#the last kingdom fanfiction

[aemondsbabe]

Love is Patient and Kind

summary: hand holding & dry humping || you aren't ready to take the next step with your monk, luckily for you he has the patience of a saint

pairing: osferth x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dry humping, very fluffy, osferth being cute and understanding and ruining other men for everyone, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.5k

a/n: welcome to day one of 12 days of smuff!! hope y'all enjoy this one! Can be read as part 1 to Wind’s Howling or as a stand alone!

12 days of smuff masterlist

gif creds to @thecruel!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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“Are you sure you do not wish for me to carry that, my lady?” Osferth asks for the millionth time, nodding his head at the basket, laden with various herbs and medicinal plants, in the crook of your elbow. 

For the millionth time, you merely shake your head with a crooked smile. “I wish only for your company, monk,” you glance over at him as the two of you walk through the forest, admiring the way the early afternoon sun casts a golden halo through his hair, “I told you as much when we left camp this morning.”

Osferth merely nods in reply; your man is one of few words. A soft blush blooms across your cheeks at the thought – your man, but it was as good as true. Osferth was the first man in Uhtred’s company you felt comfortable with when you joined their cause all those months ago when they’d stopped in your small hamlet in need of a healer; you’d been by their side ever since.

In the months since, your relationship with the monk had steadily grown from hushed whispers around the campfire in the dead of night, when sleep eluded the both of you, to heated glances, delicate touches, and stolen kisses. More recently, Osferth had all but insisted on accompanying you nearly everywhere you went, which is how he’d come to follow you as you walked through the forest to gather the variety of curative plants you need.

A content sigh passes your lips as you tilt your head up, taking in the way the tips of the trees stretch up toward the blue sky. “I had almost forgotten what the sun looked like,” you joke, your heart squeezing proudly in your chest as the monk chuckles next to you, “But hopefully this summer will be dryer than the last.”

“I have prayed many times for sun,” Osferth says with a nod, blue eyes soft as he gazes at you, “Unfortunately, the Lord seems to ignore those requests.” The corner of his lips tilts up as he huffs a laugh at his own joke. 

Suddenly, a branch snaps loudly not too far off the winding path the two of you have been strolling down. Osferth acts quickly, ever vigilant, and takes your hand to usher you behind him as he draws his sword. Your breath quickens as you peek around his shoulder, pressing yourself tightly against his back as your hand grips his; you’d been assured by Uhtred’s scouts that the forest surrounding camp was perfectly safe, but in these times danger seemed to creep up from every corner. 

A buck appears a little ways down the path, followed by two more deer, each sparing you and the monk only a quick glance before scampering into the forest once more. The two of you let out a collective sigh of relief as Osferth sheaths his sword with a shy smile. 

“Perhaps now would be a good time for a break, my lady?” He suggests with a soft smile, “We’ve been walking since morning.”

“I think we’ve earned a break,” you nod, gazing up at him through your lashes, the two of you still close enough that you could make out soft flecks of green in his blue eyes, “I believe I saw a clearing a few paces back.” 

“Lead the way.” Osferth nods, keeping in pace with you as you backtrack to where you’d spotted a lush clearing through the trees only moments ago. As you walk, nearly shoulder to shoulder, the monk silently takes your hand again, his rough fingers threading together with yours. Neither of you speaks, though you can nearly feel his pleased smile from your periphery, twin to your own. 

After only a few moments, you veer off the path as the two of you step into a sizable glade, the trees giving way to a field of tall grass. Your hands stay clasped as you walk together, basket still tucked in your elbow as you lift the skirts of your linen gown to prevent it from snagging on the high blades of grass; your chest tightens once more when you glance down and notice how Osferth takes great care to step over any flowers in his path, the ones that sprinkle the meadow with pops of yellow and lilac. 

Soon, you come to a spot where the ground seems to be drier, however the monk grasps your forearm to stop you as he slips the thin, grey wool cloak off his shoulders and drapes it over the ground.

“Osferth,” you gently admonish, though a smile does creep across your lips at the sweet gesture, “I am perfectly capable of sitting on the ground.”

“A lady should not have to,” he says simply, nodding to the cloak, “Please.”

With a final glance, and a good-natured roll of your eyes, you comply, setting your basket down before relaxing atop his robe. After making sure you’re settled, the monk joins you, setting his sword to the side as he sits and leans back on his hands, scanning the treeline. 

“It’s so lovely here…” you smile as you glance around, a soft breeze causing the grass to rustle around you.

Osferth sits up beside you, a relaxed smile on his lips as he takes your hand and pulls you closer to him. “I find the company to be far lovelier,” he whispers before capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, never taking more than you seem keen to give. The two of you easily fall into a lazy rhythm, your lips moving together as he guides you to lie against his chest. You lay your hand against his chest, right over his heart, thankful that he’s forgone his usual leather armor and chainmail today as you feel his warmth through the soft tunic he wears. 

He sighs against your lips, his fingers gently weaving into the locks of hair at the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine and making you cling to him all the more tightly, his other hand wrapping around your waist before settling in the small of your back, holding you to him. 

After a few moments, the two of you part to catch your breath and he studies you with a warm gaze as you relax against his chest. “We are meant to be stopping in a town tonight.” Osferth says simply. 

“That we are.” 

“We could get a room together,” he breathes, making you gasp as he trails kisses across your jaw, “Just the two of us.” 

Immediately, you tense up and untangle yourself from him, sitting up with a sigh. He quickly sits up next to you and you can feel him eyeing you with concern, though you dare not meet his gaze. 

“My lady, I didn't mean to offend you…” He says hesitantly, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“You didn’t offend me, sweet monk,” you turn to him with a bashful smile, “I am simply…I don’t know if i’m ready.” 

“Ready for what?” His head tilts to the side as he eyes you curiously. 

You chuckle nervously, unsure of how to broach the topic. “Osferth, I have heard enough tales of your…prowess around the campfire to know that my skills do not match your own.” 

The crease between his brows only deepens as he continues staring at you, blue eyes flitting between your own. “My prowess?” 

“With more…intimate relations…” You say slowly, glancing away from him. 

“Oh,” he says softly before his eyes widen comically, a dark blush cascading over his fair cheeks, “Oh!”

You can’t help but laugh softly at his dumbstruck expression, your lips quirking up into a soft smile despite your nerves. 

The hand on your shoulder tightens as he leans closer to you. “My love, you need not fret over it,” he whispers, blue eyes conveying a deep seriousness, “We can get a room at the tavern and not do anything at all.”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion – you’ve always been told to expect a very different answer from men. “What?”

He huffs out a soft laugh and pulls you back down to lie on the grass with him once more. “I mean what I say,” he says softly, one hand stroking your hair, “We can get a room and just kiss or cuddle or merely talk, I don’t care.” You look up from where you’ve had your cheek laying against his chest, the emotion in his eyes shocking you for a second, “I just want to be with you.” He whispers finally.

You can feel yourself blushing as he speaks, the apples of your cheeks heating up deliciously under his kind gaze. A girlish giggle erupts from your lips before you can stop it, which only makes him laugh too as you bury your head against his chest and bite your lip, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and campfire smoke. 

After a moment, the two of you calm down and you finally look back up at him, “Kissing sounds good…” you nearly whisper, suddenly shy as he surveys your face.

Osferth merely chuckles, low in his throat, and rolls the two of you over. Normally, this is when you’d be pushing any other man off of you with some mumbled excuse, but you can’t help but feel safe with the sandy haired monk, taking him at his word that whatever you were willing to give would be enough.

“We have time, and plenty of herbs already,” he rasps, his voice thick with an arousal you’d only heard on a very scant few occasions when the two of you had shared frantic kisses in the night once the rest of the men were asleep, “Why wait until tonight?”

A small giggle escapes you once again as the blush on your cheeks extends down, almost all the way to your chest, but you nod nonetheless, your arms coming up to snake around his neck as you pull him down to you. A small whimpery breath escapes you when his lips touch yours yet again, and he responds in kind with a low groan, the sound rumbling from his chest. His lips are soft against your own as the two of you move leisurely; once again, he lets you set the pace, only licking at your bottom lip after you do the same to him first. 

Your thighs spread as your kiss deepens and you moan again when he slots himself between your thighs, the linen of your dress hiked up just above your knees. A shiver rolls through you at the feel of him on top of you, so warm and weighty.

“Is this alright?” He breathes, navy eyes blinking between each of yours as he checks for any signs of discomfort from you, visibly relaxing when he finds none.

Wordlessly, you nod, bobbing your head eagerly as you pull him back down. His hands roam carefully over your body as your lips and tongues move together, breathlessly licking into each other's mouths. You whine into his mouth when you feel a hardness pressing against your center, a pleased hum emanating from your chest at the realization that you’ve affected him this much with only a kiss; the pride in your heart twists into something different, something deeper as a knot forms and begins tightening in your belly.

“My lady –” Osferth mumbles as he starts to pull away from you, an apologetic smile on his handsome face.

“Don’t!” You say quickly, tugging him back to you and surprising even yourself as you wrap your legs around his trim waist, “Please, I – It’s good.” You confirm breathlessly, eyebrows quirked up with need as you look up at him through your lashes. 

“Yeah?” He asks, unable to wipe the pleased grin off his face as he settles back on top of you, careful to keep most of his weight off of you as he presses against your center again.

You nod, already threading your fingers into the short hair at the back of his head to draw his lips back to yours. A breathy, high-pitched moan leaves you at the feel of his clothed length pressing against you, the ties at the front of his breeches only adding to the pleasurable sensations that zap through you as he starts rolling his hips against your own.

His pace quickens as he breaks away from you, panting against your skin as he traces wet kisses down your jaw to your neck. Your head lolls to the side as you whimper and whine underneath him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel his hard cock twitch against you, even through the fabric of your smallclothes.

You’re quick to match his pace, using the leverage of your legs wrapped around his middle to ruck yourself up into each thrust, earning grunts of pleasure from the monk. 

“My lady,” he groans, one hand fisting into your hair as the other trails down to run appreciatively over the bare skin of your thigh, “Y-You are bewitching.” He gasps, mouthing at your neck, his cock no doubt leaking into the leather of his trousers. 

Your only reply is a choked out moan of his name as your back arches underneath him, the knot in your belly winding tighter and tighter as the ties of his breeches rub over your pearl deliciously, your smallclothes no doubt soaked. 

Blessedly, Osferth seems to understand the desperation in your voice and movements and pulls back to look at you, both of his hands quickly grasping yours, fingers threading together as he holds them to the earth beside your head.

 “Sweet girl,” he grunts as he gazes down at you, a rosy blush cascading beautifully over his high cheekbones, “P-Peak, my lady, please,” he pants as his fingers tighten against your own, “I’m, God be good, I’m right behind you.”

You nod frantically, your only sound a choked out sob as you tense underneath him when his hips rut perfectly against yours, the knots of his pants catching against your sensitive bud in just the right way to tip you over the edge. You twitch underneath him, white knuckling his hands when you feel your center clenching helplessly around nothing as pleasure buzzes through you. 

Osferth reaches his end mere seconds after you, humping against you two or three more times before tensing, his eyes squeezing shut as his own high washes over him, cock spasming in his breeches as his spend leaks into the waiting fabric. 

“You’re beautiful,” you declare softly, the words tumbling from your lips as soon as you think of them.

The monk blushes somehow more heavily above you, though a soft smile graces his lips. With a soft sigh, he falls to his side, bringing you with him. Your cheek once again finds its home against his chest and you smile at the sound of his heart thumping wildly as he pulls you closely to him, one arm wrapping protectively around you as he tucks the other under his head, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“You flatter me, my lady,” he says lowly, a pleased rasp to his voice. “You are truly an angel,” he continues after a moment, “A beautiful, precious angel.”

You smile contentedly, his heart thudding steadily in your ear as you let your eyes drift shut, happy to stay in this still, safe bubble with your monk for as long as the outside world will allow.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc

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[wheres-mylove]

damsel in distress | sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

Summary: Sihtric arrives in Winchester for Aethelflaed’s wedding, and finds a princess for himself by the way - the bride’s younger sister with a feisty temper and an overpowering desire to break Aethelred's nose. But there’s a little more to the story than just that.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my first language!

Word count: 2.9k

The young warrior stared at the ground, not daring to look his lord in the eye. He had warned him. Everyone had.

“She's gone?” Uhtred asked, trying out a sympathetic tone, realizing it was not the time to mock his friend's misplaced feelings.

“Yes, my lord,” Sihtric confirmed quietly. “The silver too, before you question me about it. Gone with her.”

“No woman, no silver,” Uhtred summarized and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just so we're clear, I would have agreed to the marriage. Suffer if you're foolish. But not for too long. You need to find someone decent.”

“We would have named our first son Uhtred, lord,” he said, absentmindedly staring ahead.

“No, you would not,” the older warrior replied, visibly grimacing.

“It doesn't matter now,” Sihtric muttered, earning a comforting pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile from Uhtred.

“Find Finan, we'll meet in the main square.”

Sihtric Kjartansson walked gloomily ahead, pondering why he had such bad luck in life. He took out his anger on a few pebbles scattered on the dusty road. The gods were not too kind when it came to sending him a woman who...

“Sorry, sorry!” He heard a girl's voice behind him and several other irritated grunts or a hushed 'Watch out.' He turned his head slightly and it was a miracle he avoided colliding with a cloaked figure in a visible hurry.

“If you'll excuse me, lord,” the girl quickly spoke, not even bothering to give him a passing glance, squeezing past him and running into a narrow passage between a stable and a nearby dwelling.

Sihtric furrowed his brow and observed the stranger leaning against the wall, anxiously looking towards the main street. With her slightly tilted hood, he was certain she was a young woman, clearly running away from something or someone.

What was he if not a hero?

“My lady,” he began, but faltered at the sight of her angry gaze.

“Are you crazy? Go away,” she snapped, waving her hand at him dismissively. The hood fell back, revealing the girl's face in all its glory.

Sihtric didn't know what to do. The lady was beautiful. But also pissed off.

“God, you idiot,” the girl said with a heavy sigh. Then she grabbed his arm forcefully, pulling him into a dark alley with her and positioning him with his back to the street.

Sihtric still didn't quite understand what was happening. Being pushed around by a mad gorgeous woman was not part of his plans for today. He didn't have any plans at all since the last one ran off with the remnants of his wealth.

“If someone is hiding, they have a reason for it and don't want someone standing in front of them, announcing it to the world,” she scolded him like a disobedient child, and Sihtric felt himself blushing.

“Right. Makes sense. I apologize, my lady,” he stammered, not taking his eyes off her.

She was even more beautiful up close.

“Discreetly look behind you and see if a monk is coming this way,” she instructed him gravely, to which he gave her a half-surprised, half-amused look.

“A monk is leading the chase?”

“Yes, you see, I'm a witch, and I was about to be burned at the stake this afternoon.”

Sihtric chuckled softly, but he complied with her request. He thought the girl was joking, but indeed, a monk was heading their way. Slightly bewildered but definitely annoyed, he was looking around vigilantly.

“Are you really a witch?” Sihtric suddenly asked with a hint of uncertainty.

“I sacrifice boys like you,” she replied without a trace of a smile, but mischievous sparks danced in her eyes. He smirked. “But seriously, you might come in handy. The holy man won't sniff around here for long. Let’s make him look away.”

She threw her arms around his neck, and without hesitation, Sihtric placed his hands on her hips.

Only after a few heartbeats did the absurdity of the situation dawn on him. He stood very close in a dark alley with a girl whose name he didn't know, protecting her from the wrath of a monk.

“But honestly, what about your troubles?” he asked gently.

“Brother Ceolwulf sometimes gives me calligraphy lessons. My father says I scribble rather terribly. I ran away to avoid that pleasure. And apparently, Lord Aethelred is due to arrive soon,” she almost spat the name as if it left a foul taste. “Maybe I'll go see that prick. Quite a commotion over a simple farce.”

“You don't fancy lords from Mercia and royal weddings, my lady?”

The girl didn't answer; instead, she scrutinized Sihtric intently. He felt a wave of embarrassment under the piercing gaze of her sharp eyes.

“And what business does a Dane have here?” she asked after a while, smiling slightly at the sight of his blush. Brother Ceolwulf flashed behind Sihtric, so she tightened her grip and rested her head on his chest. The warrior held his breath. A stream of muffled words reached him. “No, no, you can talk; that rascal is just behind you. You could also use a bath, you know? Great, he went searching on the other side. You could also tell me your name, for the sake of appearances and decency.”

“I'm Sihtric, lady,” he said with a laugh, which (Y/N) not only heard but also felt. “Together with my lord Uhtred, we arrived…”

“Uhtred?” the girl interrupted, raising her head with surprise. “You serve Uhtred?”

“Do you know him?” Sihtric tilted his head, intrigued.

“Oh, I'm in trouble,” she said barely audible, more to herself than to him. “I have to go. I apologize for the assault.”

She took a few steps back before Sihtric panicked. He didn't know her name. He didn't know where to find her. And he definitely wanted to see her again.

“What's your name, lady?” he called after her, but she had already blended into the crowd heading to the main square. He wasn't sure if she had gone to greet Aethelred. Even if she had, he wouldn't find her in that mass.

Brother Ceolwulf came to the same conclusion. The reprimand for the princess of Wessex would have to wait.

The delicate fabric of her blue dress fluttered with each touch of the wind as she gracefully crossed the courtyard. They strolled towards the main hall.

“I only have two options: jump out the window or become a nun,” Princess (Y/N) announced in a calm manner.

“Only jump out the window, my dear,” Father Beocca specified. “Nuns would chase you with crosses and torches in their hands.”

(Y/N) looked at the priest. He had an amused expression. And a soft spot for the princess. According to Alfred's commands, he shouldn't tolerate certain behaviors and opinions. But how dull it would be if he asked her to stifle her carefreeness and restrain her sharp tongue.

“I was just praying a moment ago.”

“Yes, with the intention of our heavenly father making your sister run away from the altar.”

Aethelflaed didn't run away from the altar. She paid no mind to her sister's efforts, who, with sheer willpower, tried to steer her away from it. (Y/N) saw that the bride was enchanted by her groom, and she wanted nothing but all the happiness this world could fit for her. But something in the back of her mind warned her about Aethelred. An unbearable premonition. She blinked a few times, telling herself that she simply didn't consider any man worthy of her dearest sister's hand.

She scanned the gathered guests with her gaze. At the back of the hall, she spotted Uhtred. She nodded at him slightly. He raised an eyebrow with a smile. They had last seen each other when she was a little girl and kicked him in the leg. She wondered if he still limps.

And then she noticed Sihtric.

The warrior paled the moment he saw her standing side by side with the king.

His stranger. The king's daughter. The princess.

Only he could have such damn luck.

“It's her. The girl I told you about. It's her!” He nudged Finan's arm, to which the latter chuckled.

“Sure. Your whole story sounds shady already. Don't involve noble families in it.”

“I'm telling the truth!”

“I believe ya. Yesterday, for example, when little ol’ me was drinking beer with king Alfred…”

Sihtric sighed, but he didn't try to convince his friend anymore. He didn't register the entrance of the bride or a word spoken during the ceremony, and especially not Finan's mocking. His eyes were fixed on the princess in the blue gown. He held his breath when she finally looked at him. She smiled faintly but immediately averted her gaze, with a violent blush on her cheeks.

Sihtric Kjartansson felt his heart beat stronger.

Uhtred embraced the princess with laughter, still wondering how she had transformed so quickly from a snotty child into a breathtaking woman.

Sihtric paid special attention to that breathtaking part, as he was having trouble with that.

“The older you get, the uglier you become. Good to see you, Uhtred,” she greeted him politely. The man snorted and gestured towards his companions.

“Princess (Y/N), these are my friends…”

“Sihtric,” she greeted, bowing her head. He smiled widely, and Finan's jaw dropped, before he realized he should probably bow too. The idiot wasn't lying. Unbelievable.

“Do you know each other?” Uhtred furrowed his brow, looking at the young Dane, then at the princess. “Is there something I don't know?”

“Yes, we've been secret lovers for the past year,” she replied, rolling her eyes. Sihtric's face took on various shades of red, much to Finan's delight.

“You haven't changed at all,” Uhtred commented with a wave of his hand.

“I would be more at ease if this reception wasn't so dull,” she said, wistfully glancing at the cup in Uhtred's hand. “Is he watching?”

Uhtred glanced at the king and nodded. (Y/N) groaned.

“So, after Edward, it's your turn?” Uhtred inquired, earning himself a murderous glance from the princess.

“He'll probably be a twat or at least hundred years old,” she grumbled in disappointment. “Beocca presented me with a list of potential candidates. About each one, he says they are pious, as if I were looking for a personal priest and not a husband. Why can't he say that one of them is kind? Wise? Or handsome.”

She shifted her gaze to Sihtric and smiled mischieviously.

“We only hope to be invited to your wedding, Princess,” Finan laughed, observing his friend's bashful demeanor. "I'm keeping my fingers crossed that he'll be no older than ninety-nine.”

“That's kind of you. By the way, Sihtric, did you take that bath-”

“Princess!” Father Beocca called out as he passed by. “Maybe nunnery isn't the worst idea.”

Humorous remarks and a grin froze on her lips when (Y/N) looked into her sister's eyes. The food tray nearly slipped from her hands.

Aethelflaed didn't have to say anything. She didn't have to scream or complain about her misfortune. (Y/N) understood everything from that one look and felt the unpleasant sting of tears.

“I will kill him,” she declared forcefully, slamming the tray onto the wooden table with a loud bang. “I will kill that arse.”

“(Y/N), please...” Aethelflaed whispered. “It won't do any good. And I am capable of handling it myself.”

“You shouldn't even say that,” her sister protested, getting closer and gently placing her hands on Aethelflaed's cheeks. They were wet. “It's alright, sweetheart, it's alright.”

She planted a kiss on the top of her head and headed towards the door.

“Don't tell anyone, (Y/N). Especially not father,” she begged, getting up.

“I'll only speak to those who already know,” (Y/N) replied, barely containing her anger towards Aethelflaed's pathetic husband. “You're the Princess of Wessex, for God's sake. You're his woman, and he shouldn't treat you like this. He won't have a cock if he lays a hand on you again, trust me.”

“You'll get into trouble, (Y/N),” Aethelflaed warned, shaking her head nervously. “He can hurt you as well-”

The princess didn't listen, for she had already left the chamber. Blind rage consumed her, but so did a sadness so great that it was even more dangerous than her anger. She knew there was something wrong with him. She shouldn't have allowed this marriage to happen.

She should have protected her sister.

Aethelred appeared just in time. He strode down the corridor, his posture straight, absentmindedly trailing his hand along one of the tapestries.

“Lord Aethelred,” she snarled, making no effort to be polite. “I was hoping to have a word with you.”

The man turned slowly, bestowing upon her the sweetest and most deceitful smile.

“Little princess.”

(Y/N) tried to calm herself, but she wasn't making much progress.

“Let's get to the point,” she hissed, finally getting Aethelred to reveal his true face from behind the mask he wore daily at the royal court. “I saw my sister and the state she's in. I will not tolerate such insolence or cruelty. Who do you think you are? Hurt her again and I...”

That pile of shit started laughing.

“Terrifying is the barking of an angry bitch.” He took a few lazy steps in her direction. “I almost pissed myself in fear.”

“And you should, because I promise that...”

Aethelred rushed forward, pressing her against the wall with a hand around her throat.

“Well, what? What will you do? Maybe you'll switch places with her to spice up this tedious life of mine a little bit."

Sihtric wandered through the palace, looking for lord Uhtred his excuse, but in reality he hoped for an encounter with the princess. They were about to head out from Winchester soon. Leaving without saying goodbye was not something he wanted.

He found them just in time as (Y/N) pushed Aethelred back with all her might and punched him in the face. They all heard the unmistakable crunching sound.

Lord of Mercia was trying to regain his balance, clinging to his bloody face in shock.

“You whore,” he snapped, but Sihtric was already nearby, placing his hand warningly on the axe.

“Hope I misheard something,” he said to Aethelred, voice dripping with venom, and then looked at the princess. “Are you alright?”

“She broke my nose, of course she’s fine,” the man snorted, trying to stop the flow of blood. “You will answer for it. Just wait. And your heathen friends won’t rush to your rescue, I assure you.”

(Y/N) took a deep breath, holding on to the fist that struck Aethelred. She watched him leave with an absent look in her eyes, and then as if she finally registered Sihtric's presence.

If he had come a few moments earlier, he'd surely fling himself at that arsehole in her defense. But it turns out she was perfectly able to fight back. Sihtric felt a sudden surge of admiration and respect for the princess in a beautifully embroidered dress, who did not hesitate to throw a punch.

“Are you sure he didn’t do anything to you? Shall I go after him?” he asked, but instead of answering, (Y/N) slid slowly down the wall. Sihtric crouched beside her, worried as never before. He gently held the injured hand. He raised her bruised knuckles to his lips, but left only the ghost of touch on them. “Princess?”

“He hurt her,” (Y/N) sobbed helplessly. She wasn't supposed to tell anyone, but she had a feeling Sihtric would know how to keep a secret. “He hurt her and he will hurt her again, and there’s nothing I can do. He will hide behind his title, behind his lands, wealth and nobility. He was right. I can't do anything."

She was shaken by a wave of tears, and Sihtric instinctively embraced her with one arm and supported the back of her head with the other. She cried there on the cold floor, in the arms of a warrior who couldn't stand the sight.

He knew what was going on. And his heart ached at the thought.

“You were very brave,” he whispered, letting her lean on his chest. “Others would look away. You confronted him. You are a brave, brave girl.”

He kept saying it like a mantra, holding her in his arms until the crying subsided. He wiped the tears from her face with the thumb of his hand when she finally lifted her head.

“I won’t run away from that either,” she whispered in a faint voice. Sihtric raised his eyebrows in a questioning gesture. “I can laugh about it and put it off, but I’m just a woman with a cursed title before my name. They'll hand me over to a man I won't choose. And he will have the right to violence as soon as we tie the knot.”

Sihtric shook his head. This fate wasn’t meant for her. There was strength and courage in this lady’s heart that demanded freedom. And demanded love, the wild and untamed kind. 

“It can not be like that. I won’t allow it.”

“You don’t have much power in this matter, Sihtric. You don’t make the rules.”

“Let me decide for myself.”

He looked into the eyes of the princess and knew that the battle he would have to face was beyond his means. The only witnesses to this promise were the faces on the ancient tapestries. Men's faces behind unbreakable laws, traditions and customs.

But Sihtric Kjartansson was a warrior. And if there’s one thing that warriors can do, they can fight.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

All Things End

Pairing: Osferth (The Last Kingdom) x f!reader Warnings: Angst, smut. Word count: ~2.7k

Summary: Based on this request. Life has been blissful for Osferth since finding love with a Christian woman from Alton. However, he cannot shake the thought that she deserves better; if he loves her, he should want her to be happy, even if that happiness is not found with him... Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @blvckmvgicwoman. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Her breaths come in ragged pants that fan hotly against the sweat soaked skin of Osferth’s neck. She is pliant beneath him, thighs wrapped tightly around his waist, mirroring the spasming grip of her warm, wet walls, pulling him towards his end as she reaches her own. The pressure that has steadily been building at the base of his spine explodes in white hot intensity, and he screws his eyes shut as he pushes back into her with a final, deep thrust, spilling himself inside of her.

Inside of her.

He freezes as the sensation fades away, eyes snapping back open in stark realisation. He pulls back, breathing heavily, panic not allowing his heart rate to slow.

“I–I did not mean to…I’m sorry. That was careless of me, please forgive me, I–”

She places a palm against his cheek, caressing his face gently, halting his rambled apologies. Her expression is calm, though her eyes are glossy, lips parted as the afterglow of their tryst suffuses through her flesh.

“It is fine, my love, we will take care of it.”

He knows all too well what she means when she says that. She will take care of it. It would not be the first time that she has had to.

It has been a year since they shared their first night together, and they have enjoyed many more since then, under the cover of stars, or on the straw stuffed mattresses of the various ale reeking inns that they find themselves in when they have enough coin to seek proper shelter on their travels. Osferth is usually always careful, pulling out and coating her thighs, lower back or belly with his spend. However, there have been two occasions when he has gotten lost in her warmth, the intoxicating scent of her, and forgotten himself, finishing inside of her as he ascends to the height of bliss, before the gravity of his carelessness plummets him back to earth with horrifying cognizance. Tonight is the third time that this has happened.

His expression is sullen as he sits by the campfire the following morning, watching her brew the pungent roots and herbs in a steaming pot of water. The acrid stench makes his nostrils twitch in disgust, but he refuses to move or look away. She is the one that has to drink the noxious liquid, suffering the smell of it pales in comparison, and does little to assuage the guilt that weighs heavily upon his chest.

She grimaces as she gulps it down, brow furrowed as she struggles not to retch at the taste, and he swears silently to himself that this is a torment that he will never allow her to suffer again. She deserves better, he must be better for her.

The frightened young woman he had met in Alton has come a long way since he had rescued her. She is no longer shy and fearful and, though still steadfast in her faith, she shares herself with him freely and without shame. She drinks ale, laughs heartily at Finan’s dirty jokes and no longer displays any apprehension at interacting with Uhtred and the others. His heart swells with warmth and affection for the woman he has fallen in love with, she is truly the light of his life. Though in moments such as these he is left to ponder on how exactly he has changed hers, and if it is for the better.

He has basked in her warmth on chilly evenings, enjoyed the sinful pleasures of her flesh, found comfort and joy in the unconditional love that she showers him with, but what can he possibly offer her in return?

Osferth is her protector, but would she need that protection at all if she were not travelling with Uhtred and his men? He is the blade against the harm that he directly places her in the way of every time they prepare for battle. They have no home, no money, nothing but what they carry upon their horses. He loves her more than he ever thought himself capable of loving another person, but love alone will not provide for her.

The thoughts consume him as they ride south, towards the next village, and he clings tightly to her as she leans back against him in the saddle, as though he can feel the very essence of her slipping through his fingers. A man less selfish would simply let her go, but he cannot fathom a life without her. Deep down, despite trying his best, he knows he will never get it right.

Beocca and Æthelwold are awaiting them when they arrive, and she leaves him with a cheerful smile and a soft kiss on the lips, explaining that she wishes to explore, a polite means to excuse herself from the discussion that she knows does not concern her. He is ever grateful for her intuitive nature, but once more left disheartened that she is placed in that position to begin with.

He is barely able to focus as Beocca relays Alfred’s demands to Uhtred. There is a dawning sense of finality settling in the pit of his stomach, causing cold tendrils of dread to spread throughout his body, and it does not come from the news of the King’s order of one hundred pieces of wergild and an oath sworn to his son, Edward. There is a price he knows he will have to pay sooner rather than later, and it will come at a greater cost to him than any fealty sworn to a future ruler.

Osferth watches as she laughs breathlessly, the sound carrying softly on the breeze. The children scurry around her skirts, rosy faced and grinning, eager to play. She had obliged and agreed to join in on their game of chase when they had invited her, excited at having new people arrive in the village. Her playing with them feels effortless, natural even, and he thinks about how easily she would adapt to motherhood, to have a babe of her own to hold in her arms. It causes a lump in his throat, his gaze growing misty as his mouth tugs downward, knowing that’s something he will never be able to give her.

He is a bastard. He will not pass that curse on by marriage or parentage, that will die with him.

But what of her wants and needs? He is depriving her of the opportunity to be a wife, a mother. He can no longer subject her to a life of vagrancy and uncertainty, simply because of his heedless desire to have her at his side. She did not ask for this, it has been thrust upon her without her say so. Her life cannot truly begin until the one she leads with him comes to an end. With a heavy heart, he decides that when they reach the next town he will travel on without her.

The village they currently occupy seems too small, too dirty, not vibrant enough for her to call home, he reasons, she deserves to live somewhere bigger and as filled with exuberant life as she is. He knows he is lying to himself, he is simply unprepared to let her go, he is not ready. He is not sure he ever will be, but he will have to be for both of their sakes.

Over the coming days, he keeps her close, committing to memory the softness of her hair between his fingers and the way the sunlight dapples upon it like fresh spun silk. He inhales the fragrant scent of her skin every time he holds her close, as though trying to permanently imprint the faint floral smell upon his mind.

The way her eyes light up whenever she smiles is the sight he will miss most of all. He wishes for that to be the only expression he ever sees upon her beautiful face. He cannot bear the thought of parting ways and seeing the heartbreak in her eyes, or the tears that might fill them. It is craven, but he knows the only way he will ever be able to leave her is if he slips away without telling her.

His heart sits like a stone within his chest when they eventually arrive at the next town. He knows that when he departs it will no longer be in tact, torn asunder as he leaves half of it behind. He can see his future darkening as he looks into her eyes, knowing it may be the final time he ever gets the opportunity to do so.

Osferth makes love to her that night, his pace unhurried, every thrust drawn out slowly, memorising the subtle movements of her hips and each soft sigh that passes her lips. His hands stroke through her hair, caressing her face, before dragging over her curves. If this is to be his final time with her then he wants it to last, wants her to feel just how much she means to him, and to be left with the memory of how utterly divine she had felt pressed against him.

“I love you,” he whispers to her, as she cuddles against his chest afterwards.

“And I love you.”

Those simple words cause his throat to tighten, knowing he will never hear her utter them again.

It is for the best, he thinks sadly as he watches her sleep peacefully next to him. She deserves the opportunity to settle down, to get married, to have a family. She deserves everything he will never be able to give her.

He slips out of the bed as dawn breaks, casting a dusky orange glow through the gap in the threadbare curtains. The loss of her warmth is intensified by the knowledge that this is his final time experiencing it, the sensation of parting from her akin to being plunged into icy water. He has to force himself to look away from her in order to gather up his clothes and get dressed, careful not to disturb her.

Hovering by the door, he hesitates a moment, staring at her as she slumbers. If this is the right thing to do, then why does it feel so painful? His love for her is unconditional, however, and he longs for her to find happiness, even if that means he is not a part of it.

He hates the thought of her waking up alone, the inevitable betrayal she will feel when she realises what he has done, and it tempts him to stay, to continue to pretend that he could ever be enough for her. But he knows those feelings will pass for her, and when they do she will meet the man who will marry her and father children with her, a man who does not carry the curse of bastardry.

“There is a woman in the room upstairs,” he tells the innkeeper on his way out, handing him a coin purse containing all of the money that Osferth has to his name. “Please ensure she is well taken care of.”

His hands shake as he saddles up his horse, the void she has left behind seeming as though it will swallow him whole. He is incomplete without her, destined to go through life feeling like half of a person.

Finan raises an eyebrow at Osferth, as he tends to his own mount, eyeing him with suspicion. “She not coming with us?”

Osferth swallows thickly, an attempt to keep the emotion from his voice, as he keeps his eyes focused on the straps he buckles. “No.”

“Yes, I am!” She cries out, hurrying towards them, a bewildered look upon her face. Her hair is still tousled from sleep, suggesting she had dressed in a hurry to catch them up. “Osferth, why did you not wake me?”

His heart sinks, tears prickling his eyes as he turns to look at her, knowing he will now have to have the conversation he had been wanting to avoid all along. Finan clears his throat, looking between the two of them, before moving away towards where Uhtred and Sihtric are readying to leave.

“You are to stay here,” he says in a trembling voice, “I have left coin with the innkeeper to take care of you.”

“For how long?” She asks, brow furrowing in confusion.

He lowers his gaze, guilt pooling in his gut, unsure of how to word his response. There is no kind way to say “forever” in this instance.

“For how long, Osferth?!” She asks again, her voice wavering as it raises an octave.

His eyes are sad and filled with remorse as he looks back up at her, nausea swirling in his stomach as he watches a tear slip down her cheek. His fingers twitch uselessly by his sides with the urge to wipe it away.

“Do you not want me anymore?” 

Her voice is barely above a whisper as she asks this, and it feels as though a dagger has been twisted into Osferth’s heart. How could she possibly ever believe he didn’t want her? She means everything to him.

He shakes his head, the words feeling as though they will choke him as his vision blurs. “I will never stop wanting you,” he confesses, “but that is precisely the problem. You deserve better than the life I can provide for you. I will never be able to give you children, or marry you. I am trying to do what is best for you. I want you to be happy.”

“You make me happy, you bloody fool!” She cries, the slightest hint of anger creeping into her tone. “And it is not for you to decide what is best for me. Why did you not tell me that this was how you were feeling?”

“I could not bear to have a conversation that I knew would break both of our hearts. I know that is cowardice, but I knew you would never agree to leave, and I cannot continue to hold you back from the life you deserve.”

He stares miserably at her, feeling the wetness of his tears upon his face as she swipes angrily at her own. This is not how this was supposed to go. He does not want this to be how they remember each other.

“You are right,” she says defiantly, “I would not have agreed to go. If a husband and children were what I wanted then I would have parted ways with you long ago. I am not the scared little girl you found a year ago. I make my own choices.” 

His lips part involuntarily, eyes widening slightly. “How can this possibly be the life that you would choose for yourself? How could I ever be enough?”

She sighs, reaching for his hand, clasping his fingers tightly in his. The gesture spreads warmth from the tips of his toes all the way to the top of his head.

“I love you, Osferth. You are enough for me. The life we have is enough for me. I do not wish to risk my life in childbirth, or spend my days tending to the needs of a husband who views me as something to be possessed. I want a life that is filled with adventure, I want to fall asleep under the stars, and I want to do it all with you at my side.”

A small, yet hopeful smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he steps closer, tenderly wiping away the wetness beneath her eyes with his thumb. “Are you sure?”

She nods. “God brought us together for a reason. All things must end, I know this, but not what we have, just the foolish way in which you perceive it.”

He rests his forehead against hers, relief and embarrassment flushing his cheeks. “I have been so stupid, can you ever forgive me? I do not know how to even begin to apologise.”

She leans in, pressing her lips to his, allowing them to linger for a moment before pulling away with a slight grin. “Save your apologies. You will need them for the innkeeper when you ask for your money back.”

He smiles. There is comfort in knowing that everything ends, because within it they have been given the opportunity to begin again.

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Sweet

Pairing: Osferth x fem!reader

Warning: smut, fluff, Osferth is a little obsessive, mention of pregnancy

Summary: Osferth has an aversion to the word sweet to describe him. But for his wife, it is the most fitting word.

Sweet Osferth. Baby Monk. These were some nicknames his friends and companions gave him over time. Only seeing the boy they took under their arms trained him to become a man. They made him feel like he was only the bastard of Alfred. Not Osferth, a warrior fighting alongside Uthred.

They were blind and only saw the boy they found. Not even after he found his soul mate. The love of his life and the keeper of his heart. His sweet wife. He was still a boy in their eyes.

He had to laugh and roll his eyes when a person was described as sweet. But it fitted his wife perfectly. She had a gentle nature. Always showed kindness to everyone she met. Osferth was convinced she had no ill bone in her body. He questioned if she could ever harm someone or something. She was just… too sweet.

No one knew about his other, his carnal side. They did not know when Osferth accompanied his wife to gather herbs and how he pressed her against the bark of a tree—driving into her as if his life depended on it. How he would coax the sweetest sounds from her plump lips. Like a hungry wolf devouring his prey.

How every night when she would greet him with her soft smile and a warm meal he would devour her instead. He could not suppress his desires for her, he was like a man starved.

No one knew that under layers upon layers of thick woollen fabric rested another heartbeat under his sweet wife’s. He was thankful for the current cold weather and the extra layers she had to wear to keep herself and the child growing inside her warm. He was sure he would not be able to perform his daily duties and train if he saw her with her beautiful bump. How he would hold on to it as he drove into her from behind. Speaking the most foul and deprived promises to her. Making her moan louder.

No one knew that the sweet monk had a darker side behind closed doors. No one but his sweet wife.

Main Masterlist

Can't get enough? Tell me about it...

[witchthewriter]

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

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

a/n: also I have no idea why it won't let me do proper spacing between dialogue, I truly apologise!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ESTP

Gryffindor

Chaotic Good

Cancer Sun, Virgo Moon, Gemini Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・Finan isn't one to mince words; he's quick talking and incredibly witty.

・When he's around you, it's as if he's on overload - almost word vomit. He has no filter and cannot think before speaking.

・Once it had gotten so bad Osferth had to step in and pull him away, with a gracious, "Uhtred wishes to speak to you Finan."

"What is wrong with me?" Finan muttered under his breath as he let Osferth guide him away from you.

"Many things," Osferth said with a grin, "but that my friend...I think you may be in love."

・When Finan realised what he was feeling was attraction, he calmed down a bit. Because he had been attracted to people before, it was no problem.

・But the word vomit, and the blushing continued.

・And that was not normal for Finan.

・So he went to the only level-headed person he knew...Uhtred...

・Uhtred laughed at him:

"Finan, you make me laugh," the Lord said, pulling off pieces of bread and shoving them into his mouth.

"I'm happy I may entertain you Lord, but I'm ... serious..."

"Oh-"

・Uhtred sat back and stared straight into Finan's eyes.

"Finan."

"Yes, Lord?"

"You are in love."

"No, no that cannot be."

"But it is."

"Well fuck."

・The Irishman did all he could to not love you - stayed away from you (didn't work, he felt like something inside of him was missing, tried to look for the negatives in you ... but couldn't find many. He even thought about marriage... and it did not freak him out like it normally did).

・He knew what he had to do.

・He had to speak to Sihtric.

・All the while, you were somewhat oblivious to Finan's 'problem', only saw him scurrying around camp with an anxious look on his face.

・Osferth said Finan was having stomach troubles and you nodded your head, in complete understanding.

・When Finan got to Sihtric, he was out of breath and red in the face.

"Sihtric, my friend. My brother, I'm in trouble."

"What is it Finan?" The younger man's face was bewildered, and his hand clasped Finan's shoulder.

"I - I am in love."

"Oh fuck."

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Mo Gile Mear

[babyblue711]

Devotion

Osferth (The Last Kingdom) x Reader - Part 1 Summary: You are a Dane living in Rumcofa. After the untimely passing of your parents, you are now the sole supporter of your two younger siblings. Uhtred and his men have taken your family under their wing and you beg Osferth to teach you to use a sword to defend your family, an unusual request for a young woman. Osferth, being unable to deny you anything, agrees and your passion for him grows.   Words: 5.9K

Chapter Warnings: NSFW, Death and parent loss, children rearing children, mentions of virginity, mentions of battle, alcohol consumption A/N: At last, I apologize for the delay with this. This story is going to be slightly different than my other, smut heavy fics as it is definitely a SLOWBURN (but it'll be worth the wait, I promise). This first Part sets up the reader and her relationship with Uhtred's men and takes place at the beginning of Season 5. It won't follow every event from the season specifically, I've chosen what I wanted to keep as I went along. Thank you to my incredible beta reader, @arcielee, as always for her expertise. I swear she knows all.

Prologue

“Please, Osferth?” you plead, your voice carrying a tremor of desperation as you stare at him from across the campfire. Your eyes bore into his, seeking something within his big, blue gaze.

Osferth studies your face, a frown forming in between his eyebrows. He lowers his gaze and studies the fire, the crackling flames cast an orange glow upon his face as he contemplates your unusual request. 

The recent wave of Dane raids had left your town vulnerable as the most battle-worthy men were constantly away from home, defending the realm for one lord or another. They were spread too thin and those left behind were exposed and defenseless. You are tired of living in fear of the next raid and determined to do something to protect your home and younger brother and sister. No longer did you want to simply hide and cower from fright. 

“Please,” you whisper, barely daring to breathe. “Teach me how to use a sword. Show me how to fight so I may protect my family.”

Osferth sighs as he watches the flames of the fire. Never had a young woman asked him to teach her how to use a blade before. 

"Very well, my lady," he concedes, though his countenance still seems reluctant. 

"I shall instruct you."

“On your feet, my lady. I know you can do better than this,” Osferth’s soft but firm voice rings out over the practice yard as you struggle to rise from the dirt, having been knocked down yet again.

“You need to be quick and light on your feet, prepared to spring into action at any moment,” Osferth advises yet again, a note of frustration in his voice, and you let out an aggravated huff.

You were trying, you really were. Your right arm aches from the weight of the sword, even though it was smaller and lighter than the weapons the men wielded. Your back and left shoulder throbs from the strain of holding up your heavy wooden shield. When you had initially asked Osferth to teach you to use a sword, you hadn’t quite comprehended the physical toll it would take. When you lay in your bed each night after training, your whole body feels exhausted and sore as if it had been beaten. 

Osferth has been diligent in his instruction but equally tireless. When he first put a sword in your hand, one intended for a man as that was all that was available at the time, he quickly realized you could barely lift it, let alone give it a swing. He compromised by having you use a child’s wooden sword so you could “get the feel of it” before finding you a smaller one of steel that was more manageable for someone of your size. 

But further recognizing that your physical strength still needed substantial improvement before delving into the intricacies of swordplay, he had started your training with a rigorous workout routine. For a few weeks now, he had made you lift buckets of water, carry piles of wood uphill, sprint across the training grounds, and, in time, practice sparring as you were doing now.

Hefting your shield you turn to face Osferth again and assume the defensive position he had taught you. Finan, the Irishman, watches you from the sideline, bemused. At first, he and Sihtric thought Osferth was wasting his time on you. But as they witnessed your determination and subsequent improvement first-hand, they joined you in your workout and occasionally watched you spar with Osferth, calling out advice and encouragement when they could. 

“Wait, Osferth, I have an idea,” Finan says abruptly as Osferth easily knocks you off balance again without even trying. Finan walks over to you, a frown on his bearded face, his dark eyes accessing your shield arm. Suddenly, he reaches out and removes your shield. 

“This is too cumbersome and heavy for you, it’s only servin’ to slow you down,” he says with his familiar Irish lilt. “Your advantage is going to have to be your speed and quickness,” he turns and speaks directly to Osferth. “She won’t be able to catch a swing from a bloody Dane on that shield anyway. It would only break her arm.”

Relieved of the shield, you do feel much lighter, but now exposed to attacks.

Finan looks back at you as he retreats from the training yard. “Grasp the hilt with both hands and let’s see how you do now,” he nods encouragingly.

Following his instruction, you tighten your grip on the sword with newfound enthusiasm and launch an attack on Osferth. Ever the superior swordsman, he catches your first swing on his shield easily, but almost misses the second, not anticipating your speed. You gain confidence as you continue to swing, forcing Osferth to defend himself. Two handed, your swings are much more powerful than when you were only using one and you feel like you have better control. 

Osferth allows your assault to continue for a few more minutes and you quickly realize his strategy a moment too late. Your relentless attack has quickly tired your arms and you almost duck too slowly when he swings back. You dodge his arching blow and jump out of arm's reach. Since you no longer have a shield to block attacks, you have to rely on your quick feet to evade his counterattacks, but you’ve exhausted yourself attacking him first. 

You realize he’s taught you yet another important lesson. After a few more moments exchanging blows and deftly avoiding Osferth’s purposefully slow strikes, he calls an end to your practice session. For the first time, you feel like you have managed to genuinely spar. 

“Much better!” Finan yells from the sidelines, “I can’t wait to watch you properly kick Baby Monk’s arse soon!” His laugh booms across the training square and he gives you a wink before turning and strolling away. You can’t help but chuckle in response and Osferth catches your eye, pressing his lips together in a shy smile. 

“Come on, you two,” Finan shouts over his shoulder as he heads for the town square. “You don’t want to miss the festivities!”

“You did well today, my lady,” Osferth says quietly as you both return your swords and gear to the rack where the training materials are kept. A few townspeople mill about but most were already in the center of town, having begun the celebrations for Blood Month. 

 “Finan is right. I think we found a better technique for you,” he adds.

“I felt really good today,” you agree, “but I know I need a lot more practice.”

“All in good time, my lady, all in good time,” Osferth reassures you with a nod.

A cold breeze sweeps around you, welcoming the arrival of Blood Month, November. In honor of this month, commonfolk make offerings to the gods, typically by sacrificing their animals. You knew Osferth and Finan were on their way into town to meet up with Aethelstan, who has been tasked with slaying his first beast, considered a rite of passage from adolescence to manhood. The truth is though, he is a young man now and has been for some time, even without having to slay a beast to prove so, but only Uhtred refused to see him as such. 

You can feel the town start to stir with the excitement of the festivities. Under Uhtred’s leadership and guidance, Rumcofa prospers and flourishes, serving as a place where both Dane and Saxon can live together in harmony. It was one of the reasons your father had been drawn to Uhtred and had served him faithfully for many years; he thought it was to be a safe place to raise a family.

And it had been until tragedy had struck. Your father had been one of Uhtred’s best warriors and very skilled with a blade. But that didn’t stop him from falling from a poisoned arrow while chasing off raiders with Uhtred’s men near the same time the fever had taken your mother. At one and seven, you had suddenly found yourself as head of the family, responsible for caring for your home and raising your younger brother and sister.

As you trudge up the muddy lane back home, your mind drifts to your tasks ahead before you can join in on the celebrations and the weight of being the head of your family settles back on your shoulders, momentarily forgotten in the physical exertion of your training. 

Deep in thought, your fingers clasp the bronze Thor’s Hammer pendant of your necklace, one of the few material items that remained to you that had previously belonged to your father. You wish he could see you now and hope he would be proud of all that you were learning, of how you were valiantly trying to protect your family.

After their passing, Uhtred had personally come to your door to offer his condolences and so much more. So many questions had lingered since you had been so young. Would Uhtred turn you out of your home? Would he force you into marriage? How could you continue to care for your young siblings?

But you were pleasantly surprised by his soft tone and wide, gentle eyes. The brave face you were trying to maintain in front of him quickly crumbled and he held you as he cried and wiped your tears. He promised that you could remain safely in Rumcofa, under his protection, enabling you to stay in your family home and finish raising your siblings. He did not pressure you into marrying, moreover stating that any marriage would need his approval and that he would not allow just any man to marry you. 

The following few years had not always been easy but the small community had come together to help you in times of need and you could never repay them for their generosity. Your father had served with Sihtric, Finan, and Osferth and your families had been relatively close before their untimely deaths. You were overwhelmed with how quickly they took you under their wing.

It was because of Osferth that you now made a living as the local medicine woman. You had to admit though, the only reason you had shown curiosity in the art of healing was because of your girlhood crush on Osferth. It was a perfect excuse to spend more time with him. Although Osferth was only a few years older than you, at that time you were too young for him to give you any notice; if he was aware of your crush on him, he hid it well. 

After badgering him consistently when you were younger, he had taught you all he knew about the ways of healing and medicine. Those early days were filled with diligent study and hands-on practice, learning the delicate arts of setting bones, soothing fevers, and brewing potent remedies. 

Luckily, Rumcofa was in need of a healer and you remained consistently occupied, whether from fixing the local childrens’ playground mishaps or by patching up Uhtred’s men after skirmishes and you had come to enjoy your job and the value that you were able to provide to the townspeople. Osferth was always the first to praise your growing expertise and efficiency, which had now surpassed his own. Having known him since you were a young girl, you could see the look of pride on his face whenever you taught him something new.  Osferth’s mentorship had meant everything to you, and you always felt like you would be indebted to him for giving you a way to sustain your livelihood and carving out a valuable place for you in society. 

Sihtric and Finan had also become like surrogate uncles. Because of his growing family, Sihtric’s wife, Sigdeflaed, had plenty of clothes her children would outgrow and offer it to you as a hand-me-down for your growing siblings. And Finan’s wife, Ingrith, would often invite your small family over for dinner and she always packed leftovers to take home. But your familiarity with all three men was not just because they had served with your father, but also because of Aethelstan…

When you had been one and three, Uhtred had returned to Rumcofa after peacefully ensuring the succession of the Mercian throne with an extra person in tow; Aethelstan, the first trueborn son of the king and the child Uhtred had promised to raise as his own. Being more similar in age to this young newcomer, who was only two years younger, you had become Aethelstan’s first friend.  

At first, Aethelstan was a solemn boy, very shy and quiet. But under Uhtred’s care, you had witnessed his transformation into the tall, confident young man he was now, far surpassing your own height and strength. Uhtred had raised him to be a warrior and a warrior he was. 

But despite his prowess with a blade and upbringing in a predominantly male environment, Aethelstan remained incredibly tender-hearted and sweet. He had been your most steadfast companion after the passing of your parents. He had offered you comfort and a shoulder to cry on when the burden of raising your siblings and caring for your household began to take its toll. Despite being younger than you, he often offered advice and wisdom beyond his years. You would never be able to tell him how much you valued his support and friendship. 

You loved Finan’s booming laugh and Sihtric’s calm, quiet steadiness. During any downtime when Uhtred and his men were home, you’d always find Osferth huddled in a corner somewhere, reading The Holy Book. Although you had been raised a Dane, you’d often ask him to read you a few verses; his soft, warm voice was like a soothing song as he read to you and you enjoyed it immensely. He tolerated your endless questions about the intricacies of The Holy Book and you were always fascinated by his interpretation. He never seemed to tire of your boundless curiosity. 

Your thoughts drift to Aethelstan and his coming of age. You had been a woman grown for years now and you were starting to feel yourself longing for companionship; basically becoming a single mother of sorts was as lonely as it was tireless. Now at the age of twenty, most young women were married and had young families of their own. Although you were proud of all that you had accomplished at a young age, maintaining a household and an income and being able to provide for your siblings, you were more often than not wishing for a suitable spouse, someone who was willing to share your burden with small children in tow. 

You had your eye set on someone; you had for a long time. In your heart, you desire for your friendship with Osferth to evolve into something deeper, something more profound and meaningful, with possibilities for a future life together considering your siblings simply adored him as they adored all of Uhtred’s men.

You sigh as your thoughts settle on Osferth. That was part of the reason why you had also chosen him to help you with your sword training.  He was an excellent swordsman and teacher, and he had never told you “no” before, you knew he would agree to help you. But, deep in your heart, you had also hoped he would start to see the woman you had become rather than forever remain anchored to the girl he used to know.

Recently, unrest has been rippling through the countryside. Twice your home has been robbed by raiders; you and your siblings were safe and tucked away in your hiding place as the Danes tore through your meager belongings. But as the sole guardian and protector of your household, you were determined to do whatever it took to ensure their safety in these tumultuous times; the men were often gone, chasing these raiders away or offering their swords to one lord or another. You no longer wanted to be a helpless damsel in distress. Learning to protect your home was your top priority and you would do whatever Osferth said to see it done. 

You push open the creaking door to your modest home and are immediately accosted by your little sister, Liv, who is only seven years old. She bounds up to you on little feet, almost trembling with enthusiasm, proud to show you the bracelet she had crafted earlier that day. Her euphoria is infectious as she inquires as to when she would be allowed to join in the celebrations that evening. You give her a reassuring smile and tell her that after dinner you’ll all be able to join in, but she must help with preparing dinner first. 

The rhythmic clatter of knives against wooden cutting boards forms a comforting backdrop as you both chop vegetables for the evening stew. Your brother, Erik, a boy of eleven, wanders in a short while later as the stew simmers merrily over the fire in the hearth, proudly holding up a rabbit for you to add. Although so young, you knew he already felt the pressure to help you provide for the family and he was quite skilled as a trapper; your family rarely went without meat on the table. 

After an usually good meal shared with your siblings, you can hear the growing clamor from outside. Making sure your siblings are bundled from the chilly air, you grasp your little sister’s hand so she doesn’t get trampled by the crowd as your brother flies out of the house in pursuit of a friend he sees in the distance. 

“Be sure to be home by nightfall!” you call after him and he gives you a small wave, acknowledging that he has heard you.

You arrive into town at the same time as Finan and Uhtred. Most of the townsfolk have already had a considerable amount of ale, their raucous laughter fills the air and they wave their torches around in jubilation. Uhtred makes his way to the raised platform in the middle of the muddy square.

“Aethelstan!” he calls. “Why have you left your post?”

“His first hunt, Lord,” Osferth answers at first.

“It’s good luck for Blood Month, Uhtred,” Aethelstan adds.

Uhtred stands across from Aethelstan and considers him.

“You think you’re ready to slaughter a beast?” he asks. 

Aethelstan smirks. “You know I am.” 

You see the reluctance in Uhtred’s countenance but you know he can no longer delay this moment.

“Aethelstan says he is ready,” Uhtred says, turning to the crowd. “What do you say?” He poses the questions to the townsfolk and is immediately met by cheers.

“For Blood Month!” Uhtred exclaims, raising his hands in celebration to which Aethelstan imitates as shouts go up in the square, the men all laugh exuberantly. 

“Be careful,” Uhtred cautions seriously amidst the noise but you can still make out his words to Aethelstan. “The animal will fight to the death.” He cannot help the paternal energy that radiates through him at this moment. 

In the midst of the excitement, you spot Astrid in the crowd, who often watches Liv for you when you are busy working. A widow now with three grown sons, Astrid enjoys feeling needed again and is often responsible for watching over the younger children of the town when their parents are otherwise occupied.  

Liv runs up to her and hugs her around the middle. “You deserve a break too, dear,” Astrid smiles at you. “Let me take Liv for the evening. We will have lots of fun together!” She adds as Liv jumps up and down on the balls of her feet. She simply adores Astrid. You nod, relenting and Astrid holds Liv’s hand as she leads her through the crowd, towards where the other young children are playing.

You watch her go, your heart content to see her so happy and carefree. It was your ultimate wish that she remain a child for as long as possible; to not feel burdened to provide for the family. You were fortunate you had someone as trustworthy and reliable to watch over her when you couldn’t. 

“Let’s go kill the swine!” Sihtric exclaims, hefting his torch to chants of “Blood Month! Blood Month! Blood Month!” from the excitable crowd. 

When you turn back around, you see Osferth through the throng, yelling and cheering with the rest of the townsfolk as Sihtric starts to lead the hunting party. As the crowd disperses and the men start to head in the direction of the woods to hunt the boar, you tug on Aethelstan’s sleeve to get his attention.

“Hey,” he looks down and greets you warmly, smiling, but you can tell his thoughts are elsewhere, fire in his dark eyes. 

“Good luck on your hunt,” you say as you walk alongside him, smiling back. “Don’t let that boar gore you, I don’t want to be stitching you up later,” you tease playfully.

He rolls his eyes, radiating confidence as he leans down to whisper in your ear, “I’ll give you first pick of the meat when I’ve killed it,” he says, squeezing your arm lightly. Your breath hitches a little, mainly because it's your swore sword arm but you wonder if perhaps he could feel your growing muscle underneath. You hadn’t told him of your practice with Osferth and you aren’t sure if any of the men had bothered mentioning it to him. Uhtred’s constant demands of his time and attention had kept him so busy, you hadn’t had the opportunity to share your sword training with him yet.

“Then I happily await your return,” you smile genuinely and give him a light shove off into the woods as Finan spots the two of you and, in his typical boisterous manner, exclaims. “There’ll be plenty of time for kissing girls later, Aethelstan! Now come on!” 

You shake your head at Finan and smile, which he returns before following the rest of the men into the fog of the forest. You can barely make out Osferth’s retreating back in the distance and give a small sigh. You feel oddly protective and possessive of these men. Even though Finan and Sihtric are married and have families of their own, you knew that some piece of your heart would always belong to these strong, dependable men who had stepped in to fill the void left by your father's absence.

You decide to wait in the pub, knowing that will be their first stop when they return from their hunt to celebrate. All of the townsfolk are out tonight and the bustling pub is warm and welcoming, filled with hearty laughter and conversation. Ingrith offers you the seat next to her and you settle at a wooden table, the flickering candlelight casting a soft glow upon the well-worn, ale-stained surface.

The two of you engage in lively conversation, swapping stories and laughter over tankards of ale that seem to flow endlessly. You find yourself sipping more freely than usual, the ale making you feel more lighthearted and comfortable as you relax for the first time in a long while.

A short time later and much earlier than expected, you hear deep muffled voices coming from outside and you exchange a look of concern with Ingrith as hunting the boar should have taken longer than this. The pub door swings open, heralding the arrival of the men as raucous laughter and jeering fills the pub. 

Your fears are abated slightly as all seems well until you spot Aethelstan. He looks a little worse for wear, his clothes are muddy and there are several long scratches on his face. You feel a surge of concern as the men begin sharing the story of Aethelstan's unexpected ordeal in the woods, the sudden attack by three unknown men. Your stomach drops as you hear of the danger, feeling as though you are not nearly prepared enough in your training to protect your family. 

But despite the blood and disheveled appearance, Aethelstan seems exhilarated from his fight, having killed two out of the three of his assailants. His eyes gleam with a sense of pride and adrenaline and he wears the bloodstains on his clothes like a badge of honor. You watch as all of the men pound their chests and raise their tankards of ale, shouting praises for Aethelstan’s bravery. To them, this is a symbolic moment that marks his transition into manhood. The pub erupts with cheers, and you can't help but share in their pride, even as a sense of worry continues to gnaw in the back of your mind.

Once the crowd settles a bit, you make your way over to him.

“Aethelstan, are you alright?” you say with a little alarm. You know your friend well and you think the adrenaline is the only thing keeping him from going into shock right now.  

“Might have a few scratches for you to look at later, but I’m fine,” he shouts back over the noise of the crowd, seeming delighted to see that you had waited for his return. He continues to absorb the praise of the townsfolk as you worriedly stare up at him. Sensing your gaze, he finally looks down at you and meets your eyes.

“I promise I’m fine,” he says with a smug grin and nonchalant shrug to reassure you, at least on the surface, that he's physically alright. You can't help but manage a small smile in response. The noise and commotion of the celebration make it difficult to engage in a serious conversation about the attack at the moment, but you make a silent promise to revisit the topic when things quiet down.

His wide smile is infectious as Aethelstan raises his tankard and toasts with you, just as Finan’s voice booms from above. He's clearly in high spirits as he stands on the table, commanding the room's attention. He sweeps his arms wide in a grand gesture. 

“LADIES OF RUMCOFA! WE HAVE A NEW MAN FOR YOU ALL TO ENJOY THIS EVENING!” Finan shouts joyfully above the crowd. 

Aethelstan’s face turns beet red and you feel your cheeks flush with secondhand embarrassment. You decide it’s your time to leave the celebration since Finan’s antics have taken a rather suggestive tone; and you'd rather not stick around to witness the more explicit details of his celebration for Aethelstan becoming a man.

You shout into Aethelstan’s ear as Finan starts asking for volunteers, “And now I shall take my leave,” you chuckle in amusement at his predicament. “Good luck!”

Aethelstan watches you go, looking like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole as Finan continues his spirited matchmaking efforts, identifying a seemingly willing participant in the enthusiastic crowd. 

You catch Osferth’s eye as you pass, his expression is a mixture of smug satisfaction and amusement. His eyes seem to dance with mirth as he observes the festivities and Aethelstan's evident uneasiness. It's clear that he finds the situation highly entertaining, and a playful smile graces his lips as he acknowledges your presence, nodding at you as you make your way out the door. 

Finally, once out of the alehouse, the cold night air is welcoming on your face and you gulp a few crisp lungfuls, allowing it to steady your thoughts. Aethelstan is younger than you, yet he is about to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh before you do. You can’t help but feel a small pang in your chest at the absurdity of this thought as you make your way home. Was it loneliness that made you wish for someone to share your bed with too? 

As you make your way home through the dusky evening, you pause at Astrid's house to collect your sister. In the corner of the room, you find her peacefully asleep, nestled amidst soft blankets, clearly worn out from the earlier festivities. You thank Astrid for watching her as you wake Liv, who groggily walks the rest of the way home as if she’s had too much ale to drink too but you know she is just tired. 

Upon arriving home, you're greeted by Erik at the hearth, tending to the fire. The flickering flames cast a cozy glow throughout the room, instantly dispelling the chill that lingers in the night air. You let out a sigh as you undo all your layers, welcoming the warmth from the fire. You ruffle his hair, a silent expression of gratitude for heeding your advice and returning home at a reasonable hour. 

You lay your sister in the small bed made up at the foot of your straw mattress and your brother climbs in next to her, you can tell from the look on his face that he’s had a full day of excitement too. You wash your face off in the basin and then get yourself ready for bed, stoking the fire and putting on your simple woolen shift that you sleep in. You're about to get into bed yourself when there’s a small knock at the door.

Immediately, your heart jumps into your throat as you and your brother exchange a fearful glance, but next a familiar voice whispers out. “It’s me!”

You sigh with relief and race to open the door, stepping back to let Aethelstan inside. Erik jumps out of bed and races forth to wrap his skinny arms around Aethelstan in a bear hug which he eagerly returns. Your siblings love him like an older brother. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask in a shocked whisper as the voice in your head wonders why he isn’t intimately wrapped around some other woman right now. 

“I escaped,” Aethelstan whispers back and makes a pointed glance down at your brother as he doesn’t elaborate. Erik, oblivious, excitedly whispers, “Aethelstan! Are you going to stay here tonight?” as he turns his big brown eyes on you, pleading for your permission.

Aethelstan looks abashed but then says to your brother. “As long as your sister allows me,” and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows heavily, eyes flicking back up to meet your gaze. 

You give a sigh as your brother immediately starts to plead but you’re tired and you don’t want to argue. 

“I was hoping you could clean these scratches for me too,” Aethelstan reminds you gently. You consider him for a moment and then nod; he is right, his wounds need to be cleaned before bed. 

“Yes, he can stay,” you pretend to be exasperated as you turn to your brother. “Now go fetch me my supplies so I can clean him up before bed.” Erik races excitedly to get the small wooden bowl and poultice that you use to clean wounds. You pull up a chair in front of the fire, indicating Aethelstan should sit.

The truth is, Aethelstan is a fairly frequent visitor to your house. As children, you often shared a bed and as you grew older, you found yourself keeping the same habit from time to time, especially once your parents had passed. You slept the best when he was here with you; finally feeling like you had a protector to watch over you. Further, he had never tried to do anything “more” with you. You felt completely safe with him and comforted by his presence. 

Your brother, who had somehow heard of Aethelstan’s attack in the woods, bombards him with questions as you clean his scratches. You listen to his story intently, worried that nobody seems to know who these men belong to or why they attacked Aethelstan specifically. You meet his gaze, unable to conceal the worry and fear you feel and a sense of foreboding.

Once finished cleaning him up, you snap your fingers at your brother to indicate he should get back into bed and he hastens to obey.

“Enough storytelling for one day,” you say easily, not wanting your brother to know your alarm. “Time for bed.”

You settle into your own bed as Aethelstan removes his layers for sleep as well. He props his sword next to the nightstand and slides down into bed with you. You both wait a few minutes, just simply staring at each other, knowing your brother will be out cold soon and then you can talk freely.

The light of the dying fire glows orange on Aethelstan’s tired face. You think the adrenaline is finally leaving him and can see his exhaustion in the bags of his eyes and the tired way he blinks.

At long last, when you hear deep breathing at the foot of the bed, you whisper with childlike curiosity. “So? Did you do it?” 

Aethelstan takes a slow deep breath and shakes his head as he reaches out and smoothes a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I couldn’t, the guys think I’ve gone off with some girl but I snuck off when she wasn’t looking,” the corner of his mouth turns up at his small feat. 

“You know you won’t be able to evade this forever,” you say. “Maybe you should just do it so Finan can stop shouting from the rooftops that you’re still a virgin,” you counsel him as if you, too, aren’t still a virgin.

Aethelstan stares at you for a beat and then lowers his gaze, blinking slowly. You know he’ll soon be fast asleep too. “Maybe, yeah,” he breathes before his eyes shut completely. Within a few minutes, he’s snoring gently.

You watch him sleep, feeling suddenly alert. You didn’t understand the big deal the men always made about virginity and you feel sorry for Aethelstan for constantly being their target. He was your friend and you wish you could help him. This wasn’t the first time he found a way out of sleeping with a woman.

You continue to watch him, admiring the length of his eyelashes as he sleeps and your mind wanders. Osferth’s joyous face flicks across your vision. If you didn’t already intend to give your virginity to someone else, you think you would have been ok with giving yours to Aethelstan, you muse. He was your first kiss, after all, not that it should really count. You had both been curious as children, having sneakily watched Sihtric and his wife once; you couldn’t stop fixating on the way they seemed to consume each other with their kisses. When things progressed, Aethelstan was sure he was hurting her by the sounds she was making. You remember clapping a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing at the horrified look in his eyes. 

Afterwards, you had decided to practice with each other out of natural curiosity. You smile slightly at the memory as you roll over, seeing the moonlight stream through your curtained window. Now that you are older, you often feel a certain curiosity about Aethelstan. He was the blood of the King; he would never be a proper match for you with his royal bloodline. But he has grown into a fine, handsome man, sweet, kind and gentle. Similar to someone else you consistently had less than honorable thoughts about…

But something nags at you and you can't really explain it. Even if you did offer yourself to Aethelstan, you didn’t think he would accept you and you didn’t know why. He had never shown any inclination towards women that you knew of. But he is one of your dearest friends and you love him regardless of his nature. 

You breathe a deep sigh and close your eyes, waiting for sleep while contemplating the ridiculous habits of men. 

>>>> Part 2

A/N: Did I get a little lost in Aethelstan's dark eyes in this part? Yes, yes I did. But more Osferth to come, I promise.

Tags: @peonamay @quinnquinn317 @multyfangirl @cyeco13 @aemondsscar @sylas-the-grim @chainsawsangel @boundlessfantasy @bellaisasleep @fan-goddess @pandemonium105 @megatardisbaby, @myfandomprompts

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[fan-fantasies]

Double Agent

A/N: I feel like this is so bad and rushed up until the smut so I’m sorry!! I hope you still enjoy it!

Pairing: Sihtric x reader

Warnings: smut, choking, being tied up, degrading names (whore), mentions of violence

“Lord, Sihtric has returned!” Finan called through the great hall. Uhtred set whatever he was working on down to go greet his friend.

“Sihtric, you bring news from the north?”

“I do, Lord,” the Dane smiled. “Haesten is planning to travel south, expecting to meet us on the road because he is under the impression that we are marching soon.”

“Well he is not wrong,” Finan chuckled.

“He isn’t?” Sihtric looked at his friends confused.

“We will march in two days,” Uhtred said before returning to the great hall. Finan and Sihtric went to the ale house to catch up and enjoy the peace before leaving for battle.

The two days went by quickly, enjoying time with those who were to stay behind and preparing for battle. The journey north was not going to be a long one and Sihtric still was unsure why Uhtred wanted to meet Haesten on the road.

“Finan, how long have you known about this plan of Uhtred’s?” He asked.

“Since before you left,” Finan admitted.

“I’m sure Uhtred had his reasons for not telling me but how did Haesten find out?”

Finan just shrugged and went to find Osferth, telling Sihtric to be ready to move.

About two days into the journey, they were setting up camp for the night. Sihtric sat around the fire with his friends and while it was peaceful, everyone was on edge. The men were on guard and extra vigilant.

Sihtric noticed movement along the tree line. He didn’t say anything at first, wanting to make sure he was correct before making a big deal out of it. He excused himself from his friends and made his way behind the tents. He saw a figure walking ahead of him, cloaked in a dark robe, moving fluidly among the shadows.

He followed silently, watching out for anyone else that may be with this stranger. They headed toward Uhtred’s tent and Sihtric sped up his pace. He wasn’t going to let anyone sneak up on his dear friend and lord. His walk turned into a sprint as he ran at the stranger, grabbing their cloak and spinning them around. The two of the struggled in the dark for a moment but Sihtric gained the upper hand. He pinned his opponent on the ground but froze when he finally saw their face.

“Sihtric, what is going on?” Uhtred said, rushing from his tent when he heard the commotion.

“Lord, this woman was lurking in the shadows. I mistook her for a threat,” he said. Before he could say anymore, you flipped the two of you over and held your dagger to his throat.

“It was no mistake,” you snapped. Uhtred’s chuckle confused Sihtric.

“(y/n), come join me in my tent,” he requested. You smirked down at Sihtric before sheathing your blade and joining his lord in his tent. Sihtric had never been more confused in his life.

Something about you was familiar, but you surely had never been around Uhtred and his warriors. Then it clicked in his head where he had seen you before.

“Lord! She is one of Haesten’s women!” Sihtric yelled, bursting into the tent.

“Say that again and I will slit your throat!”

“Both of you, quiet!” Uhtred snapped. “She is a spy for both me and Haesten.”

“She is a double agent?”

“She is,” you said. “Can you leave us now?”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Lord?”

“He can stay,” Uhtred sighed. “And because I didn’t want to risk anyone finding her out.” He had hoped that his two spies would get along but that didn’t seem to be the case.

“She is how Haesten learned that we were marching,” Sihtric said matter-of-fact.

“Yes, she’s been planted in his camp for months.”

Uhtred filled in the both of you on the plans moving forward. Haesten still believed them to be on course but Uhtred was planning on looping around to catch them from behind. You agreed to stay with them until the battle, much to Sihtric’s displeasure. He didn’t trust you, not for one second.

This led to his constant vigilant watch over you. He did not let you stray far from him which annoyed you to no end. The two of you bickered the entire journey to the battle spot. Everyone was fed up with the two of you, even Finan who usually enjoyed watching others argue.

“I can make sure the two of you bunk together tonight,” Finan offered Sihtric with a knowing smirk. “Maybe if you bed her, you’ll both be more pleasant to be around.”

You overheard their conversation but feigned ignorance.

“Why would I want to hump that? She was Haesten’s whore at his camp; I saw it with my own eyes. I wouldn’t touch her even with another’s cock.”

Sihtric’s words stung, but you didn’t know why. Normally you wouldn’t care what someone said about you, but hearing his opinion of you made you shrink inside your cloak even further.

Osferth noticed your actions and sullen look. He walked closer to you and offered a small smile when you looked up at him. He was a sweet boy and his genuine kindness was enough to warm even the coldest of hearts.

“You should not stand too close, baby monk. It is said that I’m a whore and a crooked spy; what would that do to your reputation?” You asked with a dry laugh.

“It would do me no favors, lady, if only that were true- yet I know it is not,” he said softly. You couldn’t help but smile at him, silently thanking him for lifting your spirits. Your smile soon turned sour when your eyes landed on Sihtric glowering at the two of you.

The rest of your journey for that day was uneventful, keeping Osferth close to your side. Setting up camp was swift- everyone wanting to rest before the battle. Everyone was good ride early the next morning, setting off into the woods to find Haesten and his warriors.

“Lady, I have secured some extra furs for you. I fear the weather is taking a turn for the worse,” the young monk said.

“Then why not keep them for yourself?” You asked, amused when his cheeks tinged pink.

“Perhaps he hopes you would share with him, lady,” Finan teased. The red crept to Osferth’s ears as he excused himself. You chided the Irishman for his jokes.

“I’m sure it would be an easy enough task to accomplish. I’m sure you’re used to sharing your furs,” Sihtric sighed. Your stomach twisted in anger.

“And yet…I still would not share them with you if you begged,” you snapped. You grabbed the pile of blankets and retreated into your tent.

“I wouldn’t beg,” he grumbled to himself.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Finan winked at his friends before turning into his own tent for some sleep.

Sihtric found no luck in sleep as he tossed in his makeshift bed. He tried to convince himself that it was nerves about the looming battle, but that was not it. He couldn’t shake the thought of you from his head. He didn’t like you. He didn’t trust you. He didn’t know why you had captivated him from the moment he saw your face.

Against his better judgement, he slipped from his tent and over to yours. Your body lay still beneath the furs, silent breaths falling from your lips. You looked peaceful, agreeable even as you were not awake to argue with him.

He took a step forward to get a better look at your face, your aggravatingly beautiful face. Without a second to react, he was thrown to the ground with your furs now covering him. His body was pinned beneath yours as your blade teased his jugular.

“It is me! Sihtric!” He gasped.

“And? Why were you sneaking up on me while I slept?” You asked, not moving an inch.

“I…” Sihtric searched for an answer but found none. Why had he come to your tent? To talk? Merely to gaze upon you without fear of being rebuked? He surely did not know.

“I believe you wanted to dispose of me in my sleep,” you accused.

“I did not! I swear it. I wanted to talk to you and maybe build some trust before we are to fight beside one another in battle.”

“I never distrusted you. Disliked you, absolutely. But Uhtred would never keep the company of anyone who was less than loyal or an incredible warrior,” you said. Sihtric knew your words were true. If Uhtred trusted you, so should he.

“Then I wish to apologize. I let the fact that you were Haesten’s woman cloud my judgement of you.” Your blade pressed down harder at his words.

“What did I tell you about saying that?”

“It is not untrue! I saw you with him at his camp and coming from his hall every morning,” he told you.

“Men are fools- all of you! I would never let such a foul beast touch me. I misled him, teased him, surely, but never did I let him dishonor me.”

Sihtric felt a weird wave of relief wash over him. And soon after the relief came guilt- guilt over how he had treated you.

“For that I am glad, lady. For you deserve far better than him,” he admitted honestly.

“Yes, I know. I know my worth,” you sneered. You held yourself with such confidence it could be mistaken for arrogance.

“Will you let me up now?”

“Hmm…I don’t think I will. I quite like having you at my mercy,” you laughed unamused.

“Let me up.”

“No.”

“You’re insufferable!”

“You would know.”

Before another word could be uttered, Sihtric struck the blade from your hand and flipped you onto your back with your hands pinned on either side of your head.

“Who’s at whose mercy now?” He asked with a smirk. You couldn’t ignore the heat rising in your belly with the Dane on top of you.

“You win. Let me up.”

“Oh, I don’t think I will,” he mocked. You thrusted your hips upward to try and knock him off to no avail. “Try that again and I’ll tie you down.”

“Promise?” You rolled your hips again experimentally and the man above you growled. Growled.

“You are starting something you will not wish to finish, lady,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I wish to finish; I simply do not think you could accomplish that task,” you teased.

Instead of admitting defeat and getting off of you, Sihtric surprised you with a forceful kiss. His grip on your wrists tightened and you whimpered, allowing his tongue access.

He finally let go and he expected you to push him off, but instead, you reached a hand between the two of you and palmed his cock through his pants. His hips involuntarily bucked and you chuckled.

“I thought you wouldn’t touch me even with another’s cock?” You challenged. Your grip tightened on his bulge and he whined.

“I believe you to be the one that’s touching me at this very moment,” he groaned. You rolled your eyes and released him.

“So one of Haesten’s whores is good enough for you now?”

“I do not like you, lady, but I will admit I was speaking from my ass earlier. You did not deserve my crude comments,” he said.

“Especially since they are untrue. I never let that sorry excuse for a man defile me. I would tease him, yes, but I have more dignity than that.” Sihtric’s gaze on your softened before a look of hunger arose in his eyes.

“So he has not touched you, lady?” He asked, allowing a hand to rest on your neck and slide down your chest.

“He has not.”

He groped your breast and you gasped.

“He has not touched you here?” He asked.

“N-no, Sihtric.”

His hand travelled lower, caressing your hip and moved to your inner thigh.”

“Here, lady?”

Your mind was going haywire but you managed to utter a ‘no’. He finally touched you over your clothed pussy, fingers teasing delicately at your folds.

“And here? Has he touched you here?”

“No, Sihtric. He has not!”

“Good, and no man will touch you beside me. Do you understand?”

“I understand. Please touch me!”

Sihtric tore your night dress in half and made quick work of your undergarments. You sighed in complaint as the cold air grazed your hardening nipples.

“Do not worry, you have extra furs to keep you warm tonight,” he chuckled.

“Yes, I must remember to properly thank Osferth for his generosity,” you said with a smirk. His expression darkened.

“You think of another man while lying beneath me? It seems I must make you forget that any other man exists other than me.”

He ducked down and captured your lips in a kiss. He licked and nipped, surely swelling your lips from the assault. He trailed love bites down your neck and across your chest as his fingers dove between your folds.

You were wet enough to take two of his fingers, but it was when he added a third that you felt that delicious stretch.

“Sihtric, please. No more teasing,” you begged as he curled his fingers inside of you.

“What? Are my fingers not enough for you?” He asked, pumping them in and out.

“They are more than enough, but I want your cock. I want to feel you, Sihtric. Do you not wish to feel me wrapped around you?”

“I wish that more than anything right now, but first things first,” he said before rolling off of you. You wanted to cry at the disappointment that washed over you but that feeling was soon replaced with excitement when he brought your hands together above your head. He used a spare length of rope you had from tying your tent and bound your hands together.

“You will keep them there or I will tie you to a post and leave you til morning,” he threatened.

“What a gentleman,” you joked.

“Do you want a gentleman that will make slow love to you or do you want a warrior who will fuck you until you beg for Valhalla?” He asked, pulling his cock from his pants. “Hmm? Would you like to be treated like a lady or used like a whore?”

“Use me, Sihtric.”

Before you could utter another word, he slid his cock into you in one fluid motion. You felt as though the air had been knocked from your lungs as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He pulled out slowly before sinking back in, taking a moment to savor the feeling of you clenching his cock.

He began to fuck you relentlessly and it was hard for you to focus on keeping your hands above your head. His mouth trailed everywhere but your mouth and you desired nothing more than to pull him into a kiss.

“Sihtric, I need more!”

“You will take what I give you,” he growled in your ear. His hand clasped your neck, not tight enough to cut off oxygen but tight enough that it made you see stars.

His hips ground into yours with each thrust and you could tell you were approaching your end.

Your steady hands began to falter as you tried to bring them down around Sihtric. He noticed what you were doing and stopped his actions immediately.

“What did I tell you? You are not to move.”

“Sihtric, please let me touch you,” you whined.

“You are touching me though,” he chuckled as he began his rhythm once again. The hand that was on your throat disappeared betwixt the two of you and began circling your clit. The pleasure was too much as it pushed you over the edge.

Just as you were about to shout Sihtric’s name, he swallowed your moans with a kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth as his hips stuttered and he was spilling inside you.

He allowed you time to catch your breath before pulling out and untying your hands. You rubbed your tender wrists while he tucked himself back in his pants.

“You listened better than I expected,” he chuckled.

“Perhaps now you can trust me,” you joked half heartedly.

“I think I may need some more convincing on that,” he said before pressing a softer kiss to your lips.

You didn’t mind gaining his trust if this was how you’d do it.

[aemondsbabe]

Wind's Howling

summary: sharing a bed & accidental stimulation || you're nursing osferth's injury as the two of you spend a cold night together in an inn, but you feel called to help him in another way as well

pairing: osferth x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, mentions of injury but nothing graphic, dry humping kind of, kissing, breast/nipple play, piv sex, unprotected sex it’s like literally the 800’s sue me, cuddling, osferth whimpering how precious, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 1.8k

a/n: happy day five of 12 days of smuff!! this one can be read as a continuation of love is patient and kind or as a stand alone! enjoy! also yes, the title is a witcher pun

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @black-dread!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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You can hear Osferth let out a soft sigh behind you as you shift yet again in another futile attempt to get comfortable on the thin, lumpy mattress. You sigh too, as you finally settle, only to let out a quiet groan when you realize this position is really no better than the last twenty you tried. 

“Sorry,” you spare a glance over your shoulder as you speak, wincing as another harsh gust of wind blows a cold draft through the room, “I can’t get comfortable enough on this damn thing to sleep.” You say with a defeated sigh. 

“You need not apologize,” the monk murmurs behind you, “Between my shoulder and this cold, sleep eludes me as well.” 

As if on cue, another stinging draft billows through the room, eerily whistling through any cracks it can find. The two of you sigh, defeated — leave it to Uhtred to pick the worst possible inn to stop at, though he had insisted upon it, saying Osferth needed a few days in safety to rest his shoulder and the rest of you needed the opportunity to gather supplies anyway. 

Truthfully, a break was probably a good idea. Ever since the ambush a few days ago, the spirits of your group had been in short supply and members were beginning to bicker and fight amongst themselves. Your poor monk had taken it upon himself to be the peacekeeper, which had only served to cause you more stress as you kept trying to compel him to stay in bed and rest his shoulder. 

You can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut at the thought of his injury, the memory of him being harshly tugged off his horse in the chaos of the ambush still makes you uneasy; your heart twists in your chest as you think through your list of “what ifs” yet again. 

Almost as if he can sense your thoughts, Osferth bumps the back of your leg with his knee. “Please do not worry yourself, my lady,” he says, a heaviness to his tired voice, “I am fine, we are safe.” 

“How did you know I was thinking about it?” 

“You tense up every time you do.” 

You sigh again before finally turning over to face him, your tired eyes meeting his in the dark room, the only light in the room coming from the full moon outside. 

“Hi,” you murmur after a moment. 

“Hi,” he whispers, the corner of his lips quirking up into a soft smirk. 

“How’s your shoulder?” You ask, shrugging one arm out from underneath the thick wool blanket the two of you share to gingerly run your fingers over his arm, taking extra care in the spots you know are still bruised and sore, “Is it feeling any better?” 

“I think so,” he mutters, flexing it a little, “It aches to move it too much but as long as I am still, it causes me no pain.” 

You nod thoughtfully, silently thanking whatever God there may be that he had escaped relatively unharmed. 

After another moment of silence, you wiggle again on the mattress before letting out a quiet, rueful laugh. “I give up,” you groan, “This mattress is useless.” 

Osferth sighs next to you and shuffles closer, reaching out as far as he can without extending his shoulder to skim his long fingers over your arm as an act of comfort, “I’m sorry, my sweet lady.” 

“I should be the one apologizing,” you murmur, “Without my tossing and turning, perhaps you could find sleep.” 

He breathes a quiet laugh through his nose, “You are not what is keeping me awake,” he says with a sigh, “Between this cold and my shoulder, your restlessness is a blessing.” 

The wind howls outside once more and you see Osferth shiver as another draft of bitter air blows through the room. With a sigh, you shuffle closer to him, practically molding the front of your body to the front of his as your legs slot together under the woolen blanket; your eyes flutter closed as you savor the warmth of having him pressed against you, though the action causes your thin linen shift to ride up nearly to the tops of your thighs as one of his long legs presses between yours. 

After a moment, you find yourself squirming for a much different reason, the discomfort of the mattress quickly slipping from the forefront of your mind as your center begins to throb, making you keenly aware of the way the monk’s warm thigh presses against your bare heat, the thin fabric of his breeches the only thing separating the two of you. 

You stay quiet, opting not to disturb him further as you know sleep is important to the healing process. However, it seems his mind is wandering too because after a moment, your eyes shoot open when you feel his hard length pressing against your hip, only to find him already looking at you. 

“Osferth —,”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he murmurs softly, a blush visible on his cheeks even in the dim lighting, “I—,” he starts, though you cut him off with a soft kiss, sighing as his lips press against yours, his warm breath fanning across your face. 

“You needn’t apologize,” you whisper, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, “In fact, I can think of something that may help us both sleep…” You tease, just barely rutting your hips against his. 

His eyes slip closed at the feeling, a soft, whimpered sigh escaping his lips before he shakes his head. “You’ve already done so much for me, my lady,” Osferth murmurs, his blue eyes meeting yours once more. 

“So let me do this last thing,” you smile, pressing one more sweet kiss against his lips, “Please?” 

Your monk can’t help but smile at your eagerness and nods, making you smile brightly in the darkness of the small room. Gently, you untangle yourself from him before guiding him onto his back, taking care to ensure that he moves his shoulder as little as possible. Finally, you climb atop him, straddling his hips, both of you groaning at the way your wet, warm center presses against his length through his cotton breeches. You’re careful to keep the blankets wrapped over your shoulders as you maneuver on top of him, lifting your hips just enough to free his length. 

You shiver when you feel him press against you, already throbbing in your grasp as you run the head of his cock through your folds, gasping as it bumps against your already aching bud. 

“Please, my lady,” Osferth groans beneath you, his chest already heaving, “You… you feel too good, please.” 

You can’t help but obey him, smirking at his pleas as you position his length at your entrance. “Shhh, sweet monk,” you soothe, moaning as the head of his cock slips inside you, “Let me make you feel good.” 

Osferth whimpers beneath you as you sink down onto his length with a pleased sigh, your walls already squeezing against him. You gasp softly when he presses fully inside you, your hips resting against his as his length fills you completely, leaving no part of you untouched. You wiggle your hips on top of him, grinding your pearl against him with a soft whimper. 

You slowly start moving atop him, though you quickly pick up the pace as one of his hands grips harshly at your waist, the other remains draped across his chest at your insistence, determined to keep his shoulder safe. You bite your lower lip, intending to stay quiet as you know the walls of the old inn must be quite thin, however that gets harder and harder to do as the tip of Osferth’s cock brushes against that sensitive spot within you every time you sink back down onto him. 

“You feel so good,” the monk gasps as he stares up at you, marveling at how you move against him, at the beautiful blush spreading across your cheeks, at the way your breasts bounce beneath the nearly sheer fabric of your simple shift dress, “So beautiful, my sweet lady.” He sighs, his cock twitching against your walls. 

“Osferth,” you whisper through a harsh gasp, “I love you, my precious monk.” You smile when he groans beneath you, his cock throbbing as you continue moving against him. 

“I — Christ,” he gasps, the hand on your hip pushing itself under your shift dress, “I love you too, sweet girl.” He groans, perhaps a bit too loud, as he cups your breast, kneading your soft skin in his palm. 

You gasp loudly at the added sensation, the heat in your belly threatening to boil over. Blessedly, Osferth seems just as done in as you, his hips squirming beneath yours as he tries to stay still. 

“My lady,” he gasps, blue eyes staring up at you more urgently than before, “My lady, I — !” He cuts himself off with a loud moan when you lean forward to press your bud more firmly against him, which only serves to press his length somehow deeper within you as his fingers toy wildly with your nipple. 

“I know,” you nod your head with a gasp, struggling to keep your eyes open, “I know, my sweet monk. It’s okay, please” you moan, your walls clenching hotly around him as your high finally spills over you, igniting every nerve ending with a blinding pleasure, “God, fuck!” You can’t help but squeal, bracing your hands on either side of the monk’s head as you tumble forward, unable to hold yourself up. 

Osferth whispers your name over and over, as if in prayer, before he finally groans loudly, cock twitching wildly within you as he cums, painting your walls with his thick spend. He moans happily as you sink further down against him, mouthing at your nipples through the fabric of your dress. 

After a moment, your high subsides and you open your eyes once more, giggling softly as you lean down to press a sweet kiss to his lips. With a sigh, you lift yourself off of him before dropping to the bed with a tired groan. You slot yourself against his side and pull the blanket back up from where it had slipped off, one of your legs draped across the monk’s hips. 

Just as you’re about to open your mouth again to ask about his shoulder, a fist pounds on the wall above your heads from the next room, making the two of you gasp. 

“Oi!” Sihtric calls, his gruff voice muffled, “If you don’t stop fucking like rabbits I’ll come in there and strangle the damn monk myself!” 

“Oops,” you whisper to Osferth through a giggle, nuzzling your head against his neck. 

“I would face the wrath of ten vikings to bed you, my lady,” the monk whispers softly before pressing a kiss against the top of your head.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[my-owl-baby]

The Lady From Nowhere

(Osferth x modern f!reader)

Summary: You woke up in the middle of nowhere, without your best friend by your side. It was odd to you, until you figure out you aren't from this timeline.

Soon joining the group of Uhtred and his men, you grew closer with the baby monk named Osferth. He seems to enjoy your company as well.

Warnings: mentioned of killing, smoking, cussing, hard language, killing people, child abuse, torture, violence......(so far)

Note; I want to publish a chapter once a week or so I'm not trying to make this story very long only 8 part or 7 parts.

If you are interested in this story then you can follow (@my-owl-babyfic) for any uploads for the story and please do turn on notification to be notified.

PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE A MINOR! it will contain harsh content! So I would recommend not to read!

Table of contents;

Chapter one; The Lost Lady

Chapter two; New Adventure

Chapter three; The Warning Ahead

Chapter four; You Can't Go...(coming soon)

[wheres-mylove]

silent love song | sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

Summary: A pretty lady is convinced that Sihtric hates her, a pretty warrior is terrified of confessing his feelings more than fighting the most dangerous enemy, and the pretty boys simply have to spring into action, because you can't be more oblivious than these two.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my first language!

Word count: 2.5k

Hope in her heart extinguished as quickly as it had ignited. 

Sihtric Kjartansson ran away from her once again. 

The cool air was a welcome change after hours spent in a stuffy and stinky hall, overflowing with joyful men. Though drunken would be a more fitting description. The wind tousled (Y/N)'s hair as she quietly left the room to take a break from the chaos that only a band of celebrating warriors could create. She turned her head at the sound of approaching footsteps. In the dimly lit vestibule, she recognized Sihtric's figure. He stood there for a few seconds. Then, he spun on his heel and returned to his companions. 

(Y/N) let out a heavy sigh. Since she had never noticed the boy's flushed cheeks and how nervously he gulped, trying to find the courage to talk to her, she once again came to the following conclusion - Sihtric Kjartansson did not like her. From the very beginning. 

Poor girl rested her head against the wooden railing and closed her eyes in frustration. She didn’t even know what his problem was!

“What a cheerful mood,” commented Finan, nudging her with his elbow. “Is the lady planning to stand here in this abyss of despair or will she come back to us?” 

“Why don’t you go away and bother someone else?”

“My other friends have ugly faces. It takes away my drinking joy.” 

(Y/N) laughed and shook her head. 

“Are ya okay? Ale’s too strong?” he asked, then smiled playfully. “Sihtric is worried.”

The girl glanced at him and furrowed her brow in contemplation. She hoped Finan would keep it discreet after she said what she had intended to say. 

“I'm asking you, because you're an honest man,” she began, smoothing the material of her skirts just to occupy her hands. She had to know. “Sometimes even recklessly straightforward.”

“Thank ya,” he replied with a proud smile. Then he processed the second part of her statement and grimaced. “I guess.” 

“Why does Sihtric hate me?” she asked, her tone almost pleading. “I don't mean that he has to like me, but he doesn't utter a word to me, while he talks to everyone else. He runs away at the sight of me! Even today. Is my company that unbearable, or did I do something to offend him? If it's the latter, I will apologize, for heaven's sake!” 

Finan stood there with raised eyebrows for a while. Then he let out a belly laugh. (Y/N) waited with hands placed on her hips until the Irishman stopped wheezing. 

“That's what you get when you ask a drunkard anything,” she retorted, about to walk away, but Finan held her arm.

“No, wait, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” he exclaimed, wiping tears from his eyes. “You've amused me so. Wait! Wait, woman.”

“You're making fun of my problems. If you told me that girls run away at the sight of you, I would at least explain why. Sometimes you're a real piece of shit.”

“Girls go crazy when they see me,” he protested, to which (Y/N) rolled her eyes. “But ya make Danish warriors weak in the knees, so you have nothing to complain about! Sihtric worships the ground ya walk on, I'm serious now.” Finan straightened up and smiled, but this time more gently. “He's cute, but he's already wearing us all out with his tales about your beauty, so if you could just help us out…” 

“You're making fun of me,” (Y/N) replied uncertainly, searching his face for signs of deception. 

“For someone so wise, you're more blind than my grandmother in her final days,” Finan muttered, crossing his arms. “Think for a moment. He doesn't have to say anything. It's just that ya seem to have your eyes up your arse.”

“I should drown you in that barrel of ale. I'm going to sleep, and I suggest you do the same.” The girl jumped off the steps without looking back. 

“He bows when he sees ya approaching, even if miles separate ya,” the Irishman continued. (Y/N) reluctantly stopped, though her stubbornness still prevented her from turning around. “He stands near your tent at night, and believe me, no one dares to enter. Who do ya think takes care of your horse? The servants, to put it mildly, have been dismissed.” (Y/N) slowly faced Finan. “When trouble or danger arises, who magically appears in front of ya? Coincidence, right? And when we set up camp a week ago, I hope ya know that no one conjured those extra furs; they were from him.”

The girl looked down and sighed softly. 

“And the flowers by the entrance of my tent, I presume?”

“Aye, ya should see how enthusiastically he picks them! That beast has gone a bit mad for ya. Anything else, my lady?”

“When I said I have no means to defend myself…”

“A sudden surge of wisdom!”

“Be quiet,” she murmured with a smile, waving him goodbye.

“That's a nice dagger ya have!”

Because it’s Sihtric's.

A complete, humiliating, crippling defeat.

“Did you shit your breeches?” Uhtred yelled loud and clear, even before Sihtric could return defeated to their table.

“Come on, give him a break, lord.” Osferth threw Sihtric a comforting look and a tight-lipped smile. Sihtric messed up his hair and slumped heavily on the bench.

“I can't handle it, I just can't,” he admitted with considerable embarrassment. “If only she were a little less beautiful, everything would look different.”

“Close your eyes then,” Beocca advised from above his bowl of stew.

“God's wisdom knows no bounds,” Osferth commented in a voice devoid of emotion and glanced at Sihtric, who, in his misery, decided to down his ale in one go. 

“I don't understand you, I simply don't understand you,” Uhtred sighed. “A brave warrior, slaying enemies with a sword, an axe, even with bare hands. And he's afraid to simply talk to a lady.” 

“Uhtred, feelings have overwhelmed people more than once. The heart is not inclined to listen to rational explanations. It follows its own rules,” Beocca spoke up, folding his hands on the table. “Don't lose faith, Sihtric. Everything will work out.”

“He doesn't need faith, just some balls,” Uhtred protested, to which the priest and the baby monk gave him disapproving looks. 

“What? Nothing but the truth.”

“She wouldn't want me anyway,” the young warrior spoke, staring into the bottom of his mug. “She is a lady, and what am I? What can I offer her? What can I give her? It's pathetic. It's enough for me to admire her from a distance and know that she's safe; the rest is just a stupid dream.”

“He's entered the wailing phase,” Uhtred groaned. Leaning back, he looked towards the entrance. “Finan went to her. He probably annoyed her. Oh, he definitely annoyed her. Maybe she was already irritated that you messed up once again and exploded.”

“Whatever do you mean?” 

“Gods, Sihtric, she was looking at you all evening. She went outside alone, so you had a perfect excuse to approach her, you fool.”

“It's not that simple-”

“My lady, what a beautiful evening it is today. You suddenly disappeared, and I wanted to make sure everything is okay. It is? Great. I wanted to be certain. And ask if you would like to sleep in my tent tonight.”

“Uhtred!”

“What now?”

“The savage speaks through you,” Beocca scolded him. Meanwhile, Finan returned and leaned conspiratorially over his dark-haired friend. 

“(Y/N) asked about ya, little runt.” 

“About me?” Sihtric raised his head so quickly that he almost broke his friend's nose. “What exactly did she say?” 

“Ya would know if ya had gone there and asked her yourself,” Finan replied with a wicked smile and darted back towards the exit. 

“Finan!” Sihtric shouted after him, immediately getting up from his seat. “What did she say? Finan!”

“If things continue to look like this, the opportunity will slip right past him,” Uhtred concluded, watching with amusement as Sihtric chased after the Irishman. “We need to corner him.”

“But how, my lord?” Osferth asked uncertainly. “He gets very nervous in her presence. I doubt we can…”

 “Anger is a bit stronger than fear. And I have an idea.”

 “Oh God, watch over us.”

Something was off. Aethelwold had never sat so close. And Sihtric's eyes had never gleamed with such fury. 

“That's exactly how it happened, my lady. I'm not telling this story to boast, oh no,” the royal nephew spoke, gesturing animatedly.

(Y/N) had hoped for a peaceful afternoon and a bit of quiet in the shade of the sprawling oak tree. She had some things to think about. She had to think about Sihtric. About Finan's words. And about things she hadn't noticed before. Perhaps she had indeed surpassed the Irishman's grandmother in her blindness. 

Barely had she settled under the tree with an apple in her hand and a tangle of thoughts in her head when Sihtric appeared nearby. He must have had a lot to do in that area.

She lifted her gaze when she felt him looking at her. He blushed to the tips of his ears and bowed deeply. She smiled and was about to get up and approach him. (Y/N) had prepared a perfect excuse. The dagger desperately needed sharpening. Maybe Sihtric would confess that he had given it to her. But all dreams and plans were ruined by Aethelwold, emerging out of nowhere with an innocent smile. 

“My lady,” he began and sat down next to her without waiting for an invitation. “If it's not a bother, I'll keep you company for a while. I see it's not. We haven't had a chance to get to know each other better, don't you think?” 

(Y/N) wasn't quite sure what this arrogant man was getting at, but she decided to listen to his utterly fascinating stories for a while so as not to appear rude. 

Sihtric was seething. He thought Osferth was lying because Uhtred ordered him to. The young monk had told him in great secrecy that he overheard a conversation between Aethelwold and (Y/N)'s brother. The topic of discussion was an initial marriage agreement. Of course, Sihtric didn’t believe him. 

But now, before Sihtric's eyes, that pile of dung was cozying up to his lady. He was probably telling outrageous things just to brag. 

Sihtric Kjartansson sharpened his sword, carefully observing every move of Aethelwold. That poor fool felt beads of sweat on his forehead when their eyes met. 

“Lord, if you'll allow me, I'm very tired,” (Y/N) gently interrupted his never-ending story and got up, dusting off her dress. Aethelwold stood up with her and grabbed her wrist firmly, holding her in place. 

Big mistake. 

One pleading look from (Y/N) later, the man, royal or not, landed on his backside with a loud thud, forcefully pushed away. 

“The lady leaves when she wishes to leave, and you keep your hands to yourself,” the young Dane growled, to which Aethelwold raised his hands in a defensive gesture. 

“Yes, I apologize,” he quickly stammered, gathering himself from the ground and rushing off to an appointed place. 

“Never again, he looked at me like he were the devil himself,” Aethelwold said in a high-pitched voice. He extended his hand, on which Uhtred sprinkled a few silver coins. “I demand a barrel of ale added to my payment. He was sharpening his sword!”

“We saw. Someone got maaad,” chuckled Finan, trying to get a better look from behind the twigs.

“Important thing is, it worked. That justifies my lie, doesn't it, lord?” Osferth asked for a confirmation, pushing past Finan.

“God will forgive you,” Uhtred promised. “But you won't get the ale, Aethelwold. There was supposed to be a kiss too.”

“Of course! So he could kill me!”

Unaware of the trap set for him, Sihtric was seething with jealousy and a sense of injustice. She couldn't marry that scoundrel. 

“Thank you, I thought I'd never get rid of him,” (Y/N) smiled and bowed her head slightly. 

“Can I say something?” Sihtric asked with desperate fervor.

“You certainly should, it's rare,” the girl laughed, but her expression grew serious at the sight of his face. 

“Don't marry him. Don't do this to me and to yourself.”

“Sihtric? I'm not…”

“Aethelwold doesn't deserve you. Honestly, I doubt anyone ever will. He's a coward and you, (Y/N), need something more. Someone who will pledge you a sword along with their heart. And give you that whole heart until it becomes one with yours. Make you a part of their world in its very core. They'll dream of you because you're someone worth dreaming of. Worth of devotion and tenderness. They'll see in you not only the beauty that weakens me, but also the strength and courage that are evident in every move you make-”

(Y/N) looked at him for a while, her gaze wandering over his face. 

“Weaken you?”

“What?” Sihtric stumbled, suddenly realizing the weight of his slip of the tongue.

“Why were you silent for so long if you speak like this?” (Y/N) sighed before rising on her tiptoes and planting a sweet kiss on his lips. Sihtric didn't open his eyes, afraid it was all a dream. 

“My lady? I... I apologize if it's too much at once…”

“Someone recently talked some sense into me, so now I know you've been telling me this all along, little by little,” (Y/N) confessed, cupping his face in her hands. “You spoke through your actions, Sihtric. I'm sorry for averting my gaze.”

The mighty warrior fixed his gaze on the tree, embarrassed to meet the girl's eyes.

“Did you at least like the flowers?”

“Very much. Where do you pick them?”

“It's a secret.”

“We can go pick them together sometime. And roll in the grass.” 

Sihtric burst into laughter and kissed her more passionately. The realization hit him that now he could. 

“Wait,” (Y/N) suddenly said, holding him back by the arm. “Where did the idea that I'm getting married come from?”

“Osferth told me,” he said, furrowing his brow. “And the person that told you-”

“Finan,” (Y/N) quickly interrupted. 

“One could have guessed.”

“No. Well, yes. But now I mean that Finan is standing over there and waving at us.” 

Sihtric turned around abruptly. Now not only Finan, but also the rest of the party left their hiding spot. The boys looked very pleased with themselves. 

“Right, Uhtred all along,” (Y/N) looked at Sihtric. “You frightened the poor man and he was just doing your lord's bidding.”

“He deserved it,” he whispered in her ear. They heard a cough behind them. Father Beocca also decided to grace them with his presence. 

“Is anyone else hiding in the bushes?” Sihtric muttered, rolling his eyes. 

“I only came to inquire about when we're setting the date for the wedding.”

“Whose wedding? It's easy to get confused,” (Y/N) chuckled. 

“Yours, lady. With Sihtric, of course,” Beocca replied nonchalantly, pointing with his finger at the Dane still embracing her tightly. “Uhtred told me.”

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Little Warrior

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her face contorts in confusion. “No…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So I am your prisoner?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, please,” she whispers.

He nods. “Wait here.”

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

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

“Where is the rest of it?” She asks.

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

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

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

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

She nods and he hands the tome to her.

“Read to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am hungry. I’m always hungry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But we live peacefully,” she retorts.

“We are not enemies, little warrior.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

“How did this happen?”

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

“But you were hurt.”

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

“As am I, thanks to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you do–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now we are equal,” he reassures her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Beg for it,” he whispers.

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

“Beg,” he says again, more insistently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What will happen now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

[multific]

Old Friends

Osferth x Reader

Summary: Osferth invites over two old friends to introduce someone very important. 

"Lord!" both men turned at the voice. A voice they didn't hear since the fight.

"Look at our little monk!" said Finan as he and Uhtred both walked in the direction of their friend.

"Long time no see, Lord." Osferth smiled and the two men who he freely called friends nowadays.

Osferth went his own way after his near death, it was only a couple moons ago that the two men received an invitation from the once-monk asking for them to visit.

"Follow me, please, I have tea and everything." said Osferth who guided the men through the village he called home, towards his house.

During the walk, both men had time to take a closer look at their friend.

His hair has grown but his face didn't change throughout the years. He had regular clothing on. But he did look a tad bit taller and broader. Neither could deny, he looked like a true warrior. 

"So, tell us Osferth, are you married?" smirked Uhtred at Finan, both expecting a no, the question only being a joke.

They entered a garden, bit further from the rest of the houses of the village.

"Of course, Lord. Found a beautiful girl, it is one of the reasons I wish for you to both be here, to meet her." he said as they arrived at a house and Osferth opened the door. "Darling, I'm back."

As the two men entered, they looked around the home, it was small, but it looked comfortable, it was clean and soon a woman emerged from the back.

"Oh my, and I thought you were only pulling my leg, Husband, you do have friends." you smiled as you greeted both. "I heard stories of you two, lovely to finally put faces to them, my name is Y/N."

"Lady Y/N, nice to meet our baby monk's wife." both of them were kind as you guided them towards the table, sitting down as you put food on the table along with drinks.

"I'm afraid we only have fresh water or tea." Uhtred's watchful eyes didn't miss the way you walked as if you had an injury of sorts. But he knew better than to stare. "The smell of ale makes me sick to my stomach still."

"You must tell us, Monk how you met such a lady! And married her!" Finan insisted as Osferth told the story.

A simple story really, he came to the village you lived in, you used to work in the market and that is where you met. You sold many hand made jewellery, clothes and pottery. Not something Osferth find himself interested in, but after seeing you he often stopped by your stall. One thing let to another and you found yourself in love and married.

"I'm no monk anymore, I'm a married man." his confession made both of your guests laugh loudly.

But everyone immediately stopped when a loud cry of a young child was heard from the back of the house.

"I'll get him." you said as you quickly walked back. Both of his friends eyed Osferth.

"It's the reason I wanted you to visit. Although he mostly only sleep now, he was born only a week ago. Y/N went through a lot of pain but she gave birth to a healthy boy." Osferth stood up as you appeared with the child in your hands. The babe clearly stuck to you, observing the new people in the room. "I wanted my Lord-no, my friends to meet my firstborn."

Both men were stunned, staring at the babe as you smiled.

"Congratulations! He looks just like you... poor boy." said Finan as he stood up, his comment made you laugh a little but Osferth frowned. "May I hold him?"

You nodded and handed him your son before sitting back down in your chair.

Finally, Uhtred also found his voice.

"Congratulations, Osferth. You both should be proud, he is a very precious boy."

"Thank you." Uhtred even offered a hug to Osferth before he too begged to hold the babe.

Soon, your son got hungry as you retreated into the nursery to feed him.

"You are lucky." Uhtred spoke up as the three of them sat by the table.

"Oh please, you both have a lot of children it is only one."

"Perhaps but it's your only one. Lovely house, a kind wife and a strong son. That battlefield changed you into a man."

"Nearly dying can do that to a person." Osferth noted as he took a sip from the tea.

"I do wish we had ale to properly celebrate." said Finan as he too drank his tea.

"I say tea is perfect, we wouldn't want her to get sick." Uhtred noted as even now the way you walked made sense. He has seen it before, women tend to walk 'funny' after birth.

"She is special, I prayed for a kind woman and God gifted me an angel."

"You deserve it. You deserve this all. So, what do you work as now? Farmer?"

"Actually, before she gave birth we ran her old business, I got quite skilled in jewellery and pottery, also learned how to make baskets." Osferth told proudly, sure it was no fight or swords, but it was something the people needed and bought.

Both guests looked at one another smiling from ear to ear. They feared that day Osferth would die, and to see him make it so far, they were both happy.

"I put him back to bed. We do have a pie if you crave something sweet." you said as you walked back into the kitchen.

"We have pie?!" turned your husband towards you.

"Of course, I kept it from you, you would have ate it all before they arrive!" Osferth pouted as the men laughed, this time minding their volume.

"Pie sounds amazing, Lady Y/N." Uhtred said as you placed it in front of them.

You were glad they were here and they got to meet your son. Osferth talked a lot about his adventures and it was nice to meet the men he used to travel with.

You offered him a smile along with a slice and he grabbed your hand squeezing it slightly, his eyes shining with happiness.

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~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

             DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

[synintheraven]

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary: you finally find Ivarr Ragnarsson and a cup of ale gives an unexpected turn of events between the two of you.

✵tw: mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol, drinking, other than that lots of fluff :p

✵word count: 1,3k

characters info | part five

The sun was hiding behind clouds and a thin layer of snow covered the hills around us. It was cold, the wind crawled under my clothes and a shiver climbed my spine as their eyes were on me.

We had just arrived to Repton, yet the little army under Ivarr and Ubba's command was far more cautious than that of Tamworth. And as their famously reckless Lord stood proud before us, the rabid dogs followed close behind.

There were no children, no wives. Only soldiers dressed in mail, their Lord's most trusted hounds.

—And what of her? Is she your gift to me? —Ivarr asked almost too proud of himself and I was ready to bite back, but Sihtric was quicker to answer.

—She’s my woman. —He said. I frowned, his words still echoing in my head.

—Slave girl? —The Ragnarsson grinned, his eyes fixed on my expression. —Either that or she hates your cock.

Sihtric then gave me a strange look, his hand finding its way along my back and stopping where my butt joined my back, pulling me awkwardly closer to his side. —We’re just tired, it was a long journey from Theotford.

Surprisingly, he seemed to bite on Sihtric’s lie, while I pictured myself with a knife going through the Dane's throat.

—So, why are you here? Guthrum isn’t treating his hounds right?

—We got word that a son of Ragnar had taken Repton, so we thought to serve a true dane lord was better than to follow a stupid man to his defeat.

We knew nothing about Guthrum; not the colour of his banner nor the look of the man’s face. But it was easy to make up a lie when the man himself wasn’t there to deny it, though in truth Guthrum would’ve embraced us as his warriors as long as we looked like Danes.

Ivarr was hesitant, like dry weeds waiting on a spark to set ablaze. Yet he welcomed the fire, not afraid to get burnt.

—Ha! —He said loudly, his gaze studying me with curiosity as he crossed his arms. —And you, woman? Can you fight? Or are you only here to please this pretty warrior? —He finished as he looked at Sihtric, but he was out of words.

—The son of Ragnar wants me to teach him how to use his axe? —I snapped back happily, but my man, the one I wasn’t aware I had, was concerned about Ivarr’s deadly stare.

—I love sassy bitches, you can stay. —He smiled widely, as the men around us joined their lord with a grin. —Same for you, pretty boy.

Everything was blurry; the candles provided the room with a gloomy light and the flickering flames made the shadows around us deeper than they really were, like if whole territories hid among that darkness.

It made me wonder about the unknown, all that is hidden from plain sight but lurks in the blackness of the night. The wild beasts, the magic creatures, and all else that is hidden to us mortals.

I could hear the voices from the drunken warriors around me, their laughter, their joy after a succesful battle. The sound of wooden jars and metal clashing as they celebrated with ale, their harsh steps on the floor.

I was hearing Sihtric as he talked, telling me one more time stories about all his battles, all he had conquered to get here, to England. All about the raids: priceless treasures, gold-filled chests and wealthy norse fools ready to give everything up if only to escape an unneccesary fight, all that he'd managed to steal for himself after years of serving under Yggr's banner.

I watched as he wrapped his hands around the mug and a puddle of ale drenched the linen around his arms, yet he didn't seem to care. A tattoo showed from under his sleeve, an interesting shape playing in the shadow and hiding from the candle light. He simply kept on talking, ever proud and happy about his stories, his life.

Maybe it was the ale, maybe there was something in the air that night, but his words sounded funny in my ears. He was explaining how he once cut off a man's hand with an axe: the splatter of blood, the horror in that man's voice as he screamed out of pain. But all I could hear was a mumble, his attempt at sounding coherent while the ale made its way through his throat.

And so, I laughed. Sihtric's response was to look at me with a frown, then proceeded to burst out laughing with me.

He suddenly stopped and went completely quiet, worrying me for a moment that perhaps I was the reason of such a sudden change in his reaction, though nothing about his glare betrayed whatever was going on inside the man's head.

A young girl walked in our direction, trying hard to avoid Sihtric's eyes. She was skinnier than the others, with skin as white as snow and several bruises dyeing the flesh around her neck, making it no surprise that she was so afraid of the drunken warriors surrounding her. But she was there to serve drinks and so she would.

Her trembling hands made their best to hold the jar firmly and fill his cup, avoiding eye contact with the fearsome man before me. Yet when she was done and ready to escape, his hand wrapped around her wrist.

For whatever reason, I felt as if fire burnt inside of me; but I couldn't recall what was causing such a feeling, nor could I stop myself from standing up, as if something else was controlling my body.

—You're too pretty to be working at this stinking alehouse. —He said while pulling her closer, watching as the poor girl's panic intensified. —There's nothing to fear, woman, wouldn't you rather be with me than serving all these bastards?

There was a glimpse of a smile on his face, despite the terror in her eyes. He was a good man, for a drunken fool, and would've easily let her go if asked to: but that's not what those women were used to around there, so she was desperately looking for a way out.

So I took his mug in my own hand, spilling all its content on the floor. And his confused reaction was priceless.

—You better have a real good reason for that bullshit, y/n. —He stood up, freeing the girl's wrist, though she was still too frightened by him to go away.

—You're trying to hump some random girl and expect me to act as if I didn't care? —I asked with pride in my voice, though struggling to figure out what those words were supposed to mean.

He frowned again, probably trying to remain offended but failing miserably as a silly smile appeared on his face.

—We're supposed to be together, don't you remember, my love? —My words made no sense, yet they seemed sufficient for him, even if Ivarr and Ubba were too far from us to hear anything we were saying.

—Right! —His eyes widened up and he quickly took a step further from the girl, resting his hand on the messy table. —It's just that I'm so in love with you and to touch you would mean to ruin your pure beauty.

To this day I still don't quite remember what happened that night, nor do I recall when did the scared girl left us and ran back to the owner of that shithole of an alehouse. But I do, however, remember how he started to laugh mid-lie and looked down on his empty mug, only to remember I was the cause of it.

—Or perhaps my dear husband struggles to use his plow sword with his beloved wife. —I snarled back and once again he let out a noisy laugh then went quiet when he realized I had meant no compliment by that.

—Are you challenging me? —He asked with a playful smirk, leaning closer as I wrapped my arms around his neck and tangled my fingers on his hair.

My heart was beating hard: surprised at the shiver running through my body as I felt his skin on the tip of my fingers. And, for the first time since I’ve met him, something about his gaze felt different.

The candle light reflected on his face, his brown eye looking warm and inviting while the other side was ever bright, sea waters dancing within his eye.

His breath smelt of ale and his hands were getting a little too comfortable around my waist, but that didn’t stop me from reaching for his lips; even as he teased me, pressing the tip of his nose to my cheek, but avoiding my touch.

Sihtric’s kiss was full of warmth and necessity, feeling as his hands roughly pressed me onto his body. So I gave in.