmur.

You renew the kiss, bracketing his hips with your legs. Leofric groans and his hands slide to your ass. He grabs wickedly at your leather clad flesh. You moan into his mouth. You begin to rock your pelvis against his. Leofric swears against your lips and tries to keep you still. But you won’t let him hold you back. You will ride him! You will show this Saxon how Danes do things properly. You lick into his mouth, letting him know you are fully going to assert yourself. It does not matter that he is bigger. You have a lot of underhanded tricks up your sleeve. Leofric groans, not at all of a mind to complain. His tongue flicks out at yours and he tugs at your tunic. He is not taking this slow. You don’t want him to take it slow. It has been a while since you last had a man.

You break the kiss to sit upright and pull your tunic over your head. Your leather armour has been discarded hours before. Leofric licks his lips and gazes up at you. His fingers bunch in the cloth of your light undershirt. “Take this off.” He growls. You smirk and shake your head. “I hear no please, Saxon.” You cooe. “I don’t have to beg you, Dane.” Leofric growls. He helps you out of your undershirt. Once it is off, his hands go to your breasts right away. His palms are warm and his fingers calloused. You lean into his touch.

Leofric massages your breasts and pulls at your nipples. You close your eyes and revel in his ministrations. Soft, sweet moans pour from your lips.

And then he starts to grind up at you. He is hard in his breeches. You press back down on him. Leofric groans deeply and his hand slips down to the rim of your own breeches. His thumb trails slowly from your navel to your lacings. You shudder a little at how tender the ministration is. But then Leofric makes quick work of the laces of your breeches. “Take this off.” He growls. He’s quite demanding in his tone. “Ask nicely.” You purr. But Leofric shakes his head, beginning to tug down your breeches, as far as he can manage. This bares the better part of your arse and your womanhood.

“I smell you.” Leofric growls, grabbing you firmly by the arse. He growls and digs his fingers into your flesh.

You slide off of him to wriggle out of your breeches.

Leofric hurriedly sheds his clothes as well.

And then he is on you. His large body eclipses yours as he kisses you greedily. You moan against your lips, dragging your nails up his back. Leofric groans in answer. He presses his cock down against your folds. You roll your pelvis up at him. Leofric bites back a groan and grinds back down on you. “Gods.” You hiss into his mouth. “You want it?” Leofric growls. “Yes, hump me.” You whisper.

You don’t have to tell him twice.

He lines himself up and pushes into you. You moan loudly. Leofric adds a wordless moan to yours. You tilt your pelvis a little, to give him a better angle. “Go ahead, hump me.” You encourage him. A thing you won’t have to tell him twice, of course. Leofric pounds into you as though he hasn’t had a woman in weeks. And this might be the truth of it, though you have no way to make sure, bar ask him. And know better than to ask a man about when he last had sex.

Leofric presses his face into the nape of your neck. “You feel so good.” He growls against your skin. He slams his pelvis against your, over and over again, without holding back. The sounds rising from it are obscene. You moan and claw at his back. “Feisty little heathen.” Leofric murmurs. He nips at the lobe of your ear. You moan and rock your hips into his thrusts.

And then you judge he’s had his fun. It is your turn.

You grab him by the shoulders and topple him over. Leofric grunts, not expecting you to be this strong. Shoving down onto the bed, you straddle him. Your folds press down on his cock, which is wet from your cunt. Leofric groans darkly, squirming below you. He is not accustomed to a woman on top, it would seem. “Don’t struggle, I won’t hurt you.” You tell him. “You could not hurt me even if you tried, Little Heathen.” Leofric chuckles dryly. You reach out to grab his throat, quick as a snake. Leofric’s breath hitches. “I am a shieldmaiden, Saxon. I can hurt you.” You hiss. You press your fingertips into his skin. Leofric grabs your wrist, trying to get you to leave off. He is strong, but you are no meek little girl. You resist him. But with your free hand, you line up his cock with your wet core. “God, you are something else.” Leofric rasps. “I know.” You affirm, sinking down on him.

You ride him, your fingers still at his throat.

Leofric groans and tries to trash below you. But you know by now how to keep an unruly mount in check. “Make me cum.” You hiss at him. “Wh-what?” Leofric gasps. You finally let his throat go and instead taking his hand. You bring his fingers to your clit. “You know how to give a woman pleasure, don’t you Saxon?” You purr. “Of course I do.” Leofric huffs. “Then do it.” You order. Leofric rubs his thumb at your clit. You moan and roll your pelvis into his touch. “That is what you like, huh?” Leofric rumbles. “Any woman does, as you keep your touches gentle.” You reply.

He keeps rubbing you. And you keep riding him.

Your muscles tense and your inner walls clench down on Leofric’s cock. Leofric groans loudly and his ministrations begin to falter. “N-not yet.” You whimper. “I ca-can’t.” He grunts. “Just a little more.” You hiss.

You are so close.

“A little more.” You order. “My God, woman-” Leofric snarls. “Make me cum, Saxon.” You tell him firmly. “You will be the death of me.” Leofric growls. But he obliges. He keeps rubbing unsteadily at your clit. But it is enough. The tension inside you peaks and your core clings onto his cock. Lightning blazes down your spine and sets you ablaze. “Oh Gods.” You moan. Wetly, all tension gushes from you and your inner walls contract on Leofric’s cock. “Christ!” Leofric grunts. He bucks his pelvis up at you. He spends himself deep inside you. “Goddamn.” He groans. You smile down on him. “Well done, Saxon.” You smirk.

Slowly you get off him.

You lay down next to him, panting slightly. “Not bad, for an unwashed Saxon.” You smirk at him. Leofric chuckles hoarsely. “Not bad yourself, you heathen.” He replies. “It is always better with a Dane.” You tease. Leofric scoffs in reply. “You are awfully full of yourself.” He says. “I know myself well.” You reply with a wicked smirk. You roll over and kiss him fiercely. Leofric groans and pulls you close. He is not truly cross with you. He is just bruised in his pride.

The next morning you wake up with your face pressed against Leofric’s bicep. He is snoring lightly.

You decide to let him sleep and slip out of bed. You put your clothes and boots back on and head out. First to make your water and then to get yourself some breakfast. Your mind is barely on Leofric. He is not your future. He is Saxon and you are Dane. You need a fellow Dane to grow with, not a man like Leofric, as much as you enjoy him, for now.

You break your fast in the inn’s common room, on your own. You notice how people are looking at you. They know you are different, they know you are not of their god. And that makes you bad. Horseshit, of course. There are plenty of Gods to go around and worshipping some over others says nothing about someone as a person. It says only anything about which Gods they look to for strength, hope and comfort.

You try to ignore the whispers and the looks. You have better things to do than to get into a discussion with Christians today. Winchester is a big settlement and you have exploring to do. You gotta learn the secrets of this place, partly for the hell of it and partly because secrets give you a power over the people who might want to harm you here.

[ravenofthefandoms]

The Path of the Bear

Word Count: 2690 (nice)

Pairing: Leofric x Reader

Characters: Leofric of Wessex, Uthred Ragnarson/Uthred of Bebbanburg (brief), Mildreth (brief), Iseult (mentioned), King Peredur (mentioned)

A/N: First TLK post! They gave us a sassy, badass warrior that is absurdly large and slightly too old for me and since that’s exactly my type, I had to write about him. I want to make this a series as well, but I’m gonna start my Beric request after this and then my modern!Aemond fic/series to be hopefully. Also also, there’s a Grenn x reader sitting in my drafts rn. FYI, in this one I use italics for thoughts, which is new for me, so tell me if you like it! Also, I mention Grian who is, according to my five minute on Google, a Celtic/pre-Christian goddess of the sun, and specifically the winter sun. Since reader is Iseult’s sister in this, I imagine she would be a pagan, just not a Danish one.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned. They belong to Bernard Cornwell and the producers of The Last Kingdom. I do not own any gifs used. They belong to their original creators.

The farmstead you had been camping near for the past few weeks was quiet. There was only one man who you ever saw near the house, and sometimes a woman was with him. Workers tended the fields and took care of the animals nearby, but they were always too busy with their daily chores to notice. You did not necessarily need to hide yourself well, typically just spending your days in the woods foraging or hunting if you could and your nights sleeping in the barn on the grounds. Once the workers all left for home after their day, the farmstead was empty save for the animals you roomed with.

It was not luxury and it was nothing like the life you grew up with. The life you had up until two months ago almost felt like a sweet dream. There was much of it you missed, like your sister and a day filled with nothing but chores and gossip. Then your sister left, married off to some king in Cornwalum for her skills as a gwarch. A mother’s gift, as your own mother called it. Something she inherited from her mother, who received it from her mother, and so on. Only you did not receive it. Your older sister, Iseult, did and she was quite powerful. Her bride price was very valuable, more valuable than you could have ever dreamed of bringing to your family. That did not stop your father’s efforts. It took two more years for him to find someone who would pay a good bride price for you. The day he told you that he found you a husband was the day you ran.

The bleating of the ewe drew you from your thoughts. A small smile formed on your lips as she stared at you, annoyed that you were laying in one of her favorite spots. You could not blame her. The hay was a nest, keeping you comfortable. “I can make room for you, but I will not move.”

Scooting over, you grinned and patted the ground next to you, as though she could understand your jest. Instead, the ewe seemed to glare at you before settling down in another little nest on the other side. Shaking your head, you settled back down into your little nest of hay before closing your eyes and drifting off into a dreamless sleep. 

                                                             —

You awoke early, as you have done everyday since you started sleeping in the barn. The workers woke early too, so you needed to leave the barn before any discovered you in your attempts to hold the sheep. 

The trek back into the forest was quick, your surroundings becoming easier for you to manuever. Your first stop was the brook that ran through the country side. The cold water helped to pull you from the last of your sleep, waking you completely. You wanted to bathe soon, but you had not followed the brook far enough to find a spot deep enough. Instead, you began to forage for food, checking the traps you had set, smiling to yourself when two of your traps had successfully captured two rabbits. Two was too much to eat for just one meal but it would be just fine if you cooked them both now. Starting a fire later would not be smart, the workers on their way home would be more likely to see it.

                                                            —

Night begins to fall, watching from a ridge as workers began to go home. Once they were all gone, you snuck your way into the barn quickly, the final rays of sunlight twinkling through the trees. The sheep and the cows were in their stalls, along with a few new horses. You looked through a crack in the wall towards the hut. There was light coming from the house, but you did not worry. Surely it was just the lord and his wife who lived here. 

It was easy to shrug it off as you made your way to a spot towards the back of the barn, where you could watch the doors with ease. As you tore into your rabbit, your mind drifted back to the last days you had with your sister. 

You had wept as your elder sister held you, learning that she was leaving soon, and you were not prepared for the separation. Though you were 18 years old at the time, she was the only one who took care of you, loved you. She was always so gentle with you and always understanding. When her gifts came to her, she became your family’s jewel. Your parents preened over her constantly, your mother nurturing your sister’s gift. The work paid off and your sister’s abilities were soon sought after. It was a long time before they were sold. During that time, your sister taught you what she could, more about healing and herbs than seeing. When she did go into the woods to see, you went with her. Silence was kept between you, but you helped her as much as you could.

The last thing she said to you will always ring through your ears. “We will meet again, sweet sister.” She tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “But you cannot marry, not who father chooses. You simply need follow the bear. He will bring you back to me.” You nodded through your sniffles, holding onto her as tightly as you could. Moonlight shone on the two of you, raven hair shimmering beneath it. 

Two years later and you still had not found the bear that was meant to lead you. Though you were also not entirely sure how a bear would take you to your sister. Nonetheless, you trusted her sight and would be ready to follow.

The creak of the barndoor snapped you from your reverie. A tall shadow appeared and you cursed, scrambling to a stall. The resting cow looked up at you, lowing  as you approached in a crouch. You held your breath, drawing the dagger that you had tied to your waist. “Who’s in here?” A deep voice called, the signature hiss of a sword drawn from its sheath following, “I saw you. Come back out.” You cursed again before swinging out again, taking a low stance with your blade.

The man was much closer than you expected, with a torch sitting in a sconce between you. The flickering light revealed the scarred, though quite handsome, face of a very tall man. “What are you doing here?” His blade was level, though he did not appear to be very worried.

“Sleeping. The sheep make good company.” He scoffed at your answer. “What are you doing here?” You straightened slightly from your stance, trying to relax the tension. It was quite obvious to you that this bear of a man would have no trouble disarming you, let alone killing you. But there was still a chance you could talk your way out of it.

“The same, by invitation of the lord of this farmstead. Don’t think I can say the same for you,” he stated. You answered only with a shrug. “If I put away my blade, you will as well.” It was not a question, but you nodded your agreement anyways. He began to sheath his sword and you rose, putting your own blade away. “Been here long? Seem to know the locals quite well.” He nodded to the barn animals who had returned to their resting.

Another shrug from you. “A few months. They cried when I tried to leave.” He chuckled at that, looking you up and down.

“What’s your name?” You turned to look at the ground where the rest of your rabbit laid, tossed in your panic to hide. A beat of silence as you picked it up, brushing the hay and dirt from it before taking another bite.

“So many questions. I thought Saxons were supposed to be Christians and gentlemen.” You held out the rabbit to him, a peace offering. Despite having already eaten himself, he accepted.

“I’m deciding if I should tell the lord that you are here. He is not happy, and I do not think you would wish to cross paths with him this night.” There was a small twinkle of mirth in his eyes despite the serious sound of his words.

“(Y/N). Of Cornwalum. You?” He raised a brow. A Briton was not something he had expected to see in Liscumb but here you stood. 

“Leofric of Wessex. Can’t save I’ve met a Briton before.” He tossed the rabbit back to you before moving to sit in what looked to be a decently comfortable pile of hay. “How’d you get out here?” 

You finished the last bit of rabbit before tossing it into one of the back corners of the barn. “I walked, mostly. Ran a little bit. Even got to ride a horse for a while. Though the horse and the running were on the same day.” He chuckled at the mischievous grin on your face. “What is a warrior of Wessex doing sleeping in his lord’s barn?”

Leofric’s eyes followed you as you paced slowly, more out of boredom than nerves. He couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to. Here you were, silver-tongued and beautiful, with full hips that were hugged by the pants you wore and alluring eyes that seemed to call to him from the very depths of his soul. For a man like Leofric, you were a sight to feast on. Though a God-fearing man, the ancient and arcane feeling that washed through him when he met your eyes had him questioning. “It’s my lord’s wedding night.” He smirked at you slightly. “I cannot say that I wish to be privy to it.” His eyes flicked back up after their southward expansion when you stopped, sights locking on each other. There was a beat of pregnant pause.

“Then do not worry, Leofric of Wessex. You shall have a silent night to rest.” A twinkle mirroring his own caused the great warrior’s heart to falter a moment. Though not entirely unfamiliar, the stutter was not something he had felt in quite a long time. With a final small smirk gracing your lips, you slipped into one of the nearby stalls where you were met with a small bleat of an ewe. “I told you, they missed me.” A soft chuckle was met to that.

“If you are to hold the sheep for warmth, then whom should I?” His flirtatious words made you grin, though he could not see it.

You responded without missing a beat. “The cow seemed lonely.” He gave another bark of laughter at this, and you couldn’t help the small laugh you let out. Laying down, you made yourself cozy in the bed of hay. Snow was falling that night, and a freezing wind blew through the cracks of the barn. A shiver ran through your body as you tucked your knees into your chest, another attempt to keep the warm in. After a while of silence, you were able to finally fall into blissful sleep.

                                                            —

Grian emerged from her slumber and the early rays of her light began to illuminate the sky. Your eyes fluttered open with a yawn following quickly. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes before rising quietly. Soft snores carried from the other side of the barn, affirming that the man from last night, Leofric, was still in the barn though sound asleep. With a final stretch, you stood and made your way out of the stall. Leofric leaned against the wall in the same place as last night, his head fallen to the side in his slumber. A soft giggle escaped your lips as you looked down at him. Such soft and small noises from a man so big were nothing short of amusing. 

Quickly and quietly, you slipped from the barn. The gray dawn of morning held the chill of the long winter night. Soon, you were free, traipsing through the woods as you began your day.

                                                            —

It wasn’t long after you left before Leofric woke. In fact, the soft knock of the barndoor closing was what roused him. It took a moment for him to truly wake, but when he did, he shot to his feet. Leofric took a few partially stumbling steps towards the door before yanking it open. To his dismay, you had disappeared before he could call out your name. The slight ache in his heart had nothing to do, he told himself, with the fact that you left before saying goodbye or anything else. 

With a sigh, he shut the barndoor again and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes as he waited for the fog within his head to abate. One breath, two and then he righted himself. She would have been a good hump, he thought to himself almost forlornly. Deciding to give no further thought to it, he exited the barn and started for the hut where he hoped to find something to break his fast.

                                                            —

The day passed as any other, Grian warming the sky as much as she could. Her journey across the sky was unmarked yet unchanged, descending the same as it had ascended. As night fell, Leofric thanked Mildreth for the dinner in his hands, ready to make his quick escape to the barn. Pale dusk began to settle outside and, standing in the doorway, he could’ve sworn he saw a figure disappear near the barn. The air in the room was a bit… tense between Mildreth and Uhtred, but not in the way they had been when he yelled at her the day before. This was the tenseness of a wedding night, and Leofric had no intentions to find out if he was right.

“You do not wish to sleep in the house, Leofric?” Mildreth inquired politely.

“No, lady. The sheep will be missing me.” Uhtred snorted with laughter, eying his friend mischeivously. 

“Taking extra with you tonight, Leofric?” There was a gleam in Uthred’s gaze that reminded Leofric of why he had wanted to knock a tooth or two out of the arseling’s gleeful smile when they first met. “Worked extra hard today, I hope.”

Leofric glared at the arseling, tilting his head at the playful challenge. “Aye lord, I did. So hard, in fact, that I think I deserve this as well.” The taller man grabbed the horn of ale from Uthred’s hands before taking a long swig. “Well, I’ll bid you good night lady, arseling.” He gave them a curt nod before making his way to the barn.

Opening the door, he was pleasantly surprised to see you sitting across from where he had slept. “Missed the sheep?” he questioned teasingly.

“Aye. The one in the back, I’ve decided to call her Veldicca. She has been too great of company for anything else.” You were lying, of course. What you should have done was find somewhere else, gone anywhere else, but you didn’t. You came right back to this barn, and the reason for your return was now sitting across from you. 

Leofric chuckled as he stretched out his long legs in front of him. Grabbing one of the extra chunks of bread that he had taken at dinner, he tossed it to you. “Have you been thinking of me, Leofric of Wessex?” A shiver ran down his spine at the teasing tone of your voice. 

“Not at all.” Lie. You have haunted my thoughts all day. “I was extra hungry tonight, but I will be a gentleman and share my food with the lovely lady.” He gave you a small wink, which only made you return it with a small smirk.

You opened your mouth for a retort when the barndoor opened. Startled, the both of you jumped to your feet, hands flying to the pommels of weapons. “Leofric, I wanted to tell yo-...” Uthred stood in the doorframe, his words faltering mid-sentence when his eyes landed on you. A confused and somewhat concerned look graced his features, eyes flicking between you and Leofric. “Who is this?”

[jesus-in-the-womb]

Miss You ~ Oberyn Martell

Summary: Eria Stark is facing the obstacle of marriage, arranged marriage. Leofric is a handsome Lannister boy, but not someone Eira sees herself loving unconditionally. Another man catches her eye at the courting event, can he convince her to run from her duties and towards a life of passion?

Warning: Smut (detailed warning per part), Angst, Fluff, arranged marriage, violence, alcohol consumption, Oberyn x OC, OC x OC.

This will be a multiple-part series so stay tuned for updates!!

~ Cast List ~

~ Part one ~

[taylortaylormoon]

Andreste

A little tease before bed.

Finan x Uhtred Sihtric x oc!Andreste???? Maybe ;) Andreste has made her home in these woods, a strange woman that travels as the wind takes her. As such the wind has brought her here, in the night to the side of Uhtred of Bebbenbaurg. The gods aid her in her task, she believes as she sits by his side, mixing together the final ingredient for her spell. It will not stop the Norse woman’s magic Andreste fears but it will give him strength. “Fi’an?” Uhtred calls, weakly looking up to see the dark eyes of the woman beside him. “W’o?” “Shh, Lord Uhtred, He will return to you but first.” She smiles, holding the wooded cup to his lips, “Drink, for love and your family you must.” Once the mixture is gone, Andreste stills as metal touched her throat, she doesn't have to look behind to know who is there. She had watched the group before making her appearance she knew it was only a matter of time before Finan returned to his lord’s side. “I don't know who you are but you best put that down before I cut your throat.” Finan growls, only loosening his hold once the woman places the cup down. “I mean your love no harm,” Andreste tells him, using his pause to turn slowly towards him. “The woman’s curse is strong, but your bond is stronger, I can help until you reach your destination.” “How did you know his name?” Finan asks louder, getting the other’s attention, “How long have you been following us?” “The wind sent me, she has heard your plea.” Andreste answers, opening her satchel to show the herbs she had gathered for the mixture. “It is a tincture of healing, it will help him. I swear to you.” “Why should i believe you?” “Because your heart knows the truth.” “You can not help him!” Skade speaks making her presence known, “My curse is too powerful for you wood witch.” “That may be, Aon Dorcha -Dark One but there is one more powerful than you. The wind speaks of your fate to me.” Andreste stands where she speaks, Finan moves a step away allowing the strange woman to walk over to Skade. “There is no one more powerful-” Then men watch as their new friend blows a dried powder into Skade’s face, having her to fall unconscious.

“You couldn't have done that sooner?” Osferth asks, breaking the silence as everyone gives Andreste a wide berth.

“F’nan.” Uhtred calls sitting up, turning the group's attention to him, “Leave her be.”

“Uhtred,” Finan drops to his side, “You need to rest, you were so weak.”

“Your Gràdh is right, the dark one has taken much of your strength, and the journey before is still long.” Andreste agrees, with a bright smile “This feeling will not last, your regrets still haunt you.”

“Leofric,” Uhtred utters the name, and the phantom reapers into view.

“That is the name of the man who haunts you then? Well, a version I should say,”

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Deathless Death

Pairing: Osferth x nameless female character (third person perspective) Warnings: Religious guilt. Smut. Fingering. Slight exhibitionism. Oral (f receiving). Gratuitous Hozier references. Word count: 3.5k

Summary: When a young woman's father is killed following Skade's attack on the priests of Alton, Osferth agrees to take responsibility for her, feeling a need to protect a fellow Christian. However, the longer they travel together the deeper they have each other questioning their faith. Based on this request. Series masterlist.

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

The Lord works in mysterious ways. This is a belief that Osferth has always clung firmly to, it is the only way he can justify his existence; the result of a union between a serving girl and a deeply religious king who, so embarrassed by his extramarital indiscretion, had ensured that Osferth was enrolled as a novice monk as soon as he was old enough, and refused to ever acknowledge him as his son.

Osferth is a bastard, yet he must have a purpose, for God does not give life without intent. He feels he has found his reason for being when he crosses paths with Uhtred, a man his uncle, Leofric, had always spoken kindly of. He offers to serve Uhtred as a warrior, though he has no fighting experience. This is the divine path chosen for him, he is certain of it. He clutches the hilt of his sword as tightly as he often grips the cross that sits around his neck in times of anguish, and does his best to be brave in spite of how afraid he feels.

Reluctantly he learns the ways of ale and women, surprised when the Lord does not smite him down for his sins. He surmises that he has misinterpreted the teachings of the Holy Book; a life of piety does not have to mean an existence endured in abstinence. Though his faith in God never once falters, he grows to enjoy, and even seek out, the pleasures he’d once mistaken for temptations. They are not a means for him to stray from the light, but another outlet in which he can revere it and give thanks.

It is not until he reaches the village of Alton with Uhtred and his men that he discovers the true purpose of the journey he has embarked upon. A group of Danes with a seeress named Skade in their midst has attacked the village, killing all of its holy men.

That is where he finds her. Such a fragile looking thing, sobbing her heart out while huddled behind a vegetable cart, clutching her cross in much the same way he used to do with his.

“Don’t be afraid.” He reassures her calmly, crouching so his face is level with hers.

“Are you an angel?” She asks tearfully, her eyes wide and imploring.

Osferth cannot help but smile at that. For you I’d like to be.

With gentle persuasion, Uhtred agrees to allow Osferth to bring the girl along, provided he is responsible for her. He is all too happy to agree to that. Her mother is long dead and the attack on Alton has killed her father, she has no one else. He was meant to meet her, he feels it in his heart.

Naturally, she is fearful of the others, her only prior encounter with heathens had ended in the death of her only living relative and left her all alone in the world. She clings to Osferth, but he does not mind it. He sees a lot of himself in her, how scared he’d been when he’d first left the monastery to accompany Uhtred. But if she is anything like him, she is resilient and she will pull through this.

As the weeks pass, her face becomes less marred by fear and grief. She is beautiful, Osferth realises. He has been grateful to have someone to bow his head in prayer with, however, the way that she snuggles next to him for warmth in front of the campfire, how closely she leans back against his chest as they ride together and the proximity in which she lays her bed roll next to his no longer feel so innocent, at least not to him.

He feels ashamed for harbouring such illicit thoughts about her. Her piety makes him feel like he is the worst kind of sinner. She does not partake in ale and stays quiet when the rest of the group share lewd jokes. Where her prayers are earnest and heartfelt, his feel flimsy and disingenuous. He would renounce the Lord and worship her instead if she asked it of him. The idea makes his stones ache. When she shivers and huddles to him for warmth it occurs to him that he’d burn everything in his path if only for her to never feel cold again.

Guilt blooms heavily in his chest at the thoughts and feelings she elicits from him, especially when she looks at him, her eyes are always filled with gratitude and adoration. He has grown to crave her gaze, despite the fact that she will never view him as anything more than a protector.

When it becomes too much for him to bear, he seeks the comfort of the nearest brothel. With each thrust into the whore beneath him, he imagines her face, how those hands that fold so delicately in prayer would feel clinging to his shoulders, how soft and supple her flesh would be against the wiry hardness of his own. When he reaches his peak, picturing her, he comes harder than he ever has before in his life. It feels like he has died and approached the very gates of Heaven.

If that is how it feels merely to think about her, he wonders what it would be like to actually be inside of her. It would surely feel holy and sacred, a pleasure not meant for mere mortals. For the second time that night he craves her, and so he seeks out another woman offering her services in the pleasure house.

He pays them well, and he is not unkind to them. He is convinced that that is why they fight over him the next day. He is mortified, especially when he sees that she is watching. She will think him godless, sinful. He hopes that the Lord is merciful and does not intend for her to leave him. He sends a silent prayer of thanks when she remains by his side in the days that follow.

It is not until Uhtred, Sihtric and Finan pay a visit to Alfred, and leave Osferth and her back at camp that he realises they’ve never truly been alone together. He shifts uncomfortably on the log he sits upon, glancing up from the flames of the fire every so often at her, unsure of what to say. She eyes him curiously the entire time, the warmth from the fire and the sunny afternoon meaning she does not snuggle to him as she usually would. Secretly he is disappointed.

“Do you still believe in God?” She asks quietly.

Her gaze is timid and as Osferth turns to meet her eye, she looks to her lap as though ashamed to have asked.

“Of course I do, my lady,” He replies softly, smiling at her. He wants more than anything for her to look at him again, there is something reverent in the way she regards him that makes his chest swell and his cock twitch. He could die happily with a single glance his way from her. “My faith has never waivered.”

“You are not as devout as the people from back home.” Her fingers pinch and stroke over the fabric of her skirt as she says this, not looking up at him as he sits across from her.

“I used to be,” He admits with a slight shrug, wondering if she thinks less of him for his perceived lack of faith. “I suppose travelling with Uhtred has taught me that faith does not mean deprivation. The Lord made life for living.”

She nods, her voice barely above a whisper, as her eyes flicker to his. “Is that why you visit brothels, and why those women fight over you?”

He feels his cheeks heat up as she asks this, and suddenly it’s his turn to look away, embarrassed. He takes a moment to consider his reply, not wanting to sully her innocence with vulgarity, or say anything that might frighten her. “I was celibate when I was a monk…” He begins awkwardly. “I’m not anymore. Truthfully, partaking in the pleasures of the flesh feels like the closest experience to meeting God without dying.”

He knows he has turned pink all the way to the tips of his ears by the time he finishes speaking, he cannot bear to look at her for fear of what he might see in her eyes. She must think he is utterly depraved.

The moment of silence between them hangs thick and uncomfortable before she finally breaks it. “If that is why you are fought over…then I am eager to find out for myself.”

His head snaps up, his eyes wide, stunned and unsure of if he has heard correctly, it seems too forward a statement for such a pious little thing like her. However, her stare is steady and unwavering as it meets his, causing his breath to hitch. He hadn’t misheard her and she meant every word.

The cracking of a twig causes them to finally look away from each other, as they turn to see the others returning. He has never been displeased to see any of them before, but can’t help but wish they’d left it a little longer to come back.

Her words play on a loop in Osferth’s thoughts. I am eager to find out for myself. He frantically strokes himself to release that night, once more plagued by visions of her, the silkiness of her hair, her scent, the dulcet tone of her giggle. There is no sweeter innocence in his mind than the gentle sin that he shares with her.

There is a storm the following evening. Though they are camped beneath a thatch of trees, protected from the worst of the downpour, it does little to block out the boom of the thunder and the crackle of lightning. She whimpers at every crash, clearly frightened, and Osferth’s heart aches for her. He’d do anything to make sure the expression of fear and sadness she wore for the first few weeks they traveled together never returns.

He pulls her tight to him, wrapping the furs around them both as they sit around the fire with the others. They don’t bat an eye at the familiarity between the two, understanding of the fact that she finds comfort in a fellow Christian’s presence and that Osferth is simply offering kindness to someone in need of it.

She melts into his embrace and he allows his hands to wander over her beneath the furs, tracing the curves of her through her dress. He has never dared to touch her like this before and she looks up at him questioningly, though makes no move to stop him.

Emboldened by her silent consent, he strokes her hair with his free hand, while allowing the other to push up her skirt. She gasps at this and buries her face in his chest. He holds her tighter while Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric continue their conversation, all assuming she is just startled by the storm that rages above them.

Her inner thighs are velvety smooth as his fingertips trace over the flesh of them. Not even angel’s wings feel as divine as this, he thinks. As the pads of his digits make contact with the gusset of her smallclothes he draws in a shaky inhale at finding that it is damp with her arousal. It darkens the desire within him to have confirmation that she is just as affected by him as he is by her, and he pushes her underclothes to the side, stroking through the slickness of her folds.

She shudders against him, her breathing growing heavier and he quietly shushes her, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. He looks up to see Finan give him a sympathetic smile, clearly assuming Osferth is comforting her, before he is distracted by Uhtred swatting him softly with the back of his hand in order to gain back his attention.

Osferth looks back down at her, she is peeking up at him from where her head rests against his chest and in the flicker of the firelight he can see that her pupils are wide with lust. It is a look he has seen on the faces of many of the women within the pleasure houses he’s visited over the years. To see it burning bright within the eyes of someone so pure is enough to drive him to madness with the desire it awakens within him.

Shielded from view beneath the furs, he circles her pearl with precision, silently delighting in the way she clutches at his robes and bucks slightly up at his hand. He feels she’s growing close when her body tenses against his and she stares up at him, worry evident in how her brows pinch together. Poor thing has never peaked before.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” He murmurs, coaxing her to let go.

He cradles her head to his chest as she trembles and gasps against him, before finally going limp. Osferth withdraws his hand, allowing her to slump sleepily against him, smiling softly down at her as her eyes drift closed.

He knows in that moment that she will be both his salvation and his damnation, and he welcomes both with open arms.

It is another week before they are left alone together, and life carries on as normal. They do not speak of what happened beneath the furs on the night of the storm, despite the fact that it’s all Osferth can think about.

The others head away from camp one evening to scout the locations of a possible attack from the Danes. It is too dangerous for her to come along, so Osferth remains behind so she is not left alone. This time she seats herself next to him, and he feels his mouth run dry, heart hammering in his chest as he struggles to think of what to say to her.

He startles when she places her hand on his. “You are right,” She says with a shy smile. “It felt…like something divine…when you touched me.”

Osferth swallows thickly. “You liked it?” He asks, already knowing the answer, but desperate to hear her say it.

She nods, chewing her lip nervously. “I did. Does that make me a sinner?”

His eyes widen in mild horror that she could ever consider herself such. “No, that is something you could never be.”

“I am not repentant though,” She muses, her eyes slowly meeting his. “I have thought of nothing else.”

“That is only natural.” He tells her, suddenly aware of how close their faces are, noses almost brushing. His gaze flits to her lips momentarily. Osferth has never kissed a woman before, though he has fucked plenty; the ones he exchanges coin with do not allow such intimate gestures. He desperately wants to kiss her though.

He is surprised by her boldness when she leans in first. It is a quick peck to his lips, which she rapidly withdraws from, looking sheepish. He cups her cheek, coaxing her back and presses his mouth to hers with more pressure. She softens against the movement and for a moment it feels as though time has stopped for Osferth. There is only her. It is a kiss riddled with youthful inexperience and yet he does not think there has ever been anything better.

“Will you…” She mutters against his lips, clearly uneasy with attempting to ask for what she wants.

“Touch you?” He finishes for her.

“Yes,” She whispers, “I want to feel…” She places a hand over her face, giggling. “I have never laid with a man before. I do not know what to ask for.”

“It’s okay.” He reassures her. “I understand.” Osferth coaxes her to sit on his lap as she had the night of the storm, only this time there are no furs to cover them, and he rucks her skirt up around her hips, rather than slipping his hand beneath it.

“Take these off for me.” He says, plucking at her smallclothes.

She does as he instructs and he pulls her tight against him, her back flush with his chest as his arm snakes around her waist, dipping his hand between her legs. She is wet already and he cannot help the groan that escapes him as his fingers make contact with her core.

He circles her bud slowly and she clamps her mouth shut, cutting off the mewl that threatens to spill forth.

“You don’t have to be quiet this time.” He tells her, as she turns her face into his neck, her breath coming in hot puffs against his skin.

Tentatively he dips a finger into her entrance, conscious of the fact that she has never had anything inside of her before - the thought that he is the first makes him swell painfully hard against her rear as it presses back into his lap. Her grip on his digit as he inserts it is vice-like and he wonders how she’d feel squeezing around the length of him, if she ever allows him to take things that far.

He sets a steady rhythm of dragging his finger against a rough patch inside of her that causes sounds that are prettier than any of the songs he’s heard at æfensang to spill forth from her, while circling her pearl with his thumb.

She squirms against him, her arm reaching above and behind her to wrap around his neck, her fingers scrabble desperately at the back of his robes. Her jaw is slack, her eyes glassy and Osferth believes that if the Heavens could speak then her wanton cries of pleasure would be their mouthpiece.

She falls apart with a violent shudder, clenching ceaselessly around his finger and he withdraws it slowly as she begins to calm, continuing to hold her close. Though he is pleased to have brought her to peak, he feels disappointed that the moment is over so soon. He wants, needs, longer to enjoy her.

“You are so beautiful.” He whispers to her, pressing his face to her hair. “Will you allow me to taste you?”

“Taste me?” She asks, confusion etched across her pretty features. “I do not know what you mean.”

“I will show you.” He tells her, ushering her off of him and laying down. “Come here.”

There is no question in Osferth’s mind that he would ever allow her to lay upon the ground, she is too good for that. He will gladly let her sit atop him so that she never has to experience that indignity or discomfort.

He guides her to straddle him, pushing her upwards towards his face, but she falters.

“Osferth, I’ll crush you!” She protests, hovering above him.

“You won’t, my lady.” He tells her with a soft chuckle, tugging insistently at her thighs.

She relents, hovering over his face. “What are you going to…oh!”

He cuts her off, gripping her outer thighs and runs the flat of his tongue against her centre. He can taste the remnants of her previous climax and hums at the sensation. She is sweeter than honeyed wine, an essence so pure it must be holy.

Tugging her flush against his face he laps at her like a man starved, sucking harshly against her pearl, before licking hungrily through the slick that gathers as she whines and writhes above him. If there is a Heaven then he has found it between her thighs and never wants to leave.

He strains painfully against his breeches beneath his robes as she begins to lose control, grinding against each flick of his tongue. He knows she will not last long, already sensitive from his earlier attention and so he savours each moment; her taste, her scent, the feel of her against his mouth and how she moves against him. She is a vision of beauty beyond comprehension as she sits astride him, thread thrown back, moans of ecstasy offered up to the night sky.

She was created in the image of all things good and pure, and his journey so far has led him to her; she is made for him, of this he is certain as she reaches the apex of her pleasure. He swallows down her release like it’s communion wine. In her gratification he is cleansed, reborn.

Osferth lays her down carefully on her bed roll afterwards, covering her body with his own. She appears almost drunk as she gazes up at him, eyes heavy lidded with a soft smile upon her lips.

“My sweet girl,” He coos to her, softly stroking her face. “Can you take more? Will you let me inside?”

As she opens her mouth to answer, the raucous laughter of Finan can be heard in the near distance. The group is returning.

Osferth moves quickly away from her, laying down on his own sleeping mat, watching her as her eyes flutter closed. He hopes she will dream of him. He hopes they will have further opportunities to explore each other. The Lord works in mysterious ways, and she is the most precious mystery he has yet to encounter.

[unusual-raccoon]

Modern!Osferth Headcanons

(Plus bonus drabble)

Guess who's rewatching The Last Kingdom for the 63rd time? I'll give you a hint - it's me! Guess who also had the brilliant idea at midnight for a modern babysitter!Osferth x Uhtred idea? Also me.

So, without further adieu, here are some modern!Osferth rambles/headcanons:

Osferth is still devout in his faith. It keeps him sane in a way, it's been a touchstone for most of his life. He's in between jobs and living alone.

He doesn't have much in the way of family. His father got his mother knocked up when she was young, and his father was married.

His mother was sickly and died when he was young.

He spent a lot of time in orphanages/churches under the care of nuns (Has been praying the gay away ever since) until he was taken in by his uncle.

His uncle Leofric, worked as a Prison Officer in London, got stabbed in the neck and killed during a riot when Osferth was only fifteen.

He has a sizable chunk of change in his name from a wealthy father he never knew. (He refuses to touch a dime).

Osferth spent a lot time in soup kitchens (eating & volunteering), spent many a year cutting his own hair to save money (forgive his bowl cuts), and just overall scraping by on odd jobs and the like.

He reconnected with his half-siblings as an adult, or tried to. He and Edward don't really get along (he thinks Edward is a terrible father - not that being a bastard gave him much ground to stand on). He and Aethelflaed absolutely clicked right away.

He is the bestest uncle to Aelfwynn!

Very good with kids, he is a big baby himself at heart, but also super independent because he's used to doing things on his own.

Aethelflaed is super supportive of Osferth (she just think's he's neat) and runs the "Osferth needs a DILF" fanclub

Have I mentioned he is very good w kids, loves trashy romance novels, can cook quite well, is modest about it (secretly thinks he'd be a kick ass housewife)

--- (How he's gotten involved with Uhtred)---

he met Gisela at the soup kitchen - it's a hike for him, but nothing compares to the loving atmosphere.

Was secretly intimidated by her.

Accidentally thought he had fallen in love w her when she showed him pictures of her babies and they made meals together and she asked him about his life - then he realized he has not known motherly affection in a long timeeee ;_;

Gisela would tell him about her lovely little family and how Stiorra was a nightmare to potty train in comparison to her brother

Gisela would show him pictures of the family and he would 'ooh' and 'aah' over pictures of the babies - promptly reminded he is gay when he saw a picture of her husband.

He'd been devastated when he discovered she had passed. She had been to the soup kitchen in a few weeks and he'd sent a few texts to see if she was well, but had merely chalked it up to being a mom of two youngsters.

He misses the funeral service, but figures it was private and reserved for family only.

Osferth, himself, imagined he landed somewhere between a work friend and gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

Still, he kept her in his prayers every night.

They hold a small gathering in the soup kitchen amongst other volunteers that have heard the news of Gisela's passing.

He mourns in his own way, and figures he should be better at it by now.

Still, he manages.

Until he sees Gisela's family walk into the soup kitchen...

Bonus Drabble:

Uhtred is a young, freshly widowed (fuck cancer) single dad to two beautiful children. Young Uhtred (Junior) is four and Stiorra is two. He misses his wife dearly and as a result ends up revisiting many places that remind him of Gisela.

He ends up at a soup kitchen where she often volunteered, the soup kitchen was supported by a local church and while Uhtred had his gripes about Christianity, his wife never did. Gisela loved all people, sometimes with a warm embrace, sometimes with a stern rap of her little knuckles.

The place is small and cramped and he recalls the scent of whatever's being doled into bowls because it used to stick to Gisela's clothes. It's warm in the air and heavy in his lungs, like thyme and bay leaves and sweet carrots and his heart aches.

There's a man - well, a boy who doesn't look older than 17, gangly, awkward, flaxen hair that spirals around his head like a halo, bowed as he chats with an older woman while he pours a heaping ladle's worth of soup into her bowl. The boy's face is familiar, vaguely. There's a spot next to him behind the counter where Gisela should've been.

A woman on line lets him ahead with a sympathetic face - the kids are with him, Stiorra held on his hip, her arms around his neck, and Junior holding his hand. He feels mortified, guilty.

Uhtred tries to back away, feeling terribly out of place and mourning every inch of the woman he loved. When the boy behind the counter spots him, his eyes are blue, startlingly blue - it's like a peek of the sky through a blanket of fog. A soft, angular face like looks like it belongs in a Renaissance painting with high cheeks and sharp cheekbones and pink rips.

Someone else waves them over, Junior gets a bowl, Stiorra does too, the woman that serves them tries to give one to Uhtred but he politely declines.

They sit, they eat. He blows on the little spoon for Stiorra and offers a small smile when she demandingly tugs on his hair, squirming, doughy little fist swinging for the spoon. Junior is able to handle eating on his own, like a big boy, (mostly).

Uhtred is cleaning the kids up and preparing to leave when he noticed someone had come over.

"Um, excuse me, sir," A timid voice begins, high and boyish, pale long fingers wring the sleeves of an aged brown sweatshirt, "I don't mean to - a-are you Uhtred?"

Uhtred stares warily at the boy, at his flaxen hair and ears that have since turned pink.

"Yes," He answers flatly, and he instantly feels cruel for the way the young man winces.

The nuance of conversation bypasses the children and Junior's hand springs up with a wave, as he says, "Me too!"

The boy smiles a timid, growing thing - less afraid.

"You volunteer here?" Uhtred asks though he knows the answer. Gisela had spoken of the friend she had made at the soup kitchen, and realizes why the boy's face seemed familiar. He'd never been bothered by it, his Gisela was a lovely woman and charmed many.

"Um, yes, sir, I...do." The boy answers, he swallows thickly, Adam's apple bobbing along the pale, elegant stretch of his throat.

He casts considerate blue eyes over to the children, to Junior who babbles about wanting to visit Thyra and Beocca, and to Stiorra who is dozing against Uhtred's shoulder...

"I," The boy begins, slim, pale hands listless as he tugs on a loose thread in the sleeve of his sweatshirt, those high sharp cheekbones that appeared chiseled from marble, redden, his lips, his very pink lips twitch with words unspoken, "My deepest condolences."

Gods, how many time had he heard that same sentiment over the weeks since his wife's passing? How many people had meant it? Uhtred's nostrils flare with every breath he struggles to take in and out with the fissure of pain that splits his chest.

He clears his throat roughly. He blinks away tears that makes the earnest blue eyes of the boy standing across from him dance like sapphires.

"Thank you," He says, it's a genuine thing that bubbles up without him meaning for it too. Many people loved Gisela, it was an easy thing to do, but it finally felt as though someone knew. Knew the agony of losing her. Like the sun had been torn from the sky.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, it's Hild. It could be a thousand things, a lapsed permit or zoning issue, the company has had enough hiccups, let alone after the death of his wife.

"I need to-" Uhtred motions to his phone, the boy nods politely.

"Of course," He says instantly in understanding.

He's still holding Stiorra when he stands, it was late and raining and it's too loud inside the hall.

"I can watch them," The boy offers, sort of perking up like a moping flower kissed by sunlight - it only becomes obvious then  how tall he is. Rightfully, he should be distrustful. He struggles, but his phone buzzes in his hand another time and Uhtred reluctantly hands his daughter over. He watches as the boy gingerly supports her weight, Stiorra's open mouth drooling on the boy's shoulder. He sways gently with Stiorra in his arms, bending and shifting like a reed in the wind.

"Uhtred?" He hears the boy call gently, "do you think you could help me keep an eye on your sister?"

"I can!" Junior answers eagerly.

"Clever boy," Uhtred can picture his son's wide smile, "I can be so forgetful - Oh goodness, where has she gone?"

"Right there," Junior begins to giggle, "Where? Uhtred are you trying to trick me?"

"There!" Junior squeals in laughter that Uhtred hadn't heard in weeks. It's a balm for his soul.

Uhtred answers Hild's incoming call, the phone pressed to his ear.

"How are you holding up?" Is her first question, he strives to be noncommittal with just about everyone but Hild. So, when he answers, he does so honestly, openly. He can hear the tightness in her throat.

"Did you want me to order something? I can be over in," there's rustle over the speaker, "twenty."

He smiles, he loves her all the more for the effort.

"Not tonight, but soon," He swears. He knows, despite everything he's going through, there are still people in his corner, his sister, Beocca, Hild: his relentless supporters.

"I know you're going to ignore me because you always do-"

"-I do not"

"But, have you considered hiring a sitter?"

"Hild," He sighs, he'd abhorred the idea for a time. His own fragmented upbringing left a general distrust of strangers that was easy to default to under duress.

They bicker for a bit, back and forth was their way and the normalcy alleviates some of the ache in his chest.

He wants to reject the idea of needing help, of shouldering responsibilities alone, of being anyone's burden. He rubs at his eyes, a cool sheen of rainwater on his skin.

Inside the soup kitchen, the scent of thyme and bay leaves and sweet carrots is in the air, the warmth in the room fells buttery in the comfort it provides. He can hear his son's voice, laughing, can hear other laughter too.

Stiorra's asleep on the stranger's shoulder. Little hands drowsily clinging to the brown fabric of the sweatshirt.

Hild's voice rattles in his head.

The boy's smile is wide, unbidden, so very youthful. He see's Uhtred and his smile dims, a coy curl of his lips lingers, like an echo, throat bobbing, tongue catching on pink lips, eyes like sapphires still dance.

"Papa!" Junior yelps, delighted, clinging to Uhtred's leg in an instant, "I counted more than Oz!"

"He did, I'm afraid - you're too clever for me." The boy answers, a sheepish way about him, he sways like a reed, right on over to Uhtred's side. Stiorra is very carefully handed over.

"Did you?" Uhtred asks, "How high?"

Junior makes a pensive little face, beside him, the boy, Oz, mouthes fifteen exaggeratedly.

"Oh! All the way up to fifteen!"

"Fifteen?" Uhtred gasps, "Auntie Hild isn't going to believe it."

The children had already been ready to leave before Hild had called and it doesn't take much to tug the lapels of his coat around Stiorra and hold out his hand for Junior.

The boy offers a polite smile, pink mouth pressed together, the scent of thyme and bay leaves and sweet carrots hanging on his sweatshirt, a patch of drool on his shoulder where Stiorra had slept.

"Well, um, goodnight." He says eventually, crouches down to bid a separate farewell to Junior. He rummages through the pocket of his sweatshirt, and pulls out a biscuit wrapped in wax paper.

"I nicked this from the kitchens," He admits, Junior looks affronted, scandalized, but the boy laughs, "It was supposed to be my treat for after, but," Junior's eyes go terribly wide, hopeful, "You did count to fifteen - so, I suppose, you've earned it."

"He can't, he's-" Uhtred begins, but that gangly boy looks up at him from the floor with smiling sapphire eyes and pink lips and says "It's gluten-free."

Uhtred feels...odd.

"Are you allergic as well?" He asks as Junior asks endlessly if he can eat his treat now.

The boy flushes, "Er, no, I-" He rises to his full his height smoothly, hands pushed off the faded knees of his jeans, "I grabbed it after I saw you come in, Gis-" His jaw tightened, tendons flutter under the pressure, "Another volunteer mentioned how someone in her family also had Celiac's..."

The odd feeling persists, its pressure, its hands stemming the flow of blood the open wound the passing of wife had left in him.

"Anyway, I-I only wanted to pay my respects," the boy sighs, flaxen head hanging before he offers a small, sad smile.

"Wait." Uhtred calls, his voice carves through the air.

The stranger turns towards him again, fluorescent lights catch on the delicate braid of a golden chain just barely visible around his neck, tendons jump in neck and the chain dances like motes of sunlight.

"What's your name, boy?"

Those pink lips part in a gentle smile.

"Osferth, sir." He answers.

"Osferth," He repeats sagely.

Hild's voice rattles in his head. Uhtred extends his hand and the boy examines it before shaking hands with him. The touch is soft and lingers in his palm like silk.

"Good to finally meet you."

This was just a silly little headcanon/drabble (1.8k still counts as a drabble, right?) idea, but like, idk, i might be tempted to add more?