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#osferth fanfiction
valeskafics · 2 months
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"Confession" - Modern Priest!Osferth x Nun!Reader
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Summary: Father Osferth feels tempted by you, a beautiful young nun.
Word Count: 1,700
Rating: 18+, Minors DNI
TW: slight dubcon not really tho, afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, stalking, perving, darkish!osferth, religion kink, hierophilia, priest kink, corruption kink, oral f receiving, tiddy succin, overstim, p in v sex, unprotected sex
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the The Last Kingdom characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
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The youngest priest to have ever led his flock, Father Osferth is a man of God. He has never once wavered in his faith. He went straight to seminary school and never looked back. He had no regrets about committing himself to a life of celibacy in service of the Holy Father.
That is, until you came into his life.
You, the sweet young nun, with the kindest smile that he’s ever seen on another person. You, with your curves that are still so evident despite the humble clothing you wear, your body driving his mind wild with lustful, sinful thoughts. You are always so sweet to him, greeting him so cheerfully, always willing to help him with anything. He wonders if you’d be willing to help him lessen the ache of his cock straining against the fabric of his trousers. He leans against the wall, watching as you lean over and set out the hymn books, mind consumed with thoughts of bending you over one of the pews and taking you then and there. But, somehow, with whatever little self restraint is left in him, he holds back.
It is Sunday morning, just before the day’s service when you approach him, greeting him as you always do, “Good morning, Father Osferth.”
He hates the way his cock twitches when you call him ‘Father’. It awakens something so depraved, so lustful inside of him that he feels ashamed of his thoughts. He nods, greeting you in return, a stirring in his body as you beam up at him and tell him that everything is ready for the worshipers to arrive. Osferth watches as you walk away, hips swaying back and forth with an effortless grace that has him entirely transfixed. The entire service, he keeps looking over to you as he preaches to his flock on the value of chastity. He’s a hypocrite. A complete hypocrite, with how his mouth waters at the mere sight of you.
Osferth must resist. You have been placed in front of him as a test by the Lord. To prove the depths of his devotion to his faith. He knows this. You have the face of an angel, but you are no doubt here to bring about his ruin. All this becomes fairly evident when you come to give confession. You assume that he will not recognize your voice, but of course he does. Osferth has committed every little thing about you to his memory.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been two weeks since my last confession.”
The heat rises in his body as he swallows thickly, managing to reply, if only barely, gazing at you through the latticed screen, “Confess your sins, my child.”
He hears the slight tremble in your voice, the shame as you admit, “I have had lustful thoughts for a man of the cloth.”
You have to be talking about him. You must be. What other man of the cloth do you have such frequent contact with? It’s almost enough for him to break down the screen and grab you by the waist, taking you right then and there in the confessional booth. But, instead, he manages to control himself and allow you to continue to speak. He wants to hear more. No, he needs to hear more.
“I know it’s wrong,” you admit, your voice full of shame as you fiddle with your fingers, “But I can’t help it. I have done my best to resist. To stop myself from feeling like this. But it grows more and more difficult with each passing day.”
Osferth resists the urge to tell you that it has been much the same for him. That every day, he teeters on the precipice of throwing away everything he has ever worked for just to feel your lips against his, only once. Only for a moment.
“I have tried to pray these thoughts away, but they persist,” you say, your voice wavering, “Night and day I dream of him. And I know I shouldn’t.”
His knuckles grow white as he clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms. He knows you need his guidance, his advice. But how can he give it? How can he give it when as you speak, his cock grows harder and harder, and he palms at it over the fabric of his trousers, imagining his hand as your own.
“I have touched myself to the thought of him,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, “I am sworn to celibacy. And it’s wrong, but all I can think of is him. His lips, his hands, his voice. Oh, Father, please help me…”
His mind reels with images of your delicate fingers moving between your thighs, face twisted in ecstasy as his name falls from your lips. Osferth’s stomach tightens as you plead, asking him what you must do. He finally clears his throat and manages to speak, voice rough and low with barely concealed desire.
“Have no fear, my child. We have all struggled with desires of the flesh. All that matters is your effort to resist the temptation to sin,” he takes a shaky breath before continuing, thoughts of his body intertwined with yours overtaking him, “What you must do is pray for forgiveness, for guidance. And know that our Lord forgives all who truly seek redemption in his name.”
You nod, thanking him for his guidance, and walk out of the confessional. The minute the door closes behind you, Osferth quickly moves to undo his pants, tugging furiously at his cock, feeling no shame for the noises that leave his mouth and echo throughout the now empty church.
Desperate moans of your name.
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Osferth never noticed it before today, but there is a tiny hole in the wall between your rooms at the church. It is as if God himself wants him to gaze upon you in your natural state, as you stand in front of your mirror, wearing only your headdress and a thin nightgown, your soft, supple body on display for him as you apply lotion to your arms and neck, humming a hymn to yourself. He’s spellbound, hypnotized by the very sight of you, his greedy eyes devouring your every movement. You remove your habit, shaking out your now loose locks with your fingers, yawning softly. Every movement you make seems as if it is explicitly chosen to tempt him, a siren calling to a sailor at sea, luring him to his demise.
You climb into your bed, closing your eyes and murmuring to yourself, barely loud enough for him to hear, “Oh, Lord, please don’t let him fill my dreams tonight. Give me one night of peace.”
There’s no point in resisting you now. He enters your room, footsteps nearly silent as he opens the door, the idea of you dreaming of him driving him to desperation. You sit up, startled and vulnerable, grabbing the crucifix on your nightstand. But when you see that it’s him, you let out a sigh of relief. But you should not be relieved. Not when he has anything but noble intentions for you.
“Father Osferth,” you greet quietly, pulling your blanket up to cover yourself, “Is something the matter?”
He can’t speak, his tongue so heavy in his mouth, so overwhelmed by your beauty as he moves to sit beside you on your bed. So modest and sweet in how you cover yourself, your eyes wide and innocent as he leans in close to you, pulling your blanket away from your body, revealing you to him once more.
“Father?” You ask, confused.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he replies softly, hand moving to cup your face, replying when you as him what he means, “Fight you. I can’t. Not anymore.”
Osferth’s voice is low and husky, his breath hot against your skin as he runs his nose along your neck, deeply inhaling your scent. His other hand moves to your back, pressing you flush up against him, your soft breasts against the hard planes of his chest. His lips find yours, swallowing them in a heated, passionate kiss. He moves to pin you down to the bed, hands moving along the curves of your body, his cock grinding against your barely clothed cunt.
“I thought we were meant to resist, Father,” you manage to eke out between kisses, his lips now moving to your breasts, tugging your nightgown off your body as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples.
Osferth ignores your words, kissing down farther and farther until he reaches the apex between your thighs. He all but rips your panties from your body, burying his tongue deep inside you making you cry out, your hands flying to his hair as he stares up at you. He laps at your folds greedily, holding you in place, feeling the way you try to squirm away from the intensity of the pleasure he’s giving you. But he will not let you get away. Not from him, not ever. He continues his ministrations, rubbing at your sensitive, swollen pearl with his thumb, smirking to himself as you cry out his name, spilling yourself on his tongue. But he does not stop, he continues, drunk on the taste of you, eyes wild and desperate as he nuzzles his nose against your clit, fucking you with his tongue, large, calloused hands squeezing at your thighs as he devours you.
When he’s finally had his fill, he feels your eyes on him as he tugs at his priest’s collar undoing his pants just enough to free his cock, slowly pushing inside you. You’re so tight around him that he wonders if he’ll even fit, the way you whine and whimper, your body writhing against his as he pushes inside you, inch by inch, until he’s bottomed out. Your breasts bounce with each snap of his hips, his palms moving to grope at them, watching the way you cry out his name, your eyes rolling back as he pounds into you over and over.
He is Father Osferth no more.
No, he is a man consumed by his lust, by his love.
He only worships you now.
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aemondsbabe · 3 months
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Wind's Howling
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summary: sharing a bed & accidental stimulation || you're nursing osferth's injury as the two of you spend a cold night together in an inn, but you feel called to help him in another way as well
pairing: osferth x f!reader
warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, mentions of injury but nothing graphic, dry humping kind of, kissing, breast/nipple play, piv sex, unprotected sex it’s like literally the 800’s sue me, cuddling, osferth whimpering how precious, let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 1.8k
a/n: happy day five of 12 days of smuff!! this one can be read as a continuation of love is patient and kind or as a stand alone! enjoy! also yes, the title is a witcher pun
12 days of smuff masterlist!
gif creds to @black-dread!
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!
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You can hear Osferth let out a soft sigh behind you as you shift yet again in another futile attempt to get comfortable on the thin, lumpy mattress. You sigh too, as you finally settle, only to let out a quiet groan when you realize this position is really no better than the last twenty you tried. 
“Sorry,” you spare a glance over your shoulder as you speak, wincing as another harsh gust of wind blows a cold draft through the room, “I can’t get comfortable enough on this damn thing to sleep.” You say with a defeated sigh. 
“You need not apologize,” the monk murmurs behind you, “Between my shoulder and this cold, sleep eludes me as well.” 
As if on cue, another stinging draft billows through the room, eerily whistling through any cracks it can find. The two of you sigh, defeated — leave it to Uhtred to pick the worst possible inn to stop at, though he had insisted upon it, saying Osferth needed a few days in safety to rest his shoulder and the rest of you needed the opportunity to gather supplies anyway. 
Truthfully, a break was probably a good idea. Ever since the ambush a few days ago, the spirits of your group had been in short supply and members were beginning to bicker and fight amongst themselves. Your poor monk had taken it upon himself to be the peacekeeper, which had only served to cause you more stress as you kept trying to compel him to stay in bed and rest his shoulder. 
You can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut at the thought of his injury, the memory of him being harshly tugged off his horse in the chaos of the ambush still makes you uneasy; your heart twists in your chest as you think through your list of “what ifs” yet again. 
Almost as if he can sense your thoughts, Osferth bumps the back of your leg with his knee. “Please do not worry yourself, my lady,” he says, a heaviness to his tired voice, “I am fine, we are safe.” 
“How did you know I was thinking about it?” 
“You tense up every time you do.” 
You sigh again before finally turning over to face him, your tired eyes meeting his in the dark room, the only light in the room coming from the full moon outside. 
“Hi,” you murmur after a moment. 
“Hi,” he whispers, the corner of his lips quirking up into a soft smirk. 
“How’s your shoulder?” You ask, shrugging one arm out from underneath the thick wool blanket the two of you share to gingerly run your fingers over his arm, taking extra care in the spots you know are still bruised and sore, “Is it feeling any better?” 
“I think so,” he mutters, flexing it a little, “It aches to move it too much but as long as I am still, it causes me no pain.” 
You nod thoughtfully, silently thanking whatever God there may be that he had escaped relatively unharmed. 
After another moment of silence, you wiggle again on the mattress before letting out a quiet, rueful laugh. “I give up,” you groan, “This mattress is useless.” 
Osferth sighs next to you and shuffles closer, reaching out as far as he can without extending his shoulder to skim his long fingers over your arm as an act of comfort, “I’m sorry, my sweet lady.” 
“I should be the one apologizing,” you murmur, “Without my tossing and turning, perhaps you could find sleep.” 
He breathes a quiet laugh through his nose, “You are not what is keeping me awake,” he says with a sigh, “Between this cold and my shoulder, your restlessness is a blessing.” 
The wind howls outside once more and you see Osferth shiver as another draft of bitter air blows through the room. With a sigh, you shuffle closer to him, practically molding the front of your body to the front of his as your legs slot together under the woolen blanket; your eyes flutter closed as you savor the warmth of having him pressed against you, though the action causes your thin linen shift to ride up nearly to the tops of your thighs as one of his long legs presses between yours. 
After a moment, you find yourself squirming for a much different reason, the discomfort of the mattress quickly slipping from the forefront of your mind as your center begins to throb, making you keenly aware of the way the monk’s warm thigh presses against your bare heat, the thin fabric of his breeches the only thing separating the two of you. 
You stay quiet, opting not to disturb him further as you know sleep is important to the healing process. However, it seems his mind is wandering too because after a moment, your eyes shoot open when you feel his hard length pressing against your hip, only to find him already looking at you. 
“Osferth —,”
“I’m sorry, my lady,” he murmurs softly, a blush visible on his cheeks even in the dim lighting, “I—,” he starts, though you cut him off with a soft kiss, sighing as his lips press against yours, his warm breath fanning across your face. 
“You needn’t apologize,” you whisper, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, “In fact, I can think of something that may help us both sleep…” You tease, just barely rutting your hips against his. 
His eyes slip closed at the feeling, a soft, whimpered sigh escaping his lips before he shakes his head. “You’ve already done so much for me, my lady,” Osferth murmurs, his blue eyes meeting yours once more. 
“So let me do this last thing,” you smile, pressing one more sweet kiss against his lips, “Please?” 
Your monk can’t help but smile at your eagerness and nods, making you smile brightly in the darkness of the small room. Gently, you untangle yourself from him before guiding him onto his back, taking care to ensure that he moves his shoulder as little as possible. Finally, you climb atop him, straddling his hips, both of you groaning at the way your wet, warm center presses against his length through his cotton breeches. You’re careful to keep the blankets wrapped over your shoulders as you maneuver on top of him, lifting your hips just enough to free his length. 
You shiver when you feel him press against you, already throbbing in your grasp as you run the head of his cock through your folds, gasping as it bumps against your already aching bud. 
“Please, my lady,” Osferth groans beneath you, his chest already heaving, “You… you feel too good, please.” 
You can’t help but obey him, smirking at his pleas as you position his length at your entrance. “Shhh, sweet monk,” you soothe, moaning as the head of his cock slips inside you, “Let me make you feel good.” 
Osferth whimpers beneath you as you sink down onto his length with a pleased sigh, your walls already squeezing against him. You gasp softly when he presses fully inside you, your hips resting against his as his length fills you completely, leaving no part of you untouched. You wiggle your hips on top of him, grinding your pearl against him with a soft whimper. 
You slowly start moving atop him, though you quickly pick up the pace as one of his hands grips harshly at your waist, the other remains draped across his chest at your insistence, determined to keep his shoulder safe. You bite your lower lip, intending to stay quiet as you know the walls of the old inn must be quite thin, however that gets harder and harder to do as the tip of Osferth’s cock brushes against that sensitive spot within you every time you sink back down onto him. 
“You feel so good,” the monk gasps as he stares up at you, marveling at how you move against him, at the beautiful blush spreading across your cheeks, at the way your breasts bounce beneath the nearly sheer fabric of your simple shift dress, “So beautiful, my sweet lady.” He sighs, his cock twitching against your walls. 
“Osferth,” you whisper through a harsh gasp, “I love you, my precious monk.” You smile when he groans beneath you, his cock throbbing as you continue moving against him. 
“I — Christ,” he gasps, the hand on your hip pushing itself under your shift dress, “I love you too, sweet girl.” He groans, perhaps a bit too loud, as he cups your breast, kneading your soft skin in his palm. 
You gasp loudly at the added sensation, the heat in your belly threatening to boil over. Blessedly, Osferth seems just as done in as you, his hips squirming beneath yours as he tries to stay still. 
“My lady,” he gasps, blue eyes staring up at you more urgently than before, “My lady, I — !” He cuts himself off with a loud moan when you lean forward to press your bud more firmly against him, which only serves to press his length somehow deeper within you as his fingers toy wildly with your nipple. 
“I know,” you nod your head with a gasp, struggling to keep your eyes open, “I know, my sweet monk. It’s okay, please” you moan, your walls clenching hotly around him as your high finally spills over you, igniting every nerve ending with a blinding pleasure, “God, fuck!” You can’t help but squeal, bracing your hands on either side of the monk’s head as you tumble forward, unable to hold yourself up. 
Osferth whispers your name over and over, as if in prayer, before he finally groans loudly, cock twitching wildly within you as he cums, painting your walls with his thick spend. He moans happily as you sink further down against him, mouthing at your nipples through the fabric of your dress. 
After a moment, your high subsides and you open your eyes once more, giggling softly as you lean down to press a sweet kiss to his lips. With a sigh, you lift yourself off of him before dropping to the bed with a tired groan. You slot yourself against his side and pull the blanket back up from where it had slipped off, one of your legs draped across the monk’s hips. 
Just as you’re about to open your mouth again to ask about his shoulder, a fist pounds on the wall above your heads from the next room, making the two of you gasp. 
“Oi!” Sihtric calls, his gruff voice muffled, “If you don’t stop fucking like rabbits I’ll come in there and strangle the damn monk myself!” 
“Oops,” you whisper to Osferth through a giggle, nuzzling your head against his neck. 
“I would face the wrath of ten vikings to bed you, my lady,” the monk whispers softly before pressing a kiss against the top of your head.
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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 4 months
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Crawl Home to Her
Pairing: Osferth x f!reader Warnings: Religious guilt. Canon-typical violence. Mild angst. Loss of virginity. Smut. Word count: ~3.5k
Summary: Part two of Deathless Death. Osferth has a crisis of conscience and faith, however, an attack on their party by the Danes makes him realise what's at stake. Based on this request. Series masterlist.
Author's note: For @valeskafics. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.
Osferth rouses slowly into wakefulness, blinking his eyes open. For a moment, his mind is blissfully silent, focusing only on the canopy of green leaves above and the chirping of the birds in the woodland that surrounds him and his travel companions.
That is until the memory of the previous evening floods back to him; the taste of her upon his tongue, her cries of pleasure that had echoed through the trees and up into the night sky. He can still feel the smoothness of her thighs beneath his fingertips, the way the softness of her flesh had yielded beneath his hands as she’d hovered above his face while he’d devoured her like a man starved.
His throat tightens at the thought, his cock stirring in his breeches. He turns on his bed roll to face her, expecting to see her peacefully sleeping next to him, just as she usually is, her features a vision of angelic beauty. However, the space beside him lays empty and his brow furrows in concern as he props himself up on his elbow to look around for her.
He spots her. She kneels at a fallen log, her hands clasped in prayer against it. The early morning sunlight filters through the branches casting the top of her head in golden light. She is the picture of innocence, truly angelic, and guilt and shame wash over Osferth in thick, hot waves. He would have sullied her upon the filthy forest floor, if the others had not come back and interrupted them. Worse still, she would have allowed him to. This pure, devout, impressionable girl had been a vessel for his lust. Seeing her as she is now, Osferth vows to keep his distance; he must do better by her, despite his yearning for her.
He is startled momentarily when she opens her eyes and looks directly at him, clearly having sensed his gaze upon her. Her smile is warm, making her eyes soften with fondness as she looks at him.
“You’re awake,” she says, her voice gentle. Osferth will never have enough of that dulcet sound, it is sweeter than honeyed wine. “Will you join me?”
He nods, not trusting himself to speak and makes his way over to her, kneeling on the opposite side of the log. It’s a deliberate choice, a need to place a physical barrier between the two of them so that he is not tempted to reach out for her, to feel her lips upon his once more.
If she is offended by his decision, she does not show it, lowering her head once more and closing her eyes. Osferth wonders what she prays for. Had she awoken this morning filled with regret for what they’d done and is now praying for God to cleanse her of her misdeeds?
Pressing his own hands together, he closes his eyes and bows his head.
Please, Lord, give me the strength to resist her. Do not allow me to sully her innocence with my sinful behaviour any more than I already have. Forgive her for transgressions, for she does not understand fully what she has done, and was led astray by my lust.
“First one awake’s meant to light the fire,” he hears Finan grumble sleepily in annoyance from a few feet away.
He sighs, standing and walking towards the pit that had been dug the day before. “Apologies, Finan, I’ll do it now.”
The rest of the morning passes peacefully. Uhtred’s talk of their travel plans serves as a welcome distraction, though he is unable to stop himself from glancing over at her. She looks at him with such adoration that it makes his heart squeeze. He is not worthy of basking in the affection of her gaze, yet he craves it all the same.
When it comes time to move on, she leans back against his chest as they ride, and it takes everything he has not to wrap his arms around her waist. His knuckles turn white from the intensity with which he keeps a hold of his horse’s reins, knowing that if he lets go his hands will be upon her in an instant.
She tucks herself against his chest as they bed down again that night and he is glad to wrap his arms loosely around her, keeping her close. He reasons he is simply keeping her warm, nothing more, until she looks up at him doe-eyed and expectant.
“Will you kiss me again?” She whispers into the darkness and he feels a pit open in his stomach.
“Not tonight, my lady”, he tells her quietly, “get some rest.”
He hates telling her no. The way her face crumples in disappointed sadness feels like a dagger to his chest, but it is for her own good. A kiss would lead to more and he cannot do that to her. He must control himself for the both of them.
She nuzzles into him, closing her eyes and he allows himself a moment to simply let his hands stroke through the silken strands of her hair, soft as angel’s wings.
He is thankful that the constant presence of Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric during the day prevents her from asking about the night he had tasted her. He can see it in her face each time she looks at him, longing in her eyes and questions on the tip of her tongue, but she’d never dare speak of it in company, so he always ensures they are never alone.
Come nightfall she clutches against his robes as they lay together, and he savours her closeness, her warmth, her scent, pretending his actions are a matter of duty that he derives no pleasure from.
She catches him off guard a few mornings later, excitement in her eyes as she approaches him.
“There is a river close by. I’d like to bathe. Will you join me?”
Osferth feels himself flush scarlet all the way to the tips of his ears. The thought rivulets of water running down her skin, tracing the curves of her body, has him swallowing thickly in order to maintain his composure. But he cannot give in.
He picks up his sword, fastening it to his belt. “I will keep watch to ensure you are safe, my lady.”
Her gaze lowers, he can see he has disappointed her yet again and guilt gnaws at him. He detests that doing the right thing makes her so sad.
She turns and walks off in the direction of the riverbank, and he dutifully follows her. He has to physically force himself to turn away when she begins to undress. Never having seen her fully bare before, he is desperate to look, but knows he will not be able to control himself if he does.
In his peripheral vision he sees her form illuminated by sunlight as she steps from the bank and into the water. Her movements are slow, deliberate, and he glances quickly at her, seeing how her hands move through the water, over her hair and down her body. 
Looking quickly away, he wonders how someone so angelic can be such a temptress. He wants to protect her virtue, yet ravage her at the same time, and it seems she is attempting to lure the latter half of him out to play. She does not know the full weight of what she is asking, however, and Osferth could not live with himself if he laid with her, only for her to regret it.
He keeps his focus on the surrounding woodland, to make sure no one approaches or sees her as she is bathing. He does not look upon her again until she returns to him, dressed once more, her hair damp from the river.
She looks up at him with wide, imploring eyes and Osferth feels panic flutter in his chest. They are alone. They are alone, and she is going to ask him about what happened between them and he will not know what to tell her. What could he possibly say? That he is a sinner? That he cannot control himself? That he swore to protect her and has taken advantage of her instead?
“Did I do something wrong?” She asks sadly.
The question hits him like a punch to the gut. How could she assume she is to blame for anything?
He opens his mouth to reply, but she beats him to it. “Was it not good…the other night? Have you decided you don’t want me after all?”
Her tone is filled with insecure hurt and Osferth feels as though he wants to cry. He had never meant to make her feel unwanted. If only she knew that she is everything he has ever wanted and everything he does not deserve simultaneously.
“Osferth?” Sihtric’s voice echoing through the trees interrupts them, as the crackle of branches heralds his approaching footsteps.
He turns to face the direction he is coming from, brows rising in concern as he sees the hardened look upon Sihtric’s face. This is serious.
“Get ready to go,” he tells them both. “We are being tracked by Harald’s men.”
Without thinking, Osferth grabs her hand, rushing her back to camp. They hurriedly pack away their belongings, kicking out the fire, before mounting up and moving on at speed.
She rests wordlessly against his chest, and he knows they will eventually need to continue their conversation from earlier, but right now his only focus is on keeping her safe. If he cannot do that then he has failed in his entire reason for taking her with him from Alton in the first place.
Their horses are brought to an abrupt halt, rearing up slightly when Danes ambush them in a clearing, surrounding them. Bile rises in Osferth’s throat, icy fingers of fear wrapping around his heart - not for himself, but for what may happen to her.
As Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric dismount, withdrawing their weapons, he leans forward whispering quickly to her. “Run. Run away and don’t look back. I will find you after.”
He feels her trembling like a leaf, and wishes he could do more to comfort her, but in this moment the best source of comfort is to protect her and, so as she flees, he jumps down from his horse and unsheathes his own weapon.
Osferth is not a masterful warrior, but travelling with Uhtred has sharpened his skills and he fights with more confidence than terror with each passing day. 
Allowing pure instinct and adrenaline ro guide his movements, he drives forward, slashing with his blade, ignoring the ache in his shoulder and the wet, dull sounds of steel biting into flesh.
A sharp sting against his temple happens so quickly that he barely registers he is cut, until he feels the warm trickle of blood in his eye. He blinks it away in time to see Uhtred run through the Dane responsible for causing the injury.
He is panting, sweaty, sight in one eye reddened by ichor by the time they have cut down Harald’s men. Those not killed have fled, but any solace he feels is short lived as dread and regret spur him into action, he runs through the woods in search of her.
Stupid fool.
If he’d have known better, he’d have taken her and rode away, not left her to fend for herself. What if some of Harald’s men have come after her? What if she’s dead?
As Osferth races through the trees he can no longer tell if the warmth upon his cheeks is blood or tears, he simply knows he has to find her.
His heart soars, relief and exhilaration flooding through him when he spots her cowering in a thicket, fresh tears pricking his eyes.
She is safe.
He calls out to her and she raises her head, her eyes wide with fright, though she visibly relaxes when she sees him, stepping out from her hiding place.
His jaw clenches in anger when he sees the slash in the sleeve of her dress, a long, angry looking red gash adorns the flesh of her forearm.
“Did they hurt you?” He asks, unable to mask the worry in his voice.
She shakes her head. “I caught myself on a low hanging branch when I ran away. It is my own clumsiness that is at fault, no one else.”
Reaching up, her fingers brush over the cut to his temple. “You are hurt…”
Osferth winces, though does his best to sound brave in spite of the pain. “It’s only a scratch. The fact that you are safe is all that matters to me.”
They stare at each other unblinking for a moment, her thumb tenderly wipes away the tears that have tracked down his cheeks. 
If they are not meant to be together then why would God deliver her safely back to him? They both could have died today and all he wants to do is kiss her.
Before he can second guess himself, he leans in, pressing his lips to hers, smiling into the kiss as he feels her return the gesture, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him close.
She is alive, they both are, and he has never felt more so than in this moment.
That night, they do not sleep upon the forest floor. Uhtred finds them lodgings at a village alehouse, stating they have all suffered enough for one day and deserve the comfort of a decent night’s rest.
Retreating upstairs, bellies filled with ale and stew, Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric pile into one room, leaving Osferth and her to the other. It is humble, simply furnished, with a small double bed.
Osferth’s pulse races, keeping his back to her as he removes the light leather armour from his wrists and chest, leaving himself in just his robes. They have never spent the night alone together like this before. What would she be expecting of him?
He lips part involuntarily as he turns back to see her dressed only in her cotton shift. She has removed her dress, and tended to the cut upon her arm. She is beautiful, so beautiful, and he feels himself redden with embarrassment as she looks up and smiles, clearly having caught him staring.
She squeezes water from a cloth into a basin, before turning back to him. “Here, let me,” she says, gesturing to the wound on his temple.
Osferth approaches her slowly, his breathing unsteady. He hisses lightly at the sting of it as she gently presses the dampened cloth to his injury.
“Forgive me,” she whispers, lightening her touch, and his chest tightens.
As if my forgiveness is something you would ever need to seek.
She dabs at his face, placing the cloth into the bowl several more times as she goes, wringing it out, until she is satisfied he is clean.
Dropping the cloth back into the bowl, she places her hands against his face. She regards him with such tenderness that he has to close his eyes, unable to stand the way it makes it feel as though his heart will burst out of his chest.
Her fingertips move lightly over the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, over his lips, chin and jaw. If this is what it feels like to be worshiped then the satisfaction God must experience is beyond gratification.
He gasps as he feels her lips press eagerly his once more and moves his mouth hungrily against hers, tangling his fingers into her hair and walking her back towards the bed.
Pushing her back, he hovers over his, his lips trailing a path down her neck to her collarbones, before kissing the rest of her body through her shift. Eagerly, he pushes the cotton above her hips, finding her wet and wanting, eager to be tasted again.
Osferth’s gaze flickers back up to her face. Her eyes are glossy and darkened by desire, her lips swollen with kisses and parted as she breathes heavily through them.
If he had died today, he is certain the grave he ended up in would not be enough to hold him back from crawling back to her, if only to see her like this. But in that same moment, he remembers the men he has killed today, his hands sullied by blood, lives ended by his hand.
He is unfit to touch her. He cannot besmirch her virtue with his uncleanliness.
He bows his head, exhaling sadly. “I–I cannot go any further, my lady,” he whispers, “I would not dirty you with hands that are not worthy of you.”
She props herself up on her elbows. “And what about what I want? It is my virtue to give away, don’t I get to decide who takes it?”
“You don’t know what you’re asking, you cannot give me this,” he argues, eyebrows drawn together in a pleading expression.
“I know perfectly well what it is that I want,” she replies, her tone defiant.
She shifts on the bed, pushing him onto his back, and he lets her. All his fight has left him, so he simply lays there, watching her with curiosity as she sits astride him.
Carefully, her hands pull at his clothes, stripping him of his robe, trousers and breeches. He quietly allows her to do so, lifting his body as needed to aid her task until he lays utterly naked before him.
Osferth has never been nude in front of anyone before. He had anticipated feeling shame and embarrassment, wanting to curl in on himself to hide from her. However, her gaze is filled with such warmth and innocence, she looks upon him in wonder, the way that people gaze at sunsets and meadows of wildflowers. It makes pride swell within his chest to be looked upon as though he is worthy.
Her lips brush gently against his, and as quickly as he leans up to kiss her back, she is moving away. Her mouth trails a path down his neck, across his chest and over his abdomen, before she allows her fingertips to take the same journey. He shivers, feeling his manhood pulsate under her attention.
He sucks in a breath when he feels her hand wrap around his cock, testing the weight and feel of it in her palm, eyeing it reverently, before she lets go and comes to lay beside him.
She pulls her shift over her head, discarding it upon the floor, and his eyes widen, drinking in the sight of her. Not even the most diligent monks in his days at the monastery could illuminate visions as lovely as she is.
“I do not know what I am doing. I’ve never done this before, but I want to. Osferth, please.”
Her quiet plea is all he needs to hear. He turns her onto her back, hovering over her and kisses her deeply. A rumble of appreciation vibrates through him as he feels her instinctively part her thighs.
Pulling away, he grasps the base of himself, guiding his tip to her waiting entrance.
“Are you sure?” He asks, eyes locking with hers.
“I have never wanted anything more. Please.”
Her words make his stones ache and he presses forwards, jaw going slack at the feeling of how tight she is as his length forces apart her walls.
She whines quietly at the intrusion, though as he studies her face he is met with desire rather than the discomfort that he had anticipated. It excites him to know that she wants him, though he fears he would not be able to stop now even if he wanted to.
If lying with other women has been the closest he has come to seeing the face of God before, then in this moment he has truly died and gone to heaven.
His thrusts into her are slow and soft, his lips linger against hers, exchanging sticky kisses and laboured breaths. As his passage eases, his movements become slightly harder and faster, groaning as she grows wetter, clenching around him as the wooden bed frame creaks with their efforts.
This is his forbidden fruit. He has tasted her and now there is no going back. He loses himself in the sensation of her, his grip on her tight as she writhes beneath him, the sounds she makes are sweeter than any music.
Noticing her tensing when his thrusts are shallower, he repeats the motion in earnest until suddenly she is crying out, pulsating around him, pulling him quickly towards release. He pulls out, stroking himself to completion, watching the way his spend paints her bare flesh in pearlescent ropes.
Breathlessly he falls back against the mattress, pulling her to him, wanting her close. She is pliable, eager, and snuggles against him, her head upon his chest.
He looks down at her through hooded eyes and she smiles back up at him, her gaze filled with warm affection.
“I love you,” she whispers.
The words stick in his throat. They are not enough to convey the depth of his feelings for her. They are just words, much like heaven and hell, and they are worthless. He will never want for anything, as long as he has her.
So, he simply kisses her, hoping that it is enough for her to understand just how precious she is to him.
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undertheorangetree · 6 months
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To Be Alone With You
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Summary- Osferth becomes infatuated with a healer from the continent.
Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female Reader. Osferth's got a big old crush. Like he’s down bad. Blood. Minor injuries. Shoddy knowledge of 10th century healing. Blasphemy. Admittedly more plot than porn. Cunnilingus. Masturbation. P in V sex. Against a wall in a church no less.
Author's Note- The fact that Osferth canonically fucks and is good at it to the point where women fight over him lives in my mind rent free. Anyway read the rest on ao3 link is belowww
dividers by me lmao
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Osferth likes to think that he's different now. Or at least, that he has changed since first joining Uhtred. He's grown further into himself- his confidence, his ability to be a warrior, that he himself has changed as a whole. He's stronger now and though he still values his faith, it does not feel so all consuming, an anchor around his throat forever reminding him of his bastardry. He is proud of the man he has become, of the one that he continues to grow into, and it feels right that, over time, he has changed for the better.
But he seems to forget all that the moment he lays eyes on her.
She had arrived with a traveling priest from the continent, one who had come with the intention of spreading the word of God to the infamously heretical ealdorman. And though she traveled with a priest and his retinue, she wore no habit. Her hair was loose, catching the waning rays of the sun and he felt his heart stutter in his chest when he caught the colour of it shining in the light. She had caught his eye then, as their little ship docked, and smiled at him so brightly he felt himself fall back into the boy he once was, the cursed baby monk.
Though Uhtred had wanted to throw the whole group out at the first sign of a sermon, he agreed to give them a night in the inn out of respect for how long they had been traveling- after they had paid a small fee, of course- and Osferth had managed to catch her in the tavern later that night.
The words had caught in his throat the moment he tried to speak, but Finan had been with him and it had been easy for him to ask if they could join her and begin a conversation. He had nursed his mug of ale while they spoke, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of her further, and joined Finan in highlighting all that Coccham had to offer. Finan had quickly become drunk, but they had found a joint amusement in that and he had revelled in every smile she cast his way. They learned that she was the priest's healer, having studied in Frankia before deciding to join the priest in order to see what the world had to offer. She told them of her travels to Burgundy, Provence, and the Northern Byzantine Empire, regailing them with stories Osferth could only dream about. Uhtred had joined them midway through the conversation, allowing Osferth the opportunity to join her on her bench, their arms brushing against each other.
By the time morning came, the priest had gone and she had stayed on as their healer. Uhtred offered her a cottage and the promise to retrieve everything she could possibly need. He had grinned at Osferth the moment she turned her back on them, raising his eyebrows playfully, and he had felt his face begin to burn from how obvious his immediate infatuation must have been.
At first, he simply admired her from afar. Though he is proud of all the progress he has made to become the man he is now, that all seems to melt away when he is around her. More often than not, he stumbles over his words when he tries to speak to her, face burning scarlet and heart beating faster in his chest. It is clear that the others know of his infatuation, as they do everything in their power to facilitate some kind of interaction between them. Inviting him over when they are speaking to her, offering her his assistance whenever she needs it. Finan had gone so far as to shove him in her direction whenever he felt like causing trouble, though thank God he had only stumbled into her once. She had done little more than laugh then but he had avoided her for two days out of sheer humiliation.
It is safer to simply keep his distance. Though he enjoys talking to her- more than enjoys it, if he is honest with himself- he does little more than embarrass himself when he tries. He wants more, he wants everything, but for now he will settle for admiration. Distance.
It seems kinder. To both himself and her.
He can see her now, walking back to her cottage with a basket full of herbs and flowers she must have picked nearby the river. There is a woman walking with her, one he doesn't know well enough to know her name, but they are laughing as if they are close friends. The other woman reaches out to rest a hand on her arm and he watches longingly as she raises her own to clutch at the other woman's fingers. He cannot hear what they're saying over the echoing clack of the wooden swords the boys are using to practice- a sparring match he is admittedly supposed to be monitoring- but she has a pull on him he can't quite explain and he can’t bring himself to look away.
It comes with consequences.
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Read the rest here
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adragonprinceswhore · 4 months
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You’re Nothing But A Beast I Osferth x Reader
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Smuffy Christmas, December 11th I Masterlist
An anonymous request for some Baby Monk! I'm sorry that this is late, hope you like it! 🖤
Prompt: Grabbing the other's hand without saying anything + Temperature play
Summary: After falling into a river in the middle of winter, Osferth needs to warm up his lady companion.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, depictions of hypothermia, temperature play, water being too hot for comfort, yearning, religious guilt, fingering, praise
Note: The sentences in italics are Osferth's thoughts
Word Count: 2600
---
It all happened too quickly for Osferth to react. 
Under his lord's request, he had been appointed with the important task of delivering a noble lady to her betrothed only two days' journey away. 
But the sudden snowfall that met them merely after half a day's travel left the ground slippery, causing his companion's horse to panic and throw her off and into the river lining their path. 
Osferth hadn’t hesitated when he jumped off his horse and reached into the river to aid her, swiftly dragging her to land as she coughed up the water she’d swallowed in shock. 
He’d pulled the furs adorning his saddle loose and wrapped her in them in a futile attempt at keeping her warm, but to little avail. Shivers continuously erupted from her body so aggressively she could hardly stand still. 
Dread makes Osferths chest tighten as he considers their situation. Only half-way to the inn where they’re set to spend the night, one horse short and snow falling onto their cold bodies, freezing them further. 
He glances at the Lady he’s meant to protect as he ponders their next move. 
Her shaking form leaves him on high alert. She looks like prey; ready to be captured by any predator lurking behind the trees. 
He knows how quickly the chill can claim a person. 
I have failed her. 
“My lady, we need to find heat”, he speaks rapidly, eyes blown wide in panic as one of his hands tenderly rests on her arm. She only shivers in response, mouth unable to utter words as her teeth chatter loudly together. 
Lord Uthred had tasked him with this, a simple delivery, and he is failing him. 
I have failed my lord.
Osferth tries to chase the defeatist thoughts rattling in his brain away. He cannot let this blunder best him, this might be one of God’s trials; a chance for him to prove to the Lord that he is still a good man, despite the depraved acts he’s indulged in as of late. 
He places her in the saddle of his horse, continuing their tracking as he leads them on the narrow path lined with snowclad trees. He cannot help it when his eyes flicker to her. In the corner of his eye, he sees the strange shade her lips have shifted into, the drain of colour on her face. 
When Lord Uthred had informed his men that one of them needed to escort a noble lady on a short trip, he hadn’t even bothered to look Osferths way. Fighting alongside them, offering his loyalty and by consequence, his life, to their cause still did not reflect on how they viewed him; always just a Baby Monk. 
Osferth’s insistent advocating had finally worn his lord down, Uthred’s tone laced with irritation as he agreed to grant the young man his first expedition unaccompanied. 
Looking around the sparse trees next to the path they were trailing, Osferth felt shame consume him like never before. He shouldn’t have been trusted with this; it was as they thought. 
Still just a Baby Monk. 
He sighs in resignation, moving to walk infront of where the lady’s shiver form is sitting so she won’t be able to see his face as the corners of his lips pull down. 
Walking with his head cast down, shoulders tensing up with each step, he suddenly realises that he’s trailed this path before.
In summer, which could explain why he hadn’t recognised the scenery quicker, as it was now coated in a layer of snow. 
The Lord must be on my side. 
“My lady, I know a place nearby that will warm you”, he speaks over his shoulder before he steers his horse towards where he is sure they discovered a natural spring spewing out hot water from the underground last time he walked this wood. 
From the saddle of his horse, she let out a weak hum in reply. 
Osferth’s estimations were correct. There is a source of hot water here; a blessing that God himself had carved out of the side of a rocky hill. Despite the harsh winter chill, it is still warm, judging by the steam oozing from it. 
Could this be witchcraft?
They come to a halt before the water. “Lady, the spring here will warm you”, he explains, turning around to face her. 
She’s stopped shivering, her body now seems stuck in rigidity. Osferth swallows thickly before reaching out to grab her waist to help her down from the horse. His fingers sink into the material of her coat with an unpleasant squelch; her clothes are soaked and freezing cold. 
“You’ll need to remove this before entering”, he mumbles without looking into her eyes. The redness on his cheeks and ears are no longer solely from the harsh cold biting at his skin. 
Before he joined Uthred, Finan and Sithric, he was a god-fearing monk devoted to a life in the service of God. 
But his time with them had led him down a path of deviance; a life filled with swords, fighting and women.
The latter happened to be Osferth’s favourite of his new-found interests.  
If he did not know of the pleasures of the flesh, he might not have found the lady he’s guarding so enchanting. He’d had eyes for her since he first saw her, admiring her soft skin and sparkling eyes. But only from afar. 
Always from a distance. 
A pious lady like her should not be sullied by my impurity, even in thought.
She moves unsteadily, hands stiff and rigid as she unsuccessfully tries to undo the buckles of her winter coat. 
“Allow me”, Osferth offers as he quickly helps her get the coat off. Her thick wool dress underneath is just as soaked as her outer layer and Osferth helps her shed that too. 
Soon, she is left in nothing but her undergarments; a thin, crem-coloured smock. It sticks to her curves like a second skin, giving Osferth a clear view of her perky nipples and the soft curls nestled between her thighs. 
He does not know what to say, afraid his voice will betray his tainted intentions, and chooses to remain silent when he grabs her hand to lead her towards the heated water. He’s determined to help her get in, make sure she does not slip on any icy rocks, and then leave her to bathe herself warm.
Her cold hand holds on to him tightly as she steps into the water, a cry escapes her lips at the contact.
“I-, I cannot enter. It’s too hot”, she whines, stepping back. Osferth moves his hands to hold on to her elbows as he searches for her eyes.
“You must warm up, my lady. The chill could kill you”, he speaks softly. She nods in understanding, again moving her feet back into the scorching water. She hisses at the sting as she brings her second foot in, eyes growing glassy at the sensation.
“Osferth, it burns”, she meekly complains.
“Please, try to relax”, he instructs her. He cannot help but take pity on her, she still looks so weak, the familiar glint in her eyes no longer there. 
She takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself before experimentally lowering her body a bit further. The hot water feels like a thousand needles piercing her skin and she quickly stands to her full height again.
The grip she has on Osferths coat tightens as she stiffly stands in the warm spring, “I cannot-, i- it’s too painful”, she says in a defeated tone.
Osferth feels how cold her body is through her thin smock; sees the odd colouring of her face. She needs to warm her body, even if it’s painful. 
The brief but instructive experience with the women he’d indulged in had earned him some new skills. Perhaps he could utilise that to make her more pliable?
“If I help you overcome the sting, will you stay in the water?”, he inquires with uncertainty, already ashamed of his lewd proposal. 
She looks up at him in curiosity, nodding in response. 
“I know of a way to relax you, if you trust me?”
“I trust you with my life, Osferth”, she gently replies, giving him the courage he needs to show her his debauchery. 
He smiles nervously, allowing his hand to move from her elbow down to her hip. He cannot find the words to explain what he’ll do to her, and decides that it would be better to simply show her. 
His palm travels from her hip, to her thigh, and then towards her centre. She shivers slightly under his touch, but does not stop him, eyes watching him in peculiarity. 
He moves to gently cup her mound, long fingers reaching down to stroke her core over her garment. 
The fabric will shield her from my impurity, if only slightly. 
His face feels hot, his eyes flicker from her face to the snowy setting surrounding them. He tries his best to remain indifferent, but the sweet gasp she releases as he carefully strokes her stirs something awake within him. 
“Focus on the pleasure, my lady”, he instructs her as he moves his fingers to circle her pearl through the wet fabric of her smock. He wonders if she’s ever done this to herself; ever allowed herself to engage in sinful pleasure. 
Her fists are still holding onto the fabric of his coat, her breath heavy as she tries to forget the burning water her feets are submerged in. 
Osferth grows bolder, pressing down a bit harder as his fingers work in steady circles. Her body squirms before him. 
He instantly stops the movements of his hand, eyes filled with worry as he asks, “Am I hurting you?”
“No”, she says with a slight shake of her head. 
“Then let me”, he pleads, picking up the pace of his hand once more, “Please”
She closes her eyes, tiny gasps leaving her stiff mouth. 
“I-, If you.. also touch..”, he cannot finish the sentence, still ashamed of his depravity; the depravity he’s inflicting upon her. 
She must know that he does not mean to besmirch her, his only wish is to help her. 
She surely knows how sullied I am by now. Will she still allow me to guard her as our journey continues for another day? 
“Osferth?”, her voice, close to a moan, brings his thoughts to a halt. 
“Yes, my lady?”
“Is it a sin to kiss?”
Her inquiry leaves his mouth dry, yet he swallows and answers, “I-, I do not know”
“Oh”, she sighs, not in pleasure but more akin to disappointment. 
“I-, I cannot imagine it is!”, he blurts out when he sees her eyes cast down, “Simply an expression of affection. Like between a mother and her babe”, he reasons, voice slightly breathless at the implication. 
“Do you feel affection for me?”, she asks, gaze trailing up to meet his. 
How could he resist her now, when she’s looking at him like that? When the shimmer in her eye has returned? When he can think of nothing else but to swallow the sweet moans that leave her lips?
He ducks his head down to kiss her in reply, the hand not between her thighs coming up to engulf the entirety of her cheek. 
She moans into his mouth when his thumb circles her pearl, and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth. Her face and lips are so cold, but her kiss is just as sweet as he’d imagined. 
He comes up for air, still revelling in the feeling of her, “Does it feel more bearable?”
“Yes”, she moans again, the colour now back on her cheeks.
Despite the depraved method, Osferth takes pride in knowing that he’s helping her; warming her up again. 
“Kneel”, he instructs, allowing her to grab onto him as he lowers himself with her, standing on his knees in the snow as she sinks further into the scorching water. 
She hisses at the stinging sensation and Osferth soothes her with another kiss, quietly murmuring, “I’ll make you comfortable, my lady”.
He can feel how cold the smock is against her skin, and without pondering upon it for too long, he moves to rid her of the garment. A voice inside of him tells him it’s to allow the steam from the water to reach her skin. Another voice tells him it’s for his own pleasure, so he may admire her fully. 
Has the devil consumed my senses? 
She is still shivering; from the cold air, the heat of the water, or Osferth’s touch, she does not know. 
He brings one of his hands down into the water, large palm gently scooping up some of the scorching water and letting it slide down the side of her arm. 
“You’re doing so well”, Osferth compliments her, eyes kind and inviting as they seem unable to stray away from hers. 
His hand comes up to cradle the side of her face. She leans into his touch and closes her eyes, focusing on the pleasure, not her stinging flesh.
His other hand moves between her thighs again, but this time he makes contact with her pearl without hindrance and she whimpers at his touch, eyebrows scrunched together in bliss.
Divine.  
His fingers travel down further. Feeling the wetness he created with his touch has his head spinning. 
As he slips a finger inside her tight heat, she grabs onto his shoulders, rocking her hips in tandem with his movements, throwing her head back. He searches for that spot inside her that he knows will make her collapse into his embrace, and when he finds it she rewards his pursuit with another pleasure-thick cry. 
“Use me, my lady. Find your pleasure”, Osferth urges as he places his hand so that the finger inside of her tightness presses at her sweet spot while the heel of his palm pushes down on her pearl. 
Her fists hold onto his shoulders tightly as she rides his hand, mouth gasping as it searches for his to indulge in another sin. He lets her use him; he knows he’s the one responsible for her wanton ways. 
I’ll pray to the Lord for her salvation later. 
Another finger slips inside her, and he feels her tighten harshly as she peaks, falling forward into his embrace. He carefully moves his hand away from her warmth, allowing her a moment to steady her breathing as she rests her head against his chest.  
Though she has found peace and comfort, Osferths body is still on high alert, painfully aware of the closeness between him and her naked form. 
He’s been able to keep his gaze away from her, to offer her the slightest decency, but when she leans back his eyes unabashedly flicker down to watch the steady rise and fall of her breasts. 
She finally sinks into the water, breathing heavily from the intense peak he drew from her. Osferth’s panting as well; cheeks tinted pink and eyes dark with lust. His mouth appears to be salivating as his gaze stays on her. 
She lets out a breathless giggle as she allows the hot water to graze over her skin. 
“You’re nothing but a beast, Osferth” 
Her words wound him, but the playful smile on her face leaves him intrigued. 
“Has the devil got his claws in you?”, she continues to taunt him, though he senses that her intent is not malicious. 
“Consume me too. Show me the depths of your depravity” 
---
A/N: Have I ever been unable to get into a hot spring just because it was so damn hot? Yes.
This is my first Osferth/TLK fic attempt so please be nice! Thank you for reading 🩵
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sylasthegrim · 6 months
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The Shrine of your Lies
Osferth x nun!reader ✦ forbidden relationship
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Requested by @doomwhathouwilt
Day 8 ✦ 2,300 words ✦ rated explicit
October Celebration Masterlist
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Osferth simply wanted to find a quiet spot to pray, a place to sit in silence and contemplation, to seek answers and guidance. In the small village they had settled for a few weeks of rest and healing, he thought the chapel would be deserted at this time of the night —the muddy streets were silent, only the inn was still alive with laughter and music.
He had been plagued with improper thoughts of late, images that came to his mind at unsuitable times, flashes of desire coursing through him at inopportune moments of the day. At night, his dreams were much the same and he often woke up hot and clammy with sweat. He knew those desires were normal for a man, healthy even, but he had always found a way to control them. He could tell when a woman was beautiful and he could admire her beauty from afar without his thoughts being led astray… except as of late. 
Perhaps it was a consequence of having spent the last couple of years traveling in close quarters with Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric, who all indulged in pleasures of the flesh and never hid their proclivities. Perhaps it was that he was no longer a boy on the edge of manhood, but a man through and through. Perhaps battle and blood had awakened something in him — whatever the reason was, he was struggling.
Osferth knew it would be easier to go to the local brothel with a pouch of silver and satisfy his urges, but he also knew he would come out feeling unclean, and that it would taint his pleasure. He had noticed the way women sometimes looked at him, with an air of interest, one often accentuated by the cross he wore around his neck. But he was painfully unpracticed and unsatisfied urges were preferable to him than embarrassing himself with a beautiful lady.
Several times he had thought about asking for advice from Finan or Sihtric, but every time the topic of women came up he lost his nerve, and so he stayed with his questions and his doubts. He knew what he was supposed to do, in theory, and he also knew that it was the sort of matter that required practice. Just like he had had to learn to fight, he would have to learn how to please a woman. All he had to do was to find his courage.
And so as the moon was bright in the sky, full and round against the black canvas of the heavens, Osferth abandoned the idea of sleep and made his way out of the inn they were staying in.
The chapel was small and cold, and the wind blowing from under the door was trapped below its high ceilings in sharp whistles, and at times it felt as though the chapel itself was breathing and wheezing. It was a secluded place, a few minutes away from the village, near an abandoned castle that had been partially destroyed in a fire. 
Yet when Osferth pushed the heavy door and entered, he saw a hooded figure kneeling in front of the altar. He approached silently and his stomach twisted with apprehension when he realized who it was.
“My apologies, sister, I did not know you would be here,” Osferth said, bowing his head politely. He felt ashamed of himself, even though he knew she could not read his mind. Walking into a chapel and stumbling upon a woman of the faith in prayer while arboring filthy fantasies was the epitome of wrong in his mind.
“Please, join me,” she whispered, and still her voice resonated in the small space. Before Osferth could think of refusing, or offering to take his leave, he found himself walking up to the altar and kneeling at her side. 
“You are one of Uhtred’s men, are you not?” she asked quietly, and her voice had a soft, soothing tone that matched her pleasant face.
“Yes, I am called Osferth, sister,” he replied, forcing his eyes away from her.
“I am not a sister,” she corrected gently. “Not yet anyway.”
“You are one of the novices?”
“Indeed,” she said, and Osferth noticed the mournful tone her voice had suddenly taken. 
He was aware the novitiate was meant to end for a group of young women on the morrow, and that they would take their definite vows in this very chapel. It was all the village talked about, how they had been blessed with such godly presence. The nuns and novices were hard-working and generous, helping in the fields, healing the wounded as nurses, and taking in all children who needed to be fed, clothed and loved.
“It is admirable, what you do for this congregation,” Osferth commented, and he heard a small intake of breath from her.
“It is the highest of callings, the highest of honors,” she replied as though the words were not her own. “In the absence of a priest, we must serve the congregation. This is the purpose of holy women.”
“If I may, sister, you do not sound convinced,” he hesitated.
At his side, the young woman shook her head, dipping her chin low as though ashamed. “I am not.”
Osferth’s heart jumped in his throat as he recognized the conflicted look on her face, and he felt the urge to reach out to her. She had uncrossed her hands and they were now resting flat on her lap, her rosary wrapped around one of them. 
“It is human to struggle, to have doubts,” Osferth answered carefully, and she smiled, but it was a mirthless smile, full of grief and frustration.
“I admire my fellow novices, as I know they are not plagued as I am. I do not doubt the sanctity of their mission, I simply doubt my place in it.”
“Is there another purpose you feel called to?”
“Yes,” she answered loud and clear, and her voice echoed in the chapel like the ringing of a small bell. It brought shivers to Osferth’s skin, as the word carried more hope and joy than he had heard from her so far. 
“I want to serve God, and I want to serve my brothers and sisters… But I know that taking those vows will mean this village will be my life, as well as my grave,” she said as she turned to Osferth, and this time he could not resist. He reached out and covered one of her hands with his, and her bright eyes raised to his, looking at him with fervor. Osferth swallowed. She was beautiful in a way only a woman could be, flushed with hopes and dreams.
“There must be something more, out there in the world,” she said, and he nodded, feeling his heart calling to hers, his spirit agreeing with hers. She was a wanderer, deep down, just as he was. “I don’t want my faith and my love to be contained in this chapel forever,” she added as she looked up at the high ceilings, and the sight of her pale neck made Osferth’s grip tighten. 
“I have struggled with similar thoughts, sister,” Osferth admitted quietly. “There are days, I feel like I am living a lie, wearing this cross…”
“Your love for God is not a lie, though, is it?” she asked gently, turning her hand in his. Her palm was warm and soft, and he felt his cheeks flushing as she pressed herself closer. “I can see it on your face, in your eyes,” she continued. “Your love for God and for your brothers and sisters is obvious.”
“Love isn’t what I struggle with, sister,” he replied in a whisper, and they were huddled so close together that it felt as though even God couldn’t hear his secret. “What I struggle with is darker… unholy.”
Oh, how lovely she was in the glow of the candles, a flush spreading across her face as his word registered. To his surprise, she did not pull away, instead she smiled as though she understood his torment.
“God made us for this as well, did he not?” she asked tentatively, her eyes lowering to their joined hands on her lap. Her dark lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, and Osferth longed to see the color of her hair, hidden beneath her veil and hood. “We are creatures made of flesh and blood.”
“Lust is a great sin,” Osferth replied, his voice strangled, and she lifted their joined hands to her mouth.
“Then may God forgive us,” she said, pressing a fervent kiss to the back of his knuckles.
“Sister,” he pleaded in a quiet moan, and she repeated her gesture.
“God made us man and woman, and he made it so we would find one another on this night,” she said with a sad smile. “I will not lead you to sin, if you feel it is what would occur… But on the morrow I will be abandoning my womanhood, forsaking the kind of love a woman can feel for a man…”
Osferth’s breath had gone labored and he pressed his forehead to hers, feeling his whole body flush with great desire, greater than anything he had ever felt. “I would rather have you carry my love into the world, than to trap it here forever. I will keep yours in my heart—” she vowed, and Osferth swallowed her fervent prayer, sealing it with a kiss.
The young woman pressed back against him, and her kiss tasted of the innocence of youth and of inexperience. It made Osferth’s head spin, and he knew he had to make it good, he couldn’t afford to hurt her, as it could as well be the last time she would ever feel the love of a man.
He laughed breathlessly as he laid her down on her back on the cold stones of the chapel, realizing that there was nothing sinful about what he wanted to do to her. He wanted to love her as a man should love a woman, which meant to worship her for the holy creature she was, for the miracle she was capable of. Her robes laid on the ground like wings around her angelic body, and she gasped and arched her back when he pressed a tentative kiss to her core, where her more sensitive spot was.
“Oh, Osferth,” she pleaded, and he did it again a few times. When he gave her a firm lick with the tip of his tongue she moaned out loud, her pleasure reaching the high ceilings. 
"Oh Lord," she gasped and he did it again. He pressed his tongue harder against her nub in a slow but steady rhythm, and as she closed her eyes and surrendered to the heat and pressure of his mouth, so did he succumb to his most secret fantasies.
He lost himself to the heat of her core, tried broader strokes, licking her with unconcealed pleasure. She had never thought a man would kiss her there, even less have his tongue taste her. She lost herself to the heat of his mouth, forgetting all about modesty, and she felt as though she was being worshiped, elevated to a higher ground than that of a simple woman. 
She threw her head back and slapped a hand against her mouth, lest curses come out. "Let me hear you, sister, please," he pulled away long enough to plead, sounding wrecked like he was in the throes of pleasure.
She nodded even though he couldn't see her and instead she curled her hand in his hair, keeping his head where she wanted him. His hair was thick and soft under her hand as the rocking of her hips faltered and she felt the ground crumble under her, revealing the edge of a great precipice.
 “Oh Lord—” she gasped, and Osferth moaned against her flesh. “Oh God… Osferth. Oh please don’t stop—”
Suddenly her hips froze and she cried out, long and drawn out as her core shook and pulsed beneath his mouth. For a moment she was suspended above her body, out of time, and the only thing that existed was the intense pleasure rolling through her like waves.
Osferth’s jaw was a bit sore, and his own desire was a pulsing heat between his legs, begging for release. He knew it wouldn't take long until he came undone, and he tried not to blush in shame. She sighed and trembled as she guided him closer atop her. He quickly and clumsily pushed his robes aside and unlaced his trousers, and soon she felt his hard flesh against her. He rocked against her desperately; the feeling was foreign but made her core clench, the strange desire to welcome him inside of her making itself known.
She shifted her hips and rolled them experimentally, and he slid between her folds. Her flesh was hot and moist, and it took all of Osferth’s willpower to pace himself and resist the urge to push into her. No matter how much he desired it, he wouldn’t take her purity away, and wouldn’t risk the shame of a bastard on her, not for his own pleasure. There was no real rhythm to it as they followed the instinct of their bodies, and soon Osferth was shaking in the cradle of her hips, burying his curses in the soft curve of her shoulder.
The young woman smiled ecstatically as she felt him pulse between their stomachs, his seed spilling on her creamy skin. She held his head against her chest as he caught his breath, a feeling of euphoria spreading inside of her.
“Thank you for your love, Osferth,” she whispered in the quiet of the chapel, certain that there was no holier communion than the joining of a man and woman in love for one another. 
They watched as dawn spread over the valley from the steps of the chapel, and as the morning came and the night gave way, she rose.
“Will you take your vows, sister?” he asked, and she turned to him. In the warm glow of the morning light, she looked serene.
“God only knows, Osferth. I will know in my heart when the time comes,” she replied. “As I knew when you knelt next to me.”
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Dividers by @saradika ✦ beta read by @ellrond
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fan-goddess · 8 months
Text
Just tickling…
Authors Note: I’ve spoken to the artist, and they asked and gave me permission to write this. But I highly recommend to go check out the original art piece, the link for is here. This is pretty much the story/written version of this
Summary: You’re in the middle of being worshipped to heaven by your husband, only your daughter can’t sleep…
Warnings: Hints at smut, innocent child, religious talk,
Tags: @slytherincursebreaker
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It had taken nearly half an hour to get your daughter to finally get into her bed and fall asleep. You tried reading her her favourite stories, you tried tucking her in bed with todays favourite teddy bears, you even tried promising her with a day with only her uncle Finan and uncle Sihtric, which you know would’ve only made Osferth sigh and worry about if you were forced to tell him.
Though by the end, after all that, all it took for her to close her eyes and sleep, was for you to promise that for tomorrow instead of her normal Honey Loop cereal, she got to have pancakes with chocolate chips and a drizzle of honey on top. You were already dreading the sugar high you know will absolutely happen, but at least for now you could finally get into bed and sleep and cuddle next to your loving husband.
“Is she finally asleep?” Osferth asks as you close the bedroom door behind you and get into bed.
“Yeah… just to warn you though, you’ll need to buy some flour in the morning love. May have needed to barter with her and it included chocolate chip pancakes with syrup…” You smile as you burrow into your husbands warm bare chest and sigh with relief.
You can feel the vibrations of his laugh as he chuckles lightly. “That’s our girl! Taking after her mother!”
“Excuse me mister!” You exclaim, hitting him jokingly on the chest with the back of your hand slightly. You go back to cuddling his chest, but as you feel your eyes begin to droop, the feeling of Osferths lips trailing the skin of your exposed shoulder, certainly begins to stir you. “What are you doing Os?” You mumble, smiling slightly as you become more vigilant the closer his lips get to the inner curve of your shoulder.
“Just showing appreciation to my gorgeous wife, and our daughters oh so beautiful mother…” He murmurs, turning the both of you over so you’re on your back, and he has better access to your lips. The sound of your lips smacking filling the room as the two of you hold each other.
His hands move to the edge of your sleeping shorts, and slowly take them off so your left half bare to him under the sheets. “Such a wonderful perfect wife…” Osferth smiles as his hand begins to trace circles on your clit, and he greedily takes in your pleasure stained face.
He suddenly stops, much to your annoyance, but your mood certainly brightens as his hands move to take off his own underwear and now totally bare himself to you, the sight of him never not a turn on for you.
Osferth makes no hesitation in entering you, groaning deeply at the feeling of you automatically clenching your walls on him, as if you were attempting to pull him deeper inside of you. “Always amazing you utter goddess…” He murmurs leaning forward to kiss you deeply whilst you moan softly.
“Careful sweet husband… is your faith not monotheistic?”
“You of all people my wife should know I abandoned the reigns of my faith long ago… and I shall abandon them once more as I worship you tonight…” If those words didn’t affect you in some way, then there must be something wrong with you, as when you heard them you could feel yourself become somehow more aroused than you already were.
His thrusts though, soon find themselves becoming rougher and rougher, as the tip of his cock hits that part deep inside of you that you yourself could never reach. At the sudden sensation though, you automatically clench down on him in pleasure and dig your nails into the skin of his shoulders slightly, smiling at the sound of his light groans hitting your ears.
You can feel yourself becoming close, a feat Osferth always manages to achieve with you, always leaving you satisfied and wanting more. The knot in your lower stomach becomes tighter the harsher Osferth pushes himself inside of you, and your arms once digging into his shoulders move to the sheets to clench between your fists for stability.
You’re almost there, you know Osferth only needs to thrust a couple times before you-
“Mummy, Daddy? What are you doing?”
The room immediately turns stuffy and panicky as both you and Osferths heads snap to the direction of your daughters voice. Your cheeks feel as if they’re on fire as a harsh blush takes over not only on your face, but your husbands aswell. She looks so innocent, just standing there in her new pyjamas and holding her stuffed bunny that the two of you got her for her birthday.
“Mummy and daddy are tickle fighting!” Osferth exclaims. From the corner of your eye you can see the deep blush spreading to his neck, and if the moment wasn’t so serious you would’ve made a joke. Instead, you glare harshly at his sudden used excuse while he looks back at you sheepishly.
“A tickle fight! Can I join-“
“NO!” This time, the both of you exclaim it as quick as you can. The panic clear in each others eyes and voices, and yet your daughter is still oblivious. She still continues, to your and Osferths relief, to just stare at the both of you with a bright smile on her face.
“It’s a… grown up tickle.. fight… it’s not for you! Because-“
“Because it’s very very advanced!” You chime in. You almost regret saying no at the sight of your dejected daughters face and the small sad “Oh…” She makes at your and Osferths stumblings, but then you remember the situation you’re in, and you certainly don’t feel as bad as you did before.
“Well I hope you win mummy, because daddy’s winning!” She chirps in, looking happy once more before leaving and closing the door behind her, to hopefully go back to her bedroom and sleep. Still, you and Osferth anxiously wait with held breaths until it’s been long enough, and soon the two of you are giggling in a mixture of shock, shame and disbelief.
“Oh my god…” You mutter in disbelief, both your faces still red, though what once was due to pure horror and shock now stay that way due to pure disbelief and amusement. “I probably need to go check on her…” Osferth removes himself from you, the passion once prominent in the room now quickly depleted after the incident. You place a quick kiss to Osferths forehead before putting on your sleeping shorts once more and heading to the direction of your daughters room.
You peak in slightly, and your heart instantly warms at the sight of your daughter sleeping soundly in her bed cuddled up to her rabbit. The soft blue of her nightlight casting a light glow that washes over her, while the sound of her light snores make it to your ears. “Night night little one…” You whisper by instinct, not even really caring if she heard you or not, as you close the door back up and head back to your room.
This time, both you and Osferth actually go to sleep. Giving into the need for rest as you cuddled with each other, relishing in the warmth the two of you provide each other with.
“Love you…” You hear murmured quietly in your ear.
“Love you too handsome…” You instinctively whispered back with a small smile.
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humanpurposes · 10 months
Text
From Eden
Chapter 1: Little Novice
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Danes attack Wincombe Abbey and a young novice crosses paths with a group of mercenaries and their Baby Monk // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist
Osferth x Original Female Character
Warnings: bit of violence and death, suggestive themes if you squint, there will eventually be smut
Words: 4000
A/n: not me starting another series oops but i can't resist the baby monk
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Today saw the first snowfall of the year. A few flakes landed on Bridget’s sleeves as she sauntered past the hard and frosted soil of the vegetable garden, past the pigsty and towards the stream that circled Wincombe Abbey. She swung an empty pitcher back and forth as she hummed the least melancholy hymn she could think of.
They had guests currently. Lady Aethelflaed of Mercia had arrived two days ago, bringing with her a group of guards who were camping at outside the Abbey. Bridget had been tempted to walk past the men on her errand, but the Abbess was already in a foul mood and she didn’t fancy testing her temper. Not unless it was for something interesting.
She had spent her morning as she always did. Prayers first. Her knees were never not bruised by the flagstone floor of the chapel, but with winter settling in they were numb too. Then she saw to the goats and the pigs. Then she helped in the kitchen. Finally, she got to eat in the hall with her Sisters. Bread with some winter preserves and slices of cured ham.
When she got to the stream, she placed the pitcher by her feet. With a final glance over her shoulder to the solitary stone building of the Abbey, she hopped across the water on a sparse path of rocks and made for the line of trees ahead of her.
The woods were the only place she felt like a living person and not simply a novice in a habit.
Bridget couldn’t stand how quiet life the Abbey could be. The Abbess, a stern but fair woman, told her it was because she was restless and unappreciative, but perhaps she was simply not well suited to mindfulness and prayer. Sometimes she could find things to laugh about with the younger girls, but then the Abbess would scold her for her “impiety”.
Once she was amongst the trees she tugged at her habit. In the summer she might take it off, but it offered some extra warmth in the colder months.
Her preferred weapon was where she left it, leaning against the trunk of a young oak tree. A broken bit of a branch, small enough for her to wield and heavy enough to hit against the trees.
She twirled it through her hands, just as her brother used to show her. From the few memories she had, she remembered he could do all sorts of impressive tricks with his sword. He could spin it and slice it through the air in controlled and precise movements.
It had been a decade since she had seen her brother, but she tried to keep his teachings with her, swinging branches at tree trunks, imagining she was a great warrior, like David slaying Goliath. Technically David had slayed Goliath with a rock and a sling, a detail the Abbess insisted was important. Bridget could invent a thousand reasons why, but she didn’t care to.
Especially when she was younger, she liked to imagine herself as a warrior when she was tasked with cutting wood or slaughtering and butchering the pigs. They were both hard work, but she was always willing to do it, if only to have an excuse to be destructive for once. She found it could be quite cathartic.
After a particularly harsh blow against a tree that cracked the branch almost in two, she froze. She heard horses. She hoped they would move on, but she made out a few figures in the distance, figures who appeared to have spotted her and were moving closer.
She dropped the branch and fixed her habit, to find a lock of her hair hovering over her forehead. She tucked it back in as the faces of the riders came into view.
There were five who rode at the front, four men and a woman with pale, blonde hair and strange markings on her face. A larger group, no more than twenty, hung back a little.
“A nun,” one of the men called. He rode in front of the group, their leader, she supposed.
“There we are then, you’ll feel right at home, Baby Monk,” another said. He had a gruff voice and an Irish accent. One of the other men laughed. The woman didn’t react at all.
“Is the Abbey nearby?” The leader asked.
Bridget frowned. He had an accent she could not place. “You are Danish?” She looked amongst the rest of their group, and they each seemed to find her accusation amusing.
“What is my religion to you, girl?”
“I would like to know if you would seek to do us harm.”
He raised a brow. “And you believe the best measure of a man to be the gods he follows?”
“I believe the best measure of a man is his intentions,” she said, meeting his eye and determined to keep her expression stoic.
But apparently he was pleased with her response. “You and I are similar in this respect,” he said, loosening the grip of his reins. “We seek the Lady Aethelflaed.”
“Would you seek to do her harm?”
“Only the good kind,” the Irishman mumbled with a smirk.
The leader rolled his eyes. “She and I are friends. I have come to offer her my protection.”
Bridget looked into the eyes of each of their group, the leader, the Irishman, the one who from his hair also looked to be a Dane, and the younger man riding at the back of the group. The woman had an unsettling gaze, she was the only one Bridget felt she felt compelled to look away from. The Abbess would call the markings on her face the markings of a heathen.
“There is a bridge over the stream,” she said, pointing through the trees. “Cross there. There will be room for your horses in the stables.”
She watched the men move away, each of them offering thankful smiles. She concealed her own, and headed back the way she came, across the stream and to the abbey with the empty pitcher.
Lady Aethelflaed welcomed them warmly and named their leader as Lord Uhtred. After it was agreed that they were decidedly not Danes (not the kind who would attack an Abbey anyhow), they settled in the hall, where Bridget and the nuns brought them bowls of stew and bread.
She expected them to eat like the Mercian guards, wolfing down bread and stew like they hadn’t seen food in days, but Lord Uhtred and his men thanked her graciously as she placed bowls on the table and went round to ladle out more stew for them.
Until she came to the man sitting at the end of the table, beside Lady Aethelflaed. He was the youngest of the group, with wide blue eyes and a sharp jaw. He kept to himself, slightly hunched over his stew.
She was rather fascinated by his robes and the small silver cross around his neck. If he had a slightly worse haircut he would look like a monk. But that was ridiculous, why would a monk be travelling with a group of mercenaries?
She approached him and waited for him to notice her. He looked up at her a smiled vaguely.
She indicated to the pot she was carrying.
“Please,” he muttered, holding out his bowl.
She dished a few spoonfuls for him and he smiled again, a little wider this time. She smiled back.
She wondered where he might be from, why he served a Dane if he wore a cross, how far their group had travelled and how many tales they might have.
“May I ask your name?” He asked.
She had been so distracted trying to think of something to say that his question took her by surprise.
“Oh… Bridget,” she said. “And you?”
“I am Osferth,” he said. He was very softly spoken, she thought. There was something so gentle and subdued about him.
“Are you a monk, Osferth?” She asked.
He glanced down at the cross hanging from his neck. “I was, I left my order to serve Lord Uhtred.”
“And now you are, what, a mercenary?”
Osferth chuckled to himself and shook his head lightly. “I am not much of a fighter just yet.”
“But you have a sword, and your friends are warriors.”
“I am still learning. In the meantime I can only practice and pray to God for courage and strength.”
She felt a light feeling in her chest she was sure she hadn’t felt in years. That’s what she prayed for too, even when the nuns told her she should be praying for patience and forgiveness.
“How did you—”
“Bridget.” The Abbess called, glaring at her from across the table.
Bridget nodded her head to Osferth, a farewell, she supposed, and headed back to the kitchen. One of the girls followed behind her, with a now empty pitcher of ale.
“The Irishman is handsome,” Bridget whispered into her ear once they were through the doors.
The other girl’s mouth fell open.
“What? Surely it is not a sin to look?”
The next morning, the Abbess ensured Bridget stayed in the kitchen. “So you might not be so easily distracted,” she warned, leaving her to peel and slice an endless amount of vegetables.
The Abbess seemed rather distressed at hosting Lord Uhtred and his men. “Ravenous permanently,” she grumbled, marching in through the kitchen with the remains of their breakfast. “They are eating into our winter stores.”
“So why let them stay?” Bridget muttered, dragging the edge of her knife over the skin of a few carrots.
“Because it is our place to show kindness,” the Abbess insisted through her teeth. She emptied the plate into a bucket by Bridget’s feet. “Take that out to the pigs.”
Bridget made no verbal protest. She placed the knife down and left through a small door that led out to the side of the Abbey, just as she had done the previous day. The skin of her cheeks stung when it met the icy morning air. The snow was heavier today. She blinked a few flakes out of her eyes and marched quickly towards the pigsty.
She made sure to scratch them behind the ears, poor things, left out in the cold.
She made her way around the building, to the front doors of the Abbey, and blinked.
And blinked again.
No, there was defineately an army of Danes lined up on the other side of the bridge.
“Good morning, nun!” One cried from atop a grey horse.
“Who are you?” Bridget demanded, but her voice came out a little more broken than intended.
The man chuckled and nodded to the bridge.
They had three hostages, each with a knife being held to their throats.
But with the order from their leader, the first hostage’s throat was sliced open, his body carelessly left to fall to the floor.
Bridget couldn’t bring herself to scream and choked out a broken sort of gasp.
They made no demands, made no moves towards her, and there was no indication they intended to kill the other two hostages. Not yet.
She slowly stalked towards the doors, unable to keep her eyes away from the danger.
“We will wait!” The man on the horse called, “for Aethelflaed!”
She ran to the kitchen first.
“To the hall!” She cried, moving to shut the windows.
The others all stared at her for a moment.
“Now!”
“What is the meaning of this?” The Abbess asked, bolting the door to the gardens as the others fled the kitchen.
“Danes,” Bridget breathed. She hadn’t realised her lack of breath or the restless feeling creeping under her skin.
The Abbess’s skin turned pale. She placed her hand on Bridget’s shoulder and ushered her towards the hall.
The nuns and novices had raised alarm amongst the men. Half of them were already reaching for their weapons.
Bridget and the Abbess slammed the doors of the hall with an ominous thud.
“What is it?” Lord Uhtred demanded.
“Danes. Outside.”
Every man was on his feet in an instant, and the sound of unsheathed swords rang through the hall.
“How many Danes?” The Irishman asked.
Bridget faltered. She hadn’t thought to count them. “More than twenty. Less than fifty.”
A few men moved towards the doors and the windows, but Lord Uhtred ordered them to hold for the time being.
He turned to Bridget. “Do you know what they want?”
“He asked for Lady Aethelflaed.”
“But they may not know we are here,” he said to his men.
“They know someone is here,” Osferth’s voice came. He was still sat at the table and had not drawn his sword.
“But they have hostages,” Bridget said. “They killed one man and they have two more.”
“We remain inside, and we remain silent,” Uhtred ordered, coming towards Bridget and the Abbess. “They must believe you are unprotected,” he said.
He looked between them for a moment, and turned back to Bridget. “Would you speak with them?”
Her heart must have stopped for a moment. “What?”
“We cannot save the hostages, but you can save the lives of the men and women here.”
“And Aethelflaed,” Osferth added.
“You must deny she is here; convince them you have nothing to offer.”
Her restlessness was starting to feel like fear, but she understood Lord Uhtred’s plan, and she could not say why, but she was inclined to trust him.
Until the Abbess interjected. “No!”
Bridget’s heart sank a little. “Abbess, I can do it—”
“No, child, this is my house. This will be my responsibility.” She turned to Lord Uhtred. “I will do it.”
Bridget followed Uhtred and some of the other men into the entrance hall. She stood by one of the windows, out of sight of the Danes, occasionally stealing glances of the Abbess as she stepped out to attempt a negotiation.
“We know him,” a voice muttered beside her. She looked up to see Osferth’s jaw hovering over her. “His name is Haesten.”
The Abbess made her plea for mercy.
In turn, a second man had his throat slit.
“Deny her presence again and a third man dies. And I will burn down your nunnery, and everyone in it.”
Bridget placed her hand on her throat. She could feel her heart pulsing.
A hand gently came onto her shoulder, but Osferth said nothing. His hands were larger than she realised. It wasn’t exactly calming, but she liked it.
True to the words of the Dane, the third man was slain, and when the Abbess reached for an axe she was met with a spear to her chest.
Bridget flinched into Osferth’s chest, keeping her hands over her eyes.
“Aethelflaed!” Haesten cried. “How many more men and women must die to save your bony arse?”
“To the hall,” Osferth said, taking one of her hands in his.
When she glanced once more out the window, Haesten and his men were moving past the bodies of the hostages and the Abbess, towards the doors.
Bridget, Osferth and Aethelflaed gathered the nuns and novices to the back of the hall, while Uhtred and his men lined up behind the doors with shields, spears and swords.
“Will you not fight?” Bridget asked Osferth.
“I told you, I am not much of a warrior,” he said solemnly, as he and Lady Aethelflaed positioned themselves before the others.
Bridget frowned, but tried to distract herself by whispering assurances to some of the younger girls.
When the doors finally burst open she felt utterly helpless. The fighting was kept by the doors and the entrance hall, while Osferth and Lady Aethelflaed watched with their swords drawn.
And when two of the Danes broke through the line protecting the door, they moved together. Lady Aethelflaed fought better than the monk, she thought.
She watched as a third man fought through, overwhelming Osferth while Aethelflaed was still preoccupied.
Bridget couldn’t stop herself. She darted towards the table and grabbed a knife. She supposed the man could have easily turned to her and lodged his axe in her chest, but he didn’t get a chance to even look at her before she rammed the knife into his neck, sending a spray of blood through the air.
The rest of the room was a haze. Something warm and wet landed on and dripped down her cheek.
Suddenly she felt two hands against her shoulders. She blinked.
Osferth’s blue eyes were glaring at her. “That was foolish,” he said.
Three men lay dead on the floor. Swords continued to clash in the entrance hall but Haesten and his men were retreating.
Osferth and Aethelflaed moved out to join Uhtred, while some of the nuns came to wipe the blood from Bridget’s face.
She told them of the Danes and the Abbess’ death. Some of the girls cried, some prayed. She came to clutch her own cross around her neck. But her hands would not stop shaking and her heart would not rest.
She killed a man. Really, it hadn’t been much harder than slaughtering a pig, but at least it felt a little more justified.
If the Abbess were not dead, she would have screamed at her, told her she was ungodly, no better than a cold-blooded murderer, or any of the Danes who ravaged villages and stole from innocent Mercians.
They stayed huddled in the hall until dusk, when Lord Uhtred seemed to finally come to a resolution.
The woman with the markings on her face, Skade, was a seer, and Haesten agreed to take her in Aethelflaed’s place.
Bridget watched the exchange from the doors to the main hall, and a shiver slipped down her spine when Skade turned to Uhtred with a dark look in her eyes.
“You are cursed once more, Uhtred of Bebbanburg.”
Bridget had hardly slept that night. She lay eyes closed, still in her robes and the white headscarf she wore under her habit, listening to the gentle snores of the girls in the beds around her and aware of the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
The moment she heard the first whistle of birdsong at dawn, she was up. She pulled on a pair of boots and looked around her bed. But it occurred to her she owned nothing, save for her little silver cross.
She hurried through the abbey, past the open doors of the hall, now empty.
The men were outside, securing their saddles and mounting their horses.
She spotted Lord Uhtred as he was helping Lady Aethelflaed pack her own mount.
Osferth was by his horse, talking to the Irishman.
“Lord Uhtred!” Bridget called over the noise of the horses.
He turned to her with a small smile. “Fear not, we have not emptied your food stores—”
“I want to come with you,” she said.
She had the attention of the others now.
Uhtred chuckled to himself. “I already have a stray monk, I have no need for a little novice.”
Bridget’s skin still felt strange where it had been stained with blood. “I fought better than him.”
“Not a particularly high standard,” the Irishman joked. Osferth’s head sunk, but he was smirking too.
“So you killed one man and now you offer yourself as a warrior?” Uhtred asked.
Her breath caught in her throat as she finally realised the ridiculousness of her proposition. She could swing a branch, cut firewood and bury a knife into an unsuspecting man, but that would hardly help her in a true battle.
“With practice, perhaps?” She said, pressing her nails into her palm. “But I have some skills as a healer also. I’ve assisted the Abbess with all sorts of ailments, no doubt you encounter your fair share of injuries?”
“She’s got spirit, Uhtred, at least give her that,” Aethelflaed said.
“Please,” Bridget said, “give me the chance and I will prove myself to you.”
They each shared a few pointed glances.
“I admire your determination, but I cannot bring a girl onto the battlefield against armies of Danes. I cannot guarantee your protection and I cannot even offer you a horse.”
“Lord? She can ride with me,” Osferth said quietly. “With your permission of course. I can look out her.”
Uhtred raised his eyebrows. “Very well.”
Bridget felt herself smile, wide and showing off her top row of teeth. It felt uncomfortable but she didn’t try to stop herself.
The others were already starting to move off as she approached Osferth as he stroked the nose of his horse.
“Have you ridden before?” He asked.
“No.”
“You’ll sit behind me; I’ll help you up.”
Bridget nodded.
She watched as he placed his left foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over to the other side. “Easy,” he insisted, holding out his hand to her. “Don’t be afraid to use your strength.”
She followed his movements as best she could, but her skirt wouldn’t allow her to bring her leg to the other side of the saddle. She fell back onto her feet with a disgruntled huff.
“Other foot then, and slot both legs onto one side of the saddle.” He held out his hand again. “Ready?”
“Wait.” Bridget looked back to the space around her. The stream, the woods, the doors to the place that had never really felt like home. She reached for her headscarf and pulled it off her head, letting it fall to the ground. She didn’t suppose she would have any use for it now. Her hair fell down her back in a messy braid.
She looked back up at Osferth, between his hand, his eyes, and briefly to the curve of his upper lip. She held his hand tightly and hauled herself up onto the horse, her arms and legs trembling slightly at the effort.
Once the horse was settled Osferth gave it a gentle kick and they began to move. Bridget latched onto his shoulders as they began to sway with the movement.
“What if I fall off?” She asked, suddenly horrified at the prospect.
“You won’t fall off,” Osferth said, “use your thighs.”
“What?”
“Grip with your thighs,” he said.
She did so instinctively. Something about it felt… strange.
They cantered to catch up with the group and Bridget gripped Osferth’s shoulders a little tighter. Until he took one of her hands and placed it on his waist, so she wouldn’t impede on his arms. She muttered an apology and unsurely placed her other hand around him.
A few days ago she hadn’t so much as spoken to a man in years, except an incident where a nearby farmer had broken his leg, and even then she only wordlessly assisted the Abbess to bandage his limb.
Now she had her arms around a man’s torso, close enough to feel his warmth from under his winter cloak as her body rocked against his back.
“You’re frozen,” Osferth said, briefly brushing his thumb over her hand.
“It’s winter.”
“Did you not have anything warmer to wear?”
“We don’t attach ourselves to material items,” she said in a mockingly wistful voice.
He huffed a small laugh and pulled the horse to a stop before swinging his leg around the its head, landing on the ground in one smooth movement.
He undid the clasp on his cloak and held it up to her.
“Thank you,” she said, wrapping it around her shoulders, “but I don’t want you to get cold.”
He mounted again, a little awkwardly with Bridget already in the saddle. “Hold it around me. We can keep each other warm.”
She shuffled closer into him. Osferth brought one hand off the reins and pulled the corner of the cloak around his arm as Bridget settled against his back, resting her head at the base of his neck.
Thank God he couldn’t see her as her cheeks started to burn against the cold and the snow.
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arcielee · 8 months
Text
Farewell Wanderlust
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Warnings: As always, MDNI, 18+ murder by Temes, character death, angst like a mofo, evil plotting, sexual themes, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving) Pairing: Osferth x OFC Word Count: 6941 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: Thank you @sylas-the-grim for helping me edit this chapter. Thank you everyone who loved Keavy and Osferth [I am not opposed to a epilogue, let me know]. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chonky chapter. 💜 Deireadh is end in Irish.     Dividers are by @saradika Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @tssf-imagines @triscy @whoknows333 @shesjustanothergeek @heavenly1927 @myfandomprompts @fangirlninja67 @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauftivy @vintageypanwitch @heimtathurss [bold means I was unable to tag you!]
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Chapter 7
The seasons had gone and Osferth found himself back within the walls of Wintanceaster. Darkness drafted over the city with the swell of storm clouds, heavy with their threat of the last of the summer rains, with flashes of white and its low rumble of thunder; it mixed with the nightfall, casting long shadows from the bold posts of amber light that was stilted in the streets, leading up to the castle. 
His legs ached from the time spent on horseback, as they had traveled North to see Ragnar and his swell of rebellion in Dunholm, only to come back again, flitting amongst the cities that thread throughout East Anglia, Mercia, and then back to Wessex. They moved almost headlong, avoiding the threat of the king that hung over their heads, knitted along with the poisoned whisper of Bloodhair’s seer. 
She was now dead but death followed them still, something now palpable within the castle walls of the city.
There was an eerie familiarity as he moved with deliberate steps, following two paces behind Uhtred, who followed behind the priest, and they moved, quick and quiet, through the corridor. Osferth thought back to the last time his father dared to publicly acknowledge him, how his large palm had wrapped around his arm, his staggered steps on wiry legs to keep pace with the stride of the King of Wessex. 
Until that moment, Osferth had only been a shadow, a murmur of the ealdorman amongst the stone walls. He was only acknowledged by his sister, who would often pull him away to play games, as Edward was too small to be bothered with. 
These were moments he cherished, but they were always fleeting, always ending with the sharp gaze of the queen over her pointed nose; it proceeded the rustle of her skirt with her curt pace, as she would sweep Æthelflæd away for prayer and penitence, leaving Osferth to fade away into the shadows once again. 
If it had been left to the queen, she would see him to not exist within the walls, but here he now walked, as requested by Uhtred, his steps joining the soft echo of their footfalls. They stopped outside an oak door and Beocca held up his hand before slipping into the room first, leaving them for a moment. 
In the quiet, Osferth dared ask. “Why did you bring me here, lord?” 
“Why not?” Uhtred turned to face him, his voice low. 
“You could have brought Finan to witness what the king wished to say,” he explained, pausing only to wet his lips. “But you chose me.” There was a hum to fill the silence and Osferth could see gold rings reflecting from the candlelight in the blues of his eyes; Uhtred did not answer his question. “The last time we were in Wintanceaster, my grief and my actions led to consequences…” 
“You did what was right by your gods, lord.”
There was a subtle quirk of his lips as Uhtred watched him before he continued. “Nonetheless, it did not affect only me, but it still resulted in us being banished and torn from,” and his expression showed consideration for his next words chosen, “those we care deeply for.” 
Keavy.
The thought of her name alone sent an ardent surge through his veins, something that always thrummed beneath, knotting with his yearn for her touch, for her smile again. She remained with him, heavy on his heart, alongside the cross pendant gifted that was safely tucked beneath his embossed, leather cuirass and ratted albe; its cool metal often served as a balm for  the heartsore he woke up with ever since she left for Saltwic. 
It had been thirteen months since he last saw her, since he last touched her or tasted her, her lips haunting the curve of his mouth. He often thought of the moment in the stables, their last kiss shared, how she felt beneath his large palms when he placed them on her hips to help her aback; his fingers ached to let her go and his desperate reach to touch her one last time, trailing up the curve of her calf.
Keavy had looked at him, the green of her brilliant eyes focusing beneath the flutter of her dark lashes; his eyes etched the rose color that nipped at her features, blooming from the cool night’s air, from the urgency to leave the city. 
He grasped at these moments, but they seemed to spill between his fingers, a thousand words perched on his tongue but he could only squeeze her calf gently, he could only manage the simple promise, “I will return to you,” and then she was gone, leaving him to choke on the unsaid. 
“How long has it been?” Untred asked, his voice low, kind, and easing him back into the hallway of the castle of Wintanceaster.
Four hundred and twelve days. “Over a year now, lord.” 
Uhtred hummed again. “Osferth, I brought you here to hold me accountable when we face Alfred, so that we may right what is needed and be able to return to Saltwic, but without the echoes of outcast or fugitive to follow our steps.” He offered a wry smile. 
Osferth felt his heart flutter with his words, his fingers pressing to feel the soft crinkle of parchment of the letter tucked away, its edges fraying, and each word memorized. As they traveled, updates were fleetingly sent from Saltwic, and only just a quick recount from Æthelflæd that all was well, that they, that Keavy, were still safe. 
She studies beside Oswald, who is becoming your namesake, Æthelflæd’s words teased. She is adamant to continue learning so she may send her own words to you. 
His heart held onto these words and the bit of hope they offered, as it was all that could be done with the unprecedented time and travel. But when the threat of Æthelflæd was vocalized in Dunholm, they were quick to come to her aid and learned of Æthelred’s intended ill-will. 
It was a mixture of frustration, of exhaustion, just the sheer disappointment to return and find Saltwic empty… “They are safe,” his sister was quick to say, her eyes flitting from Osferth, then to Sihtric, and the rest of them. “I had them sent to Alencestre when Aldhelm warned me…” and she faltered.
It was a wrath returned and Osferth spoke low. “I will kill him,” and he felt Uhtred rest his palm on his shoulder, grounding him. 
Æthelflæd watched him, a slight curl to her pink lips, and she stepped towards him. “I swore to you that I would keep her safe,” her words just for him and his gaze flicked to meet her own; she reached for his hands. “This is for you.” 
A letter, and he felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards, using the fading sunlight to read. Osferth, it began, the sweet curl of her lettering to the piece of parchment, and he could hear her musical lilt with the few lines she had written, I have not forgotten what you have promised me, and I hold onto the hope that neither have you. I am waiting, still, and I will do so until you return to me.  
The simplicity of her message warmed his heart; he took care to refold its creases and tuck it away, carrying it with him always. In the days that followed, he came across an intimate moment shared between his sister and Uhtred; he saw her blush, her swift steps to pull away from him and her expression when she spotted Osferth. 
He offered his arm, watching how her brow furrowed, the bob of her neck as she swallowed thickly. “Show me the gardens by the chapel,” he offered a scapegoat.
She tucked her fingers in the crook of his arm, keeping with his languid pace; she did not speak of the greenery. “Love is peculiar, isn’t it?” Æthelflæd, if anything, was fearsome, but in that moment she gave a wistful look over her shoulder to see the embrace the seer pressed onto Uhtred. “It has a way to thread within your heart, but life has chapters that must be completed first until it is ready to blossom, or so it seems.” 
Osferth hummed, his steps slowed to keep with her, his mind returning to the words written: I am waiting.
“Do you love her, Osferth?”
It was a relief to admit it outloud, to say something that pressed within his heart, heavy with his steps that traveled northwards and back again. It was a thought that sung with the rising sun and carried throughout to a melodious lull at night. But he also confided his hesitation to tell Keavy just this.
“What keeps you from saying this to her?”
Osferth swallowed, his lips pursed in debate of what words he would choose, deciding to trust his sister: the sin’s of their father and the curse that he was born into. 
She stopped walking and he followed, turning to look at her; he saw the maturity to her beauty, the hereditary severity that lined her lovely face with her smile. “Oh Osferth,” she began, reaching for his hand to hold his attention, “I think life is cruel enough on its own without this perpetual penance. God be damned,” she almost laughed, “I see that Keavy has a strength knitted within her very bones. I believe you should allow her to decide her own fate, to allow her to choose to spend our given time on this earth with you or not.” 
Osferth blinked. “Promise me you will tell her when you see her again,” she continued, and he saw a sadness to her smile, “as I know she loves you.”  
His heart lifted with her words, but the sadness was heavy still with his sister. “What of Lord Uhtred?” His curiosity could not be helped; since the nunnery, he was too aware of the lingering glances, their subtle touches shared, how their every movement was scrutinized from the sharp glare of the witch. 
Plumes of red stained her porcelain tones and her lashes fluttered as she forced herself to keep his gaze. “I believe,” her tone slow with a recognition all her own, “that Uhtred and I are maimed by a great love lost, that our sorrow recognizes one another and we cannot help but be drawn towards each other.” 
Osferth nodded; the guilt, the weight of Gisela’s death nearly killed Uhtred on the way to Dunholm, and this was first he had seen his smile in months. “I only wish for you to find happiness, Æthelflæd.” 
“And I, you, Osferth,” her eyes glassy with her words. “You will always be welcomed in Mercia.” 
They were quick to move, called to Aegelesburg and spoke strategy on how to cripple the Dane army that grew. After the bloodshed, they returned to Coccham and found the village thriving, though once they passed through the archway, Osferth could not shake the haunted feeling of the transitory happiness that seemed an eternity ago. 
The pagan hall had the spilled stain of lords unwelcomed, with their placed ornaments of the Christian God hanging above while they ate their fill; they were seated at the same table where he helped Keavy tutor Stiorra and Oswald, her endless patience and sweet smile, and how Gisela watched over them, her eyes glittering. 
But that warmth was swept from the great hall and Osferth left without a word, following the dirt path that returned him to the room he and Keavy shared. The air was stale, her lingering scent gone, and nothing but a dust that covered the bare furniture left behind. 
He took deep breaths through his mouth, the heartache still pressing, and he felt jolted from his self-wallowing. 
I know she loves you.
He then heard Leofric, his words clawing through the earth, an echo that rang bold from his grave: a man could be set on a path, but only his steps could create his own destiny. 
Osferth felt embolden, something that now seared through his veins, propelling his steps forward with the earth crunching beneath his boots. He thought of the time lost to his damn hesitation, for some curse mentioned by a faith lost, a curse deemed by his very existence and damned by the sins of his father, and how he foolishly allowed it to still his tongue when it came to her.
He knew he loved Keavy, just as Uhtred described once, something that thrummed beneath his skin, in tandem with his heartbeat. 
He moved towards the Temes, to allow a new breath, a moment to clear his mind of this burdened relief carried that now was dissipating with each step. He only stopped when he saw Untred and the witch, but he dared to creep forward, silent, wary, watching how the tension lifted in his lord’s shoulders when he released her and how she drifted away with the current. 
Uhtred seemed surprised as Osferth moved to the dock, reaching to pull him from the river. He was quiet through the confession, how Uhtred was not proud of what he had done, and he was quick to stop his lament. “You have taken control of your destiny, lord,” and his words burned in his chest, as if branded by the Celtic cross worn. “Today, I have decided to do the very same.” 
Curse be damned. 
“I will not leave this city,” and Uhtred’s voice returned his attention back to the hallway, perched outside the king’s door, “until we have been reinstated, free men once more. And besides,” Uhtred was watching him, “don’t you wish to see your father?” 
Osferth returned the stare; this thought had been furthest from his mind, but the words spoken wrapped around his throat and he swallowed hard. The silence was heavy and his voice cracked when he said, “Yes, lord.” 
It was then that Beocca peered out, gesturing to Osferth. “The king wishes to speak with you first,” and the priest moved aside.
Osferth looked to Uhtred for a moment, who nodded his encouragement, and he moved past the priest, slipping into the room. 
Orange hues pooled around the bed from the thick tapers lit and the king was swathed in woolen blankets, propped against overstuffed cushions to hold him upright. Osferth marveled at the vestige of the man from Aescengum months prior, his complexion waxen and his skin taught over his bones, with dark rings beneath his closed eyes. He would have assumed the king was already dead had he not noticed the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the muted labored breaths beneath the layers. 
And then the king opened his eyes, their shared blue that was muddled with his sickness and that wavered until they fell to where Osfeth stood. There was the shudder of his youth, his want to wilt away from the direct gaze, but instead he moved towards the bedside. 
King Alfred watched with bruised, hooded eyes as Osferth seated himself on the ottoman, pulling himself close enough to see that candlelight show the last glimmer of life touching his pallid features. “Osferth,” the king began, his name foreign, spilling from his cracked tongue and lips. 
A cough came, a wet rasp that was covered by a handkerchief spotted with blood; Osferth looked to grab a goblet at the bedside, offering a drink that he gratefully took. When he set the mug down, he felt the king clasped his hand onto his other, a papery thin touch, and Osferth dutifully reached with his other hand, dutiful to his dying father, solemn with his returned gesture. 
“I know what you have done,” Alfred continued between ragged breaths. “I have heard of your bravery,” and he paused. “You are a good man and I am proud.” 
Osferth shifted his weight from his words and the king did not notice, or if he did, he continued anyway. “Death allows you to reflect on your failures, your misdoings in your life,” he released his hold, pressing his palms against the top blanket; the skin clung thin to the bones, his knuckles jutted against. “There is a letter prepared. Bring it to Æthelflæd, she will know what must be done.” 
His eyes followed the weak wave to see the parchment folded and the red wax of the king’s seal placed. “I only ever wished to do what was right by you,” and Osferth jerked back towards the murmur of the king, a man of regal regret, and saw that Alfred held a look of awe, as if it was his first time to truly see his eldest son.  
“Osferth,” he repeated, his voice weak and his eyes glassy. “I am proud.” 
“Thank you,” he breathed, the threat of tears in the same eyes he shared with his father. 
Osferth felt a warm touch on his shoulder and looked up to see Uhtred standing over, a gentle squeeze. He moved to stand, excusing himself to leave the room, pausing in the doorway for a final look at his father, who managed a second wind to greet Uhtred; dutiful until the end.  
Only in the corridor did he dare peer at the letter in hand, at the king’s penmanship that began: To my kinsman, Osferth.  
+ + + +
“I see horsemen.” 
Keavy sat below the tree that Stiorra climbed, her back against the trunk and a tome opened across her lap; the girl was growing long like her mother, allowing a reach for the higher limbs, and still slender enough for the branches to hold her weight. Keavy squinted upwards to where the girl was perched, watching. “Tradesmen?” 
The cool breeze rippled through her hair and she used one hand to push it from her view. “If they are tradesmen, they travel light.” 
Keavy closed the book and set it on top of the quilt spread at the base, pushing to her feet. “Climb down, Stiorra,” she swallowed the tinge of panic to her tone. “It would be best to alert Lady Æthelflæd…” in case they are unfriendly, but she could not say that out loud. 
It had been weeks since the Battle of Holme, as it now known; it was a bloodshed of Danes, a revolt orchestrated by Æthelwold that had been met by Lord Uhtred and his valiant men, as well as the Anglo-Saxon allied militia. Despite the victory, the Danes that escaped flitted across the villages of Northumbria, still raiding, still vengeful.  
“They may be Dane,” Stiorra continued her assessment, her head tilting; it was one of the many traits passed from Gisela, her unwavering fearlessness as in this moment, watching still. “Or some of them, anyway…”
“Stiorra,” her voice was sharper. “Now.”
She reached for a thicker branch to begin her descent, pausing to say, “Keavy,” and she looked down. “It is my father!”
It had been fourteen months since they had arrived at Saltwic; they rode through the night and following day, coming just as the amber streaks of dusk splayed behind the stoned rook. Lady Æthelflæd came to the courtyard at the call of her men, wearing with the same severity of her brother that was etched onto her features. 
She recognized Hild and beckoned them inside at once, with Sigdeflaed guiding the bleary eyed children and Keavy lingering behind with the nun. While Hild recounted the prior days, Keavy was drawn to watch the emotions playing across her fair features in a way that was akin to Osferth, subtle but austere; only when Keavy was mentioned by name was the noticeable flicker, the small curl upwards of her lips.  
“You are Keavy?” 
She felt the blood pour into her cheeks as Æthelflæd turned her attention towards her, with the same blue that belonged to Osferth. “I am,” Keavy gave a small nod.
“I have heard so much about you,” and she smiled with a warmth that reached her eyes. “You are safe here, I swear it. For as long as it is needed.” 
The weeks that followed were quiet, uneventful, though Keavy still kept her seax and dagger on her person out of caution, or perhaps comfort. She still pressed for a new normalcy for both Stiorra and Oswald, who seemed to have aged with their grief. 
Stiorra mirrored her mother in so many ways, though her willful temperament came from Uhtred; she had no interest in her studies, but still would participate, in part to torment her brother, but mostly she pushed to learn how to handle a real blade. Whereas Oswald had grown solemn in Saltwic, embracing the supplied priest for their tutoring lessons, newly dedicated to the faith. 
Keavy remained present, sitting with Æthelflæd, who would often use the time to pen a letter for Osferth. She was aware of the Irishwoman’s gaze and asked her, “Would you care to add something?” 
She blushed as she shyly admitted that Osferth had been teaching her to read whenever he was in Coccham, but never to write; with this Æthelflæd smiled, a soft hum of encouragement for her to sit alongside the priest, taking a personal interest for Keavy to practice her penmanship. 
The seasons rolled away as the autumn’s yellows, oranges, and reds were soon covered by the first dusting of snowfall, enveloping Saltwic in white; the only color shown were the rich tones of primrose that bloomed throughout the gardens. 
Inside, fresh parchment was placed onto the table and Keavy looked up to see the same kind smile, the same kind eyes that she recognized in Osferth with Æthelflæd’s features. “This is for you, so you may write to him,” was all she said.  
Æthelflæd seemed very aware of whatever was between Keavy and her brother, but she still could not help the color that flushed her cheeks. “What would I even tell him?”
“Whatever it is that you are carrying in your heart,” Æthelflæd replied, a knowing smile curling on her rosy lips. 
The empty page seemed to taunt her and Keavy remained seated long after the rest retired to their quarters. The quiet, the solitude allowed her to finally pull from her heart as suggested, blowing on the ink to dry. 
She heard steps and turned to see Æthelflæd returning downstairs with a man in her shadow. Keavy pushed from her seat, her seax and dagger drawn, her heart in her teeth. “Keavy, it’s okay, I know him–” she held up her hands, a flush of color to her cheeks. “We must act quickly.” 
Saltwic was no longer safe and they were to leave for Alencestra at once; the words clawed within her chest as Æthelflæd continued, “I will leave for Wincelcumb, and I will send for Uhtred.” Her eyes were bright with her plan. “You all will be safe there until I come for you… once this matter is dealt with.” 
“Uhtred will kill him,” and Keavy sheathed her steel, her eyes still wary of the man. “They both will kill him.” Osferth.
Æthelflæd nodded. “I hope it does not come to that.”
“Lady, be safe.” Keavy reached for the parchment, folding it. “And… if you see Osferth, could you give him this?” 
Her knowing smile hinted, the newfound worry lifting for a moment until the hushed whisper came: “Lady, we must hurry.” 
The time in Alencestra was long enough for Oswald to announce his departure for St. Wilfrid’s Church, to go back to Wessex, refusing to return with them to Saltwic. Keavy watched him, finally seeing the flare of his father in Oswald, the young man's eyes bold with his conviction. Stiorra was incredulous and only Æthelflæd seemed supportive. 
“Father will understand my decision,” he finished.
But Keavy knew that would not be the case.
They returned to Saltwic just as the snow melted with the returned plumes of color from the flowers that sprouted through, followed by the summer rains that thundered and muddied the earth, and continued until it was blanketed once again with the amber colors of autumn, sprawling as far as the eye could see. 
And they remained still, without word, without direction from Uhtred, without an update from Osferth. Instead, news only came second-hand: the death of the king of Wessex and the succession of the aetheling Edward, and the bloodied battle won against his uncle Æthelwold.
Kevay tried to smother her impatience, her anxiety that knotted in her chest, waiting for a whisper, a murmur of news, to know if Osferth still lived or if he had died. She wondered if she would ever be able to tell him what she failed to write to him.
That she loved him, and she always would.  
And now the words that spilled from Stiorra swept the air from her lungs, her stance wavering slightly. “Stiorra… are you certain?” The girl moved with a newfound eagerness, branch over branch, uncaring how her skirts caught and tore them free. “I see the glint of Serpent-Breath’s handle!” Her tone was gleeful. “He is back as he promised! And he brings your beau!”
Keavy flushed crimson. “You know not what you talk about–”
“I am only young, I am not blind,” she continued with her cheeky tone, teasing just as Gisela had always done. The heartache of her loss remained, but Keavy always pressed for them to recall the good, that it was the love they held for their mother that would keep her memory alive. “I remember how you were sweet on him and besides,” and her grin matched her tone, “I also remember mother saying he was your beau.” 
It was as if Gisela was able to still tease beyond the grave. “Nevermind what she said–” Keavy burned as she struggled for her words. “Just, come down, quick!” 
Stiorra gave another cheeky grin before dropping from the last branch and landing back onto the ground; her cheeks were rosy from the sun, her eyes bright with her discovery. 
Keavy took her hand, the fevered pull of her heart with their hurried steps, her mind repeating the same hope she clung to the prior fourteen months: they have returned, Osferth is here!
It was called throughout and soon there was the spill into the courtyard, the gates opening as they gathered. Keavy stood solid despite the flurried anticipation that trilled her spine, watching until her vision blurred and blinking to clear it again. 
Uhtred led the men into Saltwic and its welcoming cries. Stiorra, who was a young woman in so many ways but at that moment, she was a child again and happy to see her father; she preened as he dismounted, pulling her close and pressing a kiss on top of her head. His steady gaze fell to Æthelflæd, her modest smile and the rose color pluming on her fair complexion as she watched. 
Then there was the reunion of man and wife, with Sihtric quick to pull Sigdeflaed for a kiss, of Finan calling loudly to their public display, but Keavy ignored it all; her eyes sought for Osferth alone. 
And she saw him, further back with Pyrlig, swinging his leg over the cantle and dropping off the side of his horse. He seemed taller than she remembered, a beacon that cut through once his eyes found Keavy, navigating through the men with his long legs. 
She willed herself forward, but remained rooted with her awestruck–he’s here. Osferth pressed forward until he was able to reach for her hand, and she was quick to take it, as she always had, as she always would. 
It was the familiar fit she longed for, how her hand fit into his own; his fingers still slender, his grip hardened with callouses from the reins, from his sword, but was gentle still, and firm with his hold, as if anything less would allow her to float away. Keavy followed his steps as he pulled her away from the crowd–though she felt their eyes follow, and they walked until they came around to the gardens, where the small chapel stood. 
There was the crunch of the auburn foliage with the season change beneath their feet, the cold nipping in the air. Osferth stopped and turned to face Keavy, his hands moving to the dip of her waist; she felt the air wrung from her chest with how he looked at her, the same brilliant blue of his eyes, rose hues that stained his cheeks and the tip of his nose.  
“Keavy,” began the gentle timbre of his voice, another flutter that swept through her with how he said her name, “may I kiss you?” 
She almost cried with his request, but instead gave a small nod; his lips curled, the blood beneath his skin darkening his features, and he dipped his head forward, the soft touch of his lips before he pressed against her. Keavy melted against him, her hands clasping on his forearms with a tight hold to keep her standing. She was unaware she was even crying until he pulled away, his concern knitting his sharp features and his large palms moving to cup her face. 
His touch was still gentle, warm and mindful of her mar, his thumb careful to wipe away the large tears that spilled. “You are crying?” He sounded alarmed, as if he held himself the cause. 
“You came back,” was all she could say, a hoarse whisper that broke away from her throat. 
“Keavy,” his relief washed over and his lips curled upwards, his gaze softening with her words, “I told you that I would.” 
Her laugh was choked with tears and he gave a chaste kiss before he pulled away, not outside of arms’ reach, but space enough to pull the Celtic silver cross from beneath his clothes; it gleamed in the sunlight. “I said I would bring this back. It always seemed to bring me luck,” he teased as he untied the leather. “May I?” 
She nodded again, her hands trembling to gather her dark hair as he moved behind her, bringing the necklace and knotting it at the nape of her neck; her skin rose with his warm touch, his thumb against her spine, and she felt his lips touch, his rumbled hum reverberating throughout her. 
“Would you rather just keep it?” she felt silly with her question, her fingers coming to touch the metal and turning to meet with his eyes. 
Osferth looked to her hand before resting his large palm over, and her heart rattled in her chest. “This is where it belongs,” and she saw how his neck bobbed as he swallowed. “Keavy,” he seemed solemn, almost uneasy, “I know so much has happened, so much that I wish to tell you…” he shifted his weight. “Keavy, I am a man cursed–”
“Osferth?” Her brow quirked. 
He shook his head, searching for the words, “I mean this in the biblical sense–”
“I refuse to hear this, damn the Saxon God,” she burst, the flash of severity brightening her eyes as she spoke. “Your worth is not deemed by the sins of another man!”
Osferth watched her with a pursed smile that deepened his dimples, and he leaned forward to capture her mouth; the kiss was soft, it was warm, and when she sighed, his tongue curled within her mouth, a languid pace to taste. When he pulled back, Keavy sighed again, the warmth burning her cheeks, her lips slightly swollen. “Allow me to finish?” His whisper fanned her face and she nodded numbly. 
“I am cursed, mayhaps,” and his gaze shifted a moment, but he did not continue with that thought, but instead, “I know that I have nothing to offer your affection, but know that with what I have, I will give you. I knew from the moment I saw you, from the moment we touch, how it gave me a sense of home I had never felt before,” he looked at the hold, how her palm curled within his own, the steady rise and fall of her chest, “I wish you to be my wife, Keavy. I love you.” 
And only then did he meet with her eyes, and Keavy could feel how her scar ached with how she smiled. “Say it again, Osferth.” 
“That I am cursed?” He seemed uncertain, and even more as she laughed. 
“No,” and she pulled her hands away, sliding them to curl against the base of his neck, pulling him closer for another kiss. “Only the last part,” she whispered against his mouth. 
Osferth smiled, glowing. “I love you, Keavy.”
And they kissed.  
+ + + +
There was a call for the staff to prepare a feast, for barrels to be rolled out so no mug would be empty, as there was much cause for a celebration this day. 
Æthelflæd and Sigdeflaed pulled Keavy away, helping her scrub every inch of skin and combing her curls with a rose oil gleam; a cream tunic and kirtle was gifted, cinching at her waist, a rich plum that complemented her fair skin and brought out her green eyes. 
There was a soft tap at the door that showed Stiorra holding a garland crown of primroses from the garden. “Just as you would do for me,” she smiled as Keavy placed it on top of her head before pulling her in for a hug. 
Arms linked, they walked back outside just as the last stretch of sunlight tucked away, the beginning blue hues that mixed with the burnt oranges and stars beginning to dot the sky. Keavy felt as if she were walking on the air as they entered the small chapel to see Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric, and the priest Pylrig towards the back where the stained glass reflected the tapers lit. She smiled at the sight of Osferth, and he returned it, his dimples lining his cheeks watching her eager steps to meet him.  
The priest officiated, taking Osferth’s large hand and placing it on top of Keavy’s. He felt her slight tremble and peered to see the flush of color with her grin; his thumb drew small circles and only then did she look to him, the color deepening on her cheeks. 
A quick prayer at the end was followed with a sweet kiss, and Finan crowed loudly. “Fucking finally!”
Night spilled over Saltwic and torches were lit to show the way back, able to follow the rich aroma of the feast prepared; cups brimmed and toasts given to the new king, to the safe return of Uhtred and his men, and to the new lordship, which cause Keavy to look at Osferth.
His grin was shy and he brought her knuckles up for a kiss. “I promise I will tell you everything, but this night I only wish to celebrate my beautiful wife.”
She glowed with his words, leaning forward for a kiss to his jaw with the whisper, “Whatever you desire,” and her tone sultry, “my lord.” 
Osferth did not let go of her hand, his slender fingers interlacing with her own, and she followed his sure steps that led away from the continued festivities and towards the room that had been prepared for them. When they came to the door, he drew her close by bringing the back of her palm to his lips for a gentle kiss, relishing in the flush of color to her cheeks before he opened the door. 
He pulled her inside, making sure to close and lock the door before he turned to capture her mouth; he pressed against her and she moaned in response, her arms wrapping around his neck, his tongue clever to taste. His large hands that had been hardened from battle showed grace with the intricacies of the lacings on her dress, with Osferth pausing to kiss the bit of new skin he exposed until Keavy was fully bare. 
Each touch of his lips seemed to spark against her skin, fluttering to her nerve endings and back again; she felt the coiled fervor in her lower abdomen, a wetness that pooled between her thighs, an ache to be touched by his hands. 
“Osferth,” she breathed against his lips, “I need you.”
But instead he pulled back, taking away the warmth he embodied, and Keavy could not help her soft whine, feeling her blush spill with intimate rose hues that stained her skin. He watched, his eyes rolling over her, his brilliant blue swallowed by his lustful haze and an almost playful curl to his lips. 
Osferth closed the space he created, a hot whisper in the shell of her ear, “I know,” and he moved closer, feeling her shuddered response beneath his fingertips, gentle to touch her hips and bring her flush against his chest; she sighed at the heavy shaft that pressed onto her lower stomach, “I promise, but first…” 
Keavy looked to see a pink dusting that covered his cheeks, his smile almost shy with his continued confession. “You must be first… I certainly will not last.” 
She kissed him again, her fingers pulling at the tunic he still wore; they moved towards the bed, a trail of his clothing in their wake, until she was able to fall back against the mattress. Osferth remained standing, a moment to admire her curves, from the width of her hips to her waist, the natural slope of her breasts and watching their rise and fall with her breath. 
He climbed onto the bed, moving between her plush thighs; it was a scent intimately her own, mixing pleasantly with the fresh straw and linen. Osferth dipped his head to place a kiss to the bloom above her entrance and she sighed, her thighs clenching in response, but his large hands moved to grip into the softness, pulling them apart so he could sink further. 
Keavy felt the blood rush to her head; his touch was familiar, remembered, with his soft nuzzle between and his kisses that led towards her center. She gasped and he only hummed in response, his lips curling upwards as they pressed to savor her essence; it was overwhelming after so long, and Keavy could not help but jump, another gasp that ripped from her chest. 
His hold tightened, his pleading murmur against her folds, “Let me, let me,” as he continued. 
She could not help but squirm, her fingers combing through his locks to root herself, and Osferth hummed again, a vibration that fluttered throughout her. She felt his fingers press against her silken slit, the curl of one digit within and another followed, creating sparks of pleasure that trilled up her spine with his come hither motion; her heart pounded against her chest from his sensual ministrations, the blood roaring towards her center as each euphoric wave began to crest and press against her seams. 
“Osferth,” she cried, pearled tears clumping her lashes together. 
“My beautiful wife,” his breathless praise against her wet cunt, “just like that…”
Osferth continued and her stomach tightened before the coiling passion finally burst, stars dancing before her eyes and her sinful clench around his fingers as he continued to coax through its entirety. Once her breath steadied, once her vision cleared, did she look to see he was now standing, his fingers now wrapped around the base his length, heady and heavy and glistening from her release. 
She pushed to her elbows to meet as he moved on top of her, capturing his lips and she licked herself off his chin with a giggle. Osferth grinned, moving into the cradle of her hips, resting on his elbows to hold his weight, but she clenched her thighs to draw him closer for another breathless kiss. 
Keavy melted against the warmth of his bare skin, the tickle of his chest hair, and his arm dipped between them to line the crown of his cock to her entrance, the gratifying stretch as he filled her. She gasped from the slow roll of his hips, sheathing his length and rekindling a passion with his each thrust; her nails bit into his shoulders, gasping to catch her breath that was being pulled away with the returning crests of pleasure, of something deeper within that caused her walls to flutter. 
“Again?” Osferth was flushed, pleased, but his pace did not falter. 
She could only give a mewled response, a clenching release, an intensity from the depth he reached inside her, and its rapturous pull that left her boneless and breathless, caged in his arms. Osferth followed her over the edge, tucking his head into the junction of her neck to her shoulder, a muted groan as his cocked pulsed within her velvet walls. 
And they laid for a moment before he began to place soft kisses against the curve of her neck, his lips trailing her jaw, and she giggled from his touch. He grinned again, another chaste kiss on her lips before he pulled away, moving to grab a cloth that was draped by the washbin, wringing it out and returning to wipe away the sex, pausing a moment to admire the spill of his seed and how it gleamed against her rosy folds. 
The hour was late when they finally crawled beneath the layers of blankets, of furs, and Osferth curled behind her with a deep inhale then a sigh from feeling the softness of her backside pressed against his chest, from how she fit into his embrace as his arms wrapped around her waist. He nestled further into her curls, a scent sorely missed of rose oil against her flushed skin, until his lips touched the back of her neck, eliciting a sleepy sigh from her lips.
He smiled, the low murmur, “My sweet wife.”
Deireadh.
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aemxnd · 11 months
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i love modern!osferth aus but i can’t help hearing this playing over in my head every time
hands up who needs a sexy televangelist!osferth oneshot, because i do 🥵
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writervaul-t · 1 year
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The Ruined and its Damned
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Summary: The mysterious death of certain individuals causes a Rose and her family's safety on the line. Desperate for answers, Rose must work with a group of warriors within Rumcofa to prevent her family from meeting an early death. The only problem: their presence was never made known to the settlement so now they must not only understand the reasoning behind the deaths but to also gain the trust of the suspicious settlers, specifically the newly placed Uhtred and his group of warriors sent to protect Rumcofa from any oncoming threats.
Pairing: Osferth x OC
Warning: Non-canon, spoilers if you're not caught up to s5, blood and wounds, lots of fighting
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Chapter One: Amber
- ROSE -
The air was cold, but not cold enough to keep Rose from wishing to go back in the confines of her home. If she had the option, she was sure she’d like to stay outside, basking in the silence from nature in turn for the constant ruckus her brothers and father made back in their humble cabin.
Rose closed her eyes, breathing in the crisp morning air as she let her horse trot against the horribly beaten trail she was accustomed to. Only the gentle crunch of snow and muted calls from animals greeted her. Yes, she would definitely trade days like this with her noisy family if it meant she was able to savor more of this silence, even for just a moment.
Though, she knew that would not be an option in a very long time. She was needed at home, taking care of the younger half of her brothers when she is not where she is now. Like her brothers, Rose had a duty to uphold for her family and, to some extent, even those who would ever come by the areas she always crossed through.
“Rose.” The voice, annoyingly familiar, called out to her from ahead. Rose continued to close her eyes, ignoring the familiar voice as she took in the smell of the snow and the sound of her horse trotting. “Rose—”
“Jehan if you speak once more, I will certainly make sure you come home with no game and a split lip if you continue to disrupt me.” The girl said sharply, giving her twin brother a scathing look for ruining what little time she had with the outside world. Her irritation subsided, however, when her brother cast her a look that indicated anything but jesting—eyes wide, jaw tense—that she was not most favorable to: a threat was nearby.
Quickly, Rose’s fingers thumbed at the daggers attached to her back before checking for the ones hidden in her arms and boots before pulling her hood over her eyes. “Where.” Was all she asked, head whipping around until she finally spotted the billowing smoke rising from below a cliff just several feet away.
“Sounds like there's many. Almost fifteen…” Jehan whispered in his usual low, steady voice. He halted his own horse, effectively stopping Rose’s own from moving as well. “We can’t take that many if they really are a threat…”
“Definitely not.” Rose mutters back. “How do you know it’s a threat, though?”
“I don’t.” Her brother replied honestly, his jet black hair brushing against her own set of curls as she drew closer. “But the sound of swords being sharpened is enough of a warning.”
Rose nodded, scarily impressed by Jehan’s sharp hearing. If she were alone, Rose was sure she would hear the crunching of the snow beneath her horse’s hooves instead of blades being sharpened. “Do you need me to look?” She asked, though she had already been off her horse and throwing the rope to her twin in smooth succession.
Jehan nodded. “Just get a glimpse of them, see who they are: Dane or Saxon.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “Both are threats to us no matter which one they are…”
Her brother only urged her forward with a warning look, Rose taking note that he hadn’t corrected her behavior statement. She was right, is all Rose could conclude from the silence, fingers dropping to the cross on her neck before brushing her fingers at the Yggdrasil hair beads woven into strands of her hair.
Dane or Saxon, they were surely in need to run away if they ever were to ever catch sight of Rose and Jehan’s appearance. The very thought made Rose tuck away the cross and pull her cloak’s hood further over her head as she carefully made her way over the cliff, not a sound being made by her as she glanced over the cliff.
Jehan had been almost correct; there was a camp full of men under the cliff, sixteen or seventeen to count from what Rose could spot, fingers signaling a succession of numbers behind her back for her brother to understand what was happening. They all looked worn out, tired from marching around in the freezing cold, she could only presume.
Her eyes narrowed in on six men sitting around the middle of a fire—well, four men and two boys, from the looks of things. Rose made sure to signal that to her brother as well. They were all unique in look and Rose’s eyes narrowed in confusion as she finally took notice of the group.
A mix of Danes and Saxons, she concluded, frowning as she spotted two of the six to be wearing Mjolnir around their necks and another two bearing Christian crosses. Curiously, her eyes drifted to one of the Christians; the tallest of the six, a blonde wearing garbs she only sees on monks.
It was modified, the sides ripped so he could possibly sit easier instead of being restricted by the long fabric, a sword hanging off his hips and a chestplate over the drabby beige clothing. Rose wasn’t sure what to signal, but she did her best to tell her brother what she saw with her hands.
"A… Warrior monk?” Jehan asked, voice echoing in their empty space. “The hell does that mean...”
Rose whipped her head, finger pressing against her lips harshly, heart pounding. She had yet to determine if they actually were trouble or not for them. She was too caught up in the group’s strangeness to notice the amount of weapons all of them had attached to themselves. Jehan’s eyes widened, shocked at his own loudness as well, slapping a hand over his lips.
Though that was too late.
“Whoever’s there, come out. Now.” A sharp voice, annoyingly familiar as well, ordered from below.
Sounds like Father. Rose would have mused to her brother if she hadn’t been on edge about watching these men. Her eyes glared at Jehan, who moved forward toward the cliff. Rose stayed as still as possible, body closely wrapped against the large boulders she had been laying her stomach against. Surely, she couldn’t be spotted—
“The same goes to your companion as well. Come out now.”
Rose let out an aggravated groan.
I just wanted to go outside…
- OSFERTH -
“How did he know someone else was with him?” Aethelstan asked, staring at Uhtred in wonder before turning his gaze back to the pair standing over them.
“Intuition.” Was all Osferth could offer, hand ghosting the hilt of his sword as the second figure maneuvered their way to their horse. The man already on his horse offered a stiff smile to Uhtred and Finan’s suspicious gazes.
“A fine morning to hunt, don’t you think?” The man tried to offer, the hooded figure beside him turning their head to them. Seems that even they found his ice breaker strange. From the corner of his eye, he could spot Sihtric move backward a bit, as if ready to melt into the shadows and come closer to them.
Looking back, Osferth could see the hooded figure trot their horse backward as well, as if sensing Sihtric’s movement. Osferth held a hand out to his friend, shaking his head. “The hooded one is watching you. Stay cautious.” He advised. Sihtric only nodded, keeping himself still instead.
Uhtred, always so blunt and brute, was quick to stay on the topic. “Who are you? What are you doing on this trail?”
“I could ask you the same thing, but we’re clearly all here for one thing: hunting, correct?” The man said. His dark hair, long and straight, blew with the wind as he motioned at the bow and arrow attached to him under his cloak. “What else can you do around here besides trade at Rumcofa? Besides, Blood Month is coming soon and we all know the pressures of that celebration as men, do we not?”
Cynlaef and Aethelstan nodded, making Osferth shake his head. Clearly, the man was trying to convince them of something else but he made a good argument; around this time men did go out hunting to practice. Finan was the next to speak up.
“You know of Rumcofa, yet we’ve never seen you.” Finan said, eyes glancing at the hooded figure. “And it seems like we have yet to see your friend as well.”
“She is hardly a friend. Torturer would be a better word.” The man states, earning a harsh slap in the arm by the figure. Finan snorted at the action. “She is my sister; wanted to accompany me and possibly hunt something as well.”
The man motioned for his sister to pull down the hood and Osferth was in no need to convince himself the pair were siblings. Their hair was jet black, both of their tan skin showing under the sunlight. Osferth was more focused on the girl, however, noticing the curls that were hardly contained when it gathered at the nape of her neck.
Still, Osferth can detect the discomfort on her face despite keeping it so still since she had removed her hood, unlike her brother, who seemed to be smooth at every motion he made as they continued their standoff. They were like day and night, despite their appearance clearly indicating they were possibly twins.
Finally, she spoke, eyes trained on Uhtred. “I apologize for my brother’s long winded explanations but he is not wrong; we are meant to hunt. We follow this trail often but it is a bit of a ways away and we never see anyone. Forgive us for not being too friendly at the beginning, lords. We like to remain cautious, especially in times like this.”
Uhtred nodded in understanding. Living in a village was troublesome enough; only those who have lived on their own outside of promised protection knew how much more dangerous it was to willingly trust random strangers on the road.
“I hope we didn’t scare any of the game you are seeking then. A few of our men hunted and managed to hunt quite a few animals.” An amused chuckle escaped from Cynleaf’s lips. Years of accompanying Uhtred let Osferth know it was a boast masked under a jesting. He watched as the siblings gazes settled on the dead animals stacked next to the fire.
The girl was seamless with her reaction, only offering an unreadable expression to Uhtred before saying, “I’m sure we’ll find something.”
Her voice was soft but Osferth could sense a bit of rigidness behind it, almost like the snowflakes gently coming off from the trees above and landing on warm skin; similarly, it sent shivers down his back when her voice came out. His mind wandered for a moment, questions arising left and right from his mind until he finally asked a question as the siblings pulled off from the cliffside.
“You didn’t answer the question.” He suddenly pronounces, catching everyone’s attention. His eyes locked on the girl’s own, widening as he noticed they were almost glowing from the rays of light. He was sure they were almost like gold, the color seemingly paling against the stone at the pommel of Uhtred’s sword. Gold. It looked like molten gold.
“You know of Rumcofa, yet we have never seen you there.”
A few men nodded, others looking expectantly at the set of siblings, knowing Osferth wasn’t wrong. It had been years since Rumcofa was built, Aethelstan being only a boy when they settled in the trading village. Now he was accompanying hunts, carrying steel weapons instead of practicing with wooden ones within the safety of the village walls. Throughout all those years, Osferth was sure he’d remember eyes that seemed to shine under sunlight.
He watched as the girl’s lips twitched, to a smile or a frown, he wasn’t so sure. Still, he garnered a reaction out of her and some sense of satisfaction consumed him. “We have lived here since before Rumcofa’s construction. We just wished to stay outside the village borders since we are self serving ourselves.”
Osferth nodded, taking her words to value, seemingly knowing she wasn't lying. Still, he wondered one more thing.
“What are your names?” It was Uhtred who asked the question, seemingly reading the ex-monk’s mind.
The girl opened her mouth, then closed it. She turned to her brother, who shrugged before they responded, one after the other.
“My name is Jehan.”
“My name is Rosemonde. I go by Rose.”
Rose. Osferth thought, staring at the woman thoughtfully. Rose.
Somehow he couldn’t keep the name out of his head, even when her brother, Jehan decided to speak. “It is not safe to be out here too long, lords. Even in broad daylight, there are many dangers out there you should keep watch for. My sister and I must go now. Bountiful luck to you all during your hunt.”
With that, both siblings rode off, before anyone could ask any more questions.
"Strange people.” Finan mused, Osferth nodding
Silence returned on the group, though Osferth’s mind seemed to be somewhere else, Rose’s name still repeating in his head, not wishing to forget it.
- ROSE -
“Bountiful luck?”
“Shut up.”
A look of amusement crossed Rose’s face as she eyed her brother. “You sure love hearing your voice, brother.”
Jehan sent a glare her way. “As if you could do any better, sister. You talk sweetly but look as if you’re ready to go into battle. I hardly think I’d be ever able to believe you if I were those men out there.”
Rose shrugged. “If they detect a lie, they would have had us taken away. Clearly they believed us. Besides, it’s not as if we aren’t hunting.”
She dismounted from her horse as she said this, walking toward one of their hidden traps set up not far from the trail. She listened for the crunch of the snow, ignoring Jehan’s call from behind.
“That monk sounded like he didn’t believe you!”
A smile made its way to her lips again, the idea of the blonde man wishing to know them so much amusing her. He was peculiar, she remembered thinking, watching his expression intently when she had given her name. She could see his lips moving, though she wasn’t sure what she could make him out from saying.
Rose was ready to speak once more, before a muffled scream had brought her back, the memories of the crunching snow and the warrior monk pushed to the back of her mind. She narrowed her eyes, realizing the trap she set up the night before had worked. The muffled screams turned to a panicked one as Rose made herself visible to the man trapped by the spikes dug under the soft piles of snow that were carefully packed together as if to seem stronger.
“Nasty wound you have there.” Rose responded, eyes narrowing in on the man’s leg, which had the five wooden spikes jutting out from it at the start of his ankle to just below his knees. His hair was matted and frosted over, clearly having been there for several hours. “Would be a shame if we left you here.”
“Please,” the man begged. “Let me free.”
Rose ignored him, procuring a dagger hidden beneath her sleeve. “Since you said please, I will.” The man sighed in relief. “But not before you answer some questions.”
The men let out another wail, only to be silenced as Rose struck the back of his head with the hilt of her dagger. She didn’t waste time to take out a sack from the bag hanging off her, bringing it over the unconscious man’s head. A four toned whistle was heard from a distance and Rose was quick to send a two toned one back.
From a large pile of snow close by, another dark head popped up. “He’s been screaming all day. I had to come around and shut him up a few times before he could spot me.”
“It was a good thing you did.” Rose says to her younger brother, remembering the warrior monk and his warrior friends. “Help me out, won’t you Saewin? This man probably weighs like a horse.”
Saewin only nodded, making his way around the pile of snow so quickly, Rose felt like some sense of time disappeared on her when he made his way over. They lifted the man by his arms and legs, Saewin huffing out of anger after taking careful steps closer to the road. “This man weighs more than a horse; he’s probably the same weight as Jehan…”
“Hey!” Was all Jehan offered, running to help his siblings drag the man onto the large cloth he spread out and attached to his and Rose’s horse. All three of them heaved sighs, looking at one another before nodding to one another in understanding as they stared at the unconscious man in front of them.
“Let’s go home.” Jehan mused. “Looks like we’ll be having a busy night.”
Rose only nodded, her gaze lingering longer on the man while Saewin moved to mount her horse, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach as she spotted a cross around his neck. Faintly, her fingers brushed against her own and a prayer was sent out silently, Rose praying that her way to Hell was as painless as possible before she finally made her way to her horse.
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valeskafics · 3 months
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"Not So Silent Night" - Osferth x Uhtred's Daughter!Reader
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a/n: request from @tallemajas-scriptorium combined w/ one from @toms-cherry-trees and an anon request. enjoy my loves 🩷
Summary: Osferth is surprised at how your people celebrate Yule.
Word Count: 2,700
Rating: 18+, MDNI
TW: afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, references to brothels, osferth and reader being peeping toms, oral f receiving, fingering, loss of virginity, p in v sex, creampie
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the The Last Kingdom characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
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The day of the yule festivities in Rumcofa, hosted by your father, is always a stressful, surreal blur. However, this year you’ve managed to weasel your way out of helping by declaring that it’s time for Æthelstan to pick up a sword and for you to train him. So, when Osferth comes to your family’s home, he sees the two of you out front, sparring. He smiles to himself at the sight, observing from a distance.
“Keep your chin up, little one, or I’ll ring your head like a bell!”
He holds back a laugh at your light-hearted scolding of the boy you see as a little brother, watching as you pinch his cheek. You are one of the most formidable fighters he’s ever seen, charging headfirst into battle alongside him on many an occasion, never once flinching in the face of death. Your bravery and your strength of will are two of the things he admires most about you. But then, there is another side to you. A gentle, kind, protective side. One that you exhibit around those you care about. He feels quite lucky to count himself among those select few.
As if sensing his presence, you tease, “Oh, Æthelstan, there he is! The most feared Saxon in these lands… The warrior monk!”
Osferth chuckles at your words, “A handsome one at that, would you not say, lady?”
“Hm,” you glance at Æthelstan, “What do you think, sister?” The boy snickers and runs off, You smirk at your friend, “That was a no, sorry, Os.”
He shakes his head at you, grinning boyishly, moving to walk beside you as you put away the training swords, “Oh, come on. You must at least agree that I’m one of the better looking warriors.”
“Mmm, I suppose,” you reply playfully, “Considering you have all your teeth. Now, are you here to see my father or little old me?”
His cheeks flush at how you are flirting with him, doing his best to flirt back, though too fearful to truly make a move, “Both, if I may.”
“Well, me more so than him, I hope?” You ask, stepping closer to him, his breath catching in his throat at your proximity.
“That goes without saying.”
The two of you have always toed the line between friendship and something more, neither of you willing to take that final jump. And so, Osferth is surprised at the sharpness in your tone when you reply to him.
“Did you use the same line on those girls at the brothel?”
He blinks stupidly for a moment, wondering how in the world you found out about that. It must have been Finan or Sihtric. The bastards. He swears he’s going to wring their necks. However, he knows he cannot lie to you. And so, he tries playing it off.
“Perhaps, yes.” You turn on your heel to leave, but he grabs your arm gently, pulling you back toward him, still smiling, “Will you not forgive me?” When you simply turn your face away petulantly, his smile grows mischievous, “Would a kiss help you change your mind?”
He thinks he has finally gathered enough courage to make a move, to take your friendship out of this limbo it is currently in, but you merely scoff in his face, “I’d just as soon kiss a horse! Go play with your brothel girls, baby monk.”
Osferth shakes his head, resting his hands on your hips, keeping you close to him, “I believe you do want to kiss me. Otherwise you wouldn’t be bothered by me kissing other girls. Am I wrong?”
“Kiss whoever you want, you arseling!”
“But what about what you want?” He asks, leaning closer, close enough to be able to kiss you.
You narrow your eyes, lips pursed as you sass, “I want you to go far far away. Back to your little brothel girls.”
He chuckles, moving to pin you against the wall of the stable behind you, his forehead resting against yours, his breath intermingling with yours as he murmurs, “What if I don’t do that, but instead, I kiss your pretty little mouth?”
“Well, you can’t!”
“Why not? If you truly didn’t want me to, you’d have slapped me long ago,” Osferth teases, brushing a strand of hair off your face. You raise your hand as if to slap him, though he catches you by the wrist, pressing a chaste kiss to your palm, his eyes filled with longing as he gazes at you.
Your eyes flutter shut as he leans in closer and closer…
Only for the two of you to be interrupted by the sound of your father, Finan, and Sihtric laughing about something or the other as they approach the cottage. You scowl in annoyance before an idea strikes you. You and Osferth are never invited to engage in some of the more… Risque yule activities. So now is as perfect a time as any.
“Would you like to see the snow with me?”
Osferth nods eagerly, whispering, “I’d like nothing more.”
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It is late when the two of you return from your walk into the woods, arm in arm, freezing cold but utterly content. You can’t help smiling and giggling around each other, and Osferth blushes when you blurt out a question you’ve had on your mind for a few days now.
“Did you really call that girl by my name?”
He avoids your gaze as he mutters, “Maybe.”
“So you were thinking of me?”
He turns to you, those sweet blue eyes meeting your own, pure white snow falling around the two of you, as he admits, “I am always thinking of you.”
You smile at him, taking his hand as you continue walking. He can’t help but look over at you every so often, can’t help but imagine taking you back to his humble room, your body pressed against his, kissing every square inch of you. It takes every inch of self restraint within him not to press his lips against yours every time he gazes upon your sweet face.
The two of you hear a ruckus from the longhouse and you give the blond a cheeky smirk, “I’m going to see what’s happening. You coming?”
He nods, following after you, the two of you peering inside to see what in the world is going on. You gasp quietly at the sight before you. Dozens of people, bodies bare as the day they were born, partaking in the pleasures of the flesh. You’re sure your father is likely in there somewhere, but you thank Odin that you don’t see him. However, you do see someone quite familiar, the muscles of his back tensing as he rolls his hips against a young woman.
“Osferth! I see Sihtric’s arse!” Osferth snickers, amused and surprised by the sight. He can’t help but feel the slightest bit jealous at the way your eyes glaze over slightly when you’re staring at Sihtric, envy growing tenfold when his friend turns around and your jaw drops, “Oh! Oh, wow, that is… Oh.” Osferth blinks owlishly at the size of Sihtric’s… Well, he’s clearly well endowed. You whisper aloud, “How does that even fit inside a woman? Doesn’t he injure them?”
Osferth bursts into laughter at your query, “I imagine my friend knows how to ease his way in, so to speak.”
You turn away from Sihtric, eyes dancing with mischief as you gaze up at Osferth, “And how about you?” Osferth can’t stop staring at you, completely intoxicating, everything fading to the background, only your face remaining in focus. Perhaps tonight truly is the night he can make you his. “Well?” You murmur, “Would you ease me into it?” The way you speak… It is so seductive, so unexpected. He gathers every last bit of his courage and nods, watching as you step closer, your voice barely above a whisper as you ask, gazing up at him, “How?”
Osferth takes a deep breath, still holding your gaze, leaning in as he speaks lowly, lips nearly touching yours, “I would start slowly. With little kisses on your skin.” His fingers move to intertwine with yours, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand, “Caress the curves of your body with my hands. I would take my time with you. Making sure you’re ready.”
“And then?” You ask breathlessly.
“And then we would finally be together,” Osferth says, his forehead resting against yours, his nose brushing against your own, “Two hearts beating as one. Two bodies moving as one.”
He watches your eyes widen, glad his words have had the intended effect, a smile spreading across his face as you request, “It’s so cold, Osferth. Won’t you take me home and warm me up?” Osferth nods eagerly, taking you by the hand and leading you toward his cottage, loving the way you giggle as he opens the door and gestures for you to enter first, “What a perfect gentleman.”
You stand in front of his bed, gazing up into his deep blue eyes. He crosses the room in two long strides, standing before you, cupping your face in his hands. The moment is silent, but not uncomfortable, desire clear in both of your gazes. He leans in and whispers.
“Can I kiss you?”
You nod, “Please.”
He smiles, finally pressing his lips to yours. The moment is finally here and it is everything he prayed for, everything he ever dreamed of. You taste so sweet, like the berries you two had picked and eaten while in the forest, your tongue moving against his in perfect harmony. Your hands rest on his chest while he holds the back of your head, pulling you flush up against him. You are so beautiful, so strong and yet so delicate. He is overwhelmed by your kiss, by your touch, wanting to lose himself in you. Wanting to lose himself in the woman he has loved ever since he met her.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” you admit quietly, as if hearing his thoughts.
He is speechless, mind blown by your confession. It would appear that you have yearned for him just as he has yearned for you. The hard, lithe muscles of his body press against the soft curves of yours as he gently pushes you down onto the bed, crawling over you. He keeps his promise from before, kissing every inch of your body, helping you out of your dress. He gazes upon your bare form with reverence, like you are something to be worshiped. He kisses your neck, down to your chest, to your lower stomach, before his lips reach where you desire them most. He maintains his self control, being gentle as can be, wanting your first time to be perfect, to be everything you deserve. He would love nothing more than to ravage you, but right now is not the time. There will be time for that later.
You moan softly as he licks a stripe along your entrance, your toes curling, eyes scrunching shut as he slowly pushes his tongue inside you. You taste divine, he thinks, like the sweetest wine, and he could partake from you from the rest of his life. He holds your thighs apart, his blue eyes gazing up at you, admiring you as you writhe in pleasure from the way he works his tongue against you, dragging it along your walls, nuzzling the cleft of his nose against your sensitive pearl. You whine pitifully at the noises he makes, the way he moans against you as if this is just as pleasurable for him as it is for you. Your thighs tremble in his grip, your entire body quivering, and he knows you are getting close. He speeds up his movements, going faster and faster until you spill yourself on his tongue with a wanton cry of his name.
Osferth replaces his tongue with his fingers, wanting to prepare you for his cock, wanting it to be as painless as possible for you. God, you feel so tight, so wet wrapped around his digits, he grows impossibly hard at the thought of burying himself inside you. He gazes into your eyes as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, his thumb rubbing against your pearl while he crooks the other two digits, making sure they brush against that spongy spot deep inside of you. You squirm in his grip, clinging to him, pulling his robes off, wanting to feel his bare skin against your own.
And when you reach your peak once more, soaking his fingers, Osferth moves so that you lay atop him, you in all your glory, your beautiful body above him. You realize he means for you to take the initiative, to go at your own pace. You smile at him shyly as you sink down onto his rather large cock with a whine of his name, feeling him fill you in a way you only imagined in your dreams. It stings only for a moment as you lower yourself onto him, inch by inch, his cock splitting you open. Osferth groans, his hands grabbing your hips, easing you into the act.
When your bodies are joined and the initial discomfort has subsided, you gaze at him, lips parted, “You feel so perfect…”
The words send shivers up and down his spine, because in truth? He was thinking the same thing about you. You’re so warm, and joining his body with yours feels like coming home in the strangest way. This is what he has always wanted, he thinks, pulling you close as you begin to bounce yourself up and down on him, lips locking with yours. He keeps his eyes open for a moment as you kiss, not wanting to stop looking at you, too enamored, too in love. One hand rests on your hip, the other at your back, holding you close as he ruts up against you in time with the movement of your own hips, each thrust filling you to the brim. You feel the tip of his cock rubbing against your sweet spot, and when you squeeze around him, Osferth knows he’s found it. He holds you in place, rolling his hips against yours.
“Is this what it is?” You ask softly, your hands resting on his face, “To be one?”
Osferth nods, breath heavy as he feels his stomach tighten with every thrust, bringing him closer and closer to his own end., “I love you.”
The smile on your face is dazzling at his words as the two of you lock lips once more, his hands caressing your body as you whisper back, “I love you too, sweet Osferth.”
“Let me love you,” he says, rasping against your ear as he nears his climax, “Let me worship you and take care of you. No one will take you from me.”
“I don’t ever wish to be parted from you,” you reply, gasping softly as he kisses your neck, “I love you, Osferth.”
“And I you.”
You reach your peak, collapsing against him as he thrusts into you once, twice more, readying to pull out of you to spill himself, but you quickly shake your head, “Inside me… Please.”
Your words have a visceral effect on him as he nods, a wave of emotion overwhelming him as he spills himself inside you, moving to hold you close to his chest after he pulls out of you, your body trembling against his. He runs a hand through your hair, the two of you clinging to each other desperately, exchanging tender kisses and words of love. He can’t stop staring at you, fingertips tracing the contours of your face, trying to convince himself that this is real. That he truly has everything he ever wanted.
“You’re so warm,” you say, nuzzling against him, “I love you.”
He tucks you under his chin, his cheek resting against the top of your head as he whispers, “Will you be mine, my sweet love?”
“Yes, with all my heart, yes.”
You are his destiny, you always have been. And he is yours.
And what is it that your father has always told you?
Destiny is all.
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aemondsbabe · 3 months
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Love is Patient and Kind
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summary: hand holding & dry humping || you aren't ready to take the next step with your monk, luckily for you he has the patience of a saint
pairing: osferth x f!reader
warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dry humping, very fluffy, osferth being cute and understanding and ruining other men for everyone, let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 2.5k
a/n: welcome to day one of 12 days of smuff!! hope y'all enjoy this one! Can be read as part 1 to Wind’s Howling or as a stand alone!
12 days of smuff masterlist
gif creds to @thecruel!
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!
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“Are you sure you do not wish for me to carry that, my lady?” Osferth asks for the millionth time, nodding his head at the basket, laden with various herbs and medicinal plants, in the crook of your elbow. 
For the millionth time, you merely shake your head with a crooked smile. “I wish only for your company, monk,” you glance over at him as the two of you walk through the forest, admiring the way the early afternoon sun casts a golden halo through his hair, “I told you as much when we left camp this morning.”
Osferth merely nods in reply; your man is one of few words. A soft blush blooms across your cheeks at the thought – your man, but it was as good as true. Osferth was the first man in Uhtred’s company you felt comfortable with when you joined their cause all those months ago when they’d stopped in your small hamlet in need of a healer; you’d been by their side ever since.
In the months since, your relationship with the monk had steadily grown from hushed whispers around the campfire in the dead of night, when sleep eluded the both of you, to heated glances, delicate touches, and stolen kisses. More recently, Osferth had all but insisted on accompanying you nearly everywhere you went, which is how he’d come to follow you as you walked through the forest to gather the variety of curative plants you need.
A content sigh passes your lips as you tilt your head up, taking in the way the tips of the trees stretch up toward the blue sky. “I had almost forgotten what the sun looked like,” you joke, your heart squeezing proudly in your chest as the monk chuckles next to you, “But hopefully this summer will be dryer than the last.”
“I have prayed many times for sun,” Osferth says with a nod, blue eyes soft as he gazes at you, “Unfortunately, the Lord seems to ignore those requests.” The corner of his lips tilts up as he huffs a laugh at his own joke. 
Suddenly, a branch snaps loudly not too far off the winding path the two of you have been strolling down. Osferth acts quickly, ever vigilant, and takes your hand to usher you behind him as he draws his sword. Your breath quickens as you peek around his shoulder, pressing yourself tightly against his back as your hand grips his; you’d been assured by Uhtred’s scouts that the forest surrounding camp was perfectly safe, but in these times danger seemed to creep up from every corner. 
A buck appears a little ways down the path, followed by two more deer, each sparing you and the monk only a quick glance before scampering into the forest once more. The two of you let out a collective sigh of relief as Osferth sheaths his sword with a shy smile. 
“Perhaps now would be a good time for a break, my lady?” He suggests with a soft smile, “We’ve been walking since morning.”
“I think we’ve earned a break,” you nod, gazing up at him through your lashes, the two of you still close enough that you could make out soft flecks of green in his blue eyes, “I believe I saw a clearing a few paces back.” 
“Lead the way.” Osferth nods, keeping in pace with you as you backtrack to where you’d spotted a lush clearing through the trees only moments ago. As you walk, nearly shoulder to shoulder, the monk silently takes your hand again, his rough fingers threading together with yours. Neither of you speaks, though you can nearly feel his pleased smile from your periphery, twin to your own. 
After only a few moments, you veer off the path as the two of you step into a sizable glade, the trees giving way to a field of tall grass. Your hands stay clasped as you walk together, basket still tucked in your elbow as you lift the skirts of your linen gown to prevent it from snagging on the high blades of grass; your chest tightens once more when you glance down and notice how Osferth takes great care to step over any flowers in his path, the ones that sprinkle the meadow with pops of yellow and lilac. 
Soon, you come to a spot where the ground seems to be drier, however the monk grasps your forearm to stop you as he slips the thin, grey wool cloak off his shoulders and drapes it over the ground.
“Osferth,” you gently admonish, though a smile does creep across your lips at the sweet gesture, “I am perfectly capable of sitting on the ground.”
“A lady should not have to,” he says simply, nodding to the cloak, “Please.”
With a final glance, and a good-natured roll of your eyes, you comply, setting your basket down before relaxing atop his robe. After making sure you’re settled, the monk joins you, setting his sword to the side as he sits and leans back on his hands, scanning the treeline. 
“It’s so lovely here…” you smile as you glance around, a soft breeze causing the grass to rustle around you.
Osferth sits up beside you, a relaxed smile on his lips as he takes your hand and pulls you closer to him. “I find the company to be far lovelier,” he whispers before capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, never taking more than you seem keen to give. The two of you easily fall into a lazy rhythm, your lips moving together as he guides you to lie against his chest. You lay your hand against his chest, right over his heart, thankful that he’s forgone his usual leather armor and chainmail today as you feel his warmth through the soft tunic he wears. 
He sighs against your lips, his fingers gently weaving into the locks of hair at the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine and making you cling to him all the more tightly, his other hand wrapping around your waist before settling in the small of your back, holding you to him. 
After a few moments, the two of you part to catch your breath and he studies you with a warm gaze as you relax against his chest. “We are meant to be stopping in a town tonight.” Osferth says simply. 
“That we are.” 
“We could get a room together,” he breathes, making you gasp as he trails kisses across your jaw, “Just the two of us.” 
Immediately, you tense up and untangle yourself from him, sitting up with a sigh. He quickly sits up next to you and you can feel him eyeing you with concern, though you dare not meet his gaze. 
“My lady, I didn't mean to offend you…” He says hesitantly, placing a hand on your shoulder. 
“You didn’t offend me, sweet monk,” you turn to him with a bashful smile, “I am simply…I don’t know if i’m ready.” 
“Ready for what?” His head tilts to the side as he eyes you curiously. 
You chuckle nervously, unsure of how to broach the topic. “Osferth, I have heard enough tales of your…prowess around the campfire to know that my skills do not match your own.” 
The crease between his brows only deepens as he continues staring at you, blue eyes flitting between your own. “My prowess?” 
“With more…intimate relations…” You say slowly, glancing away from him. 
“Oh,” he says softly before his eyes widen comically, a dark blush cascading over his fair cheeks, “Oh!”
You can’t help but laugh softly at his dumbstruck expression, your lips quirking up into a soft smile despite your nerves. 
The hand on your shoulder tightens as he leans closer to you. “My love, you need not fret over it,” he whispers, blue eyes conveying a deep seriousness, “We can get a room at the tavern and not do anything at all.”
Your eyebrows knit together in confusion – you’ve always been told to expect a very different answer from men. “What?”
He huffs out a soft laugh and pulls you back down to lie on the grass with him once more. “I mean what I say,” he says softly, one hand stroking your hair, “We can get a room and just kiss or cuddle or merely talk, I don’t care.” You look up from where you’ve had your cheek laying against his chest, the emotion in his eyes shocking you for a second, “I just want to be with you.” He whispers finally.
You can feel yourself blushing as he speaks, the apples of your cheeks heating up deliciously under his kind gaze. A girlish giggle erupts from your lips before you can stop it, which only makes him laugh too as you bury your head against his chest and bite your lip, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and campfire smoke. 
After a moment, the two of you calm down and you finally look back up at him, “Kissing sounds good…” you nearly whisper, suddenly shy as he surveys your face.
Osferth merely chuckles, low in his throat, and rolls the two of you over. Normally, this is when you’d be pushing any other man off of you with some mumbled excuse, but you can’t help but feel safe with the sandy haired monk, taking him at his word that whatever you were willing to give would be enough.
“We have time, and plenty of herbs already,” he rasps, his voice thick with an arousal you’d only heard on a very scant few occasions when the two of you had shared frantic kisses in the night once the rest of the men were asleep, “Why wait until tonight?”
A small giggle escapes you once again as the blush on your cheeks extends down, almost all the way to your chest, but you nod nonetheless, your arms coming up to snake around his neck as you pull him down to you. A small whimpery breath escapes you when his lips touch yours yet again, and he responds in kind with a low groan, the sound rumbling from his chest. His lips are soft against your own as the two of you move leisurely; once again, he lets you set the pace, only licking at your bottom lip after you do the same to him first. 
Your thighs spread as your kiss deepens and you moan again when he slots himself between your thighs, the linen of your dress hiked up just above your knees. A shiver rolls through you at the feel of him on top of you, so warm and weighty.
“Is this alright?” He breathes, navy eyes blinking between each of yours as he checks for any signs of discomfort from you, visibly relaxing when he finds none.
Wordlessly, you nod, bobbing your head eagerly as you pull him back down. His hands roam carefully over your body as your lips and tongues move together, breathlessly licking into each other's mouths. You whine into his mouth when you feel a hardness pressing against your center, a pleased hum emanating from your chest at the realization that you’ve affected him this much with only a kiss; the pride in your heart twists into something different, something deeper as a knot forms and begins tightening in your belly.
“My lady –” Osferth mumbles as he starts to pull away from you, an apologetic smile on his handsome face.
“Don’t!” You say quickly, tugging him back to you and surprising even yourself as you wrap your legs around his trim waist, “Please, I – It’s good.” You confirm breathlessly, eyebrows quirked up with need as you look up at him through your lashes. 
“Yeah?” He asks, unable to wipe the pleased grin off his face as he settles back on top of you, careful to keep most of his weight off of you as he presses against your center again.
You nod, already threading your fingers into the short hair at the back of his head to draw his lips back to yours. A breathy, high-pitched moan leaves you at the feel of his clothed length pressing against you, the ties at the front of his breeches only adding to the pleasurable sensations that zap through you as he starts rolling his hips against your own.
His pace quickens as he breaks away from you, panting against your skin as he traces wet kisses down your jaw to your neck. Your head lolls to the side as you whimper and whine underneath him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel his hard cock twitch against you, even through the fabric of your smallclothes.
You’re quick to match his pace, using the leverage of your legs wrapped around his middle to ruck yourself up into each thrust, earning grunts of pleasure from the monk. 
“My lady,” he groans, one hand fisting into your hair as the other trails down to run appreciatively over the bare skin of your thigh, “Y-You are bewitching.” He gasps, mouthing at your neck, his cock no doubt leaking into the leather of his trousers. 
Your only reply is a choked out moan of his name as your back arches underneath him, the knot in your belly winding tighter and tighter as the ties of his breeches rub over your pearl deliciously, your smallclothes no doubt soaked. 
Blessedly, Osferth seems to understand the desperation in your voice and movements and pulls back to look at you, both of his hands quickly grasping yours, fingers threading together as he holds them to the earth beside your head.
 “Sweet girl,” he grunts as he gazes down at you, a rosy blush cascading beautifully over his high cheekbones, “P-Peak, my lady, please,” he pants as his fingers tighten against your own, “I’m, God be good, I’m right behind you.”
You nod frantically, your only sound a choked out sob as you tense underneath him when his hips rut perfectly against yours, the knots of his pants catching against your sensitive bud in just the right way to tip you over the edge. You twitch underneath him, white knuckling his hands when you feel your center clenching helplessly around nothing as pleasure buzzes through you. 
Osferth reaches his end mere seconds after you, humping against you two or three more times before tensing, his eyes squeezing shut as his own high washes over him, cock spasming in his breeches as his spend leaks into the waiting fabric. 
“You’re beautiful,” you declare softly, the words tumbling from your lips as soon as you think of them.
The monk blushes somehow more heavily above you, though a soft smile graces his lips. With a soft sigh, he falls to his side, bringing you with him. Your cheek once again finds its home against his chest and you smile at the sound of his heart thumping wildly as he pulls you closely to him, one arm wrapping protectively around you as he tucks the other under his head, letting his eyes flutter shut.
“You flatter me, my lady,” he says lowly, a pleased rasp to his voice. “You are truly an angel,” he continues after a moment, “A beautiful, precious angel.”
You smile contentedly, his heart thudding steadily in your ear as you let your eyes drift shut, happy to stay in this still, safe bubble with your monk for as long as the outside world will allow.
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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 8 months
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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.
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undertheorangetree · 7 months
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Our Gentle Sin
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Summary- Osferth navigates his relationship with his lady.
Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female Reader. Vaginal fingering. Handjob. Cunnilingus. P in V sex. Fluff. Mild angst. Originally porn without plot but then I added some plot. All further warnings will be at the beginning of each individual chapter.
Author’s Note- This whole story can be read as individual parts or together as a whole.
Full story is on AO3
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The Inn
Dunholm
Aylesbure
Saltwic
dividers by firefly-graphics
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happilyhertale · 9 months
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going through your masterlist! I love your works 💗
Oooh… 🥺 Anon… my heart… tysm!!! 💋💋 This makes my day! It makes me really happy to read that you like my work so much that you're working your way through my entire masterlist 🥰🥰 Much love to you!!! 🖤🖤
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