#ragnar would include | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eu-nicola · 6 months ago

Text

first love

summary: you always hated Ragnar until you realized that that hatred was not hatred but love

warnings: age-gap, infidelity, pregnancy

word counter: 9363

author's note: english is not my first language, inspired by something old that I also wrote

You had known Ragnar Lothbrok for as long as you could remember, and you had always known that his place in your life was not that of a stranger. He had been a part of your world even before you came into it.

Your father always spoke of Ragnar as if he were a son. When you were younger, you sat on your father’s knee as he told stories of Ragnar’s bravery and cunning, of how, as a mere boy, he had shown intelligence that few men possessed. You listened, but those words never filled you with pride. It wasn’t admiration you felt for him. It was jealousy. Jealousy of how your parents looked at him, jealousy of how your father laughed with him, a truer sound than the one you managed to coax out of him.

Ragnar wasn’t just bigger than you in age; he was bigger in every other way. He had always been that way. In your family’s eyes, he was more than an older brother. He was the perfect son they had never had before you.

You clearly remember the first time you realized how deep your connection to your father was. You were about six years old, running through the field near your house, chasing butterflies as your bare feet sank into the damp grass. When you came home, sweaty and leafy, you saw him there at the table next to your father. Your heads leaned forward, talking quietly as if they shared a secret that would never include you. Your small hands balled into fists, and you stood in the doorway, feeling like a stranger in your own home.

“What are you doing standing there?” he had asked you, with an easy smile that lit up everyone’s eyes but your own.

“I don’t like the way you talk to my father,” you told him with childlike sincerity that knew no filters.

He laughed, a sound he had always hated because it was loud, as if the entire world could hear how much he enjoyed life. "And why not, little one? Is it yours and not mine?"

Your father laughed too, but you didn't. You looked down and crossed your arms, muttering something that even you didn't quite understand. At that moment, Ragnar had looked at you like someone would look at a child who barely understands the world, and that only increased your childish rage.

Over time, things didn't improve. Ragnar grew into a strong, cunning, and charismatic man. His exploits began to resonate beyond the borders of your small world, and while others celebrated him, you still felt overshadowed by his presence.

Sometimes, you tried to reason with yourself. It wasn't Ragnar's fault that your father adored him so much. It wasn't his fault that others looked at him with admiration. But those thoughts didn't ease the weight in your chest every time his name came up in family conversations, as if everything revolved around him.

There were days when you wished he would go away. That his ship would not return from the sea, that his laughter would stop filling the rooms, that his stories would become a thing of the past. And yet, there was a part of you that couldn’t deny that you were watching him intently. Like a wolf on the prowl, you memorized his every gesture, every word he said.

One day, when you were ten, things reached their breaking point. Ragnar had returned from a long journey, and your father threw a banquet in his honor. The entire village gathered at your house, singing, drinking, and celebrating his return. You were at the back, in the darkest corner of the hall, watching as Ragnar moved through the crowd with the ease of someone who knew he belonged.

When you finally crossed paths with him, he gave you an amused look. “Why are you always so serious when you see me?”

“I’m not serious. I just don’t like you,” you blurted out without thinking.

He laughed, but it wasn’t as loud this time. There was something else in his expression, something you hadn’t seen before: curiosity. “Do you not like me because I’ve always been here, or because you think I don’t pay attention to you?”

The question left you silent, because you didn’t know how to respond. Ragnar always found a way to disarm you, even when you didn’t want to admit it.

“Maybe it’s not you who hates me,” he finally said, leaning in to look you in the eyes. “Maybe it’s you who doesn’t want to share your place in this world with me.”

Those words stuck in your mind, though at the time you didn’t know what to do with them. Because, as much as you hated to admit it, maybe he was right.

Over the years, you left behind the childish games and tantrums, but Ragnar remained a constant in your life. You no longer openly hated him, but you didn't seek him out either. You avoided him, always hiding behind the responsibilities of the house or the social gatherings that you so detested. But even from a distance, you felt his presence like a shadow that stretched over you, a force that you couldn't ignore.

It was around your thirteenth birthday that you began to understand something that you didn't want to accept. Ragnar had returned from another of his trips, this time with the triumphant air of a man who had achieved something great. His face was covered in dust and sun, his eyes shining with that fire that seemed to ignite everyone around him. He entered your home as if he owned the place, with that laugh of his that always managed to put everyone in a good mood. Everyone except you, or at least that's what you forced yourself to believe.

You watched him from the table, hidden behind a curtain of your hair, while he spoke to your father. Ragnar had this ability to capture everyone’s attention, as if words were something created just for him. He was charismatic, strong, and self-assured, and for the first time you noticed something that left you frozen: you didn’t look at him the way you look at a brother.

The thought hit you like a bolt of lightning. All that time, all that anger you’d felt towards him, all the arguments and resentment, it hadn’t been because you wanted him to go away. You hadn’t hated Ragnar because he was your father’s favorite, or because he made you feel small next to him. You’d hated him because you liked him.

The realization stunned you. You’d heard other girls in the village talk about what it was like to be attracted to a man, about how their hearts beat faster and their stomachs filled with nerves when they were around someone they liked. You’d always thought those things were ridiculous, that love was something you didn’t need or want. But now, you felt that same uneasiness in your chest whenever Ragnar was around.

That night, you couldn't sleep. Images of him filled your mind: his laugh, the way his hair fell across his forehead, how his gaze seemed to pierce you every time it met yours. You felt caught between the desire to push him out of your life and the inability to imagine a world without him.

The following days you tried harder than ever to avoid him. If you saw him coming, you would veer off on another path. If your father mentioned his name, you would quickly change the subject. But Ragnar didn't seem willing to ignore you. Every chance he got, he would look for you with his eyes, with that crooked smile that seemed to know more than he was willing to say.

Some time later Ragnar had returned from the north with more than just stories of his travels. He returned with a woman at his side: Lagertha. The first time you saw her, you understood why he had chosen her. She was beautiful, with such a strong and determined presence that she seemed to fill the room without needing to say a word. She was not a simple peasant or any woman. She was a warrior, a shieldmaiden, someone worthy of accompanying a man like him.

And you hated her.

It wasn't because she was evil or cruel, because she wasn't. Lagertha, with her open smile and direct gaze, tried from the beginning to win your sympathy, but you refused point-blank. Every kind word she spoke to you crashed against the wall you had raised between you. You didn't want her friendship. You wanted nothing from her.

But what really tore you apart was Ragnar. He seemed different with Lagertha at his side, as if his world had become complete in a way you had never seen before. When he looked at her, there was something in his eyes that made you grit your teeth: affection. It wasn't the camaraderie she shared with your father or the teasing affection she sometimes gave you. It was something deeper, more real.

At first, you tried to ignore what you felt. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that what Ragnar did with his life wasn’t your problem. But the more time passed, the harder it was to contain the rage that was building up inside you.

You became a walking storm. Your words became sharper, your gestures more abrupt. Everything you did was tinged with an anger that you couldn’t explain to others, not even to yourself. When you crossed paths with Ragnar, you barely looked at him. And if he tried to talk to you, your answers were cold and distant.

“What’s wrong?” he asked you one day, after you completely ignored him during a conversation at the family table.

“What would happen to me?” you replied without looking at him, focusing on breaking off a piece of bread as if it were the most important thing in the world.

Ragnar wasn’t stupid. You knew that. He had always been shrewd, able to read people with an ease that was disturbing. But this time, he didn’t seem to quite understand you. He frowned, leaning towards you a little. “You’ve been in a bad mood since I got back. Is it because of Lagertha?”

The sound of her name on his lips made your stomach twist. You forced yourself to remain calm, though. You looked up, staring at him with a hardness you didn’t know you possessed. “So what if she is? I don’t like her. Is that enough for you?”

Ragnar arched an eyebrow, surprised by your bluntness. “She hasn’t done anything to you. Why does she bother you so much?”

“Because I do,” you snapped, bolting up from the table. “Because I didn’t have to bring her here, or marry her.”

He stared at you, and for a moment you thought he was going to insist. But instead, he leaned back against the back of his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t understand why this matters so much to you.”

“And you don’t need to understand it,” you blurted out before exiting the room, leaving your anger and unfinished words behind you.

After that, you avoided any prolonged interaction with him. If he was in a room, you found an excuse to leave. If he spoke to you, you responded in monosyllables or ignored him completely. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he affected you.

But there were times when you couldn’t help but see him, like when he walked beside Lagertha through the fields, his laughter mingling with hers as if they were the only ones who mattered in the world. On those occasions, you felt something inside you break a little more.

When you turned sixteen, the day was a cold, grey sky, as if even the gods shared the melancholy you felt inside. The village was busier than ever; Ragnar and Lagertha had just had their son, Bjorn, a little boy who had already stolen everyone's hearts with his loud cry and inquisitive look.

You received the news while helping your mother in the kitchen. A neighbor came in excitedly, her beaming smile lighting up the room. “A son has been born to Ragnar! A strong, healthy boy. They have named him Bjorn.”

You stood still for a moment, your hands still covered in flour. The air seemed to grow heavy, as if every word of that woman crushed you. Bjorn. Ragnar had a son.

You knew this moment would come. It was natural for a man like him to build a family, for his life to be filled with new bonds and responsibilities. But that certainty didn’t make it hurt any less.

That night, as the village celebrated the birth of the little boy, you stepped away from the crowd. Chants and laughter filled the air, but you couldn’t bear to be there, watching Ragnar and Lagertha receive everyone’s congratulations. Instead, you sat alone on the riverbank, watching the current carry away the fallen leaves.

It was then, in the pale moonlight, that something inside you changed. For years you had carried an unrequited love, a weight that had filled you with rage, sadness, and frustration. But now, thinking of Bjorn and the future Ragnar was building, you realized it was time to let it go.

It wasn't easy. It was like ripping out a part of yourself, a part that had been with you for as long as you could remember. But you knew you could no longer live trapped in that cycle of emotions. Ragnar wasn't yours, and he never would be. And that was okay.

You decided that if you wanted to find your place in the world, you had to free yourself from that weight. So you let it go, like the leaves falling into the river, allowing the current to carry them away to a place you couldn't follow.

Letting it go didn't mean forgetting it, though. Ragnar was still a part of your life, as he always had been. But now you saw him differently. He was no longer the man you wanted, but someone you had learned to respect from a distance.

He was still there when you needed him, though those occasions were becoming less frequent. You were no longer a child, and the world did not revolve around him as you had once felt it did. You were a woman now, and you were determined to forge your own path.

One afternoon, while you were working in the fields, Ragnar approached you. He was carrying Bjorn in his arms, and the boy looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and adoration that made you smile despite everything.

“Aren’t you coming to see the little one?” he asked you, with that smile of his that still managed to disarm you, although in a different way now.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead and walked towards them. Bjorn stared at you with his big blue eyes, so similar to his father’s. He extended a small hand towards you, and you couldn’t help but gently take it between your fingers.

“He’s strong,” you said, more to yourself than to Ragnar.

“Like his mother,” he replied with a soft laugh.

You looked at him, feeling a calmness you hadn’t known before. “And like his father.”

Ragnar watched you for a moment, as if trying to decipher something in your expression. But he didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

That was the last time you allowed the ghosts of your past love to visit you. From then on, you focused on yourself, on your own goals and dreams. Ragnar was still a part of your life, but no longer the axis of your thoughts.

A year later when you turned seventeen, your world began to expand in ways you had never imagined. Ragnar, always restless, had begun to embark on more frequent trips, exploring new lands and discovering unknown horizons. It was on one of those days, while he was planning his next expedition, that you decided to accompany him. It wasn’t something you thought about much; you simply felt it. You wanted something more, something far from the confines of the village you had called home all your life.

“Are you sure you want to come?” Ragnar asked you when you proposed, with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile. “The sea is not as kind as it seems.”

“As kind as you, I suppose,” you replied with a spark of humor that made him laugh. “I don’t mind. I want to go.”

And so it was that you found yourself on the ship, surrounded by men weathered by wind and water, the smell of salt filling your senses. At first, you didn’t know what to expect. The constant movement of the waves was disconcerting, and the sound of the wood creaking beneath your feet made you feel small and insignificant. But as the days passed, you began to understand why Ragnar loved these voyages so much.

There was a freedom at sea that couldn’t be found anywhere else. There were no village expectations, no inquisitive glances, no questions about your future. On the ship, you were simply you, facing a world that stretched beyond the horizon.

Ragnar taught you to navigate by the stars, pointing out constellations you’d never noticed before. “Look there,” he said one night, as the sky spread out like a black blanket studded with diamonds. “Those take us north.”

“And those others,” you added, pointing to a group of stars that seemed especially bright to you, “where do they take us?”

He looked at you with a calm smile. “Wherever you want to go.”

It was in those moments, amidst the vastness of the ocean, that you began to understand something about yourself. You had spent years feeling trapped, first by your emotions towards Ragnar, then by the weight of your own expectations. But here, far away from everything, you realized that freedom was not something anyone could give you; it was something you had to claim for yourself.

When you reached land, every place you discovered filled you with wonder. The villages you visited, the new faces, the unfamiliar languages… everything was a reminder of how big the world was and how small you were within it. But that smallness did not intimidate you. On the contrary, it inspired you.

Ragnar seemed to notice the change in you. Although he did not say it openly, his gestures made it clear. When she watched you interact with the villagers or explore the markets with eyes full of curiosity, there was something in her expression that almost seemed like… pride.

When you returned from travels, there was always a mix of relief and melancholy. Returning meant safety, the warmth of home, but also the return to routines and inevitable questions.

Lagertha, who you had learned to get along with better, always greeted you with a smile and a question she couldn’t seem to avoid: “Well? When are you going to marry one of the men?”

That question always made you feel uncomfortable. You knew it was common for you to be engaged at your age, but the thought of tying yourself down to someone had never been appealing to you. Not after everything you had felt for Ragnar. Not after having tasted the freedom that travel offered you.

“I haven’t found anyone worth it yet,” you always answered with a noncommittal smile, trying to downplay it.

Lagertha would often laugh at your answer, though she would insist. “You are beautiful and strong. There is no shortage of men in this village who would want you as a wife.”

You would simply shrug and change the subject. Although you could now see that Lagertha was not your enemy, you could not confess the truth to her either. You could not tell her that deep down, there was still a part of you that could not imagine being with anyone but Ragnar, though you knew that dream would never come true.

It was not long before you were once again embarking on another journey with Ragnar. This time, the destination was beyond anything you had ever imagined. There was talk of faraway lands, with riches and wonders that few had ever seen. The preparations were long and meticulous; the journey would be longer and more dangerous, but the excitement in the air was palpable.

“Are you sure you want to come?” Ragnar asked for the umpteenth time, as he adjusted the oars on the boat.

“What kind of question is that?” you replied with a defiant smile. “Of course I’m going.”

Ragnar nodded, though his eyes reflected more than just acceptance. It was a mix of pride and concern, but you didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

The first leg of the journey was exciting, as always. The wind filled the sails and the horizon stretched out before you like an endless promise. But as the days passed, the conditions began to change. The waters grew colder, the air heavier, and your strength began to fail.

At first it was a simple malaise that you tried to ignore. A slight fever, some weakness. But soon it became impossible to hide. Your body was exhausted, and every movement cost you more effort than you wanted to admit. Ragnar was the first to notice.

“You look pale,” he commented one night as you stood by the fire, trying to warm up from the cold sea.

“I’m fine,” you lied, your tone firmer than you felt.

But the next day, when you tried to get up to help row, your legs wouldn't respond. Ragnar caught up with you before you could fall to the ground.

"Enough!" he said, his tone so authoritative it brooked no reply. "You're not well. You need to rest."

You were placed on a makeshift bed inside the ship, and though you resisted at first, your body soon gave out. The fever rose, and the weakness became unbearable. You could barely open your eyes, and when you did, everything seemed to spin around you.

Ragnar remained by your side from that moment on, like a constant shadow. He barely ate or slept, always attentive to any change in your condition. His face, normally full of confidence and energy, was now marked with worry.

In the moments when you were conscious, you could hear Ragnar speaking softly. You couldn't always understand what he said, but his words were often directed at you.

“This is my fault,” he muttered one night, as he changed the damp cloth on your forehead. “I shouldn’t have let you come. I was selfish to think you could handle this. I always wanted you around… but I should never have put you in danger.”

You wanted to respond, to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that this trip had been your decision, but the words wouldn't come out. All you could do was weakly squeeze his hand when he took it, a gesture that seemed to give him minimal comfort.

Your illness lasted for weeks in those distant lands, an unknown place where every dawn seemed just as uncertain. No one knew exactly what had caused you such extreme weakness: the change in climate, the different food, or simply the exhaustion of the journey. The days passed in a mix of hope and worry, and although the others continued with their tasks of exploration and looting, Ragnar did not leave your side.

The fever slowly subsided, and your strength began to return. At first, getting out of bed was a triumph, a small step towards normality. But as the weeks turned into a month and a half, you found yourself trapped in a state of endless recovery. Ragnar did not let you do absolutely anything, which at first you were grateful for, but soon began to drive you crazy.

“You’re not ready yet,” Ragnar insisted every time you tried to get up to do more than walk a few steps.

“I’m better,” you protested one day, crossing your arms in frustration. “I can carry something, help around camp, train even.”

“No, you can’t,” he replied, his tone firm enough to shut down the conversation before it even began. “I don’t want to see you lifting anything heavier than that plate of food.”

The concern on his face was evident, and though you understood where he was coming from, you couldn’t help but feel annoyed. You weren’t used to someone limiting you like that, least of all Ragnar.

“You’re worse than any disease,” you murmured, your tone more playful than angry.

Ragnar smiled slightly, but didn’t relent. “You can hate me all you want, but you’re staying here. I’m not going to risk you relapsing.”

With Ragnar acting as a relentless guardian, your world shrank to the walls of the house where you were staying. It was a simple building, with wooden walls and a roof that barely protected you from the icy wind. Although you were grateful to have a place to shelter, the stillness made you feel useless.

You did small tasks: cleaning utensils, mending the clothes of the men traveling with you, and even cooking when you were allowed. But none of that filled the void you felt from not being able to participate in training or scouting. The lack of action weighed on you like an invisible burden, and though you tried to hide it, it was clear that you were not satisfied.

Sometimes, as you worked in silence, you felt Ragnar's eyes on you. When you faced him, he would simply smile and look away, as if he wanted to reassure you that everything was okay. But that only made you more upset.

There were days when you felt like a burden. Seeing the others return to camp with stories of what they had seen and done while you had barely stepped out into the yard was a constant reminder of what you had lost. You didn't want to admit it, but you felt weak, and that was something you had never handled well.

Ragnar seemed to sense your emotions even when you said nothing. “Why are you so quiet?” he asked you one night, as you ate dinner in silence.

“I’m thinking,” you replied, not wanting to go into details.

“Thinking about what?”

You paused, unsure if you wanted to tell him the truth. Finally, you decided to be honest. “About how useless I feel here. Everyone is out there, exploring, fighting… and I’m here, mending clothes.”

Ragnar set his bowl aside and looked you straight in the eyes. “That doesn’t make you useless. You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s all that matters now.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you replied, your tone bordering on resentment. “You’re out there, being who you are. I’m stuck here, being… nothing.”

Ragnar sighed, as if he understood your frustration more than you cared to admit. “Sometimes, surviving is the hardest thing we can do. But don’t think for a moment that you’re not important. I wouldn’t be here, wasting my time with you, if I thought that.”

His words, though well-intentioned, didn’t completely dispel your unease.

In those days you tried to convince yourself that it was all behind you. The childish love you once felt for Ragnar was a distant memory, a whim buried beneath the years of maturity and the reality of his life with Lagertha. You had spent enough time hating him, loving him, and finally letting him go, or so you told yourself. However, as the days passed in that small village, something began to change.

The way Ragnar looked at you was different. You weren’t entirely sure at first, but there was something in the intensity of his gaze, in how his eyes seemed to search yours for no apparent reason. It was like every time you moved around the house, even in the most mundane moments, he was watching, watching.

That invisible weight, that tension between the two of you that seemed to fill the air. Every time you were near him, you felt a warmth in your chest that you hadn’t experienced in a long time. You tried to ignore it, to convince yourself it was just your imagination, but it wasn’t that simple.

For his part, Ragnar was experiencing something he couldn’t explain. For years, he’d always seen you as the little girl who ran around the camp, the younger sister who looked down on him or argued with him about anything. He’d been by your side like an older brother, like a protector. But now… now he couldn’t help but see you differently.

He didn’t know when it had started exactly. Maybe it was when he realized how strong you’d been during your illness, fighting weakness with silent determination. Or maybe it was simply the fact that, by spending so much time together, he’d started to notice things he hadn’t seen before.

The way the sunlight lit up your hair as you moved near the window. The softness in your gestures as you worked on chores around the house, even if you did it in annoyance. The way your eyes sparkled when you were angry at him for not letting you do more.

Everything about you intrigued him.

One afternoon, as you stood alone in the yard trying to mend an old coat, Ragnar appeared. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat next to you, watching your fingers move with precision.

“Why are you always staring at me?” you finally asked, without looking at him.

Ragnar smiled, but didn’t answer right away. “And why are you always so attentive to what I do?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the blush that rose to your cheeks. “Because you’re impossible to ignore. You’re always there, like a shadow.”

“Maybe because I like being where you are,” he replied with a sincerity that took you by surprise.

You stopped, the thread in your hands hanging. His words weren’t brazen, but they weren’t innocent either. You looked at him, trying to read on his face if he was joking or if there was something more behind his words. What you saw in his eyes disarmed you: there was no trace of mockery, only a curiosity that seemed to dig deep inside you.

From that moment on, everything seemed to be charged with a new energy between you. Casual conversations were filled with awkward silences, as if both of you knew something was changing but neither of you wanted to admit it.

Ragnar couldn’t help but find excuses to spend time with you. He always had some reason to come over, whether it was to bring you some water, check on how you were feeling, or just sit quietly beside you. And you, despite your frustration, couldn’t help but feel more aware of his presence than ever.

One night, while the others slept, you stepped out into the courtyard to get some air. Ragnar appeared shortly after, as if he knew exactly where you were.

“You can’t sleep,” he said, more of a statement than a question.

You shook your head. “The air here is different. It’s hard to breathe sometimes.”

He nodded, coming close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body in the cold night. “Do you regret coming?”

“No,” you answered quickly, looking up at the stars. “Despite everything… I don’t regret it.”

Ragnar was silent for a moment, before saying, “Me neither.”

You turned to look at him, searching for some meaning in his words. But before you could ask, he had already looked away, as if he was afraid to say anything more.

The day after the conversation in the courtyard, you decided that you couldn't allow what you felt for Ragnar to take shape. If you allowed those feelings to grow, you would lose control over yourself, over your life, over your ability to decide. And worst of all, you would lose Ragnar in a way you didn't want to even imagine. So, for three whole days, you avoided him.

You didn't look him in the eye more than necessary, you kept yourself busy with tasks that took you away from him, and you always looked for excuses not to be around. Every time Ragnar showed up at camp, you somehow slipped out of his reach, seeking to avoid the tension you knew existed between the two of you.

But despite all your efforts, you couldn't deny that every time Ragnar looked at you, there was something in his eyes that overwhelmed you. The tension grew like a storm about to break. You knew he felt the same way too, and even though you tried not to admit it, the emotions were eating you up from the inside.

On the fourth day, confrontation was inevitable. Ragnar found you in the small tent where you were busy organizing the equipment. He closed the entrance behind him with a soft knock, and stared at you silently, knowing you had been avoiding him.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he said, his voice low and calm, as always, but this time with something more. An urgency.

You stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as he came closer, closing the distance between you. “Stop running away from what’s happening between us.”

You breathed quickened at the closeness, at the certainty in his voice. You knew he was just as caught up in this game as you were. But you couldn’t let this be real. You shouldn’t.

“You’re right,” you murmured, looking away. “But we can’t…”

“We can’t keep ignoring what we feel, can we?” Ragnar interrupted, leaning slightly towards you, searching your eyes.

The space between you shrank to inches, the electricity in the air palpable. You could hear your own heartbeat quickening, the heat of his body overwhelming you. And before you could stop him, Ragnar raised a hand and gently touched your cheek.

The contact ignited a spark that ran through your entire body. You couldn’t resist it any longer. Without thinking, you launched yourself at him, your lips meeting his in a fiery kiss. It was as if all the time of tension, of repressed desires, exploded in that single moment.

Ragnar responded immediately, his hands moving up your back, pulling you closer to him. Your hands tangled in his hair, as the kiss deepened, moving from something passionate to something more urgent, more desperate.

“I love you… I always have,” you managed to whisper between the kisses, unable to keep quiet what you had held in for so long. The words came out of you with the same intensity you had repressed those feelings with for years.

Ragnar didn't respond. He looked into your eyes, as if he wanted to make sure you had really said it. But he didn't say anything, he just kissed you again, harder, as if the answer was in the act, not the words.

The intensity of that kiss didn't go away. Instead, it intensified as his hands moved with an urgency you had never seen in him. There were no more barriers, only the desire to explore what had been dormant between you.

Ragnar took you firmly, guiding you towards the bed with gentle but determined movements. You didn't say anything, because you knew you didn't need to. Everything that had been left unsaid between the two of you was now expressed in a much more intimate and direct way.

That night, was the first time you spent in his bed. And he was the first man you had ever been with. You felt it in every touch, in every caress, in the way he knew you and wanted you with an intensity you had never experienced before. At that moment, Ragnar was not only the man you had secretly desired, but the only one you wanted to share your body and soul with.

When you finally rested, breathing intertwined, you said nothing. There was no need. There was no turning back, no way to deny what had grown between you and finally unleashed.

The night stretched between you like a blanket of calm after the storm. The two of you lay together, the softness of your breaths intertwined in the stillness of the bed. Despite the intensity of what had happened, something in your chest was still churning.

Ragnar, lying next to you, watched you with an intensity that overwhelmed you. His gaze was deep, as if he were trying to decipher something that had been hidden for a long time. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low, but with an unmistakable weight.

“You love me… Why didn’t you tell me before?”

The question left you speechless for a moment. You turned to look at him, and although his face was serene, his eyes reflected a mix of surprise and something else, something that seemed to be a request for explanations.

You knew you couldn’t hide it anymore, but how to respond? How to explain all the suffering and anguish you had felt loving someone who seemed unattainable?

“I didn’t say it because I knew you would never love me back,” you replied, your voice cracking, the pain of all those years of silence making a dent in your tone. “And besides… you have a family. Lagertha… your son…”

Ragnar looked at you in silence for a moment, as if he was processing your words. The seconds seemed eternal as his gaze softened, as if he too understood the weight of what you had just said.

“Don’t think about it,” he finally said, his tone filled with a firmness that left no room for doubt. “Let’s not think about what we can’t change.”

Before you could respond, Ragnar kissed you again. A deep kiss. In that kiss there was no room for doubt or fear.

The nights that followed were like a dream from which you didn’t want to wake up. Every night you spent in his bed, every night Ragnar adored you with an intensity that made you feel like you were the only woman in the world. In his eyes, you looked more beautiful than ever, and every word that came out of his mouth, every touch his hands offered, enveloped you in a feeling of ecstasy you had never known.

He treated you with a tenderness and fervor that overflowed from what you had imagined in your most secret dreams. His caresses were soft, but his kisses were ardent, as if he wanted to erase all the distance that had existed between you during all those years. You felt that you were finally seen, that Ragnar saw you, not as the girl who was once part of his life, but as the woman you were now. And, for the first time, you did not care what the future might bring.

However, that peace you had found in his closeness, that security that Ragnar seemed to give you, was shaken when the time of staying in distant lands came to an end. The journey home was long, tense, and for the first time, uncertainty settled over you.

Every day that passed, the question hung in the air, even if neither of you said it out loud: what will happen when we get home? You knew Ragnar had a family, and even though he told you not to think about it, you couldn't help it. Lagertha, his son and the one on the way, his life... it was all there, waiting for them. And what was left for you? What was left for what you had shared? The distance between the realities you faced became more and more evident as the journey progressed.

Despite everything, hope was still alive in your heart. Despite the doubts that haunted you, the constant question about what would happen when you returned home.

Ragnar didn't talk much during the trip, and perhaps, in part, neither did you. You both knew there was something that needed to be resolved, something that couldn't be left hanging in the air.

The wind blew hard, the waves of the sea crashed against the rocks, but as you approached the familiar shores, the weight of the unknown seemed to increase. You didn't know what you would do when you set foot in your home, nor how you would react to seeing Lagertha, nor what Ragnar would think of everything that had happened.

Returning home was a heartbreaking contrast to the intense emotions of the trip. As soon as you arrived, the usual routine seemed to take its place as if time in distant lands had not happened. Lagertha had given birth to a girl while you were away, and Ragnar's joy for his new daughter filled the air.

You stood by, watching from a distance. You went back home to your parents, trying to put a physical and emotional barrier between you and Ragnar. You thought that distance might help you forget, that staying away from him, from his family, might ease the weight of what you shared.

You didn’t visit his home, not even when your parents mentioned his name. You tried to distract yourself with your own tasks, with the life you’d put on hold while you traveled. But, despite all your attempts, you couldn’t get him out of your mind. Every corner of your memory seemed to be permeated with his voice, his touch, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered.

And then, as if fate wanted to mock you, he appeared. Ragnar arrived at your house without warning, his laughter echoing from the living room as he spoke to your parents. You heard his voice before you saw him, and something inside you tensed. You knew you couldn't avoid him forever, but that encounter took you by surprise.

You decided to stay in your room, taking refuge in the distance you could still maintain. You figured that if you didn’t see him, it would be easier to ignore the reality of his presence, easier to remind yourself that you couldn’t keep feeding what you felt.

But Ragnar wasn’t one to be ignored easily. As night fell and the house fell silent, you knew something was about to change. You felt his presence before he knocked on your door, before he peeked into the room with that look that always managed to disarm you.

“Are you going to hide from me all night?” he asked quietly, closing the door behind him before you could answer.

“I’m not hiding,” you replied, even though you both knew it was a lie. You didn’t look up from your hands, afraid that if you did, all the control you’d tried to build would crumble in an instant.

Ragnar didn’t say anything. He walked over to where you were sitting and, with a calmness only he could project, knelt in front of you. His eyes searched yours, and when you finally looked at him, you felt all the weight of your will evaporate.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction.

“And yet, here I am,” he replied with a smile that only made things more complicated.

You didn’t know how it happened, but before you could stop him, his lips were on yours. It was a slow kiss, filled with an intensity you hadn’t forgotten. Everything you had tried to bury, all the distance you had tried to impose, crumbled in that instant.

“Ragnar…” you tried to speak, but he shook his head, silencing you with another kiss.

That night, you had him in your bed, and the weight of the forbidden made every moment even more intense. You tried to keep quiet, afraid someone might hear, but Ragnar seemed to be in no hurry, taking his time exploring every corner of your skin as if he wanted to memorize you.

Every caress, every whisper in your ear, made the outside world disappear. For a few hours, there were no wives or children, no families or responsibilities, just the two of you in that room, sharing something that couldn't be explained with words.

When the heat of the moment was behind you, your body intertwined with his. The silence in the room was deep, broken only by the sound of your breathing calming down. Ragnar wrapped one arm around you, pulling you towards him, while his other hand gently rested on your bare belly.

He began to trace slow, abstract movements on your stomach with the tips of his fingers, almost absentmindedly, as if his mind was somewhere else. You could feel the weight of his thoughts, though you couldn't guess what was going through his head.

“Once,” he began in a low, contemplative tone, “a witch told me I would have many children. More than I could count.”

His words, spoken with a mix of seriousness and curiosity, struck something deep within you. Even though he didn’t seem aware of the impact they might have, you felt a pang of sadness creep into your chest. You didn’t know exactly why; perhaps because those words were a reminder of the life he led, a life that didn’t include a future with you.

You swallowed, trying to contain the lump that formed in your throat, but it was useless. A silent tear rolled down your cheek, followed by another. You tried to turn your face away, you didn't want him to see you like that, you didn't want him to know how much those words had touched a wound you tried to ignore.

“What's wrong?” Ragnar asked, noticing your silence and the trembling in your breathing. He sat up slightly, turning to you with a worried expression. “Did I say something that hurt you?”

You shook your head, but your lips trembled. “It's not that... I just... I don't know.” The words escaped you; you couldn't explain this whirlwind of emotions that invaded you.

Ragnar took your face with both hands, wiping the tears with his thumb while looking at you with an intensity that disarmed you. “I didn't mean to make you feel bad. Never.”

His eyes, as blue as the clear sky, reflected a sincerity that hurt you even more. You wanted to tell him how you felt, but how to put into words something so complex? How to explain that it wasn’t his fault, but the weight of everything you shared, of everything that couldn’t be?

“I’m fine,” you finally managed to say, though your voice was a broken whisper. “I just… sometimes wonder how I fit into your life. Or if I do.”

Ragnar watched you in silence for a moment, and then pulled you into his chest, enveloping you in a warm, protective embrace. “Don’t think about it now,” he said softly, his voice echoing in his chest against your ear. “What we have here, now… that’s what matters. I don’t want you to cry for me. I don’t want this to hurt you.”

You clung to him, letting his warmth comfort you, though the questions in your mind remained unanswered. His words were a temporary balm, but they couldn’t undo the truth of the situation. Yet, at that moment, you decided to allow yourself to believe him, if only for that night. Because when you were in his arms, the world seemed a little less complicated, and that was enough to keep you going.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of emotions for you. You had tried to get back to the routine, to the normality that you so wanted to get back, but something inside you had changed. It wasn't just the guilt or the love you still felt for Ragnar, it was something deeper, something you hadn't faced until you started to notice the first signs.

At first, you ignored it. The constant tiredness, the nausea that hit you without warning, it could all be attributed to the wear and tear of the trip, or the stress you had accumulated. But you couldn't deny the truth for long. With each passing day, the signs became clearer, until you finally accepted what your body was trying to tell you: you were pregnant.

The revelation was a shock that left you breathless. You sat on the edge of your bed, trembling hands holding your belly as reality sank in. The life you carried inside was too big a secret to share, a secret that could change everything.

You couldn't tell your parents. Their disappointment would be an unbearable weight, and the scandal that could be unleashed if anyone else found out was something you weren't willing to face. You couldn't tell Ragnar either. He had a family. The last thing you wanted was to further complicate their life, or yours.

So you decided to keep it to yourself. He was yours, and yours alone.

Days turned into weeks, and you learned to hide the signs. When you felt sick, you found an excuse to get away. When tiredness got the better of you, you made sure no one noticed. But keeping the secret wasn't easy, especially when Ragnar was around.

There was something in his gaze that seemed to pierce through you, as if he could see past your attempts to hide the truth. Even though he didn't say anything, you knew he suspected something was bothering you. His questions were subtle, but constant, and every time you evaded them you felt the tension between you grow.

At night, when you lay alone, the weight of your decision crushed you. You wondered if you had done the right thing, if keeping the secret was really the best option. But every time you thought about what could happen if the truth came out, you convinced yourself that you had no other choice.

It was madness, a storm you couldn't control, but you had no choice but to face it alone.

The days continued to pass with a tension that seemed to cut off your air. Every glance from your parents, every conversation with Ragnar, was like walking on brittle ice. You knew you couldn't stay much longer. Not because you didn't want to, but because every moment prolonged the risk of your secret being discovered, and that wasn't something you could allow.

You hadn’t made the decision lightly. For days, you’d been turning it over in your mind, searching for options, wondering if there was any way to stay, to keep what you carried inside you safe without destroying everything else. But every path you imagined led to the same place: to chaos, to pain, and to a scandal that would affect not only you, but everyone around you.

You couldn’t allow that. And so, one night, as you sat alone in your room, you decided you had to leave.

The conversation with your parents was one of the hardest things you’d ever faced. You sat with them at the family table, your hands clenched in your lap to hide the shaking.

“I need to go,” you finally said, breaking the silence that seemed to weigh like a slab in the air.

Your parents looked at each other, confused. It was your mother who spoke first. “Leave? Where?”

“Away,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I need some time to myself, to find my own way. I’ve been feeling… trapped.”

It wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Your parents seemed to hesitate, exchanging glances that clearly argued your request without the need for words.

“Does this have anything to do with Ragnar?” your father finally asked, his tone sterner.

Just hearing his name made your heart stop for a moment. But you shook your head. “No. This is something of mine, something I need to do.”

Your mother tried to convince you to stay. She told you about how dangerous it was to travel alone, how you’d always had a safe home with them. But you had already made up your mind. You listened to her in silence, letting her words flow over you like water over rock. When she was done, you simply repeated, “I have to.”

“If Ragnar knows you’re leaving…” your father began, but you cut him off with a gesture.

“He mustn’t know. I beg you. If he asks, tell him I left because I needed some space, but don’t tell him anything else.”

Your mother looked at you with concern, while your father frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the request. But eventually, they nodded. You gave them no other options.

You had planned everything in secret. You knew where you would go: a small settlement far from Kattegat, isolated enough to avoid questions. You had packed the few things you needed into a sack and prepared a horse to set out at dawn.

The night before your departure was the longest of your life. You were alone in your room, watching the shadows move on the walls as a storm of emotions raged within you. There was pain, sure, pain so deep it seemed to cut your soul in two. But there was also a strange sense of relief, as if you had finally taken control of your destiny.

You didn’t sleep that night. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, you got up, got dressed, and grabbed your things. Your parents bid you farewell in silence, though your mother couldn’t help but hug you tightly before you mounted your horse.

“Be careful,” she told you with tears in her eyes.

“I will be,” you promised, though you weren’t sure it was true.

As you left Kattegat behind you, you felt an emptiness in your chest that threatened to devour you. Each step of the horse seemed to take you further away from everything you knew, from everyone you loved, but also closer to a future that was now yours alone.

You knew this path would be difficult. You knew you would be alone, and that there would be times when you would question whether you had made the right decision. But you also knew you had no other choice. You had to protect your son, even if it meant sacrificing everything else.

As the landscape changed around you, you held on to that thought. Because while the pain of leaving Ragnar and your family was unbearable, it was also a reminder of how strong you were. And that no matter what, you would find a way to move forward.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #x reader #ragnar lothbrok #ragnar lothbrok x reader #vikings #ragnar x reader #ragnar x lagertha #vikings fic #vikings fanfiction #lagertha #ragnar x you #bjorn ragnarsson

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woahhhgwendolyn · 2 years ago

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Being Married To Ivar Would Include...

-Ivar being really protective over you in every single way possible. He would fight anyone who tries to mess with you or try and take you away from him.

-Him wanting to make sure that you are safe no matter what and always has someone go with you in the village does not matter if it is him or some other warrior going with you.

-During feasts he always has you sit with him. He does not want you to feel alone or have to sit with another man. So, he just wants you to sit with him.

-When you both are in bed, he loves to cuddle with you and be with you all throughout the night. Sometimes, he lets you cuddle him from behind but his most favorite is when he is laying down on his back and then you just lay your head on his chest.

-You both always having fun no matter what is going on. Everyone always notices that you both are always smiling around each other and making each other laugh at any time possible.

-Him always being super gentle with you. He is always gentle touching you. He always makes sure that when he hugs you or even when you both cuddle that he is being gentle and soft with you.

-His brothers have had a small crush on you at some point but have let it go because they had realized that you were staying with Ivar for a long time.

-His brothers liking you and thinking that you are a good fit for him and could handle all of his crazy tendencies.

-Ragnar and Aslaug liking you as well and treating you as if you are their own family and talking to you as such as well.

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kindlefire21 · 4 months ago

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Baby Arondekar Headcanon👻🍼🤰

During Pregnancy

All of the ghosts (including the basement ghosts and British soldiers) would be so happy that Sam is pregnant as most of them haven’t seen a baby centuries

Thorfinn would be overprotective of Sam during her pregnancy, making sure she doesn’t fall or bump into anything. He would even pull out his axe to keep them ghosts out of Sam’s way

Pete and Hetty would go overboard on parenting advice even when some of their tactics are outdated

Pete: “You should use scotch or whiskey to soothe the baby’s teething.”

Hetty: “Formula for milk? How absurd! The nanny breastfeed my children and they turned out strong.”

Possibly Alberta would give up her bedroom so Sam and Jay could turn it into the baby’s room

Trevor would admit Sam has the “pregnancy glow.”

The ghosts would be curious on modern baby items like breast pumps or baby monitor and celebrations such as the baby shower and gender reveal party

Isaac and Hetty would give their advice on decorating the baby’s bedroom (Isaac would insist on a dinosaur-themed nursery)

Flower would forget that Sam is pregnant and congratulate her every single time

When it comes to naming the baby, the ghosts would have some suggestions

Thor: “Little baby will make great warrior! Needs strong name like Solvieg, Brynhild, Ragnar!”

Sassapis: “What about Weenjipahkihelexkwe for a girl? It has a nice ring to it.”

Issac: “As long as it’s not Alexander or Alexandra or Alex! That baby should not be named after Hamilton.”

Hetty: “We need a strong, regal name such as Adeline or Silas.”

Alberta: “I got it! Alberta or Albert if it’s a boy.”

Flower: “Maybe something like Sage, Rainbow, Butterfly or River Rock.”

Pete: “For a girl, Jessica. For a boy, Kevin.”

Trevor: “Okay, Zack would be good for a boy. For a girl, I’ll go with Tara after the legendary Tara Reid.”

Pete would definitely tag along to all the doctor’s appointments

Out of boredom, Trevor and Sassapis would start a bet with all the ghosts on the baby’s gender: Trevor, Alberta, Thor, Hetty, Flower, and possibly Nigel would bet on a boy; Pete, Sas, Isaac, Nancy, and some of the basement ghosts bet on a girl

The ghosts would watch and criticize Jay as he struggles with assembling up the crib

Alberta and Hetty would fight over being the baby’s godmother while Pete would name himself the godfather

After Giving Birth (this is for if the baby is boy or girl)

Pete would go with Sam and Jay to the hospital and come back to Woodstone Manor to tell everyone that the baby is born and healthy.

The Ghosts would gather as Sam and Jay come home with their new bundle of joy.

Pete and Alberta takes turns guarding the door to make sure none of the ghosts bother Sam while she’s recovering

Some of the ghosts want to hold the baby but remember they can’t

Sas would use his powers to go into the baby’s dreams to make sure he/she get a good long sleep

Trevor would pretend he doesn’t like babies or kids but he eventually admits he loves the baby

Alberta will hum a lullaby for the baby

If the Baby can see the Ghosts

As the baby gets older, the ghosts realize he/she can see them as the baby responds to Thor’s shouting or any of them making faces to the baby.

Flower would play peek-a-boo with him/her for hours.

The baby will go to sleep or calm down to Thor’s lullaby or Alberta’s singing

Sas would tell him/her bedtime stories

The ghosts have to make sure the kid doesn’t run through Flower or Isaac as their powers will go off

He/She will get confused and try to walk through the door and walls like the ghosts

The kid will try to hold the ghosts’ hands but the ghosts fight through the pain

He/She would be scared of the basement ghosts as first but eventually likes them

Nigel, Jenkins, and Baxter (including Carol) may not be too fond of the child but eventually go visit at Woodstone as they haven’t seen a child in centuries (or Caorl insists as she was a mother/grandmother)

As the kid grows older, they start referring the ghosts as their aunts and uncles

“Aunt Flower, look at this caterpillar I found!”

“Uncle Isaac, are you a pirate?”

“I don’t wanna hunt a squirrel, Uncle Thor. I want hot dogs for dinner!”

“Tell me another story, Uncle Sas.”

“Aunt Berta, sing me another song.”

“Uncle Trevor, where are your pants?”

“I wanna watch Ninja Turtles with Uncle Pete.”

“You talk funny, Aunt Hetty!”

Uncle Trevor would have their living niece/nephew on the internet searching up things for him

Aunt Flower and Uncle Sas would take the kid on nature walks and explore the woods

Uncle Thor would play fight and insist on his niece/nephew on hunting their own food

Aunt Hetty would teach her descendant proper etiquette and manners (and secretly give speech classes)

All the ghosts would participate in dress up parties and playing games like hide and seek (Flower would forget she’s hiding)

He/She would have fun playing dinosaurs with Uncle Isaac

Aunt Alberta would sing or use Alexa to play song for her living niece/nephew to dance and sing

Uncle Pete would go to all school programs, dance recitals, and sports games to cheer on him/her.

He/She would include them in family projects at school such as drawings

“That’s my mom and dad. That’s Aunt Berta, Uncle Trevor, Uncle Pete, Aunt Flower, Uncle Isaac, Aunt Hetty, Uncle Sas, and Uncle Thor. They live in my house but they can’t leave except Uncle Pete—he’s right there!”

San and Jay would tell people they’re just his imaginary friends

He/She might get curious on the ghosts

“Momma, how come you and I can see them but Daddy can’t?”

“Uncle Pete, how come you can come with me but Aunt Hetty or Uncle Thor can’t leave?”

“Aunt Flower, how can you go through the doors and I can’t?”

Sam might have to explain the ghosts are ghosts to her child. Nonetheless, he/she would still love their ghostly aunts and uncles

#cbs ghosts #woodstone ghosts #hetty woodstone #ghosts #sam arondekar #jay arondekar #trevor lefkowitz #isaac higgintoot #thorfinn #flower ghosts #alberta haynes #sassapis #pete martino #ghosts headcanons

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notepunk · 4 months ago

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CASTING CALL!!!!

Art by cutetanuki-chan I and some others are are working on an Audio Adaptation of the Amphibia Swap AU fic "A Witch in Wartwood," by the lovely Discet. This fic answers the question, "What would happen if Marcy landed in Wartwood instead of Anne?" and it expands on Amphibia's lore, characters, and relationships.

This adaptation will feature a full voice cast, including narration, a custom soundtrack, and sound effects. Right now, we are in a "proof of concept" phase, where we are adapting just one scene from the fic--we chose AWIW 8: "Sasha at the Gates". It's a short-term endeavor to help the team figure out their production process and to help generate some interest in the broader project.

We need three voice roles:

Ben Spar (an extra that is interrogated by Sasha),

Sasha Waybright, and

General Yunan: Scourge of the Sand Wars, defeater of Ragnar the Wretched, and the youngest newt to ever achieve the rank of general in the great Newtopian Army!

These roles are all relatively low commitment, and you will not be expected to continue in these roles for the whole project. Also, since this is purely a passion project (and we don't want to be on the Mouse's bad side), all work on the project will be unpaid.

If you're interested, you can apply using the provided form. We will be requiring an email address. https://forms.gle/f95Fx8y3D1sEACRZ8 Reblogs appreciated: help us get the word out!

#amphibia #a witch in wartwood #sasha waybright #general yunan #voice acting #audio adaptation #marcy wu #fanfiction #fanfic #the arcanist marcy wu #an alchemist abroad #awiw #aAA

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katuschka · 3 months ago

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Draw the Line

f!OC x Josh Kiszka x m!OC 13.200 words

Summary: Jo and her husband Lucas own an art studio where Jo teaches drawing lessons. As one of her students becomes a model one day by a "lucky" chance, he soon manages to have them both wrapped around his finger (unintentionally, f'course). The situation escalates quickly when they confess about being attracted to him, respectively.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): This is filth, ok? FILTH! Including: voyeurism, seduction, kissing, licking, fingering, rimming, booze, threesome, sex, oral sex, anal sex, light choking, light dom play, overstimulation, throatfuck, gagging, face-sitting, expressive language, open-ish marriage, polyamory

You're new here and you liked this story? You can always join my Taglist

Oh, you're such a pretty one And the naked thrills of flesh and skin Would tease me through the night Liquido, Narcotic

Ever since you can barely walk, there are people who think it’s due or even necessary to ask that one stupid question: What do you wanna be when you grow up.

It’s quite funny, because some people can reach middle age without having figured it out! Yet there’s always this one grandpa, or aunt, or someone else’s mom who thinks they have the right to know your answer before you even reach the age to even care.

Not me. I cared quite early on. However, my answer never satisfied anyone. Ever since I could barely hold a crayon, I wanted to be a famous painter. Famous because in my childish mind I cherished the thought that fame also meant money, and thus wouldn’t have to do anything else.

The imaginative worlds created by visual artists always fascinated me and I wanted to be one of them. I wanted to dedicate my life to it. ‘But that’s a hobby, Jo, not a profession,’ they all said. Some of them went as far as calling me a stupid girl, which became much more common as the years went by.

I can be quite stubborn when it comes to my life choices. Sometimes it’s a weakness, other times I profit from it, depending on the situation. It proved to be a blessing exactly twice.

The first time was when I met Lucas and I simply decided that he would be mine, even though I’ve always thought that he’s completely out of my league. He’s perfect. Toned and strong, but not too much, with overlong eyelashes and thick dark shiny hair that many a woman would die for, including me. He wears it in a high bun with an undercut, sometimes switching to a french braid when he wants to get me extra wet, because it makes him look like Ragnar.

But more importantly, he’s kind, loving, (com)passionate and supportive. And that brings me to the second time I tried to get what I wanted, and went for it, headlong! No, I did not become a famous painter, but running an art studio where I teach drawing lessons is not that bad either. Definitely better than some boring office job. So, against all odds and with a bit of luck, I’m living the life I truly enjoy. Needless to say, it wouldn’t be possible without Lucas, his support and help. I’m the creative driving force and he’s the brain, taking care of “business”.

He had helped me create a place that truly felt like a second home. I’m confident enough to say that it’s a cool artistic haven, bohemian in style, but well-equipped. Lucas understands my chaotic mind, always willing and able to put my visions and ideas into practice in an orderly, yet original way. I wanted my art studio to look like a tearoom, and he made it work.

You see, my husband is a true bringer of light. At least as far as my life goes.

Well, despite all that, having everything doesn’t necessarily mean that you never want more. I’m not talking about money or ambition, but rather about simple joys of life and that insatiable yearning to try something new. I still had secret dreams and fantasies; some of which came true. However, certain wishes should remain locked in the safe and sacred space of your own head.

My most secret fantasy materialized in the form of one loud and vivacious pixie man.

He was attending my figure drawing classes. I never really understood why, because he just couldn’t stand still and focus on the task in front of him. Instead, he roamed around the room, discussing other people’s progress animatedly and with sincere interest. Everyone loved him, because he managed to turn each session into a pagan sermon praising human creativity. While hardly ever finishing his own drawing, he assisted me in bringing out the best in other people.

Did I mention he was also cute as a button? No? Well, let me tell you, there were times when I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He possesses this special kind of handsomeness that’s not always noticeable at first sight because he doesn’t flaunt it, but once you really look at him, you just can’t unsee it. A little effeminate, but with some undeniably masculine features. His face is asymmetric, and yet the proportions are just right. He has an almost boyish body, but so well toned it makes him look powerful. No, actually, I think it is his strong personality that makes him look powerful.

Long story short, Josh invaded my mind with impudence and made himself at home there. That means the thoughts he helped paint inside my head were definitely not innocent.

But that’s where I drew the line.

Don’t get me wrong. There were no complicated feelings involved. Josh was like fragrant, spicy wine that I wished to taste, but did not necessarily crave.

I enjoyed his company during my lessons and always looked forward to seeing him again. My fantasies and secret, made up scenarios took us a bit further – to more dangerous places – but they were my and my only.

Private fantasies. Locked up worlds to which only you have the key. Not even Lucas can infiltrate these. He has his own, anyway.

We both know this. It’s refreshing to be able to talk about it without the fear of hurting the other. We even discussed the concept of an open marriage a few times, and even though the opportunity never presented itself, we never ruled it out as a possibility in the future.

For a long time, we were just dreamers.

Nevertheless, the Universe works in mysterious ways sometimes.

One course usually consists of ten weekly classes, and the one I mentioned – the one Josh was attending, that is – was nearing the end. I needed promotional pictures for my socials and Lucas once again volunteered to take them. He’s no professional photographer, but still pretty good, being able to catch the genuine atmosphere of my courses.

Sadly, it was also one of those days when everything that could possibly go wrong, indeed does go wrong. My personal struggles that day culminated when my model cancelled at the very last moment and without explanation. The lesson was already paid for and everyone was waiting by their respective easels.

Normally, I would probably just call it off and return the money, but this was the last session before Christmas, there was not time to schedule a substitute class, we had agreed on doing a series of quick sketches and I desperately needed those in-class photos to promote exactly that because new courses starting January were supposed to focus on croquis drawing for designers.

See, my courses are not intended only for enthusiastic amateurs; I offer help and consultation also to many aspiring and ambitious artists and designers who feel like school classes are not enough. That’s why it’s necessary to have a good model.

Anna had proven to be unreliable in the past, but the people attending my classes loved her for her naturally looking yet challenging poses. Models are almost like actors. Or mimes. It’s hard work, extremely boring on Monday and then suddenly physically challenging on Tuesday… I guess I couldn’t really blame her. And yet I blamed her.

For a moment, I considered doing it myself, but I also had to instruct and advise my students, AND it was also essential for me to be portrayed in Lucas’s photos in precisely this role.

I’m able to keep my cool in most situations. However, the stressful day had taken its toll, Lucas had not yet arrived to give me at least some emotional support and I simply lost it in front of everyone, groaning in frustration and kicking the stool in the middle of the room where my model was already supposed to sit and which was now empty.

“Fucking bitch!”

I regretted it immediately. Very unprofessional. However, several people laughed and Laura, a sweet (and slightly roguish) sixty year old lady who attended almost all my courses including landscape painting, chimed in with “hear, hear”.

I didn’t laugh though. I felt tired and miserable, and it probably showed. Tilting my head back and searching for some answers on the ceiling (Blank spaces inspire me, so what!), I didn’t even notice him approaching me until I felt his light touch on my shoulder.

“Hey, Jo, I can do that.” He sounded almost bashful… which was pretty unusual, if you ask me. His cheeky grin when I finally looked at him spoke a different language though. I knew who Josh was, and what he did for a living. I knew he loved to be the center of attention. And yet…

Artistic models are often deliberately anonymous people. They cherish their privacy and like to remain unrecognized, especially when they pose for nudes. It’s understandable, because for many, it’s not their main source of income. Another good thing about Anna was that she didn’t mind being featured on my website and social media. So that’s another reason why the situation sucked.

“Seriously? You’d do that?” I asked incredulously, crossing my arms. “Do you realize you’d have to strip to your underwear…?”

“Yeah, about that…,” Josh scratched the scalp at the nape of his neck and giggled.

“What?”

I didn’t really need to ask, though, because I think we all already suspected it. And sure enough, the cheeky Laura made herself heard once again.

“I think he’s not wearing any, Jo! Am I right, Joshy boy?” Standing there with her large cup of latte like the queen she was, she pulled her glasses down and winked at him playfully.

Josh blushed and bit his lip, but remained determined to save the day. “Damn right, Lor!” he practically screeched and then giggled again. While I would have been willing to let him pose for us in just his briefs, I couldn’t possibly allow this. He might be a bit reckless, but I am not. Getting into trouble with his manager was not worth it.

The possibility of seeing him totally naked was, on the other hand, DEFINITELY worth it, but still not enough to make my brain shut down completely.

“I can’t let you do that, Josh. Do you realize my husband is coming to take photographs of this lesson? And I’m planning to use them online!”

He still seemed completely unfazed, making a long face as well as some other animated gestures with his truly beautiful hands, and it was starting to get on my nerves, honestly. “And? People have already seen all of me anyway… well, um, maybe all the parts except lil’ Joshito, but even that’s a bit… debatable.”

I shouldn’t have laughed, but the nickname almost made me choke on the oxygen I just inhaled. He was still so nonchalant about it. With his hands in his pockets, he was swaying slightly back and forth, while still waiting for my response. It was a true match of stubbornness, with the two of us standing in the middle of the room, and neither willing to give up. He kept wiggling his eyebrows at me, and I kept chewing my lower lip.

“Seriously, Jo. It’s gonna be fine! And honestly, what other option do you have? Well, of course, unless the others are against my idea…” To my dismay, Josh was very good at persuading people to do whatever he wanted. It comes with the profession, I suppose. When he failed with me, that little weasel naturally turned to others for help. And he was successful. Those traitors all cheered and kept nodding in his favor, so I finally gave in, albeit reluctantly.

“Fiiine,” I sighed and put on the most careworn face I could muster. “But see how miserable you make me feel?” There was still more on my mind – and tongue – but the sudden kiss on my cheek rendered me speechless. Bold! Before I could recover, he was already shirtless and taking off his shoes… which immediately felt like a final, fatal blow.

To say that I did not expect such a sight would be a lie. If I told you I had never watched any of his videos on Youtube or TikTok, my nose would grow like Pinocchio’s. Josh is like one of those friendzoned good guys from movies that transform into objects of desire when you’re least expecting it. Not that I did not suspect him to look fine under his bleached long sleeves and beige hoodies, but what used to be a very abstract subject of my daydreams now became a tough reality that had me on a chokehold in no time.

Thank god I was not the only one and god bless Laura once again for her insolent remarks that brought me back to reality and prevented me from staring at those flexing arms while he was unlacing his sneakers. I recovered quickly, reminding him we had a changing room for that, with bathrobes he could use.

Josh dismissed that with one flick of a hand and proceeded to unbutton his fly. I think my head started spinning even before he actually slid the khaki fabric down his precious buttocks. I have seen my fair share of male asses and dicks – and not just in bed, obviously – but there’s a strange novelty in it when it’s someone you actually want to see naked, which I’m sure you understand. I went to check on my emergency supply of charcoal and kneaded erasers that were placed on another stool nearby. There I secretly counted to ten before I took his neatly folded clothes to put them away.

He was sitting cross legged on the stool when I got back, grinning and tapping fingers on his knee. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“Right…well,” I cleared my throat. “You’re supposed to change the pose every fifteen minutes… don’t worry, I’ll set the timer. It could be theatrical or completely relaxed, doesn’t really matter. Just make sure it’s different every time. AND be mindful of the fact that you’re supposed to hold the pose! No fidgeting.” Knowing Josh, I stressed the last piece of information and he nodded enthusiastically to convince me he understood. It didn’t convince me at all. “We already lost some time, so there will be nine poses max.”

��Got it, boss. So how about this?” He stood up and struck a mighty pose with his hands on his hips, chin up and chest sticking out proudly. He looked like Napoleon before bedtime and I couldn’t prevent my eyes from rolling.

“Yeah, whatever suits you… So everyone, let’s get to work!”

As I had expected, it proved to be an almost impossible task for Josh to keep still, and after a short while, he started talking to keep himself from moving. I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t interrupting me in my own attempts to consult other people’s progress as I walked around the room, checking their sketches.

We finally agreed on putting on some music during his next pose, which was that of the thinker a la Rodin. Not gonna lie, I was glad he got back in a sitting position. At least for a while.

My relief was short-lived.

As the timer chimed for the second time, Josh stretched his back, pulled his arms up and my breath hitched in my throat at the sight. I thought and hoped he was just making himself comfortable, relieving his tense muscles, but he decided to remain in the position. He just bent the right arm, grabbed his left elbow with his right hand, rested his head against his right bicep and closed his eyes. Obviously, that was the next pose and everyone got back to work, quickly switching their papers once again.

I stood there mesmerised, watching his heaving chest and being intrigued by his pouty lips, when a familiar voice on my right almost made me jump. I hadn’t noticed him coming in.

“Who’s that?” Lucas asked in a low voice so as not to disturb anyone. He stroked my back gently, but his eyes were fixed on Josh, his expression one of wonder.

“That’s Josh…,” I replied – almost absentmindedly – as if that somehow explained the situation, but Lucas’s amused “ok…?” pulled me fully back into reality. Lucas was often present at my lessons – usually doing some boring but necessary work in the adjacent office – but never before during figure drawing, because it collided with his workout plans.

“Yeah...uh…Sorry. He attends this course. Anna screwed me again and Josh volunteered to substitute for her today.” I looked sideways at Lucas to see him still watching Josh with a furrowed brow. I was a bit anxious that he had noticed my restlessness, but Lucas seemed lost in his own thoughts.

“He seems familiar,” my husband mumbled after a while.

“Yeah, I think you know him. Greta Van Fleet.” I never listened to that kind of music, but Lucas did, and Josh’s band was featured on some of his favorite playlists. I think he had even subscribed to their channel, but in Lucas’s case, that doesn’t mean much. I expected him to respond with “oh, cool,” or something like that, but he just kept staring at the dainty figure in the middle of the room that still seemed oblivious to his arrival. Just like I had been, thanks to the music. Laura finally noticed him too, and waved hello, breaking the strange spell we were both seemingly under.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Lucas whispered after he saluted the old lady. I knew what he meant, so I also knew his mind returned back to business.

“No, but he insisted, and there were no other options. Just please, try to keep it all waist up and… I dunno, blurry,” I added with a telling, pained look. He squeezed my shoulder in silent response just when the timer chimed again, making Josh open his eyes at last. He immediately looked our way and his whole body jerked as if he got burned. It was followed by a shy smile.

“Hey! I… um, got lost in thoughts a bit… I think, uh… I love this song, ya know, anyway… forgot to think about the next pose...” He got back to his incessant babbling, but it was different this time. He looked almost embarrassed as he crossed his legs again and started playing with his curls absentmindedly.

I tried to introduce him to my husband, which in the end made the whole situation even more awkward because it wasn’t exactly one of those moments when guys just shake hands, if you know what I mean. Moreover, I knew about Josh’s preferences and my husband is a handsome man. I’m sure those pretty cheeks didn’t suddenly turn so rosy only because of the heating.

But as I already said, I can always count on Lucas, and this was no exception. He remained very casual about it and proceeded to take the camera off the bag matter-of-factly. “I’m only here to take some pics, so everyone please ignore me and just keep doing what you’ve been doing, which, as I can see, you’ve been doing great so far.” He addressed everyone in the room with a pearly smile, making it known and clear that it was a perfectly normal situation for everyone involved. I made a mental note to thank him for it later.

The rest of the evening went on smoothly. After two more poses, Josh stood up again, seemingly at ease once more. He was a natural after all, and in the end, everyone told him so. Laura went as far as to suggest that he should do that more often. Of course she was going to attend the next course and I suspected the main reason was not him just being a good model. I couldn’t help but agree though. After the slightly shaky start, his behavior turned completely professional and his poses were perfect, allowing my students to explore all essential aspects of human anatomy and movement. Not to mention that good male models are hard to find.

“You know, I think she’s right,” I chimed in half-jokingly, but he took my offer very seriously.

“I had a great time, to tell you the truth, and I’m kinda free till early March, so… if you really mean it, I’m more than willing to help.”

You know… screw it. Yes, I meant it. Even though Lill’ Prudent Jo on my right shoulder kept telling me that I was about to enter a potentially dangerous territory, I agreed. There was a strong chance that if I didn’t, I’d never see him again, and I was not yet ready for that. As a bonus, I suddenly had a strong leverage against Anna. If she wanted the job, she should start to behave in a different way.

Christmas was fine, but even though I love the festivities, I was really looking forward to January. For the first time in my life, because I hate January. However, the picture of naked Josh – stretching like a tomcat – got burnt into my retinas and haunted me for days after the last session.

But not only that. The pictures Lucas had taken turned out great and because it was Josh on them, as soon as I posted them online, they went literally viral, boosting my business immensely. So strictly businesslike, January suddenly didn’t seem so bad at all.

Josh had warned me it might happen (...with a wide grin, no less… that cheeky little fucker was looking forward to it.), but to see it actually happening was something completely differrent. It was like a Christmas gift. I wanted to thank him, and as I didn’t have his number, I had to wait to do it personally.

We were starting January 6th. I was a bit concerned with Josh’s inability to arrive on time, as he had been late to seven classes out of ten, so I told him we start at five. He arrived at quarter to six, just in time to get ready, and when I told him the truth, he blushed and promised to never do that again.

Of course he did it again, but all within the academic quarter hour. But I digress…

Lucas was free on Mondays, which basically meant that he spent those in my office, catching up on administrative work I had been recklessly ignoring. Oftentimes he wandered into the main studio to greet the people or watch me doing my job.

I always loved those little interludes; it only enhanced the sense of home, as well as camaraderie. Sometimes he gently brushed his fingers across my arm in passing. Other times he brought me a cup of tea and kissed my hair while doing so. When he was in an especially good mood, he arrived with a full box of chocolate pralines and offered everyone a treat before going back to emails and paperwork. We were known as the perfect couple.

That day, Lucas lingered in the main room more than he usually does, and I soon noticed it was not only because of me.

One moment I noticed him standing in the doorway with a cup of tea in his hand. He leaned against the door frame, his eyes scanning the room, until they fell on the naked figure in the middle. He wore his poker face, which I deemed as foolish because I know very well that he does that when doesn’t want his thoughts and emotions to be seen, while being naturally quite expressive when he doesn’t care.

Despite his aloofness, he watched Josh intently.

After the first week, Josh and Anna modeled alternately, five poses each. It gave Josh the opportunity to wander around again and watch other people working. It didn’t take long for him to grow unusually calm and simply observing, because it was different this time, as the room was filled with naked drawings of him: haphazardly thrown on tables, or even on the floor. His body, seen from different perspectives or even points of view. I quickly sensed what was going on. It’s just very different to seeing photographs of you, because art doesn’t necessarily reflect unfiltered reality; rather someone else’s perception of you. He knew how he looked, but seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes can be a strange and humbling experience.

That was the second time (but definitely not the last) when I saw him blush.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” I chimed in when I approached him. He was crouching down, examining a few sketches that lay abandoned on the floor.

“Scary,” he whispered, careful not to offend the person who drew them. “I mean, they’re fantastic, but it’s also a bit frightening.”

“I know what you mean.” I got on my knees next to him. “Just a few expressive lines, yet you can recognize yourself, right?”

“Yeah… but at the same time, I can’t.” His voice sounded strange. Hoarse and husky. I placed my hand on his shoulder and stroked it gently. I wouldn’t dare to act that way with anyone else, but this was what he himself often did. Josh never shied away from touch. For him, it was an essential part of human communication, because sometimes there are things you simply cannot put into words.

I looked up and noticed Lucas watching us again, his expression wild. It was not jealousy though, yet it still made me strangely agitated, because I couldn’t quite interpret it. He looked… hungry.

Later that evening, when we finally got home, he fucked me raw. I know my husband well, so I also know this is often the result of some conflicting thoughts and emotions, as well as previous unanswered arousal. It could very easily be interpreted as lust driven just by jealousy, but I felt there might have been other reasons.

I already suspected it, but nothing could prepare me for what I witnessed later that night.

I woke up in an empty bed after midnight. At first I thought he just couldn’t sleep so he decided to go get some work done instead. Just him and his laptop in our otherwise dark living room; that was a usual scene in our household.

After an hour of having trouble going back to sleep, I concluded I needed his embrace to help me, as his arms wrapped around my body could do the trick when everything else failed. So, I put on my bathrobe and ventured into the dark hallway to search for him and convince him to go back to bed.

I heard him before I actually saw him on the couch; the sound of him jerking off was unmistakable. So that thing with me earlier that night wasn’t enough? Interesting. But… men, huh? Still, I was becoming more and more convinced that something kept bothering him. I was also sure he would tell me in due time if he wanted or deemed it necessary.

Everyone needs their private space, some alone time. I respect that. I was about to turn around and go back to bed, but the sound of some music playing faintly on a loop made me intrigued. It didn’t sound like porn.

I remained standing in the open doorway, keeping myself quiet so as not to disturb his moment… when I saw it.

It was probably some tik tok video, playing over and over again. A video of… Josh! My husband was masturbating to the more or less erotic stage poses of our little friend, further sexualized by the edit.

And even though I had my suspicions that Josh managed to get into his head too, it was still a shock. Lucas was as straight as can be, never having mentioned any fantasies of this kind. It confused me, shook me, intrigued me even, as I stood there barely breathing… and surprised that my own jealousy was not part of the whirlwind. How could it be, when I was essentially guilty of the very same thing?

At last, I made my way back, making sure my footsteps weren’t heard.

I was still awake when Lucas came back to bed as well. Snuggling closer to me, he buried his face in my hair, while I pretended to be sleeping. We had to have a conversation, but it was destined for another place, and another time.

Morning came, and my determination to talk to him about last night’s events vanished. We ate our breakfast in peace and went our separate ways. Hours went by, then days, but I never mustered the courage to open that hot topic. Everything else was pretty normal. Just our usual week.

The week passed eventually, another lesson started, and Lucas was once again there, unknowingly confirming my theory.

Except this time he didn’t just watch.

The lesson went on smoothly. After it ended, I collected the supplies to carry them back to the storage. When I came back, I found them sitting on stools next to each other, deep in a low, nearly whispered conversation.

That wouldn’t be that surprising, or unusual. We often whispered during lessons (not Josh!) and it was an unconscious habit to continue doing so even when it was no longer necessary.

Josh had his bathrobe on, but the front was still open, more like a blanket thrown over his shoulders rather than something that was supposed to cover his naked body. What really threw me off was Lucas’ hand on Josh’s knee and the look on their faces. Now I was pretty much sure, but… the bastard! I never dared to actually do something like that, never even thought of doing it outside the confines of my own head. Ok, I might lie a bit, but – knowing I probably had no chance anyway – I simply didn’t.

I cleared my throat, notifying them of my presence, and they both jumped as if hit by electricity. Trying to keep Josh out of it, I pretended I hadn’t seen anything weird, although I’m pretty sure my face betrayed me. However, making a scene was the last thing on my mind. I wanted answers. One answer, to be exact. And, to be honest, the sight ignited something else in my mind.

“Jo…”

“I'll wait in the car,” was all I said before turning around abruptly. I grabbed my coat in the hall and disappeared outside, letting Lucas take care of the rest.

They came out five minutes later; together, but keeping a visible distance.

When Lucas got in the car, I could feel his silent gaze on me, intent and wary, but I didn’t return it. My eyes followed the other figure, dressed in a weird, custom-made bomber, strolling hastily across the parking lot towards his own car. He kept glancing our way stealthily.

“Jo…”

“Not now,” I interrupted him coldly. Josh got into his jeep in the meantime and I watched him drive away. “...and not here. Later. I’m hungry.”

Lucas watched me for a few more seconds, before he finally put the key in the ignition.

We spent the whole ride home in silence, ordered some food, which we once again ate in silence, until he just couldn’t take it any longer.

“Listen, Jo, I…”

“I saw you the other night,” I interrupted him.

“Saw me…” Lucas’ perplexed look quickly turned to one of utter horror. I won’t lie, I enjoyed watching him squirming like a snake on a hot plate, searching for words, before I finally decided to put him out of his misery. “But I’m not mad.”

That actually made him look even more perplexed, though he relaxed just a bit.

“Do you have feelings for him?” I continued. I needed to be sure of that one thing.

“No!" He seemed almost panicked. It was a dangerous question. Sex is a physical need, sometimes interconnected with feelings, but not necessarily. We agreed on that. Even our own fucking varied. It wasn’t always making love. And there were times when we weren’t even completely alone… “No, I mean, it’s difficult not to like him… in a purely platonic way…? But this is just lust. How come you’re not mad?”

I finished my beer before I replied. “I feel the same way, actually.”

“Do you!”

“Indeed.”

He raised his right eyebrow at me; a gesture which held a couple meanings at once. Curiosity and annoyance. He was teasing me… because he was jealous, while knowing too well that he had no right to be.

We watched each other for a while, each contemplating what to say next, even though there was nothing else to say. Knowing it as well as I did, Lucas sighed: “Ok, so what do we do? Ignore it and forget about it?”

“We’ll see it next week, my dearest,” I replied sarcastically, because that was actually the core of the problem. Not only we’ve never been in this situation before, but Josh was also very real. And while I enjoyed his company for the reasons I already mentioned, knowing that we in fact shared this little secret made it uncomfortable for the both of us. Lucas leaned back and crossed his arms.

“Oh, funny. Fine, enthral me with your own proposal on how to get out of this situation.”

“Well,” I sighed, “sometimes it’s best to scratch that itch.”

“What are you suggesting, Jo? Surely not to seduce Josh…?”

“I’m just answering your question,” I replied evasively. “I have one too, though.”

“Which is?”

“What were you two talking about?” For some strange reason, it made Lucas laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“Music. We were discussing music…”

“Stop trying my patience, Lucas,” I spat. For the first time, I felt really angry. This game can be played only when there’s honesty. Lucas’ expression sobered, but he shook his head. “I’m serious. Kind of. We were discussing life performances,” he smirked at me. “And before you bite my head off, let me remind you what some of your most cherished paintings are about. It’s art, right?” he added, referring to several large canvasses depicting the two of us fucking.

“Ok, point taken,” I mumbled sulkily. He really liked those tiktoks, didn’t he. Bastard.

We left it at that, not really sure what to do. However, the situation solved itself that very next week. Josh may look like a cherub, but he’s not that innocent.

Josh was the only model that week, because Anna had to finish some essay which was almost past the deadline, and of course, he was late again. Storming into the room, he gave me just one worried glance and a barely audible sorry that had nothing to do with his late arrival, before he quickly changed and took up his position in the middle of the room, pretending to be a statue. That was unusual, considering his inherent restlessness.

Lucas was there too, but preferred to stay hidden in the safety of his office room. And while Josh kept avoiding eye contact with me as if his life depended on it, I noticed his numerous side glances towards that door.

When the lesson ended, he hastily wrapped himself in the bathrobe and started helping others put away their easels and other stuff. That was even more unusual. I had half expected him to run off as soon as possible, but the boy was lingering.

And surely, the moment everyone else left and I took some remaining supplies to carry to the storage room, he followed me like a pup, trying to explain what I had walked into the week before. “Listen, Jo, about that last t…”

“You mean when I caught you shamelessly flirting with my husband?” I interrupted him, throwing the unused paper on a huge pile in the corner. I can be merciless sometimes. His expression turned to one of utter abashment and diffidence, and it was funny to watch. I didn’t feel like he really fully deserved it, because it was Lucas’ hand on his knee and not vice versa, but this shy, empathetic and almost boyish side of him is sexy as hell and completely intoxicating.

Shamelessly, I wanted a sip of that tasty cocktail. Nevertheless, I fell into my own trap.

We were shrouded in semi darkness, with just enough light coming from the main room through the open door to allow us to see our expressions, enhanced by sharp shadows. The dim light suited him and his Adam's apple looked even more prominent as he swallowed.

“I… It…” unusually at a loss of words, he resorted to the second best thing he mastered quite well: touch.

A completely innocent touch. Just his hand sliding down my shoulder, his fingers gripping my arm firmly but tenderly. It shouldn’t have surprised me that much. Josh just likes to really physically connect with people in order to be understood. But it did take me by surprise. I had imagined those fingers wrapped around my bodily parts many times before.

My immediate reaction was completely involuntary. I just moaned. I mean… aloud.

Josh looked taken aback – and quite understandably – but instead of retreating, those fingers slid gently and slowly down to my elbow, as if testing me. Needless to say, I failed the test, although it wasn’t that blatant this time.

“Seriously?” he whispered. The puppy dog face was gone, replaced by something much more fierce… and excitingly dangerous. “What’s the deal with the two of you?”

“Yeah, Jo, what’s the deal?” I saw him enter, but Josh did not, and the suddenly cast shadow accompanied by Lucas’ husky tone visibly startled him.

It was like a strange pantomimic theatre nouveau. A play of shadows, touches and slow movements. Josh let go of me and his palm, open theatrically like a flower in mid air, was suddenly covered by Lucas’s right hand while the left one slid lightly down Josh's spine until it found purchase on his lower back. Josh tensed, but didn’t withdraw from the touch. In fact, he pulled Lucas’ right arm closer to him instead. Looking at me intensely with those big dark eyes, his lips slightly parted, but all that came out was a soft exhale. Being much more hesitant and restrained than my husband, I reached out to caress his cheek, and he leaned into my touch.

Suddenly, he tensed again, as if being awakened from a slumber. “Ok, what’s going on here?”

“Do we make you feel uncomfortable?” I wasn’t teasing. It was a genuine question.

“No, not uncomfortable. That’s why I’m asking. If I felt uncomfortable, I’d tell you both to fuck off.”

It took one shared fleeting glance between me and Lucas to escalate the situation beyond the point of no return. It was a true now or never moment.

“I have a few questions.”

Josh made himself comfortable on our large, U-shaped couch and took a sip of red wine from the glass I just handed him.

He had arrived in his jeep just about three minutes after us, giving me no time to make this place a little bit more… presentable. But honestly, who cares. He’s a rockstar, I’m a painter, and I was about to see him naked in a completely different situation. Dust if you must; I shall not.

“Shoot,” I replied, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Uh… ok… well, the first one’s obviously why.”

Naturally. At the same time, it was a pretty stupid question, with the three of us evidently sharing the why not mindset. I just opened my mouth to respond, but Lucas beat me to it. “Why what?”

Lucas, too, was still standing. Moving closer to the couch from behind, he grabbed the headrest on each side of Josh’s head and leaned down a bit.

We were circling Josh like prey, but the little cherub didn’t even flinch, convincing me he was well aware as to why… and liking it very much. The fucker just wanted to hear it.

“Why me, obviously,” he responded with a raspy voice and took another sip.

“Have you seen yourself?” I chimed in.

Josh sighed and leaned his head against the headrest, his curls brushing Lucas’ clothed stomach teasingly. See? He was VERY well aware, already playing the game along with us with gusto.

“Took me a few years to really see myself, but yeah.” His jaw tightened and he smirked at last. “Alright. Point taken. I’m irresistible.” He straightened again to help himself to another gulp of wine without the risk of spilling it, allowing Lucas to rub the nape of his neck gently. Josh leaned into the touch, but Lucas asked anyway: “Is this ok?” It was very important to build trust in this new situation.

“Totally,” Josh whispered and blinked, before he focused his gaze back on me.

“Ok, next question. Have you two done this before?”

Lucas stopped playing with Josh’s locks and put his hand on Josh’s right shoulder instead. Our little friend acknowledged the gesture with a stealthy side look, but his main focus remained on me, even when Lucas spoke. “No… Well, we… shared a bed with another couple once, but it wasn’t as exciting as it may sound, because everyone was only interested in their respective partners in the end. I dare say it turned out to be even a little bit awkward eventually. Chemistry’s important in such situations, and it wasn’t there.”

We certainly couldn’t complain about the lack of it this time. On the contrary, it was so strong it turned the air in the room into a thick soup of tension and growing lust. I kept eye contact, watching Josh’s eyelids droop as his lips transformed into a subtle pout. Our Ganymede was playing along, exerting his own power and dominance. At least over me.

The evening was not planned, the roles were not set and my own imagination had never led me this far despite me being the original author of this bold proposal. Now I was dying to know what was going on in his pretty head and what he might have in store for me.

His demeanor changed in a snap, and he turned his head a bit, finally looking up at Lucas like a puppy waiting for his master’s next move. I had to hide behind my own glass to prevent Lucas from seeing my face. Unnecessarily, because he wasn’t paying attention to me, anyway. “... and outside your mutual experience… how about… men?” Josh looked directly into Lucas’ eyes, who returned the gaze and answered truthfully: “No.”

Josh’s eyes widened slightly and he bit his lower lip. He had probably already expected it, but hearing it is always different.

It was pretty obvious what he was thinking, but even if it weren’t, his growing bulge told stories of its own. His sexual intelligence mesmerized me, though, as he willingly allowed Lucas to keep the high ground. It was no doubt a vulnerable moment for my husband, and I admired him for how well he’d been handling it so far.

I hated to break their little moment, but there were still other things that needed to be addressed. “Speaking of chemistry… I want you to know that I’m perfectly fine with just… watching. The last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable.” Josh’s eyes snapped back to me, his expression a bit hard to decipher, but it still managed to increase my heart rate significantly. Then he spoke up and said heart jumped up my throat.

“I…uh… think you underestimate me, Jo. I consider myself to be a very eclectic person, especially… uh… when it comes to fun. Which brings me to my last question. What are you two actually planning to do with me?”

My breath hitched as I watched him lick his upper lip with the tip of his tongue playfully. We had no plan. We couldn’t possibly have one, not without his participation, and he was quite aware already. It wasn’t really a question, it was an offering.

“Whatever you want…,” was all I managed to choke out.

“I think I want a kiss. Just show me how much you want this, yeah?”

I swear I could hear something snap, and the last remains of our restraints were gone with a puff. Josh was game. I wanted to ask from whom, but there was no longer room for questions, because Lucas took action. Without any further ado, he leaned forward again, grabbed Josh by the chin and forced him to turn his head to the side. I’m not sure if my brain slowed my perception of time or if they really looked at each other for so long, but it was fascinating to watch.

And then Lucas fulfilled Josh’s wish. Softly at first, but Josh made it clear he didn’t come here to cuddle. He opened his mouth without being asked to and their tongues met in a very sloppy and passionate kiss.

Josh reached behind Lucas’ head to grab the nape of his neck while my husband’s hand slid down to Josh’s throat, which made the latter moan loudly and I had to pull in my lips to stifle my own whimper. They paid me no mind though, lost in their own realm where they both ruled, each one in a different way, each one holding a different kind of power over the other.

What a mesmerizing sight. Truly. I watched in awe the dark and dirty fairytale that was just being played before my eyes. I really would be happy just watching it. My stomach muscles contracted violently and I could feel my panties absorb the overflowing wetness. I took the glass from Josh’s outstretched arm, which became an inconvenience. I put it on the kitchen counter and poured myself more wine.

In the meantime, Lucas climbed over to join Josh on the couch, where they continued with their mutual exploration; taking their time. Lucas was on his knees, still hovering over Josh slightly, holding his head in both hands now, fingers scratching the buzzed sides. The huge amount of energy that had been building inside of him for hours (or weeks) was palpable, and it begged to be released.

With his head tilted backwards, Josh’s hands slid down Lucas’ chest, searching blindly for the hem of his shirt, tugging at it tellingly. I downed the glass, bracing for what was to come, as Lucas broke the kiss and pulled his arms up, letting Josh do the job. They were both almost breathless, watching each other with eyes wide open. I couldn’t blame them; my own were popping off. Suddenly, Josh grabbed Locas’ bare sides and brushed his open mouth and nose hungrily against Lucas’ chest, taking him in with all the senses.

The wildest fantasies couldn’t compare to this overwhelmingly intense show. I wasn’t ready, and with the wine already making my head spin and my cunt burn, I myself was getting completely lost in the intensity of the moment.

“I… really…,” Josh breathed out before he licked his lips and his fingers brushed the button of Lucas’ jeans.

“Good god,” my husband muttered and closed his eyes. “Ok, yeah, go ahead, please…” With that, he straightened and stood up, once again towering over our sexy guest. Josh looked up with his mouth slightly open to allow those slow, deep breaths in and out. His fingers brushed over Lucas’ prominent bulge, making Lucas whimper. “But don’t tease.”

Josh smirked. Teasing was exactly what he was planning to do.

He pulled the zipper down, keeping the movement excruciatingly slow, and carefully pulled the pants low enough to set Lucas’ throbbing dick free. “No underwear, tsk,” he teased. “Another thing we have in common.”

“What’s the firs…” Lucas tried to ask, but never finished the sentence, because Josh suddenly swirled his tongue over the already leaking head like a hungry tomcat.

“Oh Jesus!” Lucas panted, his finger running through Josh’s curls. “No more teasing! You wanted suck, so take it. Suck!”

And so he did. And I suddenly wished I had a dick, because while I considered myself to be quite good at it, I hardly ever managed to make my husband really weak in the knees. Josh, on the other hand, got him there in less than three minutes and Lucas had to stop him eventually.

“Good?” Josh grinned.

“Too good, and you know it, you bastard,” he growled before turning to me. “Jo, could you… the box…”

“Oh, sure,” I nodded, rushing to retrieve a small box filled with necessities from our bedroom. Once there, I decided to quickly change as well. He wants fun, so let’s have fun. I chose a black lacy top with ribbon lacing at the back and no underwire. No panties either. let the pussycat breathe. I had showered before the lesson, so whatever was going to happen, I was ready.

I checked myself in the mirror one last time before going back. Letting my hair down was the last, finishing touch to make me satisfied with what I saw in the reflection. My tits looked heavy supported just by thin lace and my cheeks were flushed from the excitement.

It only grew as the muted sounds of their voices reached me through the open doors. Lucas’ teasings and promises, uttered in his lowest register, followed by a naughty giggle. It fueled my imagination even more.

Were their limbs already entangled? Restless hands roaming every inch of their flesh? Did their eyes meet often, sharing the unspeakable? Soft moans reached my ears as I stood there, wondering. I longed to see it all, and hurried back.

They didn’t notice me at first. I walked around the couch stealthily, careful not to disturb the intimate foreplay.

And as I had expected, both were already naked. Josh, lying on his back with his arms behind his head. He had his eyes closed, getting lost in time and space. Lucas was crouching between his spread legs, his parted lips travelling across Josh’s chest, while his hands kept Josh’s elbows in place.

I watched as he darted his tongue out, swirling it around Josh’s left nipple, leaving the areola glistening wet. Josh tilted his head back and moaned again, arching his back ever so slightly while doing so.

“Oh dear god,” I muttered at last, informing them of my presence.

Josh just opened his eyes while Lucas straightened a little, his hands stroking Josh’s exposed triceps’ while he turned around to look at me. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he asked Josh with his eyes still on my.

“Stunning.”

Feeling a bit uneasy under their sudden scrutiny, I took a step forward and handed Lucas the small box, before I dared to sit on the floor right next to Josh’s head. “Hey,” I smiled shyly.

… which he answered with a toothy grin. “Why so coy all of the sudden? Where’s my bold lecturer? Shouldn’t I be the one to feel bashful?

“Are you?”

“No… especially not now when I see what this does to you.”

Always a showman. I rolled my eyes in mock annoyance and he grinned even more before his eyes fell back on Lucas, who had bent down again to pepper Josh’s lower abdomen with tiny kisses.

“I love when he does that to me,” I whispered. “Feels good, doesn’t in!”

With a melodic “mmmmhhhhn,” Josh closed his eyes again, panting softly through his parted lips as Lucas dared to venture lower. I watched how his finger enveloped Josh’s hard dick, giving it a few tentative strokes, before he suddenly grabbed Josh’s legs under his knees, forcing them upwards, making him gasp.

“Can I kiss you?” I asked, making him open his eyes again.

“I think you must.”

And I did. I had been longing to taste them for so long that I was NOT coy about that in any way. I took advantage of him keeping those lips parted and licked the inner corner first before I pushed my tongue into his waiting mouth, making him moan into mine.

Or perhaps it wasn’t just my doing. He gasped again soon after, breaking the kiss. “Fuck, you’re good at this!” It didn’t belong to me, as I could immediately see.

Lucas paused for a bit, just to look at us. “That’s because she loves it,” he grinned deviously before returning to Josh’s ass, eliciting a few more profanities from his pouty mouth. The sight and the sounds were making me hungry, and I went for Josh’s exposed neck, licking and sucking on the delicate skin. He grabbed the back of my head to prevent me from stopping. He loved that. I could HEAR it! Oh god, he sings even during sex. So beautiful.

Lucas straightened again and with a long, steadying intake of breath, he opened the box to retrieve a bottle of lube and a pack of condoms from it. It was time.

“Is it ok if I stay like this? I wanna see everything,” Josh breathed out in a husky tone, watching Lucas apply a generous amount of lube on his fingers.

“Whatever you want, pillow princess.” With that, he pushed Josh’s legs even more upwards, letting them rest against his listed arm while he started circling Josh’ entrance with the middle finger of his other hand. He watched me, looking a bit lost in thoughts and I wondered what was going on inside his head. I didn’t have to wonder for too long, though.

“Hold him!” he ordered and I quickly obeyed, loving the idea.

“What?!” Josh bursted out when I sat behind his head and grabbed his wrists, pulling his arms back behind his head. At the same time, Lucas pushed the finger inside. I looked down into those wide-eyed pools and he swallowed hard. “Not what you expected?

“I… I…”

“Not what you want?” Once again, I didn’t mean to tease. His pleasure was the ultimate goal, after all.

“I..yes…I want…”... Lucas added a second finger… “Yes!”

“Wonderful, baby. Enjoy,” I smiled down at him.

I knew Lucas would be careful, and Josh’s relaxed face told me I was right. And Lucas had been right too; I loved this a lot, thanks to his gentleness. I always wondered what it would feel like if I had a prostate though, feeling maybe even a bit jealous sometimes. This time, I could at least watch it. Tiny droplets appeared on Josh’s forehead and and a string of muttered ‘fuck’s’ flew from his pretty mouth when Lucas curled those fingers.

“Fuck…” Josh breathed out again after a while. “Fuck me already!”

Lucas’s eyes visibly darkened at those words. He let go of Josh’s legs, carefully withdrew and crawled over him, looking him directly in the eye. “That was hot,” he hissed. “Beg again!”

“Please… fuck me,” Josh whimpered, tugging at his wrists restrained by my firm grasp.

“Good boy.” With deliberate precision and skilled swiftness, Lucas put on a condom, poured more lube on top of his dick, spread it all over and positioned himself. between Josh’s outstretched legs. One of his feet slid down from the couch, so Lucas grabbed him again under his knee and threw the leg lovingly over his shoulder. “You’re a very pretty whore, Josh Kiszka,” he crooned and slowly, carefully entered.

I bent down to kiss our very pretty whore whole Lucas waited for him to adjust, and I didn’t stop until I felt him move. Josh arched his back again and his soft pants soon turned to moans, and moans to cries when Lucas quickened his pace, holding Josh’s hips firmly.

I wondered why Lucas was so quiet though, and I learned the reason soon. This night…it was just too much, it was too unexpected and overall so sexy there was a pool between my legs just from watching it. He exhaled ruggedly all of the sudden, and then again, and at last he cried out before he collapsed on top of Josh, panting.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered right next to his ear, making Josh chuckle breathily.

“For what? God, that was…”

“Quick.”

“Yeah, but…”

I let go of Josh’s wrist and collapsed into the corner of the couch, trying not to laugh. Lucas pulled out carefully and helped Josh into a sitting position before he disposed of the condom quickly. When he came back, He offered Josh his outstretched hand. “Stand up.”

“Why?” Josh asked as he hesitantly took it.

“Just stand up.” My husband looked visibly nervous, but determined, and I knew immediately what he was going to do. For the first time in his life.

He kissed the slightly bewildered Josh first, softly on the mouth, before he got on his knees before him. “Oh…ok,” Josh panted.

I sucked in breath, unsure what to do… or maybe just feeling second handedly Lucas’ own uncertainty. “Lucas, if…”

“Shut up.” He brushed his fingertips across Josh’s lower abdomen first, shadow tracing all those kisses he had planted there before, before he let them circle around the base of Josh’s erection. And, at last, he opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the head.

Josh closed his eyes and with a furrowed brow, he muttered an encouraging “yes”. Emboldened, Lucas tried to venture further, only to make Josh hiss in discomfort. I bit my lower lip. Teeth.

“Imagine her mouth,” Josh said softly. “What does she do?” Lucas tried again and Josh shuddered, but it was different this time. He smiled at last. “Uh huh…hmmmm, yes,” he breathed out. “Yes, that’s it.

Slowly, Lucas found the way, as well as the right rhythm. He was hell bent on making it right. Needless to say, he had a very empathetic teacher. He stroked Lucas' hair with one hand while the other ventured behind his ear, holding him firmly without forcing him down. And Josh was not a faker; when he made a sound, you knew it was genuine.

“I’m gonna come,” Josh moaned after a while and his fingers slid gently to the nape of Lucas’s neck. He was asking for permission.

I could see that Lucas tensed slightly and visibly hesitated, so I quickly slid down on my knees right next to him and opened my mouth. Josh blinked at me, understanding slowly appearing on his face. “Come on, I want it,” I urged him. He pulled out and I quickly swallowed him whole, pressing my flattened tongue against the underside of his already twitching dick. I continued to suck, determined to save every drop as he shuddered above me with a heavy sigh.

After I finally released him, he fell backwards on the couch, panting wildly. I already swallowed most of his cum, I could feel it burning my throat slightly, but there was still a strong aftertaste when Lucas grabbed my jaw and kissed me deeply and hungrily.

“Good?” I panted when he withdrew.

“So good.”

“Jesus Christ…” we heard Josh mutter, rubbing his hand over his face before he let it run through his messy curls. I looked at him and smiled before I stood up, joined him on the couch and exhaled slowly, content, but not fully satisfied. Lucas remained sitting cross legged on the floor in front of us. His gaze darted between me and Josh, and I couldn’t really tell what he was thinking. With his arms resting on his knees, he looked calm and tired.

“What about you, Jo?”

I slowly turned my head towards the source of that deliciously raspy voice. Josh’s eyes looked almost black in the dimmed light, making the whites sparkly in contrast. He smiled and ran a finger back and forth across his lower lip, eyeing me inquisitively.

“What about me?” I smiled weakly back.

He cleared his throat first before he replied. “I’d really love to reciprocate.”

“What do you mean by that, exactly?” I teased, my mind already there, browsing through all the possibilities.

His reddened cheeks literally glowed and I found myself unable to break eye contact, still examining what was hiding behind his dilated pupils. I didn’t notice how his hand slid towards mine until he grabbed it and drew it up to his plump lips. I expected him to kiss my fingers, and he did, but… his tongue then slid between my index and middle finger, licking suggestively. He kept eye contact the whole time and I squealed a bit taken aback by the lewdness of the gesture, despite everything that already happened.

Josh’s pillowy mouth between my legs? Oh, fuck yeah! “I’d really love that.”

“May I?” He asked Lucas almost hesitantly.

“Go on, she deserved it.”

I expected him to get on his knees, but instead he slid lithely on his back again and rested his head on a small cushion in one of the corners of the couch. “Come on then, sit.”

“Are you sure?”

He rolled his eyes and grabbed my arms, making me almost tumble over him, making us both giggle. Regaining my balance, I positioned myself carefully and hesitated again, so he grabbed my ass and pulled me down, making me squeak. I dared to look down, meeting the same gaze that he had shared with me earlier that evening in the storage room. Fierce…and dangerous. The very next second I understood why, as he darted his tongue out and let it flutter over my clit with insane speed. I tensed and arched my back, opening my mouth in a silent scream.

Mercifully, he gently enveloped it with his lips instead and started licking it tenderly. Honestly, that was probably even worse. In a matter of seconds, I was a moaning mess, bending over the headrest.

Naturally, I didn’t hear Lucas move until he was right in front of me. He was hard again and ready to continue. “I think I need your help, bitch.”

Not the first time he called me bitch. Never during an argument, always when he wants to cum. It makes me wild, to be honest, and that’s exactly what he wanted. I grabbed him by the hips, pulled him closer and swallowed him whole. He grabbed my hair to make sure I knew who was in charge and pushed again, thrusting all the way until he hit my throat. And then again.

I relaxed, focusing on tbe head of Lucas's dick deep in my throat, but it took one swift flick of Josh’s tongue around my clit to throw me completely off balance and I gagged violently.

It was followed by his own loud whimper that reverberated through my pussy. That kinky little bastard. I felt a subtle, rhythmic movement somewhere behind me and tried to break free from Lucas’ grasp to have a look. “Yeah, he’s jerking off,” he groaned impatiently. “Suck!”

For a fleeting second I imagined seeing myself from the outside, the whole scene. My head spun and the sensation between my legs became almost unbearable. I was acutely aware of every tiny licks that sent me further towards the edge… and then I was falling. Lucas had to pull out just to let me breathe.

Slowly and carefully, I lifted myself on my knees, allowing Josh to get from under me. I was aware we weren’t done. Not after my husband had called me bitch. It also meant he was in the mood for some pretty rough fuck. However, he didn’t move, his hard-on now literally resting against my flushed cheek. “Well, well, what a precarious situation, right?”

His tone confirmed my suspicion, but still told me nothing about his plans. “I think that pussy’salready pretty swollen now. Hmm, that’s always good. Do you want to fuck her, Joshy boy?” I tensed at those words, so hot and lewd and unexpected. A hand ghosted over my left asscheek, making me shiver.

“Oh yeah, you do, don’t you. Go ahead then.”

The continuing silence made me nervous. “Josh?”

I felt him shift behind me, I felt his skin brush against my back and closed my eyes, reveling at the sensation. Then suddenly, it was his hot breath near my ear and he whispered: “Can I, Jo?”

“Oh god, yes!” I blurted out.

I felt him shift again, reaching for a condom. A moment later, I felt those hands again, as he grabbed my hips and pushed them up. I looked up, meeting Lucas’s dark eyes, my mouth already open and ready. “You’re whore,” he said. “I love it.”

And then Josh entered me. And then I was completely full, and barely breathing.

It was overwhelming. Josh was hitting my g-spot just right and it took only a few more minutes until I came hard again with my mouth still full of Lucas’s dick. I moaned around it as he held me by the nape of my neck and continued to fuck my mouth. I gagged violently and he let go just to let me take one deep breath before he plunged back. I convulsed and my throat constricted around his head, making him moan. I loved the sound. My whole body tensed and another wave of orgasm reverberated through it, making my pussy spasm and clench around Josh’s dick.

He slowed down and hesitated, and his grip on my hips loosened. He was no longer holding me firmly, he just stroked me soothingly. I looked up, begging Lucas to tell the other one that it was all ok, because I couldn’t. “Go on, she absolutely loves this.”

It didn’t convince him. He was still rock hard, I could feel it. That wasn’t the issue. Losing my patience, I clenched my walls on purpose now, making him whimper, before I mustered all my remaining energy to hiss: “For fucks sake do your worst.”

I’m not kidding, he growled. I swear, it’s true.

I felt almost like a ragdoll between them, with my chest pressed against the headrest and clutching it with both my hands until my knuckles turned white. My thighs were shaking and I was gasping for air, but neither of them stopped. After a while, Lucas grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head up. I looked up at him with my mouth still open, long ropes of saliva still connecting it with his dick somehow. He didn’t meet my gaze; he was looking at Josh instead, while jerking himself off frantically right in front of my face.

“Does it feel good, fucking her?” he growled. I could feel Josh’s fingertips pressing harder into the ample flesh of my hips as he slowed down his pace considerably. I couldn’t blame him. Lucas’s tone was dangerous.

“ANSWER!”

“Yes…” Only then I realized how much I wanted to hear that, but Josh stopped in his movements, unsure if that was the right answer.

Me being familiar with that menacing tone, I knew it meant Lucas was extremely aroused. Only this time, I couldn’t really tell where this was heading, and my own apprehension only grew. He soon answered my unspoken question, making me gasp.

“Would you like to fuck ME?”

I couldn’t really see what happened next. I could only feel and hear it. I only imagined the shock on Josh’s face, drawing it with sharp lines inside my head, inspired by Josh’s sharp inhale. It was followed by a whispered breathy ‘oh’ and a whimper as his dick twitched inside me. One involuntary thrust forward, followed by three more… and he was spent.

I DID watch how it all reflected in Lucas’s eyes, growing more fierce with each passing millisecond as he stared at the other man behind me with his lips slightly parted in surprise.

“Open!” he ordered suddenly. I thought he meant me, so I obligingly opened my mouth and stuck my tongue out, but Lucas pushed me slightly aside and I felt Josh shift above me. He leaned himself onto the small of my back to get closer, grabbing the headrest with one hand and my shoulder with the other for support. I could feel he barely recovered; he was still shaking. And yet… In my own post-orgasm gaze, I dared to glance sideways only to see him do just what I had done a second before.

Looking down at us, Lucas smirked. “Look how obedient he is, my love.” The words, while spoken to me, were not meant for me at all, and Josh inhaled loudly, dutifully bracing for what was to come. Lucas grabbed him by the hair and rammed his dick deep in his throat. Josh’s cheeks puffed out and he barfed chokingly, while his eyes rolled up into his skull, making him look almost possessed. The obscenity of it was the last impulse Lucas needed to paint Josh’s throat with hot spurts of his seed.

Lucas pulled out just enough for Josh to be able to swallow. Only then did he let go of his hair completely, letting him take a breath.

Josh collapsed onto my back completely now, with his cheek resting on my shoulder, and his quickened breath resonating against my ribcage. I wrapped my arms around Lucas’ waist, resting my forehead against his belly. He stroked my hair gently, while wiping sweat from his forehead with his other hand. We must have looked like a mannerist sculptural group.

“So, everyone good?” Lucas said at last.

I felt Josh chuckle against my shoulder and I started giggling uncontrollably.

We showered separately, allowing ourselves a moment of privacy to fully absorb what had just happened.

Lucas ordered some Indian food and we are on the very same couch just like three good friends, except we were all still naked. And because we also finished the bottle of wine and opened another one, I refused to let Josh drive back home. No, he was staying, end of discussion. Our bed was large enough.

Despite my previous exhaustion and unusually deep sleep, I was roused later that night by a peculiar sensation; as if I was sleeping in a rocking cradle. Half awake and with my eyes still closed, my brain tried to make sense of it, until I heard the unmistakable sound of the two of them fucking on my right, literally just a few inches away from me. They were trying to be quiet, and moving slowly, swaying together in a spooning position like two boats rocked by the waves. Their deep breathing and the sensuous, slapping sound of lubricated flesh gave them away in an instant and I could feel the heat emanating from their skin. I listened in silence for a minute or two, feeling almost like an intruder in that very intimate and very carnal moment.

But this was my bed, and my husband, and basically my idea. I was not going to let them leave me out of it like that.

I turned my head to the side slowly and opened my eyes, instantly meeting Josh’s. They widened in bewilderment, the white of his eyes shiny in the near darkness, and I responded with a cunning smile.

Lucas had his arm wrapped around Josh’s torso and I stroked the back of his hand with my fingertips. It immediately made him stop. They lay unmoving in complete silence, waiting for my next reaction.

“Go on,” I whispered, while my hand traveled further down, brushing against the tense flesh of Josh’s abdomen until it reached his rock hard cock. I wrapped my fingers around it and gave it a tentative squeeze in unison with Lucas, who moved again.

Josh finally broke the silence and immediately tried to stifle the moan by biting his lower lip. What a blasphemy! I wanted to hear that beautiful voice. I wanted it to reverberate between the walls of our bedroom until the window panes rattled! So, I grabbed his jaw with my right hand and forced it open again with my fingers. He continued staring at me with wide eyes and I snuggled closer, licking his parted lips with my tongue while stroking him slowly with my other hand.

His eyelids fluttered closed and he moaned loudly in my mouth.

“Hello, sleeping beauty,” he mumbled afterwards.

The darkness around us was slowly subsiding, but it wasn’t just my eyes getting used to it. Dim, blue light gradually filled the room and I could finally see more than just their outlines. It was already early morning. Lucas lifted his head and looked at us for the first time, winking at me. The motherfucker felt no shame. He wanted him all for himself. “You bastard,” I spat and he responded by bottoming out forcefully, making Josh arch his back and grab my arm instinctively. I kissed him again in response while still pumping him, only this time I forced my tongue inside his mouth, licking into it.

“You’re so sinfully pretty,” I mumbled against his lips when I finally broke the kiss. “I wanna paint you as a fallen angel.”

“A fallen… angel…?” he whispered back shakily in between his pants that matched Lucas’s languid thrusts and my strokes.

“Yeah, watching you being fucked by my husband is making me all wet. What a sight. So beautiful...”

Lucas grunted and Josh just shook his head in a silent no.

“Yes, you are. See?” I let go of him and reached between my legs, gathering some of the wetness before I pushed my fingertips inside his mouth, making him suck on them. Josh obliged, in his docile attempt to please me.

We were literally using him and he was very much aware. And loving it. With his plump lips still wrapped around my fingers, Josh looked at me again and something in his eyes changed. I swear I could see undiluted depravity in it and it made my head spin even while still lying safely on the pillow. He was indeed a true piece of art.

“What are you gonna do about it?” I whispered daringly and he grasped my wrist and pulled my fingers out of his mouth, before he grabbed a handful of my hair, letting me know that he was not yet completely giving in. He was not as strong as Lucas, but nicely toned and could still overpower me if he wanted. I felt the power emanating from him, boosted by the sexual stamina. I could tease him all I wanted, fascinated by how comfortable he was in letting me, but – clearly – enough was enough.

“Turn around,” he breathed out and I quickly obeyed, completely taken aback by the sinful idea and breathing in their mixed manly musky scent that wafted around us. Lucas halted his movements again, letting Josh position himself. He pressed his right thigh against mine, using it as leverage. Feeling his head between my folds, I let out a shaky breath and pushed back, making him enter me fully.

Now it was me breathing heavily, still trying to convince myself that it was not all just a dirty dream. The time almost ceased to exist in the steely morning light. We were no longer silent, all moving in a synchronized rhythm set by Lucas. He was like a metronome, setting the pace as we all moaned into it, writhing like snakes in the lustful melody. Josh wrapped his arm around me, pulling me closer while I reached behind me to stroke his hair. “So soft,” he mumbled, kneading my tit. I took another deep breath, taking in the overwhelming mixed scent of their heated bodies. For a moment I wondered what it would feel like to be in between them, penetrated by both and being pushed to the brink of madness by the combined, double stimulation.

Josh came first, and no wonder, because he was the lucky one now, being fucked while buried balls deep in the warm softness of my pussy. He let out a prolonged, high-pitched whimper and I could feel him twitch inside me. I reached down and grabbed his thigh while he trembled with his face pressed in the nape of my neck, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine. My hand traveled up his thigh until I reached his ass and dug my fingernails in his hairless, juicy flesh, making him squeak. Lucas kept fucking into him mercilessly as if nothing happened and Josh held onto my forearm for dear life. He almost sobbed and for the first time that night I felt strangely strong, like he was finally completely at our mercy… which he was.

“Is he big inside you?” I teased.

“So…,” Josh breathed out, but was unable to finish the sentence. That’s when Lucas chimed in for the first time.

“So tight. He’s taking me so good. You’re… a good boy, huh?”

Josh was still hard inside me and whimpered again at those words. “So be a good boy a little longer. Make her cum if you want my load,” Lucas continued – almost breathless – but his tone sounded strong… authoritative almost. He was also very close, I could tell. And so was I. To be honest, I could come just by listening to the two of them.

Josh’s obedience prevented me from testing that theory, though. His hand grabbed my inner thigh and forced my leg up a bit, before he snaked it in between my legs and his fingertips brushed against my clit, almost fearfully this time. He started with slow, tentative circles, but soon quickened his pace when I moaned lewdly, making it known that he was doing a good job.

Lucas’s thrusts became frantic at this point and he basically forced Josh to keep moving inside me. His knee that was still resting against mine started to tremble violently and he cried out from overstimulation.

Suddenly, Josh’s breath hitched and I sensed rather than saw how Lucas wrapped his hand around Josh’s throat, as I could feel his arm between us. “You like this?” Lucas growled and Josh let out a high-pitched, strangled “yeah”, confirming my suspicion. I was getting high on his nasal ‘hnnnns’ and it took only a few more seconds until I came hard around him, squeezing him tight.

It was too much for him, and he ejaculated again, howling like a wolf pup. He was literally writhing now. His arm twisted around me again, squeezing my rib cage.

“Lucas!” I hissed warningly and looked behind me, but there was no need. He let out a low growl and let go of Josh’s throat, grabbing at his side instead in a frantic need to hold on to something. I was certain he was going to leave marks. He bottomed out one last time and his whole body shook while he filled Josh’s ass with his seed.

Neither of us moved for a while. I felt Josh go limp inside me until he just slipped out. I heard him hiss slightly as Lucas pulled out too. “Are you ok, baby? I asked him tentatively and he rubbed his nose against the nape of my neck before he answered.

“More than ok, Jo? I think I might not be able to walk tomorrow, but… yeah, it was worth it,” he chuckled.

I felt something shift as the dawn broke. It felt right like that. I didn’t want it to be just one night.

The truth about love is it's nasty and salty It's the regret in the morning, it's the smelling of armpits It's wings, and songs And trees, and birds It's all the poetry that you ever heard P!nk, The Truth About Love

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lordaldhelmofmercia · 3 months ago

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After Uhtred and his party have gone to find refreshment and rest, Aethelflaed sits at her desk, facing Aldhelm. She is eager to hear what his thoughts are regarding the potentially dire news Uhtred has just brought them.

"What is foremost on your mind, Aldhelm? I know you have much to say on everything we've just learned of, and you know how much I value your counsel."

@theladyofmercia

"Lady, there is a lot of information to digest here," Aldhelm began, seating himself next to her and looking her directly in the eye. "This is all troubling news, but we must take our time to deliberate our options rationally and not allow strong emotions to lead us into a wrong choice."

"First, this possible alliance with Ragnar. You are fully aware, Lady, that the Danes always have their own agendas, and it never involves the Saxons. Every attempted alliance with Danes has resulted in failure. You father is very experienced in this, with his multiple dealings with Guthrum in East Anglia. Furthermore, they are disorganized and reckless, and cannot be trusted. Many times, Danes have promised an alliance with Saxons, only for the Danes to turn around and put a sword through those Saxons once the Danes get what they want. It is something we cannot afford, especially since Uhtred wants to give Eoferwic to Ragnar, which is right at our northern border. Having a strong Dane presence there will act as a gateway into the rest of Saxon Mercia, and it cannot be allowed."

"Second, we need to investigate for ourselves about this possible alliance of Aethelred with Aelfric and Guthred. Aethelred is not the kind who would make alliances with Danes, although it would not surprise me to learn he is with Aelfric as he has wanted Uhtred dead from the beginning. You must know, Lady, that Aethelred has large estates in central Mercia, including Gloucester and the surrounding areas. Even without me there to command the army, he can call upon a massive fyrd of men who are loyal to him. Although most Mercians do not support him or his foolish ambitions, they will go where the gold and silver are, and Aethelred may be a poor leader but he is wealthy. It was how he was able to be chosen as Lord of Mercia in the first place. If what Uhtred says is true, then this will lead to a civil war which will tear apart the remaining Christian kingdoms. We cannot rush into this blindly."

"Another thing you must consider, Lady, is the price of war. Not just the Mercians and Saxons that may die for this farce, but also your future. I hate Aethelred as much as you, but you must know that upon his death, your life will be upended, and not for the better. Even though Aelfwynn is still a toddler, the Mercian ealdormen will use this as an excuse to betroth her to someone, and the outcome of that could be dire. At best, you may be sequestered to a convent; at worst, you may be forced to marry another power hungry deviant. Aethelred is a terrible leader and an even worse husband, but be careful what you wish for, Lady."

"The last thing we need to discuss is this issue with Gisela. It seems she is becoming another Brida, and I do not know how that happened, but it seems very uncharacteristic of her. I have met her many times and she was always very strong willed but had a good heart. Please, Lady, do not allow yourself to be dragged into Uhtred's personal problems. He has a way of making his own problems everyone else's, to everyone's detriment. I suggest that we find out what exactly happened, and find a way to possibly bridge the gap with her, maybe she can be reasoned with. She was always a reasonable and kind person, and whatever has driven her to this madness must have been severe."

@theladyofmercia

#aldhelm #the last kingdom #tlk rp

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queersatanic · 2 months ago

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Anton LaVey plagiarized* "Might Is Right" for "The Satanic Bible" — here's the proof

Anton LaVey, founder of the Church of Satan, directly lifted passages from the 19th century proto-fascist book "Might Is Right" by “Ragnar Redbeard” (Arthur Desmond) and did so extensively and without credit to produce a substantial part of LaVey’s most famous and popular work "The Satanic Bible".

This has been known for a very long while, although most Satanists tend not to be aware of just how shamelessly and thoroughly this work was done.

In fact, the Church of Satan sometimes tweets out passages from Might Is Right while supposedly praising LaVey.

To have quoted LaVey there, the Church of Satan would have had to tweet just "on the other".

And this is not a stray, incidental unattributed line that LaVey could have argued his readers ought to have immediately been familiar with as a sort of homage.

This was part of a wholesale, uncredited and unacknowledged ransacking of another person’s writing in order to create another, ostensibly-original book and sell it for profit. For example, here is how much from one particular section of Might Is Right ended up making it into LaVey’s book:

This is what LaVey and his partner Diane Hegarty, who also served as his typist an editor, used to introduce people to The Satanic Bible in its opening section the "Book of Satan". This isn't in some appendix or footnote; this is the first thing people reading the book were shown.

The "Book of Satan" portion of The Satanic Bible is essentially identical to parallel lines in Might Is Right: www.diffchecker.com/ppXjtPGV/

If you strip out differences in punctuation(!) and Capitalization and compare them, it's even more shameful: www.diffchecker.com/td0vLevN/

Depending on how you want to count, about 85 percent of this opening can be identified as directly copied, which still includes Americanization of spellings, leaving words out from the original, and a handful of words substituted within much larger phrases and ideas that were retained fully intact.

Only two of the 53 statements of the “Book of Satan” appear to be original creations of LaVey and Hegarty: Book III No. 5 and Book V No. 13. Feel free to check out the full comparison for yourself here:

#Anton LaVey #Church Of Satan #Satanism #LaVeyan Satanism #Ragnar Redbeard #Might Is Right #The Satanic Bible #Plagiarism #Book Of Satan #Satanic

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keeping-writing-frosty · 18 days ago

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Some fantasy thing I am fiddling with

She made the decision that from this day forward, she would no longer be Astrid, a peasant girl of unremarkable stock with no discernible direction. Now she’d go by Aegir, the name of her cousin who had passed from the sweating sickness many moons ago. Father’s work as a farrier kept him busy with the horses, mules, and donkeys of traders, merchants, and lower-tier nobles that kept their manors and homes close to Lykkested, the capital of Álfarune the northernmost province of the kingdom of Upplond, and the family’s name had spread far enough for those to know his high-quality work. Whilst Mother worked to help the village women watch the children and brew the mead and dark, stout ale that the village had become known for. All the while, Astrid desired to join King Ragnar’s court as a page and then a knight—a path forbidden to her.

Skinny but strong, a girl on the cusp of womanhood who lacked the curves that defined her gender at this age. Much for the better, in her opinion. Astrid wore a close-fitting under-tunic against her lean chest, with another tunic over it to hide even further. A sharp, chilly wind, smelled of brine and distant adventures, whipped off the Rømskog Sea that ruffled her reddish-brown hair—cropped short beneath the pointed ears of her people, and she even pierced the left tip with a sharp needle and kept an iron ring it, a boyish fashion and something her parents were against but did not stop their strong-willed girl.

That day, with her mind made up, Astrid—now Aegir—announced that she was her lost cousin, at least to those who did not personally know her or her family, who did not pass away but only took some time to heal from the sweating sickness. Arming herself with an iron short-sword shoved into a sheepskin sheath gave her the look of a young boy just before the age of training and education.

Despite the chill of fall on the back of the strong wind, the warming sun still proclaimed itself as summer, even if late in the season. Astrid sat on the low stone wall that surrounded her father’s tiny parcel of land, his hammer still going, even this late in the day. The land of the Álfarune was as breathtakingly beautiful and hauntingly dangerous as its people, that she felt herself proud to come from. From the sapphire-colored, icy waters to the jagged granite peaks, worn smooth by countless ages of wind and snow, that pierced the sky and were called the Backbone of the World. To the deep woods, filled with both the mundane and the magical. Their ancient trees, gnarled from the ages, twisted like arthritic fingers; their shadows cast long on those who sought to be under the shelter of their leaves. Just past the outskirts of the hamlet were fields full of ripening barley, millet, and other hardy crops that could survive and grow in the brief summers, a familiar sight that acted as a balm to soothe the anxiety in her stomach. And even now, it helped bolster her decision to leave the hamlet for Blomma Castle, and under the darkness of nighttime.

After the successful escape from her parents’ hut as they slept, Astrid took a deep breath of the sweet summer night air—honeysuckle, juniper berries, and the ever-present damp earth—a deep, cleaning breath, the first of many as she pursued her dreams, which did not include an arraigned marriage to Jozef. Her slightly-upturned nose crinkled in disgust at the mere thought of it. With no time to waste, she took off toward the western road; the ocean was a shimmering silver under the full moon. Leaving the village required careful steps; a bit of luck, and no patrolling guards or their echoing steps behind her, as she escaped from the outskirts.

The worn leather of her fur-fringed satchel creaked as Astrid adjusted the strap, its weight a familiar ache across her chest. A night-hawk cried overhead; its sharp call sliced through the subdued hum of the wind that rustled through tall sea-grasses. A shiver, born of the chilly wind and of apprehension, traced its path down her spine; she was young, undeniably so, and despite looking like a boy, was very much a tempting target in these lands, however safe they might be.

High in the inky sky, the moon, a pearl about to dip below the horizon, cast long shadows like darkened fingers. Between the trees, a faint, flickering light shone through—a tiny, defiant flame against the vast, dark forest. The crisp night air allowed the aroma of wood-smoke to linger, which mingled with the rich, savory aroma of roasting meat; her stomach growled, a low rumble against the evening. Who, she wondered, was cooking at this late hour?

****

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

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#writeblr #creative writing #fantasy #snippet #just writing for writing's sake now

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whencyclopedia · 3 months ago

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Vikings TV Series - Historical Accuracy

Vikings (2013-present) is a historical fiction TV series created and written by English screenwriter Michael Hirst for the History Channel. Filmed in Ireland, the show draws on Scandinavian and European history and lore as it follows the life of legendary Viking chief Ragnar Lothbrok, his descendants, and the kings and cultures the Vikings influenced in the 8th and 9th centuries CE.

Since its premiere, questions have consistently been posed by viewers as to the historical accuracy of the show and, while there are many, some of the major differences between history and the series will be addressed below.

Warning: Spoiler Alert - if you have not seen the show yet, you may not want to read further.

Although many of the characters in Vikings are based on historical figures, and a number of events actually happened, there are significant departures throughout. In order to create a seamless narrative and engaging story arc, historical events are often telescoped, combined, compressed, or otherwise altered.

A notable example of this is how, in Season 1:2, Ragnar attacks the Lindisfarne Abbey in Northumbria (carrying off the fictional Athelstan character) and in Season 3:10 Rollo is offered land and the princess Gisla in marriage to defend West Francia from any future Viking raids. The historical attack on Lindisfarne (for which no Viking leader is named) came in 793 CE while the deal brokered between Charles the Simple of West Francia (r. 893-923 CE) and Rollo the Viking chief (r. 911-927 CE) was in 911 CE; Ragnar and Rollo would then be over 100 years old at the time of Rollo's treaty with Charles.

The role historical regions such as Wessex or West Francia played during the Viking Age (c. 790-c.1100 CE) are accurately portrayed in the series but not always the events which took place in those areas.

In most cases, the characters who appear in the show (and the places they live or travel to) did exist but not in every case. The village of Kattegat, for example, which features so prominently, never existed. The real Kattegat is actually a sea between Denmark and Sweden and there is no record of a Scandinavian village by that name anywhere.

The character of Lagertha, although she is mentioned in the Saga of Ragnar Lothbrok, is a minor character, not the mother of Bjorn Ironside, and never was an earl; she is, however, described as an Amazon warrior very much in line with how she is portrayed in the series. The character of Floki is almost wholly fictionalized but is based on the historical figure Floki Vilgerson (9th century CE) who founded Iceland.

Ragnar in History vs TV Show

Ragnar Lothbrok, the main focus in seasons 1-5, may never have existed or, if he did, not as he is presented in the series. He is the hero of the Icelandic epic Saga of Ragnar Lothbrok (13th century CE) who slays a dragon and engages with various other mystical and fantastic elements and entities in the course of his adventures. The present scholarly consensus is that the legendary Ragnar was probably based on the Viking leader Reginherus (also given as Reginfred, 9th century CE) who is known only for the 845 CE Siege of Paris. There are other possible inspirations for Ragnar, however, including King Horik I of Denmark (r. 827-854 CE), who appears as a character in the series.

Other Scandinavian poems, as well as European Latin writers, added to the basic outline of Ragnar's legend which was no doubt transmitted orally until appearing in written form in the 13th century CE. The character in the series shares a number of characteristics with the legendary hero but significant changes are made including:

Marriages – He was first married to Thora (who dies), according to the Saga, or to Lagertha, according to Saxo Grammaticus (13th century CE). After his first marriage ends, he is married to Aslaug, the mother of his famous sons, who he first knew by the name Kraka and who was disguised as a peasant maid. A number of elements from the Saga concerning Kraka/Aslaug appear in the show, especially her gift of second-sight.

Raids on Britain – In the saga, he invades Britain once, (against the advice of Aslaug who predicts his failure) and is killed by King Aella of Northumbria by being thrown into a snake pit (as is seen in the show). He never founds a settlement or has any interaction with a king of Wessex. In Season 3 of the show, Ragnar and his men are hired as mercenaries to fight the uncle and brother of Queen Kwenthryth of Mercia to restore her to power. The sequence in which the Mercian army is lined up on either side of the river, and Ragnar attacks and defeats the smaller force, is taken from accounts of the historical 845 CE raid on Paris in the Annals of St. Bertin (c. 840-880 CE). Reginherus, faced with the same situation, made the same choice; afterwards he hanged 111 Frankish survivors of the battle to instill fear in those on the far side of the river.

Raids on Paris – The series combines historical events from 845 CE and 885-886 CE (the two famous raids/sieges of Paris) but with major departures from fact. In the 845 CE raid, Reginherus and his men found the city almost deserted, were stricken with dysentery, and would have probably left with little if the king, Charles the Bald (r. 843-877 CE), had not offered to pay them off. More of Reginherus' men died of dysentery in the 845 CE siege than in combat.

In 885-886 CE, the Vikings could not breach the walls and the city was defended (as it is in the series) by Count Odo. The character of Gisla, daughter of King Charles in the show, was a young girl at the time of the siege of 885-886 CE (possibly between 5-15 years old), and did not rally the troops or do any of the other things she does in the show.

Rollo of Norway (r.911-927 CE) was no relation to Ragnar Lothbrok and was not present at Reginherus' 845 CE siege but did participate in the 885-886 CE siege, did forge a contract with the king Charles the Simple, married his daughter, and founded Normandy in 911 CE. In Season 4:8-9, the Vikings are seen raising their ships from the Seine and hauling them overland to come at Paris from another direction; this never happened in either of the Paris sieges but Vikings did move their ships overland in the manner depicted at other times and in other locations.

The dramatic scene in Season 3:10 when Ragnar feigns his death, is carried into the cathedral, and then leaps out to kill the cleric and open the gates to his army is taken from legends concerning the Viking chief Hastein (also known as Hasting, 9th century CE) who raided with Bjorn Ironside. Hastein is said to have used this deceit at least twice.

Relationship with Athelstan – There is no record of a Christian monk-turned-Viking-turned-cleric who was the best friend of Ragnar Lothbrok. The most famous Athelstan of this period was the grandson of Alfred the Great (r. 871-899 CE) and the first King of the English (r.927-939 CE).

#History #845CE #885-886CE #9thcenturyCE #WHE #[#]

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ms-oswald · 4 months ago

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homesick | chapter four

author's note: it's been a minute but here we areee - did not think i'd ever finish this but there we go lol just a couple of things: timelines do not reflect the show's, i.e. s3 events from Dunholm to the ending just took a few months and not years, and second thing: i'm including content warning for miscarriage so please be mindful if you are uncomfortable with the subject. Also, 18+ MDNI. Massive thank you to @persephones-journey for helping me figure things out and being my second pair of eyes ❤️ banner credits to @arcielee - lots of love & stay safe 💕

Her arms slid down towards her pillow as she fell on her stomach, breathless and blissed out.

She sighed in content, the softest of moan escaping her at the feel of his hands stroking her heavy across her waist; soothing the echo of its earlier vibration, his fingertips soaked in the glistening texture of her bare skin, taking in the way it caught itself under candlelight with a growing thirst crawling back and quenching his sated state.

Ragnar loomed above her, chest heaving as he slowly came down from his high, his eyes grazing her form down her backside, reddened – an imprint of his presence flushed upon her own, the remnant of friction slightly titillating him once more.

His ears tickled as they held onto the quiver of her voice palpitating in pleasure – a sight he pocketed and kept close to him.

He leaned closer towards her and pressed his lips to her shoulder before gently slipping away, settling comfortably to her right, moving bodies under covers and furs across his cot.

Another night in the winter’s air whisked them away to warmth, sharing a bed, a habit. Following their departure from Dunholm, Ragnar and his troops were preparing for their Wessex advancement, a hope of victory burgeoning on his shoulders.

He stretched his arm to her as she turned around and pulled herself closer, resting her leg around him with her head placed on his chest.

He kissed her forehead as his left hand mindlessly caressed her thigh, his gaze shifting upwards to the roof of his tent.

“No tears this time. Progress.”

Kára chuckled as she hit him playfully with the back of her hand before looking up to him. “Such a horrible man.” A jest between friends that left him smiling.

“The worst.” He teased. She rolled her eyes and patted his cheek. She then shifted her stare upwards, not noticing the grin fading from his cheeks.

Continuous with his caresses, his hand moved up to her hip, pressing her flush to him with his fingers digging into her flesh. They then traipsed across her stomach, his touch light as a feather.

“What is on your mind?” Her voice softened, sensing something was pre-occupying him. She kept her eyes above as she reached for his hand, her nails scarcely grazing his knuckles.

“I wonder what it would have been like having a child… us, together.”

She stopped mid stroke, an ache crawling inside her.

“I think that is one thing that is off-limits between us.”

Sharing his bed had been but a casual affair, a ship docking intermittently for warm nights before moving on to new horizons.

She tilted her head his way, turning her body to her left. “What would Brida think?” Her worries – translucent as they settled above her brow, had pushed disaster into her mind; the idea of bearing his child when his own wife couldn’t unsettled her.

He met her gaze, turning to slowly face her with his hand in continuous caress. “What if the gods will it?” A sliver of hope hung onto his words.

She sighed, the pain that lodged into her chest only increasing with every heartbeat.

She placed her palm onto his cheek, holding him as they locked eyes, her voice slightly trembling.

“Why now when they took away the one I was carrying when we were together?”

He leaned closer her way, the tip of his nose faintly brushing her brow, in contemplation. He had known the answer to her question, his own thoughts having lingered longer onto the idea than his discussion with her.

“Because then isn't now.”

He was solemn but kept hope tightly wrapped.

The crease across her forehead had made him hold his breath, the whisper of his name pulling at his heart strings. “Ragnar...”

“Would it be so bad to want it with you? To try again?”

He mumbled against her, his inquiries embracing the air around them as he quietly mimicked the gesture, the lazy caress wet across her lips.

She then stroked his beard, her limbs heavily dragged into their past. “Once upon a time, having a family with you was all I wanted...” She pulled herself up and bent her arm – elbow to the pillow, as to rest on her hand. She remained facing him, the covers timidly divulging the swell of her breasts. “Things are different now. You have a wife, your own land, a new life just as I have my own.” She was tracing patterns across him, her eyes set on the invisible ink before shifting back to him. “The gods made it so we would part. Losing our little one... that was their sign.”

He understood her wariness, the grief they felt over the loss of their unborn child having left its mark on them, the scars faint yet traceable.

He wore a lopsided smile, gentle as he brushed away strands of her hair.

“Yet, they keep bringing us back together.” He spoke them lightly, despite the ghost of an ache that haunted him. It was the thought of a potential second chance that pushed him through. “They seem indecisive of what they want from us.”

She breathed out a chuckle, shaking her head as a soft smile dimpled her cheeks. “It seems so.”

Her words hung above them, the exhale gentle as she held his gaze still.

He leaned in closer and kissed her once more, the press of his lips firm as he coaxed her own jaw to relax to his touch. He then slowly shifted her to her back and hovered above as he settled between her thighs again.

She sighed with her head pushed back as the stroke of his calloused palm warmed her skin, her body shivering in delight beneath his. The heat blooming, the longing reigniting amongst the friction of limbs, the thrusts slow – tantalizing, as a speechless wish etched itself onto them, praying.

She dug her fingers into his arms, her mind in a frenzy as it tore her into pieces, pulling her in different directions; slivers of the past few months were trickling like beads of sweat slipping down and soaking her bare flesh.

Finan had been a persistent presence, a shadow hanging around – a stray perception to the corner of her eyes. She had turned to Ragnar for distraction, the older man knowing the woes that were weighing on her shoulders; their bed had grown heavy of it though with his strength he buried such strain, leaving her under his touch.

Crescents marked his back as they fell into utter bliss, euphoric tremors traipsing along the heat of their bodies, entangled and burning.

Ragnar fell atop her, searching for her swollen lips as he caught his breath, remaining in the comfort of her thighs while her chest heaved against his, knees lazily resting on his waist.

They lingered, in simple enjoyment as soft affection drew along her form, sweet kisses tickling her skin.

He trailed down her neck to her breasts until he reached her stomach. He nestled, brushing the tip of his nose along the middle while intermittently placing his lips across her abdomen down her womb.

She closed her eyes, her fingers following as they threaded through his locks idly, sorrowful tears threatening presence.

He smiled to her touch and pulled away, falling back next to her.

As he settled, she spoke up, breaking the silence with wandering thoughts roaming about – an imaginative scenery lying in front of her.

“What if I do end up carrying again… what then?” She voiced her inquiry to the ceiling of the tent, holding onto the rivulets hanging by a thread.

Ragnar furrowed his brow, confused. “What do you mean?”

“What would happen to me?”

She sat up with her back to him, running her fingers through her hair, hiding the growing shimmer resting over her hazels.

He joined her, carefully placing his left hand to her stomach, his lips to her shoulder.

“What would you want?” He mumbled, a timid caress coating her bone.

“I don't know…” An exhale out, she looked down as she bit the inside of her cheek.

A split of a second hovered above them, Ragnar grazing her skin with his beard before placing his lips for another tender stroke.

“This wouldn’t affect your friendship with the Irishman if that is what you are worried about.”

She heard the playfulness in his voice and chuckled, bumping her back against his chest.

His words seemed to have alleviated some of the sorrow she wore, though just for a moment.

“It might… Because he wouldn’t be the reason I stayed.”

“You’ll be here regardless.” Another soothing peck, she grew pensive, chewing her bottom lip.

Her heart thrummed heavily underneath her breastbone, the thoughts expanding and leaving her almost breathless.

“Wh-what if we weren’t?” She turned her head to look at him, wanting to catch any reaction striking his eyes. “What if we left? Could we go back to Irland?”

“We could… for some time, if that is what you want.” There had been no hesitation, his reply swift, his submission to her simplest theorized desires somehow eased her, trepidation lighter on its feet. He found himself unexpectedly agreeing without remorse.

A timid smile graced her cheeks, her gaze dropping again and catching the way Ragnar still caressed her stomach, as if to conjure a swelling.

“What of my travels?” She held in her breath, anxious to hear what he would say; she, herself, didn’t know the answer.

“If it is something you still wish to do, then I will not stop you.”

She was in awe, once again the gentleness in his voice soothing any worries that clung to her – she disliked thinking of her future, but speaking of possibilities such as this made her anguish dissipate.

It felt safe.

“I know how happy it makes you. I wouldn’t want to take it away from you, even after you become a mother.”

“If I become one.” She shifted her eyes back to him, resting on his right side. “We both know how fickle the gods can be.” She scratched his beard as he reached to kiss her cheek.

“You will be one.” He rested his forehead to her temple, whispering close to her ear, his promises warming her. “One day you will bear our child as you were meant to. The gods will not agonize us with this again. I will not let them.”

She huffed a chuckle, a lopsided curve of her lips carved into her cheek. “You sound like you are ready to fight them.”

He shared her smile, lingering until she pulled her head away, wanting to look at him.

He tightened his arm around her, holding her gaze. “You know I love you, right?”

“I do.”

The words were different, despite common use.

They held their flames tightly for one another, protecting it from the outside world.

She leaned towards him, reaching for the sweetest kiss, a silent vow of the care they had for each other. She caught a hopeful glimmer in his greens and held on, admiring the softness in his hues as they calmed her.

She pressed her lips to his once again before breaking away from his embrace, slipping out of bed and picking up her clothes.

Ragnar watched her as she got dressed, the apparent smile frozen onto his cheeks.

“I’ll be back.”

He watched her leave as she made her exit, and patiently waited as he lied back down on his bed, closing his eyes for a rest.

She walked out into the night, the air nipping at her skin and unaware of her changing surroundings.

She reached a barrel and was to remove the lid when she heard the huffs of a horse.

She looked up as she frowned, suddenly curious to know what was agitating the animal in the middle of the woods.

She was then just as quickly pulled away to her name whispered in the dark. She turned the opposite way and groaned, recognizing one of Cnut’s man approaching her hurriedly.

“What do you want?”

“Your horse is missing and some of your weapons were discarded.”

She stared at the man, untrusting as she tried to make his features with the small flame of the torch he was holding.

Her gaze narrowed, taking in the slight panic he was displaying.

“What are you talking about?”

“Just- come with me.” He grabbed her arm without care and pulled her with him, ignoring the protest she spelled across her tongue.

The distraction had been set, her horse recuperated and tied back to place along with her weapons that have mysteriously re-appeared.

It had been a time since she left Ragnar, and noting the light had gone out, she had decided to go back to her own bed, not wanting to wake him up.

She would have her thoughts for company for the rest of the night, hands to her stomach as she would try to picture what could be.

It was violently pulled away from her, the terror screams of Brida shattering dream-like sceneries for the harsh new reality that awaited her.

Kára snapped out of her thoughts, the echo of a deafening cry merging into the yells of warriors at the end of the army line.

She was by Brida’s side, high on her horse as she kept quiet, holding onto her grief for the loss of Ragnar, when the ambush on the road had started.

She quickly turned around, the swift throws of arrows raising panic. She cursed and pivoted back to Brida, her voice carrying early distress. “We’re being ambushed!”

She tightened the hold onto the reins and left the front of the line, running to where the fight had started as Cnut and the others unsheathed their swords, readying a counter-attack.

The thundering rumble of war had agitated her stallion, the animal in a frenzy as she took to her sword and started fighting the Saxon soldiers she encountered. Pushed into the thick of it, she was then abruptly thrown off her horse, startled and horrified as it ran away.

Left to herself, she ignored the pain that fell on her ribs and waist as she tried crawling to grab her discarded sword. Palm to handle, she attempted getting back to her feet, the crowd of men heavy around her as if she was stuck underneath a huddle. She used her weapon as anchor while her knees struggled to lift her upright, her ears ringing from impact with her body shaking from the scuffle’s tremors – an earth quake drowning her.

She was rashly pulled to her feet within the next moment, one of Brida’s men grasping at the back of her armor swiftly. A nod of acknowledgement his way, they separated with Kára suddenly coming into contact with enemy soldiers, their weight and blades thrown against her direction.

She pushed through, grunts and clatters echoing as limbs were found injured or broken, secreting oncoming decay onto the field.

She had found her footing, using her grief and anger as strength to battle her opponents, striking them down with might.

She fought her way up the line, her mind hazy as it sunk under the cries of soldiers – the thousands of men struggling for survival, for a win.

“Uhtred! The line is breaking!”

It was distant, yet his voice carried far enough to reach her; she rapidly turned her head towards where Finan’s words came from, her heart lunging at her throat for liberation, a call with a desperate answer needed.

The sliver of distraction had just as quickly met its end, Kára’s sight taking in a crazed Saxon wielding his sword as he stormed towards her.

She pushed back and won, killing her opponent with a swift blow through the chest. She then moved on, the metal dripping with dead men’s blood.

He was kicked to the ground but quickly recuperated himself, using a sharp spike to the Danes neck and pushing for demise.

He jumped back to his feet, shooting through the cracks of the enemy line, swords in hand as it clashed and shook against his wrists.

And it was through the heavy crowd – in the midst of frenzy, a glimpse of her presence rendered him winded.

He shook his head in disbelief, persuaded his mind was tricking him when he had sworn to himself she had left the country following their last encounter. A cold chill ran down his spine, memories of her anger and disdain towards him haunting him still; it was the way she had looked at him, how rage – loathing, had embedded themselves into her hues, fists in fights. It had been months since, where he prayed for reconciliation as he held onto the way they parted.

The catch of each other’s eyes – forgetting for the same second their current predicament – the quick glance of fiery hazels sharpened beneath summer’s air had forced him to his knees, his chest tightening at the sight of her in battle, cutting men down with fury along her steps.

He could only whisper her name, his throat drying in a struggle to use his voice, to loudly call for her and pull her close – to get her back in his arms.

But she disappeared behind the masses, a swift exit as she became an illusion, leaving him perplexed. He furrowed his brow as she stilled, his hope slowly shattering to pieces, bloodied on the ground – a wounded warrior.

She ignored the ache in her body, the discomfort in her chest, at the sight of Finan standing a few feet away; uncertainty and melancholy trapped them in a standstill, the ever growing rubbles of war falling at their feet.

She escaped it as she was pushed out, in the way of a duel.

She used her body as a shield, striking back in retaliation before a blow to her head pushed her to her knees.

Overpowered by the ringing in her ears, her vision slowed, surrendering her to a hazy state; everything around her felt distant, the cries of men but background to the incessant pitch inside her head.

She dug her palm into the hilt of her sword, welcoming the trickle of blood staining the side of her face, its color grazing the corner of her eye, a decorated wall to the bloom of her iris.

It was a violent pulse for renewed choler, a trigger as the thinning crimson red curtain caught her prey.

It was the sight of Uhtred, intermittent between a moving forest of bodies, that pulled her up to her feet as adrenaline boiled in the pit of her stomach, bursting through beads of sweat and blood and tears – her eyes burning as they glimmered from lamentation, an unrelenting shadow to her body.

Finding Aethelwold amongst the soldiers, Kára watched as both men escaped the fight on horseback, Uhtred going after the guilty man in a hurry.

She quickly followed, using whatever strength she had and pushed her way through the cornered battlefield until liberation, panting – limbs heavy.

She ignored the pain in her legs and continued, uncaring of her surroundings as she added distance to the mayhem behind her. She had reached the smallest of incline, running up its stacked height when she was forcibly stopped, a Saxon soldier cutting her path short.

Within the heartbeat that thrummed loudly underneath her armor, she wielded her sword and fell into a combat, the opponent gaining the higher ground by the weight and size of him.

The grunts rumbling in her throat shook her to her bones, the marrow echoing its vibration in all its weakened might.

Stuck with her blade against his shield, it was in this split second – another body was coming her way. Too slow to fight back, she was struck down anew, a blow to her stomach, and tumbled against the grass.

She pulled one of the men with her and was rowed into a sudden panic, primal instinct clawing at her skin. She spotted an abandoned piece of a broken shield and grabbed it, dirt seeping into her nails, and thoughtlessly plunged it into the man’s eye. Caught in terror by the cries of pain, she shoved him away, leaving his body to decay to death.

She was then stuck into fighting the second one; her tired body was slowly giving out, unable to match the strength of the Saxon lunging at her with the crazed look in his eyes.

He pushed her against a tree trunk, her back hissing on impact.

She used her blade to keep him away, its flat side shimmering against the sun’s ray, almost blinding her.

She was losing control – losing power over her limbs, over the strength she could muster; she could feel him get nearer, inch by inch, his harrowing breath a path to her end.

Her chords quaked within the swelling of her throat, her voice urging a yell to drown herself out – to cave under defeat and simply accept what could await her.

She cursed as she gave in.

She waited for the impact, for the burn of the blade to mark its way through her mercilessly.

A tear of blood seeped from the corner of the man’s mouth.

It had taken her until he fell down, until she caught the eyes of her savior, for reality to sink in.

Sihtric stared back at her, heaving as he pulled out his ax from the soldier’s back.

“You alright?” He inquired, taking in the disheveled state she grew to wear, layer by accompanying layer. From the dirt caressing her armor to the flecks of blood across her face, sparkles under the bright summer light.

She only nodded, speechless over the conclusion of her scene.

She mustered a breathless ‘thank you’ attempting to inhale while he acknowledged her stunned gratitude, a slight frown gracing his tired feature – observant.

Without another word, she pushed herself away from the trunk and moved on, leaving Sihtric behind. He watched her stumble upwards until she caught the reins of a horse and hopped on, riding away towards where Uhtred had gone.

Turning back, he caught sight of a broken spear lodged into the tree, its dirtied blade coated in a line of fresh blood.

“Kára.”

She stopped, the sound of his voice freezing her into place.

She had her sword in hand, her body simmering with rage as she stood behind Uhtred, himself and Brida joint in an heartfelt embrace.

She had found the perfect opportunity to kill him but had failed, Finan gently intervening.

She had arrived too late, Aethelwold’s body sitting and dead as he stared into the void; Uhtred had succeeded, avenging the death of his brother, to grant him the peace of Valhalla.

She hadn’t realized Finan had followed her, having seen her run away a few moments earlier.

He could see her starting to tremble, her arm dropping with her sword falling onto the grass.

She could only stare at the scene in front of her, Brida and Uhtred quietly parting. Both turned back to her, hiding their shock at the way her eyes never left the Dane.

The hatred was overwhelming, the grief unbearable.

Finan carefully approached them, glancing towards Uhtred, a silent acknowledgement he would care for the poorly woman.

Brida said nothing, her heart breaking at the sight of her friend.

As they left, Kára held onto herself, hand to her stomach as tears violently held hostage her hazels, blurring her gaze.

She shifted, silently staring at the corpse.

Finan stood close by, sensing the cracks aggressively taking hold of her, ready to crumble at any given moment.

He took another step, and one more, watching as her knees buckled. He caught her in his arms and gently took to his knees as she clung to him, crying against his chest.

“He’s really gone…”

Her words muttered against him, they still rung clear between his ears. He placed a soft kiss to her forehead and waited for her to breathe – to calm.

But for all the comfort in the world, it hadn’t seemed enough, not at this time.

She exhaled a shaky breath and pulled away from his embrace, trying to get back up to her feet.

She failed and was quickly caught in his arms once again. He lifted her up as he stood on his feet.

“I have ya.” He whispered against her ear before pressing his lips to her temple.

He then walked away, somber.

He moved out from the vicinity of the battle, his steps directing him towards a clearing, a gentle stream inviting them with care.

He placed her by the edge of it and remained crouching, tilting her head towards him. “Wait here for me, Love. I’ll be right back.”

She turned her head back to the water as she silently nodded.

He exhaled a short breath, his eyes on her before rushing out, his body vibrating hurriedly.

He ran back to their camp, fetching his bag and horse and swiftly pivoted to get back to her; he caught her own on the way around, recognizing the pet immediately.

At his arrival, he tied them to a low branch while distracted, his eyes searching for her.

He sighed in relief when hearing the trickle of the river, her head appearing to the surface. He watched her for a moment, taking in the way she seemed to have become but a shell of herself.

It was a mirrored scene, an epilogue to what he had gone through years ago, to a time where she had fondly taken care of him – to a time where they were content.

It tugged at his heart, the sight of her defeated, weak, tearing him down.

He laid out their makeshift camp before walking his way to her, a trail of discarded clothes and armor left in his wake.

She turned around as he reached the water, both silently staring at each other.

The closer he got, he started noticing the bruises she earned today, including the remnants of her blood caressing the side of her face.

He was cautious as he approached her, pushing strands of her hair behind her ear.

A quiet hiss escaped under her breath, a faint throb hitting her where he rested.

“I’m sorry…” His apology tender, he was letting go when she stopped him, her hand quickly grabbing his wrist.

She shifted her gaze towards his and softly pressed a small kiss to his knuckles, his calloused skin rough against her lips.

He had held in his breath at the gesture, his hues following the way she interlaced her fingers with his before she leaned against his chest.

He wrapped his other arm around her, embracing her firmly.

“I miss you…” The saddened tone raised his skin. He shut his eyes and tightened his hold around her, the pink of his skin brushing atop her hairline.

“I miss you too…”

The vibration in his voice calmed her ever so carefully.

It brought her to tears, her anger and resentment washed away to the rhythmic ticking of his words. She lifted her head up, the sorrowful glow across her hues dimming the golden flecks embedded into her irises.

She then slipped her fingers up his chest until they rested atop his jawline, her nails scarcely scratching his cheeks.

She leaned in closer, her breath tickling his lips as she pushed herself to stand on the top of her toes, her breasts rubbing against him. Her gaze moved between the pink of his skin and the depth of his browns – a growing solace embraced her in warmth, a sensation she had missed.

“Are ya hurt anywhere else?” A low rumble trembled in his throat, his worries unhidden as his fingertips lightly tugged random strands away from her face.

“How about everywhere?”

The pain clung to her like second skin, every breath hurting – her lungs burning in anguish.

He caressed her cheek, noting the beginning of a bruise across her jaw.

He clenched his own as he rubbed over the mark gently.

She closed her eyes, a quiet sigh rushing over her weakened limbs to the heat of his touch.

His heart dropped, his eyes raking over every struggle of the battle that lied upon her; every cut and bruises ghosted over his own flesh, every scar forcing deadly moments to crop up into his mind, almost crippling him.

He placed his lips over one of them, a slow kiss resting on her wet skin, before moving to the next one. He left a trail, traces of his presence lingering from her neck to her shoulders, up her cheeks to her hairline, and hung over the cut that colored her face.

She kept her eyes shut, breathing in every tender strokes he left behind. She followed the cadence of his brushes, anticipation prickling her fingertips with want. She held onto him, her nails carved into the muscles of his arm with her knees weakening, her body warming up.

She tilted her head his way, catching a flicker of his lips – a simple pass of skin to skin, a timid tease. As if she was uncertain.

It was feeling him inclining further towards her that left her short of breath, the press of his lips growing firm against hers.

The strokes, delicate in their endeavor, lulled them into a state of longing, a slow unravel.

He lingered, savoring the taste of her – a sensation he deeply missed.

Her arms instinctively rested around his shoulders, fingers threading his hair. Shivers ran down her spine, the discomfort from her bruises slowly fading the longer she remained close to him; it was the way he held her, with such desperation – sparks itching every pulse from the edge of his lips to his dirtied palms.

Without fully letting go, he felt her heavy breath fan across him, her eyes shifting downwards as she bumped her nose against his, hands slipping to his chest. She traced over the Celtic cross he wore and stared at it while he slid down to hold her waist.

The pressure made her faintly hiss. Her gaze cast to her right, she watched him gently retrace the burning cut with his thumb.

“He almost got ya…” He leaned his head upon hers, eyes closed as he inhaled, trying to calm himself.

“Sihtric got him instead.” She placed her hand over his, knuckles warmed under her touch.

Finan furrowed his brow, surprised. “He saved ya?”

“He did.” He knew the way she had spoken, her voice holding back the worst of it. And yet, he could hear it as if she had said them out loud, his mind tricking him once again.

He exhaled in relief and pulled her back in his arms, quietly thankful to his friend.

She let him, her heart soaring into her throat. She bit down the inside of her cheek, a sudden regret weighing down on her.

“I hated it… fighting with you.” She whispered, regret seeping through. He could see it in her eyes, a silent anguish overtaking her vibrant hues.

“I did too.” He kissed her once again with a gentle press of his lips on hers, a chaste caress that burned underneath his breastbone.

He then took her hand and pulled her deeper into the river. She willingly followed, enjoying the way they were slowly falling back into a steady pace.

He started gathering water into his palm, lifting his wrist to coat her shoulders, washing away any remaining dirt that stuck to her skin.

He was careful – gentle. She observed his movements, shadowing the way his hand brought consolation to her body, a sensation she had been yearning from him.

He turned her around, her back to his chest, and repeated the steps, clearing any marks that struck her form.

She closed her eyes, a reverie sweeping through the darkest corners of her mind as his humble ministrations veiled over the angst that was embedded in her lungs, a part of her she was forced to digest.

He then undid the short braids that she wore; the sliver of a smile appeared as she felt her scalp loosened its tight hold, his fingers soothing her skin.

Shivers scaled down her arms to the feel of his knuckles and fingertips timidly reaching for her as he stroked her limbs.

It was the kiss to her shoulder and along her neckline that left her holding a breath. He took his times, covering every inch he could reach until he nestled his nose into her hair, taking in the faint taste of the sea, its aroma pulsing through her locks and living a life of their own.

They stayed this way with Finan winding his arms around her, flushed against him.

Only the drops from the clearing were left, a small symphony to their speechless reconciliation – a long awaited closure, a climax to a whirlwind story.

She waited a moment, giving herself the time to drink it in, afraid it would dissipate all to quickly.

She then turned around within his embrace, meeting his gaze.

He noted the cut on the right side of her face, the diminished traces of blood stubborn to let go. She ignored the throbbing pain, her focus placed to the concern etched above his brow, his closeness grand and holding her at ease.

She took his hand and led him out of the water.

She then let him go as she grabbed her discarded shift. The fabric sowed to her wet skin as Finan picked up the rest of their clothes.

He took the lead, walking towards the small camp with Kára trailing behind, her mind stringing her back to a memory; it was the scene in front of her, the horses to the tree, the covers to the grass and the clearing behind her. The green was vibrant in its summer dress with the sun warm, caressing sweet serenity into their flesh.

It tugged at her heart, a slight ache sliced through at the thought of a happier time – where such a hidden gem was dedicated to them, with all its glory in hand, pleasurably.

“Ya alright?”

She snapped out of her thoughts, catching his stare.

She nodded and approached him. At his feet, she tilted her head upwards to him as he reached for her, fingertips lazily dancing by their waist.

The choler she had been holding onto had no weight in their reunion.

It turned to dust, swept under the covers.

The longing had sown itself into her bones, a grazing texture under her skin. “Finan…” It tied to her tone, calling out to him – a siren to her sailor.

He waited, trembling, his heart throbbing painfully against his chest.

He ran his finger across her cheek and watched as she leaned into his touch. He could see how different she had become how grief had torn her down and left her vulnerable.

It was his turn to care for her, to give her solace and refuge under the heavy storm.

“I need you.” She whispered, voice breaking.

“I’m here.”

He leaned closer, forehead pressed to hers as he spoke, a promise entwined within the syllables, within the confident rhythm of his whisper.

She temped chance, brushing the edge of their lips, his warm breath raising her skin, an ember flaking within the pit of her stomach.

He met her request, kissing her softly – tauntingly, at first.

To know she wanted him, in spite of tragedies befalling them, his heart swelled.

He begged to the moon Herself, a prayer he thought useless but still kept close to his heart, hoping to get her back.

He wrapped his arms around her as she did, her own resting over his shoulders. He swiftly lifted her up, her legs wound around his waist and welcomed the pressure she felt from his hold on her – a strength she sought in the dark.

She grew bolder, ravenous, falling into sweet decadence with the deepening swipes of her tongue; it was being swept away by the familiar feeling blooming in the pit of her stomach, the way he perfectly molded against her again – as if such separation could be mended.

She tightened her embrace, her shift drenched between both of them and suddenly becoming a nuisance. A muffled whimper traipsed down her teeth as they tugged at his bottom lip. She tried reaching for her shirt, and failing in her quest, Finan sensed her frustrations and quickly took over.

He lied her down over the covers and hovered closely, the hint of his bare chest teasingly brushing against her.

She sighed against his lips, impatience running through her fingertips as they cupped his cheeks. He calmed her, slowing the caress as he parted her thighs with his knee, lowering himself further, creating havoc against distance.

He assured her – patience was virtue. Anticipation, everything.

She was reluctant, but it was the one look in his eyes as he pulled back to face her, the way his hues carried her with such care, with a tenderness that would incite envy amongst a crowd, the shared gaze that made them to be the only people left in this place. How he wanted time – his own shadow whispering menacingly how little he had left with her.

He wanted a chance for a re-acquaintance, to be blushing like a stranger, to be embracing her like a friend and pleasure her like a lover, once again.

He teased, a feather of a rub against her inner thighs as he slightly broke away from her lips, breathing in her trembling sigh.

With a faint frown, she waited, curious.

He pressed a softer kiss before slowly trailing to her cheek and down her neck.

She closed her eyes, a strained moan dying across her tongue as she felt sweet affection; the scrape of his teeth against her skin, the feathered strokes of his knee, had gently started a descent into bliss.

He tugged at her shirt, unhurried to expose her shoulder. He repeated the motion on the other side and pulled the fabric further down until it rested on her elbows, her breasts partially covered.

She had shifted her eyes to him, watching the way he seemed to be concentrating on such a simple task. There was a delicate approach to his touch, as if careful not to cause harm.

Her hands rested on his upper arms, feeling every twitch of muscles beneath her fingertips, every inch of raised skin under her palms. She dragged upwards, reaching for his cheeks, her nails tugging timidly at his beard in an effort to receive a kiss; he obliged, diving back into the taste of her, resolving the seemingly anxious separation she was feeling.

Lost under the weight of his presence, she followed him through languid strokes, settling a quiet desperation pouring through her.

She could feel herself growing warmer, the faintest of tremors quivering right down to her marrow.

He slipped his hand down her waist in a firm press, reminiscing the curves of her form under his calloused touch. He reached her bare leg and gave it a gentle squeeze before resting at the crevice of her hip, his thumb grazing her flesh.

He swallowed her stifled whimper, shivers running down her spine to another pinch; a slight smirk dimpled into his cheek, his teeth scraping her lips playfully. He then pulled away, though kisses trailed hungrily down her chin to her breasts, his fingers hid inside her thighs and underneath her shift.

A low sigh ran down her tongue, the timid voice taken aback.

She speechlessly called for him, pulling him back to her as he continued his ministrations. He didn’t dare stop, craving to hear the pitch in her tone that begged for him.

He teased at first, her hitched breath echoing down his spine in a thrilling race. He tilted his head up to her, catching her hooded gaze, the streams of her hazels brightening, as if renewed.

He then grazed her warmth as he deepened his strokes. He kept his eyes on her, breathing in the growing pleasure etched across her face. From the strained moan to her nails digging into his arms, she followed him without restraint as she let herself go, her need for him overwhelming.

She rested her hands on his cheeks as to lower him closer until she could brush her nose to his, her whimpers inciting taste on the tip of his tongue. She quickly kissed him, foregoing any of the deliberate pace, her impatience seeping through with every heartbeat shaking violently against her chest, aching down to her hips.

A soft gasp escaped as he continued, rubbing the comfort between her legs. She cursed, his name slipping down her tongue wantonly.

“You’re too good to me.” She breathed, catching his bottom lip between her teeth.

“I don’t want ya to forget me.” He kissed her, a gentle glide across her pink skin making her shudder delightfully. “I want to make sure ya’ll miss me and will come back to me.”

“I will always come back to you.” She muttered against him, her words slipping in a haze. As she spoke them, she had not realized the weight of her promise as they fell off on him, the edges and curves of the letters itching his back. Her mind had scattered, lacking logic as her head slipped back, ecstasy pooling at her hips, thrill shuttering underneath her skin.

There was quietude as he hid in her neck, peppering kisses along her shoulder with his hand rubbing her limbs.

He then went down her chest and her stomach, lips to shift, until he was at her hips.

The thickness of his beard rubbing roughly against her skin arched her back, her nails digging into the grass. He glanced up to her, watching as she writhed, her chest heaving in wait of his caress.

He turned to kiss her inner thighs, fingers carved into her flesh as he squeezed them, savoring her short breaths. He lifted them to his shoulders, carrying the weight as he grabbed her hips, his anchor through starvation.

He toyed with her, relishing in such sweetness with the lavish swipes of his tongue, satiating a craving that rumbled down into the pit of his stomach.

She welcomed the pressure, his name a prayer to the gods – a cry – as he openly worshipped her under the sun, his back burning under its heat.

He pushed her to her second climax, her body vibrating as he drank her, a parched man begging for a drop.

He then pulled away and caught her staring at him, her essence shimmering in strands of his beards.

Flushed and breathless, he crawled back to her and settled between her parted legs. A strained whimper struck the back of her throat, sensitive to the way he placed atop her body.

He stifled her sound, capturing her lips hungrily. The faint brush of him heated her skin as he deepened the strokes of his tongue.

Palms rubbing his sides up his back, she slowly sneaked her hand in between them, reaching him. She teased him with a feather of her fingertips, earning a groaning gruff to resonate against her as he bucked his hips, intuitively following her.��

Blush crept up her cheeks, suddenly flustered by his elation.

She pulled away and swiftly pivoted, forcing Finan to lie down as she sat his lap.

She then quickly removed her shift, the piece of clothe obstructing her movements, and dropped it next to her without a second glance. He saw a glint in her eyes as he held her gaze; shivers ran down his spine, pulses throbbing at the sight of her above him.

She raked her fingers through her hair before finding her anchor, her palms to his chest. He ignored her request and sat up, grabbing her waist in silent surprise.

His head tilted upwards, his lips hovering closely over her birthmark. He cursed under his breath, the quick brush between her thighs against him, amassing blood flow to his core.

She bit her bottom lip, loving how easily he was falling apart; seeing how he craved her in utter despair raised her skin.

She lowered herself onto him, the gentle motion thrumming within their marrow. He slipped his arms around her while she held onto him, hands to his jaw and tugging his beard.

He felt her lightly trembling as she panted, the feel of his presence in such sweet warmth overpowered her senses. She took a moment, inclining her forehead to his as she shared her breath, a sliver of a whimper hiding underneath.

He then slowly rolled her hips, every thrust inquiring calmly; responses were in crescendo, the strokes starved – desirous. He swallowed her soft cries, thriving under such shouts of pleasure slipping down her tongue.

To such a degustation, he was slowly distracted – the succulent taste shook him with want, he grew breathless.

She whined against him, losing momentum to his control. He smirked atop her lips, amused by her eagerness.

He then placed kisses down her neck, and nipped at her collarbone. He heard her hiss, her nails clutching at his hair from the back of his head. He repeated the gesture, sucking on her flesh with vigor.

Her head fell back, an invitation to nuzzle against her, to mark her and desire her again.

They lost themselves in bliss, everything else fading away with no consequence.

From the exhales of soft sighs to the roughness of groans shaking the earth. To the way he pulled her against him until she was lying down and tearing the roots from the grass above her head to his quickened pace. To the imprints of fingertips on glistened skin to the trail of caresses desiring more.

To the dive into pure ecstasy, enchanted despair masked below a bursting afterglow.

They were catching a breath as he rested his forehead on hers, unwilling to part from her just yet.

He rubbed her thighs up her waist, the creases coated by her flushed skin.

She closed her eyes, finding enjoyment again in their moment; he peppered her with soft kisses until he met her lips. He captured them tenderly, still aching for her.

She wrapped her arms around him, biting the inside of her cheek as he pulled away to look at her. She retraced his features as he furrowed his brow noting something he hadn’t seen on her for a while.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She whispered. The smallest of curves slipped up the corner of her mouth as she continued with her strokes.

He ran his nose along her cheek and into her hair, breathing her in while his hands continued roaming her body, drawing her form under calloused fingertips.

In this moment, exhilaration throbbing with every pulse, he slipped – an accident, too late to be stopped. A hope he buried underneath the shreds of his broken heart.

“I know I am being selfish, and that I might risk getting maimed by your sword-” The imagery caused a low chuckle to shake her lungs. It just as quickly dissipated as she continued listening. “-but… I don’t want us to part again.” Her breath stuck to her chest, taken aback. “Stay with me.”

She stared at the leaves hanging on their branches, tears swelling in the corners of her eyes.

She couldn’t do it. Despite wanting more than just stolen moments – to fully and truly be with him, the sacrifice was too grand.

She hated this place.

“Finan…”

She didn’t have to say as he knew.

“I know.” He spoke with a sorrow lodged into his chords. He stopped the caress, simply resting his forehead against her and inhaled, braving himself for the inevitable.

“When are ya leaving?”

She took a moment, gathering her courage.

She grasped the edge of her lip between her teeth and closed her eyes as she answered.

“Tomorrow…”

He turned to her, hurt. “This soon?”

She placed her hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry. I told the crew I would leave by the beginning of summer.”

He stilled, a soft defeated sigh running out.

He then pulled away and lied next to her, feeling shivers rush down her skin. She shifted in her seat, turning to rest her head on his chest as he placed his arm around her. She followed with her leg crossed over his stomach, pulling herself closer to him.

Their disheveled clothes barely covered them, bits and pieces of shirt and trousers seeking refuge where they could.

His right arm bent, hiding behind his head as he looked up, mindlessly tracing patterns over limbs, ghosting over her shoulder to her elbow up to her hair and in between.

Kára was pre-occupied as well, going for his necklace again, aimlessly toying with the jewelry strapped to his chest.

No words were spoken, Finan’s mind racing as it pulled him towards tomorrow, forcing him to wonder – to imagine the goodbye he would need to utter, if his words would display simple parting or a sudden promise to join her; he wanted more than mere fragments of her presence, but the sacrifice was not something he was prepared yet to do.

It hadn’t stopped him from building such scenery – Kára in his arms as they sailed away across the seas and away from the rest of the world.

He would dream of it; of sharing a ship, or of a life settled in Cookham, with her by his side.

Either or, he couldn’t survive on frail pieces.

He ached for her in such a way, goodbyes had become his epitaph.

She dreaded the departure for its weight grew heavier each time, the distance straining what they could become.

Such thought was a shadow, growing or reseeding through out the day, its shape and size following the sun and her moon; she would only realize the strength of her anguish the next day, a mournful goodbye gracing his lips as they separate, the taste of his lips – the stroke of his thumb caressing her cheek, lingering.

She hissed, the adrenaline rush dissipating as the throbbing pain of her bruises resurfaced. She sat up, attempting to stretch as Finan watched her with a slight frown, soon following her.

He placed his arm around her, making her lean against him. He pressed a kiss to her temple and softly inquired.

“Do ya need help?”

She nodded, unable to speak.

Without losing a second, he reached to pick up her bag, knowing she always carried healing supplies.

He placed it in front of him and fished out what he needed.

Kára stayed quiet, her gaze lost in the void, her ears occupied by the sound Finan was making.

She drew her knees up to her chest, using her discarded shift to cover her legs.

Finan turned to face her, gently calling for her attention. She tilted her head to him and observed his movements, the way he was cautious to touch her as he tended to her wounds – from the violet bruises to the crimson cuts, she shadowed the gestures, the intimate and delicate brush of his fingertips slowly pulling her into a state of disconnect, her mind tricking her – his voice a phantom in her ears.

It rung as if he was present, his smile etched into his promises, his soft touch spreading its tremors across her skin – his gentle green gaze bearing into her own with love she deeply missed.

“Yet, they keep bringing us back together. They seem indecisive of what they want from us.”

“It seems so.”

“You know I love you, right?”

“I do.”

A sudden pounding dove into her chest, weakening her.

Tears lingered in the corners of her eyes, her throat numb by the heaviness lodged in her lungs.

“Kára?”

Finan’s voice shook her – a faint jolt waking her up.

She bit her bottom lip, drying her cheeks with the back of her hands while stifling her shaky breath.

“I was with him the night he died…” He stopped to listen, knowing who she was speaking of. He kept his hues on her, taking note of the way she seemed to have withdrawn herself.

“I wasn’t with him when it happened, but-” The pressure increased, suffocating her. She dropped her head back, her sight catching the mesh of summer still hanging above them. A sob strangled her, its force pushing her to complete anguish. “It’s all my fault.”

Finan sat next to her, hand to her cheek as to turn her head his way. The shimmer in her hazels broke his heart – she was in pain, grieving, and he felt incapable; an enemy which could not be struck down by a sword.

“It is not your fault, Love. You did not cause this-”

“I did!” She burst, pushing his hand away and ignoring the tears staining her reddened skin. “Had I stayed, he would still be alive!” She could barely catch a breath, her fingers dug into the hem of her shirt, ready to tear it apart. “I failed him-”

“Ya did not.” She held herself, watching as he furrowed his brow while leaning closer, resting his hand on top of hers and lightly squeezing it.

“Whether it was that night or the next, he would’ve died regardless. You did not fail him.”

She turned away, the truth hard to swallow.

He sighed, shoulders depleted. “Look at me, Love.” His voice softened, his palm resting back on her cheek as she pivoted back to him. “It’s not your fault.”

She leaned into his touch, tears streaming anew. “Then why do I feel like this? Why do I feel such guilt?” She pulled away again, inclining her upper body his way as she ran her fingers through her hair. “Why do I keep having nightmares about that night? How useless I was standing there and just watching him getting killed?” She rubbed her nose and her cheeks before dropping her head down to her lap. “I could’ve prevented this. I could’ve saved him.”

He exhaled, leaning his forehead against hers.

“Ya will drive yourself mad thinking like this.” He spoke in a low tone, his words trying to lift a weight nestled into her chest. “Mo mhuirnin.” He cupped her cheeks and lifted her head to meet her. “You did not cause his death. Had ya stayed with him… you could have been dead with him.”

She huffed, almost rolling her eyes at his revelation.

“I’m serious.” He held her stare, desperate to pull her up from the darken void she was stumbling into. “If Aethelwold went to you first, before attacking Ragnar- ya would’ve been dead as well.”

She said nothing, simply looking at him, quietly crying.

He placed a tender kiss to her forehead and lingered before pulling away. He then placed his arms around her, letting her lean on his chest. The sudden warmth of his touch broke her down, her sobs muffled against him.

Though part of him was thankful she was nowhere near Aethelwold that night, he still carried angst seeing her this way, vulnerable and a recluse.

He soothed her, attempting to hush away the guilt she had been carrying; time stilled for just a moment as she clung to him, hoping to find some solace in his embrace.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath while Finan pulled back, tilting her chin his way as to catch her eyes.

He wiped her tears away and whispered sweet Irish lullabies closely against her skin, his breath but a flutter from her cheeks to her forehead down her eyelids and lips. His words lied upon her chest as she held them tightly with a sliver of a hope tying them to her.

He broke away and softly kissed her.

She stalled, not wanting to let go – the comfort he was giving her gently calming her nerves.

“Trust me, Kára…” She lifted her eyes to him as he pushed strands of her hair behind her ears. “Trust me when I say his death is not your doin’.” His lilt was hefty as he caressed her cheek, syllables stretched into a soothing tone that prayed for conviction.

She reluctantly nodded, brushing her nose with her dorsal side.

“Find solace in his peace. Brida and Uhtred made sure of it.”

Her skin raised at the mention of him – a hidden shudder.

She rested against his touch, a renewed sorrow gripping at her chords. “It still doesn’t dull the ache.”

He sighed, stroking her tear-stained cheek. “I know. That will take time, Love. Grief takes time.”

He kissed her forehead and lingered for a short moment before she caught him, asking for more as her lips hovered over his.

She ignored the desperate cry of her name as she walked away from him, the cold breeze hitting her face, her eyes watering.

She didn’t dare look behind her, knowing she would run back to Finan if she gave him even a glance.

Her heart broke as she mourned him too – and what they could have become.

She guided her horse, marching behind Brida, a quiet air hanging around her as they made their way back to camp.

A sudden twinge burrowed into her stomach.

She stopped, a violent discomfort seizing her.

“No-” A familiar fear crept back into her chest as she was struck with a second wave of pain.

She bent over and fell from her horse, the loud thud catching Brida’s attention.

The other woman turned back and ran to her friend, jumping off her mare to join Kára.

She didn’t need to say anything as Brida knew what she was going through; her own experience came to haunt her as she tried to come to aid.

Kára felt warmth trickle between her thighs. She choked on a sob, panicked as she grabbed Brida’s arms, nails sinking into the woman’s elbows and keeled over with muscles contracting painfully – in agony.

She fell onto her friend’s lap, helpless, her cries of pain haunting the cover of winter.

Brida took the reins, the following moments but a blur as Kára fell into a state of sunder.

She built up a small fire, settling around a makeshift camp.

The deafening silence was a breath of its own. It shared gentle strokes across cheeks, rough knuckles grazing raw skin, and proceeded tugging hair strands behind ears before running fingertips through the cold and softened locks.

The women stayed close, Brida caring and helping Kára; from cleansing her body of her loss, burning the stained trousers, to burying the small babe-to-be – unhurried and hefty steps, dragging as long as the day went.

It was endless.

“I would have welcomed your child with Ragnar… A link to him.”

They were standing over the small grave under frosted branches of a tree, its roots soon to welcome the bundle as one of its own.

Brida’s words echoed, every letter ringing between her ears, throbbing through nerves running down her hurting body.

Kára held in a cry, her thoughts retracing the last conversation she had with Ragnar – to carry his child again, to become the mother he wanted, to welcome their babe into a world where even his wife could love it.

She felt the torment in her chest burning, embers coursing through her veins – suffocating, overwhelming.

She remained speechless, trying to find comfort in Brida’s care for her.

In the thought that maybe the gods would reunite father and child somewhere in the afterlife.

Finan continued tending to her wounds, patching her where he could as he applied her salve across them.

She clenched her jaw when he reached her waist, the sudden jolt of his touch on the cut pulling her back to reality.

He sensed her tension and quickly apologized as he applied a cloth, wrapping it around her.

Once completed, he kissed her shoulder, making her turn to him.

“Just like new.” He muttered, lips hovering near hers.

His words coaxed a small smile to grace her features. She leaned on him, capturing a gentle kiss – a silent ‘thank you’ shared to him.

She then brushed the tip of her nose with his, breathing him in, her calming force to her nerves.

The gesture was intimate – delicate, while unsure of what to do next.

She pressed herself further into him as he stroked her hair, his fingertips holding her cheeks and neck.

Longing etched onto every pulse point they shared, beating under their lungs, its force echoing down to their marrow. She had missed the ease he brought with his touch, the devotion he pushed her against – the care he carried for her, a torch lighting the dark.

She kissed him once more, grasping every drop she could to linger across her skin, to keep his presence near.

“Hold me?” She muttered, vulnerable – an opposite force of who he knew her to be.

“Of course.”

He kissed and pulled away as he lied down with Kára following him.

She placed her head on his chest, finding a sweet song beneath her ear, with her left leg hooked around him as he embraced her.

They stayed this way for a moment, the silence draping over both bodies in a somewhat gentle contentment; only in this time could she rely on Finan by her side, the weight of his form enveloping her dotingly.

She missed Ragnar and the children she could’ve given him.

But a part of her knew that meeting Finan was Fate. He was a maddening force in her life, something she welcomed with her heart soaring behind her grief.

“Finan…”

Her voice wore hope around its neck, ready to scream its prayer to the gods who would listen.

“Hmm?” He felt she was holding something back, a string of tension tightened on their covers.

‘Leave with me… please.’

She thought she could speak them out loud while trying to ignore the obvious answer he would give her.

She bit her tongue, cowardice stumbling.

“I’m cold.”

She forced a lighter tone slipping down her tongue.

He chuckled, caressing the back of her head. “We do not want that, now, do we?” He kissed her forehead as she looked up to him.

“No, we do not, so please keep me warm.”

His smile hid the ache twinging in his chest.

He pulled whatever fabric of clothes and sheets he could reach, pulling it over their bodies before tugging her closer as he moved, turning towards her.

She nestled closer, as if to hide herself in his shadow. She then closed her eyes, quietly listening to the sound of his heartbeat as it calmed her and slowly pulled her to sleep. He stroked her skin, from her thighs to her back, brushing warmth to spread across her.

He was unable to join her in slumber, his mind wandering, voices rumbling in the dark as they tied him down to rethink – to re-live past words that were shared in hurting.

“It’s more than just grief she is feeling. When we spoke, she was angry.”

“Of course she is angry, she lost someone she loved.”

“Her anger was toward you, Finan.” The Irishman frowned, perplexed by Sihtric’s revelation following his encounter with Kára. “She didn’t like what I had to say when she asked why it was easier for me to leave Uhtred than it was for you…”

Finan sighed, a heaviness pressing on his chest.

“She said she wasn’t sure she could trust you anymore because of him.”

The possibility of losing her over a question of loyalty had left him sleepless.

He had to push it away, to believe that maybe such interaction was an exaggeration, that she wouldn’t start untrusting him; he forced it further out, feeling her so closely to him, comfortable and with her guard down.

The fire was grand, the Danes huddled around for heat.

It’s been but a few days since Sihtric left Saltwic, freeing the prisoners and joining Cnut and the others.

Kára had remained quiet, her gaze lost in the flames while her ears were ringing still – the screams of death from Brida, the desertion of Uhtred’s men, her last violent encounter with Finan. She had become a recluse, drowning in the epitome of anguish.

She ignored Sihtric’s presence next to her, or of the glances thrown her way by the others.

She didn’t have the heart for any of it, but she stuck for Brida – for Ragnar.

Eventually having had enough, she called it a night and left the fire pit, marching to her tent without looking back nor caring of the way she walked away.

She made an abrupt stop and just as quickly turned back, her mind guiding her forcefully. Reaching the group, without a word, she grabbed onto Sihtric’s coat, catching them by surprise while forcing him to his feet.

“You’re coming with me.”

She ignored the crass comments from Cnut though she threw a glare his way, making him stop.

Sihtric pulled back, silently agreeing to walk with her. She took the lead and he followed until they fell into a common pace.

“Did you try convincing him to join you?”

They had reached the edge of the camp, her eyes settling across the darkened horizons while Sihtric remained by her side. He knew who she was inquiring about, taking in the way the smallest of cracks lodged in her tone.

“Did you make him understand that he isn’t safe with Uhtred? That he could easily walk away just as you did?”

He could hear the heartbreak in her voice, the way she spelled the other man’s name in complete disdain.

Sihtric took a moment to answer, finding his words. He then turned to Kára, gently responding.

“It’s complicated.” She rolled her eyes, huffing. “He may have never given his oath to Uhtred, and so he may leave whenever he wants but you and I both know, he won’t.” She tilted her head to him, her hazels shimmering with fresh tears, the faint sparkle of a light torch burning them. Sihtric continued, as cautious as he could. “Uhtred is his brother. They are bonded by the sea and slave whip. Finan will never turn his back on him. Their bond runs deeper than any oath.”

“Clearly.” She sighed. She frowned, his explanation unsettling her, annoyance grasping her with might. “It will get him killed.”

Sihtric saw the way she was holding back her anger, how hurt carried itself on her shoulders.

Without a remark, defeated and tired, she walked away, leaving him be.

She spent the rest of her night in her tent, cursing at herself, mourning.

She lied on top of him, her head resting on his chest. He had his arms placed around her and lazily stroking her back while looking up.

The day was slowly coming to an end, its blue hue slowly fading.

Both were minding their thoughts, quiet and somber as they let the rustle of the grass and singing from the crickets cover the air, the breeze gentle.

Thinking over his talk with Sihtric, Finan couldn’t help but let a small realization hit him, a shadow creeping.

“Were you going to kill him?”

She held her breath, halting the patterns she had been drawing on him.

His words held no accusation, but mere curiosity.

She shifted and turned her head to look at him as she sat up.

“Were you going to let me?”

They were at a standstill, both staring at each other as her question suspended above them, trapped with no way of escape.

He didn’t need to answer, the look on his face enough to warrant her to pull away.

She got off him and reached for her shift as to get dressed, suddenly in a growing hurry to leave.

He quickly stopped her, grabbing her wrist just as she wore her shirt, the texture slipping down skillfully.

He whispered an apology, leaving her reluctant to give in; it was the thought of potential consequence, of where she would be standing at this moment if she was successful in her endeavor – in possibly losing Finan for good, she sat back down.

He joined, take his place by her side as both faced the clearing, the current quietly listening in.

She brought her knees up to her chest, her gaze still forward, unable to face him.

“I thought I could trust you…” She started weakly, her voice shaken by her own revelation. She pushed passed it, and continued, ignoring the way Finan turned his head to her.

She bit her bottom lip, swallowing the lump growing in her throat.

“I meant it when I said it but now… I don't know if I can anymore.”

“Because of Uhtred?”

He wasn’t hiding the hurt, the pressure to his throat suffocating him.

She ran her fingers through her hair and tightened her hold before letting go, winding her arms around her knees.

“He may have avenged Ragnar’s death but he was the one that caused it. I will never forgive him for it. And… I don't think I can forgive you for staying with him.”

She finally looked at him only to catch him staring at the water, the tick of his jaw and the tremor in his lungs as he tried to exhale, the swallow heavy.

“I care for you, Finan. Deeply.” He turned to look at her again, hearing the way she clung to the words, their meaning sown into her breath – into the metronomic rhythm of her heartbeat.

“But I think- I feel like a part of me will resent you. No matter what happens between us or how we spend our time together- this all always hang above our heads and I don't know if I can do us like this anymore. I don't know if I can handle having only half of you.”

He said nothing, stuck speechless to her confession.

She leaned towards him and kissed his cheek, a restful caress at the corner of his lips.

She held in her own as best she could but failed, the sight of him tearing her further apart.

His heart broke, the ache crippling his lungs, the air of summer burning right into the pit of his stomach.

Not ready to let go, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer, turning to rest his lips to her temple.

They remained wordless on the matter, letting the sun set in solitude.

There was nothing else to say.

They stood on the docks, with a merchant boat ready to take its passenger away from Cookham and back to her motherland; Kára had agreed to spend her last night in the village with Finan, and they did by retracing memories through disheveled sheets, mourning as they chased for their past, its crumbs slipping through their fingers, piece by piece until dust remained, its essence but a layered skin grazing bone.

Finan openly wore his broken heart as he held her in his arms.

Every kiss begged for forgiveness, every stroke and thrusts pleaded for a second chance, every inch molding perfectly along her form, from the crescents nestling across his back to the way her legs instinctively fitted around him, joint hips rutting unhurried and adoring.

Where caresses yearned – the firm press of his lips to hers, the strokes of tongue languid as he swallowed her breath for the warmth in his chest and savored the sought taste, desperate. The fingertips imprinting the blissful coat of glistening flesh as they drew across every muscle, a canvas awaiting for its colors – a piece of divining clay submerged under careful and delicate touch, sinful promises whispered into her ears.

Bodies shook, bones thrumming to the marrow as they begged for one another – for a second kiss, a third stroke, a fourth coat of afterglow.

Though bathing under euphoric breath, they clung to each other for a moment of peace – a time where Kára silently prayed would return, where but simple friendship held them close.

She was playing with his crucifix, the small jewel hanging around his neck, unprotected by his lack of armor; it had been early morning and the need seemed useless for now. He wanted to feel her embrace – the leather tunic would have simply been in the way.

She kept her eyes fixated on the cross with the feather strokes of her fingertips retracing the edges while feeling as well the fabric of his dark shirt.

She was too timid to meet his gaze, her throat sore by its lump and her heart cracking through every exhale.

It was inevitable; the weight of such sorrow lacking hold and shining, drowning them.

But she knew the choice was taken away when he cautiously lifted her chin, a silent plea covering his face.

He was almost towering over her – his own shadow seeking her, hanging on to her presence for the last minute remaining.

He couldn’t stop the pain he felt as he looked at her, his gut void of anything else but supplication.

“If ya can’t stay, then just come back. Promise you’ll come back to me.” He had taken her hand in his as they rested on his chest. He squeezed her fingers and leaned down for the smallest of kiss to her knuckles.

He then rested his forehead on hers, exhaling heavily.

His plea left her breathless, taken aback by the way dejection grabbed her suddenly.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, attempting to speak – her voice was weak as she called for him. She had no strength to push him away.

“Finan-”

“Don’t.” He stopped her before she could refuse him. “I need to see ya again, Kára. This can't be it.” He begged once again.

She might have lost trust in him but it hadn’t meant she wanted him out of her life completely – a part of her still longed for him. It clawed its way to overwhelm her to such depth, she held her vow to him close to her heart.

He waited for something – anything. She hadn’t responded yet and it sunk him further into the ground, as if the absence of words were the answer itself.

“I-I promise…”

A quiet sigh of relief left his lungs, the air warm against her lips.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. He tugged closer, tightening his own limbs to her waist as he breathed her in, the faint scent of the ocean raising his skin.

“I don’t think I can spend the rest of my life without ever seeing you again.” She whispered in his ear, sorrow clutched to every syllable. She then tilted her face to his cheek, and softly kissed him before breaking away, wanting to look at him again.

He quickly caught her and kissed her anew, the slip of his lips across hers perfectly aligning – a harmony grievously singing.

He stood a few feet away, watching the couple bid their goodbye from the edge of the docks.

His heart broke at the sight, knowing Finan would need time to recuperate from such separation.

It was never said – never confessed, but he knew his friend deeply loved the seafarer. And every goodbye had rendered him more broken than the last.

Uhtred pondered as he kept his eyes on them, following the way the couple’s affections broke, how Finan still held her hand as she climbed onto the boat – to the last touch of their fingertips.

He sighed, thinking to himself ‘what if’.

‘What if… Maybe it is time to let Finan live his life, even if it means leaving Cookham behind.’

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xoxo

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