#tlk fic

[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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[whitedarkmoonflower]

You are good

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: I refuse all responsibility for this and blame @foxyanon and this post for planting this idea into my head. I think you will recognise your quotes. 😅

Warnings: SMUT 18+

Word Count: 3,3 K

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @willowbrookesblog @thenameswinter99 @ellabellabus07 @mcbuckyyyy @kirtseinw

If you want to be added to or removed from the tag list - write to me.

Uhtred's tail, you had silently dubbed him. "Yes, lord" and "No, lord" were nearly the only phrases to escape his lips. Most of the time, he seemed to vanish, only to reappear as if conjured by a magic wand at the mere sound of his name, his head tucked into his shoulders, hunched forward, eyes fixed on the ground, avoiding any direct gaze. Horses need to be readied – Sihtric will do that. Not enough wood for the fire – he’s already gone searching. Pretty face and large, alerted eyes. Suspicious eyes.

You didn’t trust him. Uhtred apparently did, but your brother had always had a far too big and soft heart, he tried to hide behind his loud talk about destiny and honour. So, you kept a watchful eye on Sihtric.

You saw him conversing with the horses in hushed, gentle tones, telling them about his day, treating them as if they were his best friends, meticulously brushing their backs. You witnessed him sitting in the darkness, far from the reach of the fire's flickering light, leaning against a tree or a cart, his form curled up, arms wrapped around his legs, chin resting on his knees. He would startle at the sound of raucous, drunken laughter piercing the air. You noticed him shudder when his name was called,  jumping to his feet as if he'd been bitten by a venomous snake, and wince when someone unexpectedly placed a hand on his shoulder.

But you saw other things as well. You observed him reach into his saddlebag, generously distributing all his provisions to the beggars who sat at the city gates as you entered Winchester. You saw him remove the silver ring recently bestowed upon him by Uhtred, gifting it to a small, emaciated boy whom he had caught attempting to steal his pouch just moments earlier. You even saw him step in and kick out a drunkard from the alehouse, who was about to take a swing at the serving girl.

"Here, have a drink," you offered him a mug, settling down beside him. He flinched and looked up at you in surprise. A hesitant smile graced Sihtric's lips as he accepted the drink from you, his eyes filled with warmth and gratitude. That's how it all began – your quiet chats away from the noisy laughter and banter by the fireplaces. You were just plain curious and cautious, or so you kept telling yourself. You wanted to learn more about the reserved and timid warrior in your brother’s service. And with each moment, each story he shared as he gradually opened up to you, revealing bits and pieces from his life, your fascination with him never wavered.

Your own path hadn't been a walk in the park either. You'd lost everything except your brother. You both survived that Danish assault, but life played a cruel trick on you, and you didn't luck out like Uhtred who found a new family. Fate turned you into a warrior, fueled by anger, rage, and an unquenchable thirst for revenge. Sometimes, it felt like your heart stopped beating the day the Danes yanked you from your old life, leaving you with an empty, pitch-black hole in your chest. It changed when you reunited with Uhtred. It was like you finally fit into this world again, and your brother's love warmed your heart. Yet, in the quiet of the night, when you were alone with your thoughts, that dark hole in your chest still haunted you, making you wonder if you were really alive.

And now, you'd crossed paths with someone whose journey had been even more rocky as yours, whose soul seemed like an open, bleeding wound. But within him, there still was a warmth that felt like it could rekindle the spark of life within your own heart too.

—----------------------------------------------------

"What a pretty thing!" the guard sneered, his fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks as he pulled you closer, his foul breath assaulting your senses. It had been your fault; your recklessness had landed both you and Sihtric in this grimy dungeon. But not a single word of reproach had escaped Sihtric's lips. You had a sense that rescue might be on the horizon, as the boy who had been with you had escaped and was likely delivering the news to Uhtred. However, for the moment, you were stuck here.

"Don't touch her!" Sihtric hissed, his voice quivering with anger as he swatted the guard's hand away from you.

"What the hell! Hold that rat for me," the guard grumbled, turning his attention away from you, while the other two forcibly twisted Sihtric's arms behind his back. You winced as the first blow landed on Sihtric's face, jerking his head to the side, followed by another and another. Not a sound escaped his lips as he stared back at the guard, his eyes burning with pure hatred.

Another punch, this time aimed at Sihtric's abdomen, caused him to double over with a grunt, gasping for air. The guards released him, and Sihtric's knees and hands crumpled to the ground. A heavy leather boot struck his stomach, sending him sprawling. Arms defensively wrapped around his head, Sihtric writhed on the floor, convulsing under the brutal onslaught that was shattering his body.

"I hope this serves as a valuable lesson, you filthy heathen. Next time, think before you open your mouth," one of the guards spat, then turned to leave, motioning for the others to follow suit.

"What was that? Are you out of your mind?" you whispered sharply to Sihtric, rushing to his side and kneeling beside him to assess the damage. His nose was bleeding, and his lip and eyebrow were cut. Gently, you placed his arm around your shoulders, wrapping your arm around his waist as you helped him back on his feet and guided him towards a heap of straw in the corner of the cell. He sank heavily onto it, leaning his back and head against the wall.

"At least they got distracted," he shuddered, shoulders quivering, spitting blood and wiping his chin with his sleeve.

"That was incredibly foolish of you. It seems you don't have any broken ribs, but it could have turned out much worse," you tore the lower edge of your tunic and reached out to clean the blood from Sihtric's face with the makeshift rag.

"It's not too high a price to pay if it keeps their attention off you," Sihtric replied, raising his eyes, and for perhaps the first time, your gazes consciously met. "Besides, I'm used to it," he added, a sad smile playing on his lips.

"I can handle myself," you hissed, but your eyes were brimming with gratitude, while Sihtric merely shrugged his shoulders, wincing when your fingers touched his split lip.

—---------------------------------------

Your blood ran hot, adrenaline surging through your veins, a loud thump of your heart in your ears. Your senses sharpened to an almost painful degree as it seemed you could hear the trampled grass beneath your feet crying out. Your fingers clenched tightly around the shaft of your axe, tracing every line and wrinkle carved into the wood, as you melded seamlessly with your weapon, becoming an extension of your arm. There was no escape from the thick, intoxicating scent of blood that hung in the air, clinging to your clothes, seeping through your skin, intensifying the thrill. You sank to your knees, using the shaft of your axe for support, the taste of iron and ashes lingering in your mouth.

"Are you injured?" you flinched at the touch on your shoulder, raising your head only to see Sihtric quickly retract his hand.

Today was the first time you had witnessed him in battle, his eyes ablaze with excitement, his body a coiled spring of taut muscles, moving with purpose and precision. He resembled a young wolf on the hunt, thrilled by his own strength and agility, seamlessly blending with the chaos around him.

A brief, lingering gaze at the young Dane fighting alongside you had cost you dearly. A sudden swing of an axe caught you off guard, your step back too hurried and unsteady, causing you to lose your balance and tumble, releasing your own weapon. The stench of death filled your nostrils, the axe poised in the air, ready to strike, etching itself into your senses as you desperately fumbled to find something to counter the blow.

Too late, a single thought pierced your mind as you watched the blade descend, moving so agonisingly slow that it felt as if time itself had altered its pace just to mock you. A clank of metal and a scorching splatter of blood across your face brought the world back to its normal tempo, as the lifeless body of a red-faced Dane thudded to the ground beside you. A hand reached out, and you grasped it, allowing it to yank you back onto your feet. You met the piercing gaze of two mismatched eyes, filled with anxiety and something more, something profound and indescribable, yet so intense that it sent shivers down your spine. There was no time for words as you both were drawn back into the intricate dance of life and death surrounding you.

"I'm fine," you growled, breathing heavily, your body trembling as you pushed yourself upright with the aid of the axe's shaft. A deep ache surged through your tired muscles. You seized Sihtric's hand, which hung hesitantly in the air, and pulled him along with you, striding towards the trees at the edge of the clearing. He followed, eyes wide with surprise but offering no resistance.

You plunged into the forest, not stopping until the battlefield's clearing had long vanished from view, leaving behind all its chaotic sounds. Silence, you needed silence—to quiet your racing mind. 

A startled crow fluttered away, its caw echoing through the trees and your ears. Coming to a halt, you turned to face the utterly bewildered gaze of Sihtric. Pushing him against the nearest tree trunk, your fingers frantically fumbled with the laces of his breeches.

"What... what are you doing?" he gasped, as your hand slipped inside his pants.

"Feeling alive," you whispered, a mischievous smile appearing on your lips as you felt his cock hardening under your touch. 

You had grown tired of those lingering glances and deep sighs, of him becoming more like your shadow than even Uhtred's. You had had enough of his trembling fingers and flushed cheeks, his hand brushing against yours when you passed him an ale mug, and the way he held his breath when you sat beside him, your thighs touching. 

You wanted him, and you were aware that he craved for you just as intensely. You could feel his blood running hot at this very moment, just as yours did. You had seen it in his eyes, in that brief, fleeting moment after he helped you back to your feet, and you didn't want to wait any longer. You knew him too well by now to realise he wouldn't make the first move, so you had to be the one.

"I... I can't... we can't... Oh, damn it...," Sihtric stammered, a loud, almost desperate moan escaping his lips as you pulled down his breeches, freeing his already fully hard cock,  wrapping your hand around it and giving it a few slow, teasing strokes. 

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been dreaming about this. I’m not blind. I can see how you look at me,” you purred, biting your lower lip, while your hand kept moving. 

"I... Oh gods, fuck... You're Uhtred's sister, and I... I... He'll kill me if..." The words caught in Sihtric's throat, his breathing quickening and growing more erratic, his hands balling into fists as your fingers moved to the tip of his pulsing shaft, collecting the precum and spreading it along its length.

“You just saved my life,” you murmured, going down on your knees before him and licking your lips at the sight of Sihtric’s long and thick, perfectly formed cock, tip slightly red and dripping, “and I haven’t even thanked you for stepping in that time in the dungeon.” 

Feeling Sihtric's entire body tense, you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes, savouring the sight of him. Head thrown back, eyes closed, breathing shallow and ragged, he leaned heavily against the tree, his arms hanging somewhat awkwardly by his sides. You were surprised that he still hadn't made a move to touch you.

"This isn't your first time, is it?" you suddenly inquired, raising an eyebrow. You smiled as Sihtric vigorously shook his head. "Good. Then you know what to expect, don't you? You know how good it feels," you teased him, pressing your mouth to his upper thigh, trailing a path with your tongue and placing soft, wet kisses on his naked skin. Sihtric exhaled sharply, but didn’t answer.

“Talk to me,” you ordered, giving a teasing, quick lick to the tip of his cock.

“Aaahhh, y-yes,” Sihtric whimpered, gasping for air, pressing both his palms against the tree.

“But you said, we couldn't do this. Have you changed your mind?” you asked, your tone taunting. “Tell me, do you want me to take you in my mouth? Do you want to feel my lips around you?” you circled his tip with your tongue, your hand jerking him, so teasingly slowly. You could tell you were driving him mad by the way, his breathing was picking up with each gentle lap of your wet and hot tongue and each movement of your hand.

You were aware that you were a brat, torturing him, testing his self-control, but you wanted to know how long he could hold back.You had seen his eyes glint with passion and fervour on the battlefield and you wanted to see them glint the same now. You wanted him to lose his composure and fully surrender to the pleasure you were eager to offer. 

"I don't hear you," you pulled back and released your hold on him, causing Sihtric to whine in frustration. 

“Yes, yes… fuck, by the gods… I… I want it … I want you…,” he breathed, a mortified look on his pretty face, his cheeks crimson, “I have wanted you since the first moment I saw you. You are so beautiful and so … so strong, but … fuck, ahhh, please, please touch me,” he whined. 

“Ask me nicely,” you purred, moving your mouth back closer to his throbbing cock.

“Please, just touch me again. Please, I need you …,” Sihtric begged, his voice shaky, a slight desperation creeping in it. He was finally looking down at you as he reached out, cupping your chin with his rough tattooed fingers, his thumb gliding over your lips, eyes darkening with lust and longing. 

You kept your gaze locked with him as you bit your bottom lip and wrapped your fingers around his  length again.

“Good, you are such a good boy. Just relax and enjoy. Can you do that for me, handsome? I want you to feel good,” you purred, a satisfied smile on your lips as you heard Sihtric gasp and whimper at your touch.

Sihtric moaned loudly as your lips closed around the tip of his cock, your tongue lapping at it teasingly, and then you moved up taking him in your mouth almost completely. You sucked gently at first, then harder, relishing the soft whines and moans rolling over Sihtric’s lips as your head started to move up and down his length, your palm firmly around the base, stroking the part that didn’t fit in. 

Sihtric’s hands were in your hair, not pulling or tugging, just holding on to you, gently and carefully, his trembling fingers caressing you, brushing your hair out of your face. He looked so sweet trying to keep his eyes on you, trying to keep still. You moaned, feeling his grip in your hair tensing, as you fastened your movements, wrapping your lips even tighter around his cock, watching him lose his uneven struggle. It didn’t take long for him to become a whimpering, moaning mess, his hips thrusting forward, eyes half lid, breath heavy and panting as he finally lost himself in the pleasure your mouth was giving him.

“It feels so good…,” he moaned, as his hips started to move faster, fucking your mouth harder and deeper, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as he chased his release, the grip of his fingers in your hair tightening, “I’m close… aaahhh, I can’t take it much longer! Slow down… stop … please, let me … ” he whined through his panting breath, looking down at you questioningly, but you kept sucking him like your life would depend on it, tears bursting into the corners of your eyes, moaning lewdly your mouth stuffed with his cock as your core throbbed in burning need for him. 

You loved the desperate, wanton sounds rolling over his lips, the sight of him falling apart, all shaky and whiny, his limbs starting to tremble, because you made him feel so good, because you had this power over him. You and only you!  You didn’t let go of him, didn’t allow him to pull out and after a few more sloppy thrusts, his cock twitched in your mouth, his head snapped back and with a loud moan Sihtric was spilling down your throat, cursing under his breath.

“Oh gods… fuck…,”  Sihtric looked down at you, breathing heavily and slumping his back against the tree. You let him come down from his high, sucking gently and letting your tongue slide over his sensitive tip, making him moan and twitch a few more times. 

Breath panting, Sihtric reached out to you, pulling you off your knees into his embrace as he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, his fingers gently brushing through your hair.

"I...," he began.

"Shh, don't speak," you interrupted him, leaning into his embrace and listening to his racing heartbeat beneath your ear. "Can you hear it?" you asked, placing your hand on his chest. "It's beating; you are alive. Isn't it wonderful to be alive?"

A deep sigh escaped Sihtric as he continued to hold you to his chest, his body quivering slightly. "Why are you so good to me?" he finally asked, cupping your face with his hands and lifting it to meet his questioning gaze.

"Because you are good, Sihtric," you whispered. "I have seen the goodness in you, I have felt it, and I want to be a part of it. I want to be yours."

"You want to be mine?" The surprise in Sihtric's voice was evident, his large, beautiful eyes reflecting the disbelief that his tone betrayed. He couldn't bring himself to believe it. After a lifetime of being resented and despised for who he was, he simply couldn't accept what you were saying.

"Yes, I do. Do you want to be mine?" you asked, taken aback by the quiver in your own voice. The silence lingered in the air as you awaited his response. You had finally found him, a man you were certain you wanted in your life not just for fleeting moments of pleasure but for a lifetime. Someone you had come to admire and wished to care for, someone from whom you wanted to receive care. His kindness and inner strength had captured your heart in an unexpected way. You felt certain that in Sihtric you had found a man who possessed the strength and warmth to fill that dark void in your chest.

"I'm already yours," Sihtric murmured, "I'm yours. I've always been yours," he repeated more resolutely, leaning in to capture your lips in the gentlest and most tender of kisses. Without breaking the kiss, Sihtric spun you around, pressing your body against the tree, and a soft gasp escaped your lips as you felt his already firm arousal pressing against your thigh.

"If you are mine, then I'm allowed to make you feel good too," he purred. "Will you be a good girl for me?" he asked, his bashful smile turning into a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he went down on his knees before you.

[wrenwrongs]

Worth More Than Silver

Sihtric/fem!Reader

Summary: Sihtric has been frequenting the brothel in Winchester. Osferth and Uhtred investigate why he still pays for your company despite his claim that you love him.

Word Count: 1.3k

cw: afab reader, she/her pronouns, use of the word whore (2x), childbirth (not described in detail), slight deviations from canon timeline, Sihtric and his football team of kids

“Have you made a decision yet?” asked Sihtric, his horse striding alongside Uhtred’s own. “Have you given it thought?”

“Given thought to what?” His Lord answered in false ignorance. It gnawed at Sihtric’s insides. He would not give up in his quest, yet he knew if he pushed the subject too hard Uhtred was wont to set his denial in stone. Lady Gisela seemed to take pity on him.

“Uhtred,” she warned from her place next to her husband.

With her aid, Sihtric continued, “My request to marry, Lord. I wish to have a family.” It was true. More true was that he wished to have a family with you.

He had been captivated from the first night he met you. Your laugh ringing out as he threw you on to the bed. How your brushed your fingers through his hair as you caught your breath. Still, he knew it was nothing more than he had payed for.

It was almost a fortnight later when he saw you walking down the road, the frost had tinged your cheeks red. Your arms were overburdened with logs as you trudged though the ankle high snow. He carried them for you to your home; a small room with a bed and a hearth. When you invited him in for tea, he saw how you had decorated with herbs drying from the ceiling, furs, and paint all along the walls. It was a proper home in his eyes, not just the place you rested your head as he had become accustomed to.

You laughed as he regaled the time he and Finan strapped fake legs to a horse and convinced a drunk Uhtred that it was Sleipnir, the chip in your front tooth evident, and he knew he was yours.

A voice broke through his thoughts.

“Lord, you will answer the man.” It was Gisela again. In that moment Sihtric thought her sent by Freyja herself.

Uhtred sighed before turning his head to speak, “I will speak to her at Winchester and give you my decision.”

“Thank you, Lord.” With a grin, he fell back into line as Uhtred shouted back at him.

“But you are to give her no more of your arm-rings, nor silver!”

A gentle breeze swept through the valley, cooling the sweat on their brows. The sun, now past its highest point in the sky, warmed the earth as they arrived in Winchester. Finnan and Sihtric accompanied Uhtred while Osferth was sent out on his own quest.

After visiting your home and inquiring at the brothel, he was directed outside the walls of the capital. There, he spotted a figure emerging from the surrounding trees. The glint of silver around your biceps confirmed your identity.

“My lady,” he spoke softly as he approached, not wanting to startle you.

“I am no Lady,” you responded, the wind rustling your hair. “And I’m not working today.”

“No,” he blushed. “You misunderstand me. I am one of Lord Uhtred’s men.”

You said nothing, but looked upon him with suspicion and doubt.

He cleared his throat before speaking again, “You are Sihtric’s woman are you not?”

“That I am." You stepped closer to him so that the two of you could hear each other clearly. Osferth took a glimpse into the basket you carried. Elderberries and yarrow sat among a myriad of herbs. "You must be the Baby Monk I’ve heard about.”

“You love him?”

“Yes." There was an edge to your voice.

“Yet, you still take his silver?” The hurt in your eyes sent guilt rampaging through him.

“He is not the first man to make promises of love in hopes of a free night. I have seen the heartbreak and shame those girls are left with too many times to allow myself to fall for the same trick.”

“It is no trick. He wishes to marry you.”

“So he says.” You began walking back to the gates leaving Osferth to follow.

“You don’t believe him?”

“I wish to." You nodded to the guards as you passed them. "As much as I believe that Sihtric is different, I know those other women thought the same of the men that left them.”

“He has asked for permission from Lord Uhtred.”

You paused, hands tightening on the basket till your knuckles turned white. “He will not get it,” your voice was cold as you spoke. Osferth opened his mouth to argue, but you had already disappeared into the crowd of the afternoon market.

It was the next morning when Uhtred came to you. Sihtric had already departed after reluctantly leaving your bed and breaking fast together.

“Osferth spoke to me last night. He says your heart is true." Uhtred's words did little to calm your nerves. He sat across from you at your small table, drinking your own blend of vervain and violet tea. You could see his eyes flicker down to watch you tug at loose threads of your sleeve. "I will give my permission for you to marry.”

“Thank you, Lord Uhtred,” you said. Meeting his eyes was no easy feat, still you managed. “Sihtric mentioned last night, that if given your blessing, he wished to marry by the time your company leaves next.”

Uhtred shook his head. “You will come with us.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped before you could contain it. “A Saxon who fights with Irishmen, Danes, and monks now wants a whore to accompany them?”

“Not a whore, a healer. Osferth told me you where gathering herbs.”

“Mathilda’s son has a fever. I just made something to help bring it down.”

“Gisela said you often assist the læce. Do you know how to sew a wound?”

“Yes, Lord.” Though your experiences in doing so were less than pleasant as you struggled with the sight of open flesh. In truth, you would rather never do it again, but if it meant you could be with Sihtric perhaps it would be worth the sting of bile in your throat.

“Then you will be of use to us,” Uhtred said firmly, and you got the impression that he was not one to easily change his mind once it was set. “I will inform Sihtric of my decision. When we depart from Winchester next, you will accompany us.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” You could no longer contain your smile as Uhtred took his leave. As he bade you farewell he took notice of your thumb absent-mindedly stroking one of the rings while you stirred your tea.

Perhaps it should have become routine at this point. Woefully, that was not the case. You had birthed six of your eight children with Sihtric and while the boys joked that pregnant was your perpetual state of being, the labor remained grueling.

“I swear this is the last one,” you said through clenched teeth as the midwife rushed around you.

Sihtric knelt by your side, cringing as you squeezed his hand, “You said that during the last one.”

“I mean it this time. Seven is more than enough.” You suspected Sihtric would have as many as you allowed.

Aethelstan had come into your lives just after you had discovered you were pregnant. You agreed it was best for you to stay back, even after your first daughter was born. Sihtric brought Cynlaef shortly after that, he was less than ten years old at the time. 

It seemed that if you weren’t with child when he and the others returned you would be by the time they left. True to the promise he made on your wedding night, he was present for as many of the births as he could be. Because then came the twins and later your youngest daughter, named Fianna after Finan who had pestered you one too many times about naming a son after him. Truthfully, if Osferth had been any younger you would have counted him among them.

It felt like ages before the midwife placed the boy in your arms. Sihtric turned to Uhtred and spoke, “Last chance to have one named after you Lord.”

“No.” Both Uhtred and you said at once. But you supposed your husband was right, it was the last chance to name your child after someone you both loved so dearly.

You turned back to the babe pressed against your skin, your words barely above a whisper, “His name is Osferth.”

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

After Bebbanburg

Note: reaaaaally struggling to get back into my writing flow after the line between Arnas and Modern!Sihtric was so awfully thin last weekend. So here's some SKMD!Sihtric as I try to get back into it again.

Warnings: fluff/angst. mention of blood and death.

pairing: SKMD!Sihtric x you (f)

summary: Sihtric came back after the battle of Bebbanburg.

wordcount: 2,3k

Masterlist

'Valhalla came too close.'

You had been waiting for days. Days that felt absolutely endless. Days of anxiously waiting for your husband to return from battle. You were prepared for every scenario. You always feared he'd get severely injured, and this time was not any different. Except Sihtric was older now than the last time he had fought in a shield wall. And you were terrified of what injuries he would come back home with. If he even came back home at all. Too many innocent lives had been lost prior to this battle already. Would the gods spare your husband? And if so, then why?

But the gods did spare him. 

And you ran outside when you heard some sober cheers and the sound of hooves stomping into the camp that was made for the wives and children of each warrior. You first saw Finan, the Irish man, who had only recently lost his wife. He hadn't been doing well ever since. You and Sihtric had kept an eye on him, as well as Uhtred, and even though Finan would tell you he was okay, you all knew better. You worried Finan would have lost his mind in the battle of Bebbanburg, and that he would not make it out alive. But he survived. However, his face told you that he probably wished he hadn't. You watched Finan approach with a concerned, colour deprived face as he sat upon his horse, riding along next to your husband, who looked just as concerned and even slightly lost, you thought. And you tried to figure out what was wrong as you made your way over to Sihtric, who ordered the warband behind him to a halt with a gesture of his hand. And then you realised you didn't see Uhtred anywhere. You gasped and clasped your hands, impatiently and anxiously waiting as you watched Sihtric dismount.

Sihtric gave the reins to a young boy as he laid eyes upon you, and as the boy took the horse to the stables, Sihtric took off his leather gloves while he walked over to you. Walked. You knew something was truly wrong then, as Sihtric would always run to you when he came back, no matter how tired he was. And you knew he was tired, but you could also tell he wasn't just tired. You saw a different kind of exhaustion and he was unsteady on his feet as he closed in on you. Your vision became blurry with each step closer he took, as with each step another injury became visible, and you teared up more and more. Sihtric grabbed your arms as soon as you were in reach and he fell down to his knees. He wrapped his strong but sore arms around your waist without speaking, and he pressed his blood stained face into your grey tunic, leaving traces of battle behind. You carefully brought your hands up to his head, but you refrained from touching him as fresh blood dripped out from several cuts.

'S-Sihtric,' you finally breathed as he squeezed you tightly, and you placed your hands on his broad, armoured shoulders.

'My love,' Sihtric sighed and looked up at you with his empty, mismatched eyes.

Everything around you faded for a moment when you stared at each other. Both feeling relieved yet afraid. You were relieved he was back home again, but afraid at what cost when your eyes darted over his face. Blood came out of his right ear and ran down his neck. A large cut next to his right eyebrow caused the same fluid to run down his cheek. His forehead was smudged with blood, not just his own you figured, as well as the other side of his tired face was painted red all the same. 

And Sihtric was relieved to have you in his arms again, but he was afraid of what would happen to Uhtred. And when you finally remembered how to speak, you asked where Uhtred was.

'In the cart,' Sihtric swallowed hard, 'he's alive… but… I need to take care of him, we need to… he…'

You watched Sihtric struggle to find the right words, and you hushed him when he tried to speak again.

'People will take care of him,' you reassured your husband, 'but you need to be taken care of too. Come,' you urged him to stand up.

Sihtric reluctantly agreed, and you helped him back up on his feet. You wrapped your arm around his waist and pulled his arm around your neck, in an attempt to support him. But Sihtric was a well built man, muscular, tall and all dressed in chainmail and leather armour. You both knew you could not carry him to the tent all by yourself if his feet gave out underneath him. You groaned in your desperate attempt to hold him up, and Sihtric let out a pained moan.

'S-stop,' he breathed, 'I can… I can walk, my love,' he said, stubbornly and not wanting to show you his pain. 

Regardless of his words, you still tried to support him as much as you could, and you stumbled to the tent you stayed in at the camp. You helped him sit down on one of the wooden stools and you ordered someone nearby to fetch warm water and clean rags. Then you kneeled down in front of him.

'Are your legs or feet hurt?'

'No,' Sihtric said softly, and you carefully took off his leather boots.

You tossed them to the side and the water and rags you had asked for were brought in. You ordered the young lady who served you to close the tent and to prepare some food and hot tea. You moved up a little and started to unclasp the leather belt around your husband's waist with care. Your eyes darted over Sihtric's leather armour, and you were relieved when you couldn't find any cuts or holes that would suggest he had been stabbed. You slowly removed the heavy belt, his knife and axe still attached and painted with blood from the men he had killed only hours before, and you shoved it to the side, next to his boots.

'Are your arms hurting?' you asked as you rolled up his sleeves a little.

Just because you couldn't see any blood, didn't mean he wasn't hurt.

'Just bruised and sore,' Sihtric confessed, 'no cuts.'

You gave him a firm nod, and Sihtric watched you closely and quietly. His big, tired eyes completely locked on you and every movement you made. He watched how your delicate fingers untied the laces of his leather arm braces, and everything slowly became quiet in his mind again once you had taken both of his braces off and looked up at him. His cold, blood stained and trembling hands slowly reached up to your face, and you let out a soft sob when his fingertips touched your warm cheeks.

'Kiss me,' Sihtric whispered, and his breath hitched in his throat while his huge eyes stared down at you, 'please,' he whined.

Your fingers curled around the neck of his leather armour, and without any hesitation you pulled him down towards you. You crashed into a kiss and your eyes closed at the feeling of his cold and chapped lips pressed against yours. His hands trembled their way down to your neck, and he pulled you even closer up to him. Tears rolled down your cheeks at the taste and touch of your husband, while Sihtric tried his hardest to not break down as he desperately tried to kiss your face everywhere he possibly could.

'My wife,' he breathed, and his lips brushed lightly against yours, 'my love,' he moaned against your lips before he captured you in another firm kiss.

'What happened there?' you sniffled after he broke the kiss, your hands holding his cheeks while his blood stained forehead leaned against yours.

'Death,' Sihtric simply said, 'Death happened,' he leaned slightly back and looked at you while tears escaped his eyes, and he gently caressed your face. 'It came too close,' his voice broke as he whispered, 'Valhalla came too close,' he sighed and buried his face in your neck as he pulled you in his arms, finally allowing his emotions to run freely.

You fought your own tears as you felt him tremble, and you wrapped your arms around him.

'Valhalla wasn't prepared for your arrival yet,' you whispered and kissed his cheek, 'and I wasn't ready to live without you yet either.'

'I wasn't ready to die without seeing you again,' Sihtric sniffled.

'You will not be dying any time soon,' you cupped his cheeks, 'I will not allow you.'

Sihtric smiled softly at your words, and pulled your lips back to his again for another tender kiss. Then you took one of the rags, wetted it and wrung it out before you cleaned his feet and his hands. And as he had told you, he indeed didn't seem to be injured there, except for some bruising on his hands and wrists. You kissed both his hands and then moved up to kneel in between his thighs, to untie his dirty, leather armour. All while Sihtric kept his eyes on you, keeping track of your every movement, every breath and every change of expression on your face.

'Are you hurting here, my darling?' you asked and carefully pressed your hands onto his armoured chest.

'Just bruised, my love,' Sihtric said, and he moved along with you to slip out of the leather protection and chainmail underneath, which had saved his life more than once.

He took off the tunic he wore underneath it all, and you let out a soft gasp at the sight of his bare, muscular, bruised and battered torso.

'Sihtric,' you whispered as you reached out, 'you're… you,' you were about to cry, but Sihtric was quick to hush you.

'No,' he said softly, 'don't. It's fine. Just bruised. Nothing that won't heal.'

You swallowed hard and collected yourself again to carefully bring the wetted rag up to his neck. You slowly removed the stains of blood, sweat and dirt off his sensitive skin, and then you moved on from his left shoulder to his right shoulder. Sihtric hissed lightly at your touch as a sharp pain shot through his body and he flinched.

'It's not broken,' you said after an inspection of his shoulder, 'but you need to take it easy for a few days, sweetling.'

'How am I supposed to take it easy,' Sihtric whispered with a cheeky smile as he held your chin with his tattooed fingers, 'when all I want and need is to make love to my wife?' he leaned in and pecked your lips, 'my beautiful wife,' he murmured and kissed you again, 'tell me?'

'I guess you will have to abstain,' you teased and got up to get a clean rag.

'Hm,' Sihtric hummed as his eyes followed you, 'I don't think I'm strong enough.'

He smiled and bit down on his lip as you returned to him. And instead of letting you kneel down on the floor again, he pulled you in his lap. You straddled him and chuckled softly as you brought the rag up to his face.

'You're strong enough to survive battles,' you smiled as you cleaned his forehead, and you saw Sihtric struggle to hold back a grin.

'Maybe,' he said as seriously as he could, and tilted his head playfully to the side, 'but that doesn't mean I am strong enough to resist you.'

You felt his already warmed up hands sneak under your tunic, move up your thighs and on to your waist. He chuckled softly and leaned in to nuzzle your nose, then leaned back and took off his hammer pendant, which he hung around your neck before he pulled you closer again.

'Come on,' Sihtric smiled and pecked your lips, 'the gods brought me back for a reason,' he said, 'perhaps, to bless us with another pup?'

'I surely hope not,' you laughed and continued to wipe the blood off his face.

Sihtric furrowed his brow, 'You don't want another pup from me?'

'Sihtric,' you chuckled and placed your hands on your hips, 'you're a great father, but you have not been around much for our other pups when they were young-'

'That is not my fault,' he quickly said.

'I know,' you agreed, 'but I will not give birth to another pup and go through most of it without you again. I don't want that anymore. Not now that I finally have you all to myself again.'

Sihtric smacked his lips and looked at you while you wiped the last blood off his neck.

'We know how to prevent pregnancy,' you continued, 'don't think I will stop using the potion just because the gods brought you back to me again, they may just take you away if there would be another battle.'

'Reasonable,' Sihtric smiled, 'but then can we at least enjoy the act of humping?'

'Perhaps,' you threw the rag in the large wooden bucket, 'after your shoulder heals up.'

'You don't mean that,' your husband murmured as he brushed his lips against your neck.

Your heartbeat quickened when you felt the soft, slow, open-mouthed kisses your warrior left while his facial hair tickled your skin. You smiled, moved your hands up to his hair and untangled his braids one by one, while Sihtric smothered you with his lips and held you close with his big hands. And when you had taken out all of his braids, you leaned back and tucked strands of his long, wavy hair behind his ears and you pecked his lips. You grinned and got up, to which Sihtric groaned and quickly pushed himself to stand up, despite the discomfort he still felt in his body after the battle. He took off his breeches and snuck up behind you, wrapping his arms around you before you could move down onto the bed.

'You haven't fully cleaned me up yet,' Sihtric chuckled in your ear.

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @andakth @chompchompluke @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @moonchildrenandflowercrowns @foxyanon @djarinsgirl27 @sigtryggrswifey @liandav @diiickbrainn

[aegonx]

A commission I requested of Osferth and Brynja from As It Was that I got from the incredibly lovely and talented @lonelymagpies THANK YOU ❤️❤️❤️

[jacevelaryonswife]

After Dark | Part Two

As the week went by, an important achievement fell on Sihtric and tormented him completely: you didn't get out of his head.

pairing: sihtric kjartansson x stripper!fem reader | small appearance of finan

warnings: plot? no honey, porn! tiddy sucking, p in vagina sex, fingering, sligh dom!sihtric x slight dom!reader (yeah dude). English is not my first language. 4k of words

after dark masterlist

As the week went by, an important achievement fell on Sihtric and tormented him completely: you didn't get out of his head. It was ridiculous, totally, why would he think of a girl like you?

He was a man with physical needs, of course, but besides being a stripper it was not as if you were the only hot lady in the city (unfortunately the only one who gave him beer in the mouth wearing lingerie), and yet you haunted him in the most erotic way possible since the night of Osferth's birthday.

That was a shot in his ego, obviously. A shot? No, it was a real massacre against his pride. You see, he was not ashamed of your profession or of being attracted to you but with the idea of paying to have sex with a lady. He didn't need it, he never needed it, and he intended to keep not needing it — even after the conversation with Finan that night while they were waiting for the birthday boy.

"I'm not against strippers or anything like that, I just don't like the idea of paying to have sex," he said.

“Ya don't have to pay to sleep with someone, just in case you choose a lady of the night because - don’t tell me, it's her job to charge for sex,” his friend said bluntly.

"I know, but it's not real you know? I don't want to see a girl pretend to fake like in bad porn," the Dane replied low when he saw the waitress approach with another ale.

"Aye, she will only pretend if you don't treat her properly," Finan commented in a tone of obviousness. "You're overthinking about it, see Osferth, he was almost a monk and is being devoured at this moment by a ferocious fox."

And the same ferocious fox was being devoured in his thoughts at that very moment. He wanted nothing more to devastate the fuck out of you.

And that's what Sihtric intended to do by dismissing his mates at the typical pub and going to meet you. Things from work, he justified, driving to the club while continuing to fight the battle against his pride, asking what he tought being some employee if there would be a performance of the dancer whose artistic name — recently discovered by him — was Aura. The confirmation cheered him up to the same intensity that created a small focus of nervousness beneath the stoic and well-constructed feature of his face. Would you remember him?

No, of course not. How many men did you see in one night? How many passed by your bed? He was just another forgettable idiot who paid your bills.

It was informed that that night you would only be on a private stage (damn premium girl), which would make him pay obligatorily for dance and sex — something he obviously wouldn't do. Even though he received enough money to have a comfortable life, he knew that you were not a cheap girl and it was more than absurd for him the double payment. That's why he preferred to ask when you would be available on the other stages again.

Sunday on the main stage, they informed, and he waited restlessly for another day.

A great deal of shame warmed his body as he passed through the door of the club until the moment of sleep. What the hell was he doing? Waiting so long to have an uncertain moment with a girl who could reject him for a larger amount? That you would certainly do that. Where did his pride come from?

He was sure you had bewitched him. Damn Aura.

The rest of Friday night, the whole day of Saturday and the day and afternoon of Sunday were passed in great doubt as to how it should proceed, with rational peaks of not going to the club that night. But then, there he was in the same place last time waiting for the main show to start. (He wasn't proud of it).

Scarlet lights illuminated the center of the stage and you appeared covered with a red overcoat and gloves this time, hair stuck and walking in the direction of the central poledance right from the start. Your gaze ran along the audience from the left end to the right, quickly landing on it with a subtle smirk before the music started.

Standing there with your red coat on

French perfume looking vulnerable

Black widow girl you sit and wait

Till I climb into the web you made

Your performance was different this time, with so many layers covering your body that it limited your movements to the most simple. Until the glove was removed from one hand and a red smoke spread across the stage, with you distancing yourself a little from the poledance and throwing the piece in the direction of the audience anxious for your nudity.

I'm an animal, you got me losing control

The first button on the overcoat has been opened.

You got me losing control

The second came next, revealing some of the crimson lacy bra.

You got me losing control

The third exposed your skin even more, but not enough.

It's not right

Your hair was dramatically revealed to the audience and your head turned in the momentum of the music, taking on poledance with precise and sensual acrobatic movements that impressed him considerably.

I can't take it no more girl

I can't take this abuse

Every time that you walk in the room girl

I'm hypnotized by the way that you move

It's the way that you move

You were upside down with your thighs attaching your body to the structure, undoing the other glove and throwing it again towards the audience, who howl like hungry wolves. In the mismatched eyes of Sihtric your performance was more provocative and impersonal than the previous one, so far, creating a certain discomfort in him, placing him beyond what he had fantasized. That was your job and his sexual desire, nothing more than the basics.

Your position exposed the provocative garter that connected the bottom of the lingerie with the transparent stockings that made up your look, making you even more sensual and domineering especially when maneuvering the vertical bar so well and standing up effortlessly, facing the audience with while playing with the fourth big button of the piece that covered a part of your body.

You looked at the men who made up the audience, a great mix between businessmen, apparently normal men and visibly failed men. Your choice was obvious and rational as you approached a cunt who was proud of the Ralph Lauren suit and the shiny Rolex on his wrist. No word was said by you when collecting the roll of money and releasing the penultimate button with a satisfied smirk, putting the notes inside your bra.

You call me out at your beck and call

Set me up just to watch me fall

Twist and turn bend and sway

I move in then you push away

Sihtric held his breath for some seconds when your gaze found his, maintaining the connection by slowly approaching him like last time. But he was not Osferth, his cheeks did not turn red when you bent down to face him directly, nor when you signaled with the index finger so that he approached to the point that your sentence was audible only to him.

"Did you come back to see me, dear? That made me very happy. I hope you want to follow in the footsteps of your sweet friend too,” your voice was soft as velvet in his ear, not expecting an answer when you got up and continued to face him. "Unbutton the last one, sweetie."

His heart missed a beat when he was remembered by you. Damn it, he felt pathetic for his inner reaction but mirrored his fierce look, without the twinge of fun. Sihtric liked boldness and insubordination in his women and that made him truly truly fucking aroused, he wanted to fuck the shit out of you and wanted to see you fuck him like a real lady of the night.

“Good boy,” your superb smile sent a gust of heat to his cock and he hated how easily he was affected as a teenager at puberty.

I'm an animal you got me losing control

You got me losing control, you got me losing control

It's not right

No, it wasn't certain at all.

Now, without the thick layer that hid your soft curves from the hungry pack you moved more easily in poledance, curling up acrobatically like a cat in a tree. Sihtric got drunk with his sample body and rubbed his palms on the side of his pants to soften the tingling that took them, enjoying his performative and sensual show.

I can't take it no more girl

I can't take this abuse

Every time that you walk in the room girl

I'm hypnotized by the way that you move

It's the way that you move

Upside down again, you looked at him a few times as you moved your arms, crossed your thighs technically against the metal bar and changed position, always subtle and discreetly, but not for him.

I can't take it no more girl

I can't take this abuse

Every time that you walk in the room the room, I'm Hypnotized by the way that you move

It’s the way that you move

Yes, he was fucking hypnotized, so absorbed that he didn't hear the desperate appeals of the men asking to see more of your body. Idiots. All of them, idiots. You would be his lady that night.

I can't tell you the future, I may promise the moon.

Cause every time that you walk in the room girl, I'm hypnotized by the way that you move.

It's the way that you move

What happened when you withdrew from the stage was very fast, Sihtric got up at the same time as the previous idiot and followed the same dark corridor that Finan had gone. The security guards who were willing along the way went unnoticed by the determined focus of the Dane in his fervent steps, contrasting with the calm (excess of security) of the other man who also went looking for him. He waited to go to some administrative or security employee to get to you, not to your own person who arrived at the door of one of the rooms.

“Aura! Aura,” he practically screamed in your direction, watching you turn to face him with a satisfied smirk.

“Good to see you, big boy, I figured you were coming,” you purred as you faced him. "Would you like to come in so we can negotiate?"

Before his confirmation, the other man was opposed to what was being suggested. “Common babe, you won't waste time with anyone having a gold mine right here in front of you."

Fortunately your answer was satisfactory enough that Sihtric did not hold that cunt by the lapel of his ridiculous suit and crush him against the wall. The guy was nothing close to him physically speaking, but the weight of the wallet certainly made him believe that he could have anything he wanted, including you.

"I like to draw my own conclusions, sweetie, especially with those who arrive first." That's all you said as you held Sihtric's hand and guided him inside the room under the asshole's protests. He was probably right to call himself a gold mine and the Dane knew that. That worried him like hell. "Don't call him, guys like him are in droves out there with full wallets and bad sex. It's not my type."

"And what's your type?" He asked emotionlessly in his voice, seeing a malicious little smile form in your features.

“Handsome men like you; good boys, bad boys who need a lesson... it's a long list,” you replied bluntly.

The previous anger felt for him dissipated considerably with your response, recalling the reason for being there in the first place, but still keeping a small fraction in case he needed it.

"What if you're the one who needs a lesson?" His tone was intense and low, entering in your little game.

"Do you think I've been a bad girl?" You purred as you leaned on it, leaning your hands on the deliciously defined chest.

“I think you need a good lesson, babe,” he circled your hips with one hand, holding firmly on to his soft skin, enjoying the warm course the situation was taking. But there was still a small problem. "But before that I need to know about the price."

"... see, I'm an expensive girl but I get very well only with the dance, which makes sex an activity done only when I want and with whom I want," your explanation was categorical, but the sensuality remained in your manners. And then you revealed how much you normally charged and Sihtric was sure that his pressure dropped for long seconds and his eyes widened more than he wanted to show. At the same time that his world overturned furiously, your explanation did not stop.

"But I can always make exceptions for guys to make me cum nice and easy, which I hope is your case, handsome, someone with such beautiful eyes could not be disappointing."

The new suggested value thawed his blood and pumped it directly to the stick. It was still high, but less atrocious than the previous one. It was promising.

"And I have restrictions on certain fetishes, so I need to know what you like to do."

Ah, he really liked to please the ladies. He liked to fuck good and strong beautiful things like you, but he also liked slow and sensual sex.

It was natural for Sihtric to take control of sex, but there were no problems when the lady took the reins of the situation. In fact, he found it extremely aroused to see a girl in a position to take what she wanted from him. Although the dane appreciated a certain versatility, he preferred dominance. And that's almost what he answered.

"So, how do you want me, darling?" You asked as you leaned all over it again, shortening the distance between your lips. “Because I have some ideas, including knowing your name,”

"Mm," he buzzed satisfied only to practically growl next: "It's Sihtric, and I also have some ideas."

"Good," you surprised him with a warm and overwhelming kiss, wrapping the back of his neck with one hand and leaning the other on his shoulder. Sihtric devoured your mouth with an even greater ferocity, circling your back and squeezing your arse and claiming your body for him and only for him.

There was no fear or shyness in the way your lips moved against each other, tasting, biting, sucking, confronting each other. He squeezed your soft flesh and brought you impossibly close during the hot make out, grunting when you pulled the sensitive hair from the back of his neck and pulling your lower lip with your teeth.

"Bad girl," he growled, pushing your body to the edge of the bed and breaking the kiss reluctantly to say, "Take off your clothes for me, slowly."

You bit your lower lip and looked at him seductively, smiling with menace and leisurely lowering the straps of the bra before leaving your breasts in full display. His hands immediately met your warm flesh, holding firmly, squeezing and massaging vigorously.

"Did you like them, babe?" You sighed when he turned both halos between his fingers.

“A lot. You're fucking gorgeous, lady."

The lower part of the set was the next to be removed, slipping between its soft thighs with ease exhausted.

Not even in the most explicit daydreams would his mind have projected anything close to your magnitude. You were completely ravishing and he wanted nothing more than to devastate you. The Dane attacked the soft skin of your neck with kisses and incisive licks that made your body soften below him, your scent touching on all his senses.

Reluctant to move away from you, his clothes were then discarded and your hands flewed to explore the defined abs marked with some scars. He was a fucking view, especially all hard with pre cum leaking from the tip of his huge cock, holding the condom in his hands.

"Damn, handsome, we're going to have a lot of fun today. But this brand sucks, let me get a better one.”

The dane's answer was a proud smirk, diving over you when pushing you in bed, not wasting time in claiming every little piece of your body with his hands, lips and tongue. First kissing your, neck, collarbone to reach your velvety breasts, turning the halo before licking them and wrapping them around your lips, sucking and bitting like a hungry man, making you moan pleasantly.

“Mmm,” you purred with a smile and caged him between your legs, rubbing your warm intimacy against his thigh.

"Do you want more, babe?” He asked close to his skin.

“Yes Sihtric, give me more!”

“Mmm,” he lowered his attention down your stomach, kissing all the way until he reached your wet heat, groping from the bundle of nerves to the wet entrance. "Fuckin' pretty," his mouth watered in the vision of your perfect body and pussy, longing more than anything to taste and fuck you with his fingers.

Before Sihtric could ask for permission to do that, you took his hand and sucked his index and middle finger, leaving your eyes more open throughout the act. "I'm glad you liked it, darling, because at that moment I need to know what these fingers can do," your velvety voice made his cock squirm and his fingers tingle to satisfy you.

He didn't think twice about inserting a finger into his soft, wet walls, moving slowly to prepare you, biting your lower lip with a soft murmur.

"Hmm," you moaned with the delicious intrusion that came along with the thumb of the other hand on your clitoris, "just like that, babe."

"Are you enjoying it, darling?" He purred with a confident smile, leaning to kiss your stomach and tits.

“A lot,” you massaged his head and brought him closer to your skin, closing your eyes in delight and moaning slyly when he wrapped his fingers. "But I just want to cum on your dick tonight."

He let out a short, nasal laugh, removing his fingers from your walls and rubbing your fluids into your nipples. "What a shame, I wanted to feel you squeezing my fingers like you were doing just now."

"You'll prefer to feel my tightness somewhere else, pretty boy, let me ride this impressive big cock," you groped his chest with your fingers and captured his lips in a short and sloppy kiss, taking control by turning it to climb on his lap.

Allowing you to pick up the condom thrown on the bed, the Dane watched with a low grunt as you laid out the material along his length, pumping a few times to provoke him before taking your position by taking him inside your warm, wet and soft prison slowly. "Damn it," you closed your eyes and stopped halfway, "I need some time to take everything, you’re so big and good."

He held your hips and leaned his feet on the bed to contribute to your movements. “Take your time little lady.” Sihtric was really struggling to let your body adapt, but the delicious tightness of your cunt left him yearning for more.

Your hips got closer and closer to his groin, moistening the entire stretch until your finally reached the base with a long sigh. Sihtric's hands smoothed the sides of your body and handled your tits with dexterity while contemplating you and your body with admiration and lust. Finally.

His weekly torment was being solved and he would do his best to prolong it.

Your initial jumps were smooth, leaning your hands on his chest to establish a constant and light rhythm that made him grunt low in contentment. Although...

Although he was appreciating how your movements intensified, it was not the way he wanted you that night, but he could deal with it for a while, especially when he started hitting his hips with your own. Fuck.

“Hmm, just like that,” you moaned and leaned over to take his lips, which gave him the chance to wrap an arm around your back and hold your body against his, holding your arse with a big hand to fuck you in that position. “Fuck, you're so damn big,” you whined with pleasure on his lips. “It feels amazing,” your head fell into the crooked of his neck.

"Let me know when it's too much, lady, I don't want to hurt you," he wandered with strong breathing before turning your body in a quick and fluid movement down, taking over the top, rubbing his groin against yours.

There was no reluctance in the rhythm he established, reflecting on the way your legs caged him and your arms brought him even closer, making him more intimate than he thought you would like. But who was he to displease with such?

“Sihtric! Keep going!” You sang sweetly, contrasting with the previous dominating attitude, melting and releasing juices on his cock. He grunted in a particularly strong grip followed by a soft tow. “More!”

He hit that spot again and again and almost growled when your nails scratched his back, beating relentlessly at a maddening pace. He was mortally proud of the idea of taking an orgasm out of you so fast that his mind led him into an inconvenient trap: what if you were pretending?

No, he couldn't accept that.

Pressing his thumb on your pearl and sucking the sweet place in the conjuncture between your neck and shoulder, Sithric kept his movements focused on getting your pleasure, taking your breath out and making your body arch violently against his with a loud moan, squeezing him in every way for dear life, leaving him almost painfully motionless throughout your high.

You were a damn sight with eyes closed and mouth between open, then staring at you with a satisfied and open smile. "Fuck… if I had known it would be like this I would have let you fuck me in the middle of the stage... in front of all those idiots," you laughed and smoothed his face, "keep going, I want you to cum for me."

If the glorious connection between your bodies leading him to madness was not enough, your dirty words made it difficult to postpone the weight on his balls with each intense and deep thrust on your velvet walls. He was on the edge of the apex when he sank his face into your neck and grunted loudly, making his folds vibrate. It was too much to deal with.

His senses failed when he came strong and hot, filling the condom and your ear with idle and guttural sounds while squeezing your hip with a force that would be felt for days. Sihtric leaned on the opposite forearm so as not to deposit all the weight on you during the climax, delighting in the newly formed sweat where your breasts and his chest were.

"Fuck," the Dane slowly withdrew from your cozy interior and removed the used condom, visually looking for some disposal point inside the room. When you signaled the nearest dumper he drove quickly before falling to your side with irregular breathing and eyes momentarily closed. He was a fucking view.

“I hope it doesn't take long to recover because I need you to fuck me again,” you said after a short moment in comfortable silence.

A quick nasal laugh was his first reaction. "Mmm, you're a needy girl, aren't you?" His mismatched eyes shone with sensuality when they found yours, "don't worry, I intend to make good use of time."

An open and satisfied smile was the preceptor of your answer. “Good. I have more ideas."

═════════════════════

— taglist: @gemini-mama @lexwolfhale @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @tssf-imagines @chompchompluke

[bhxrdy]

unknown/nth | osferth

author’s note: for @arcielee​ 1K celebration - just a little drabble based on hozier’s song ‘unknown’. for you my dear, hoping you will enjoy ❤️ congratulations again on your milestone! and to @itbmojojoejo​, thank you for beta reading! lots of love & stay safe 💕

      He was but a warrior monk.

An angel amongst beast; words she whispered to him in bed as they danced in the middle of the night, amidst the flames of the hearth.

Dear Osferth, ever so endearingly naive. His blues covered in rose, the coloured lenses granted his sight with a mirage of grace and beauty.

And through the hues stood a vision in darkness, lustrous and holy.

And she wore a crown, birthed from the shadows of her storm; the halo ever so bright, induced by the strikes of lightning.

And she was scarlet, the shade hidden behind sweet smiles, soft touch and tender song.

Ever standing tall, she would spell treats in his ear, enticing his heart with sacred promises.

And the gentle boy could only see light.

And the cold front was weaving its way through the air, the missing guest to a dinner party.

     He was but a kind soul.

Syllables she would mumble under her breath, Eve’s lips drenching him in sin.

And the lyrics seeped to his bones, his heart weakened in delight as it fell to its knees under the weight of her love. It sought him out, like the mating call of the wild, an animal in heat searching for its prey.

And she would shine, a body of divinity, with her robes as crimson as the blood running through his veins.

And the noble warrior, the kind monk, ever so keen for her touch, would beg for a sliver of her mercy - a saint amongst sinners, he would sing.

As she was, her halo bringing light to the blind.

And again, angel would flutter across her tongue; the heaviness of such holy name drafted wings on his back.

And he raised her, up, up, into the heavens, her pedestal resting amongst the beauty of the skies where her throne stood, crafted from his bones and marrow.

To his devotion, he grew hungry; sated by the fruit of the Malus, the nectar of temptation ran deep within his throat.

And her fate was sealed as she ate with him; canines sinking into the sarcotestas, the juices dripped down her chin, unhinged and unbothered. The mess was abhorrent yet such it was, a wondrous masterpiece.

Darling Osferth could only stare at the cherry colours of her self-portrait, fumes seeping through his bloodstream and ignoring the way she was holding her meal, the pieces of her pomegranate dissolving within her grasp.

The tighter she held onto the seeded fruit, the deeper he loved her.

    And so unknown he had felt until she looked his way, her piercing gaze causing the chill to run amuck and raise his skin.

My heart is yours, he would share with her, intimately under the covers.

And she had promised care and tenderness, the echoes of her spell reaching his ears the way a Sunday sermon vibrates through his soul.

Enthralled by her undeniable beauty, she gifted him a smile that could light up the world; a grin stretched so wide, her teeth showed remnants of her food, the pieces of muscle throbbing and stuck in between as they cast an alluring shadow.

And within the cavities of her mouth, her tongue licked her bloodied teeth. A hum of pleasure roamed in her throat.

And the heart was missing from his chest; a cold wind washed through the gaping hole.

And the lamb had grown frightened, for its innocence had become bruised under the caress of the wolf, the fur drenched with red.

Such a flamboyant colour, bathing sin and desire under its murky waters.

And his feathers tickled him as he fell to his knees in prayer, worshipping his love with such might.

    And as the story went, beloved Osferth - creature of pure light and goodness; the threads of his sheet stretched too thin. The strings of the marionette grew unstable, ever so slowly, and slowly, demolishing the perfect piece that was her art.

The aftertaste of the exocarp stuck on his tongue, the snake slithered through the grass haunting him like working poison.

And all remained well, though the rose of his blues started to fade, the cracks unfitting of his love.

And as such, dinner was treacherous; sinking into the depth of her gaze, he drowned under ruby water where at the surface sat her friends, guests to the party.

And by her side was Cassius, and next to him was Brutus.

And the honour went to Judas, leader of them all.

And as poor Osferth sunk deep below, his feathers set aflame, the storm grew stronger as ice seized his limbs.

Her descent had begun, her sceptre slipping from her callous hand.

    He was but a gullible man, the sweet monk.

The whispers of the devil trailing in his mind, the snake was wrapped around the poor man’s neck.

He had grown cold, his heart empty, destroyed upon the teeth of Hellfire.

He was never the angel she claimed him to be; the wings, an illusion that she seared into his brain, a state of mind that no longer remained sane.

The fantasy shattered as she fell to his feet.

And the pedestal had cracked, the throne gone.

Such a fiend she had turned out to be.

And he begged for forgiveness, his guilt submerged under holy prayer.

The scorch marks on his back stayed, tragedy forever imprinted onto his skin.

As it was, the price of sin.

And so, what is betrayal but the act of desperation? When a lover seeks comfort, who to trust but the one who will break and bound you once again - a path all well known, all well dangerous, yet still taken.

And he grew to dislike apples, the juices rotting his guts with every bite.

And within the darkness of the caves, he held her hand, her tarnished fingers interlaced with his.

Because he was sweet and thoughtful, he led the path home.

Round and round they went, down below the circles of Hell.

Oh darling, I’m home - a song she spat to her sweet husband as she tightened her lover’s hold.

-------------------------------

xoxo

[thethyri]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐖𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐰𝐲𝐧𝐧❟ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞❟ ❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟 ❞

𖦹. 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ Wulfwynn wouldn't have believed it if someone had told her that her greatest loss would bring her her greatest joy.

𖦹. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 *𖧧₊‧ It has been days and days. But Wulfwynn kept fleeing and hiding. Until she stumbled upon her saviours, in depths of the woods.

𖦹. 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character) x Sihtric Kjartansson, Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character) x Sihtric Kjartansson x Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Finan x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Sihtric Kjartansson x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Uhtred of Bebbanburg x Wulfwynn of Northumbria (Original Female Character), Osferth x Ealhflæd of Cent (Original Female Character), Leofric x Mereswyth of Wessex (Original Female Character).

𖦹. 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 *𖧧₊‧ Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Show Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Not Show Compliant, Canon Rewrite, Show Rewrite, Show Dialogues, Canonical Character Death, Non-Canonical Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Multiple Graphic Descriptions of Wounds, Multiple Graphic Descriptions of Battles And Post-Battles, Blood On Several Occasions, Period-Typical Sexism, Slow Burn, Sexual Content, Mild-Sexual Content, Multiple Graphic Smuts (Ratings Specified In Concerned Chapters), Multiple Non-Graphic Smuts, Protective Finan, Possessive Finan, Finan Needs A Hug, Finan Backstory, Protective Sihtric, Jealous Sihtric, Adorable Sihtric, Sihtric Backstory, Protective Uhtred, Uhtred Is A Little Shit, Soft Osferth, Adorable Osferth, Osferth Backstory, Leofric Lives, Clapa Lives.

𖦹. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 *𖧧₊‧ Mild-Graphic Description of Bruises And Injuries.

𖦹. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ 2,912k.

𖦹. 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 *𖧧₊‧ 892-895 AD ⵓ 6th November 892 AD - 9th November 892 AD ⨾ Uhtred is 34-37 yo ⨾ Finan is 37-40 yo ⨾ Sihtric is 24-27 yo ⨾ Clapa is 43-44 yo ⨾ Osferth is 29-32 yo ⨾ Wulfwynn is 18-21 yo.

THE VODKAS MENU. + THE SERIE MENU. + CHAPTER TWO. + Archive Of Our Own.

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN CIPPANHAMM AND MELKSHAMM, WESSEX, 892 AD.

      Fear. Dread . It crept its way into the heart, maliciously, viciously, its hideous claws jagged, and hooked, burrowing in its throbbing flesh. It gnawed venomously into the guts, tangled into hundreds of hundreds of tightly knitted knots. It crawled malevolently into the lungs, its coarse scales scraping, and into the throat, its rugged tongue scratching. It soaked bitterly into the bones, into the marrow, cold, terribly cold.

      Wulfwynn was devoured with fear. Wrecked with dread. She felt the ache in her limbs, the burn in her lungs. She felt the cold whipping at the crusted scratches that littered her knuckles, her palms, her knees and her muddy heels. She felt the soreness of the swelled bruises that dotted her thighs, her arms and her wrists, her neck and her ankles, and her cheeks. They scattered across her body, mingled with her freckled flesh, scarlet and maroon, melded with her delicate moles, purply and olive.

      Wulfwynn felt utterly terrified.

      Twiddled branches and tangled roots scrapped at her calves and knees as she delved into the depths of the woods. Breathy sobs escaped her chapped lips, while the cold that chilled her lungs licked at the salty tears that soaked her cheeks. The writhed birches swallowed the misty, gloomy skies, engulfed the pallid gleam that shimmered between their leaves. And they’d swallow Wulfwynn too. They'd swallow her whimpers, and they'd choke her with their branches, they’d throttle her with their roots—

      Wulfwynn sobbed panickedly, as she whisked hurriedly between the pines and the bushes, her heart onto her tongue.

      They’d scratch, and scrape, and rasp, and snarl and sneer and—

      A strangled yelp choked in her throat as she stumbled onto a root. She swayed abruptly and fell. Whimpers and whines of throbbing anguish and nauseous panic swirled through the cinnamon and crimson leaves that twirled around Wulfwynn as she hurtled down the muddy hill. And she gasped breathlessly as she slammed into a thick trunk.

      Wulfwynn clutched the bark, chafing her fingers, and wobbled, then rose quiveringly, but rose nonetheless, before her heel slipped in the mud and she tumbled again. She grunted as she fell, and fell, and fell, down the hill, down, down, until she landed into the dirt. Wulfwynn laid into the leaves and the dirt, perhaps an eternity, perhaps an instant, furled and shuddering, her heart throbbing into her temples and her knees and elbows aching.

      But, though she struggled, arose onto her palms. Bitter tears fell from her reddened cheeks, from her chin, onto her scratched, scarred fingers and between her knuckles. And then, a shout resonated through the pines, 

      “Lord !”

      Fear gripped at Wulfwynn’s heart with it crooked claws. She fumbled panickedly with her kirtles and skirts, shuffled and tumbled, and wobblily arose, but fell onto her knees with a frustrated whine. She huffed shakily.

      “Lord !” Wulfwynn prayed. She prayed fervently, as the worried yell swivelled in the chilly whiff. “Are ye— Are ye alright?” She’d have chuckled, but Wulfwynn merely sobbed. “Ye’re— Uhtred !”

      She peered hesitantly and her glance landed onto the cross that dangled before her teary eyes. A heavy huff tickled her cheek.

      “Ye’re alright, lass, ye’re alright,” He murmured quietly as he knelt. She felt his pity, his gentleness and his kindheartedness, and she sniffled. Her heart swelled. “Ye’ll be alright, I promise.”

      Wulfwynn nodded meekly. His soft promise poured onto her sore scratches and scrapes, syrupy and smooth and warm. Her heart seared with a sour tincture of gratitude and lament, with a driblet of reassurance and a splatter of solace. Her glance anchored into umber orbs, tinged with warmth and kindness, and worry.

      “Finan.” A whistle tickled Wulfwynn's guts. “ Finan !”

      “Lord,” Finan startled, as he leapt onto his muddy boots. Wulfwynn shivered as the chill tickled at her neck. "She's hurt, Lord."

      “Hurt?” The Lord —Uhtred, she assumed— inquired, with doubt and incertitude. And a tinge of scepticism. “Quite hurt.” Finan affirmed, and nodded.

      A chiffchaff chirped. “Lord?” Queried a soft murmur. “She indeed seems quite unwell.”

      The Lord’s glance landed unto the salty tears that streaked her cheeks, unto her bruises, and her scratches and scrapes, and she felt oddly, yet agreeably, absorbed into the frosty depths her eyes plunged into. His stare felt cold, but she embraced that cold. She felt queerly reassured, comforted, shrouded into that cold. The Lord hummed quietly. And nodded. Wulfwynn huffed a breath of relief.

      Finan knelt beside her, his knees in the mud, and she felt his warmth caress her as he wrapped an arm around her waist. Wulfwynn grabbed her tattered kirtles, and Finan muttered, “ Jesus .” as he glanced at her legs. She grasped his hand, hers frail and fragile in his callused palm. She grunted with anguish, as she struggled to arise, but her knees buckled.  

      Finan's hold tightened, "Gently, gently." he reassured her softly, "Osferth!" he beckoned with a whistle and a nod. Saddle buckles rattled, leaves rustled and an arm slithered across her back. “Apologies, Lady.” and Wulfwynn uttered a quavery huff. 

      “Gently.” Finan repeated as Wulfwynn arose slowly. “Alright. We’ll get ye onto Sihtric’s horse.” 

      Osferth nodded. He gently took ahold of her elbow, and they strode to the horses. They approached Sihtric’s horse, and Wulfwynn glanced at the silhouette sat astride its saddle, shrouded in furs, as Sihtric’s stare anchored into hers. She felt Finan’s warmth fade when he stepped back and unbuckled his cloak's buckle, before he wrapped the warm, woollen garment around Wulfwynn’s shuddery shoulders. 

      “It’ll keep ye warm.” Finan murmured as he tucked the hood on Wulfwynn's messy, tousled curls and tresses. “Ye’ll ride with Sihtric. Alright?” 

      She nodded. Finan approached the horse and leaned down. He cupped his callused hands, fingers knotted, and Wulfwynn grasped his arm as she hesitantly placed her heel in his palm. "Alright. I'll hoist ye there and Sihtric will get ye, huh?" Wulfwynn hummed and, quite facilely, Finan lifted her. She gracelessly threw her leg across the saddle and, as he told her, Sihtric grabbed her. “Ye’re good?”

      “Good.” Wulfwynn muttered with a nod. Finan’s eyes widened at the hoarseness of her mutter but he nodded nonetheless. 

      He and Osferth hopped back onto their horses. Wulfwynn fidgeted a bit, and grabbed Sihtric's thick, woolly ebony mantle with her fingertips. But he felt it and turned, and gently grasped her wrist before he wrapped it across his chest. 

      Wulfwynn jolted when he softly spoke, “You may hold on.” And, although timidly, Wulfwynn slipped her arms around Sihtric’s waist. Her fingers gripped the crisscrossed leather of his cotte, and her fingertips stroked the fur that flanked its edges. The scents of cinders and smoke, of dust and caked mud and hay tickled her nostrils. Yet she felt oddly soothed as she faintly breathed into the heavy wool. 

      “We ride!” then hailed Uhtred. 

      Wulfwynn’s legs dangled from the horse’s rump, and swayed slightly with his sturdy strides. The muffled thud of hooves as they rustled dead leaves, the snorts of the horses, the chirps of the birds and the warmth of Sihtric's furs cradled Wulfwynn. And slowly, as she fell into slumber, her head lolled and bobbed, and then, settled between Sihtric's shoulders. 

      And Wulfwynn slept, as much as she hadn't slept in weeks.

₊‧𒀭⋆₊

      The noisy hustle and bustle of Wintanceaster was quite pleasant. With the yells of its merchants, as they tempted the villagers with their trouts and lampreys, their hot loaves of oat breads, their goat cheeses, and their turnips and parsnips, and their pears. The bright, merry talks of the villagers. The jolly chuckles and giggles of the children. 

      Wintanceaster was noisy and Finan basked in its noisiness.

      He particularly appreciated this noisiness, as it differed considerably from the howls and yells that engulfed the field. As well as the smells. The scents of mud sodden, thickened with blood, of tangy sweat and barf were, at Wintanceaster, the scents of roasted pork and latterly brewed barley ale that wafted from the taverns. 

      Yet, this bustle hadn't awakened the lass, whose scratched and scraped arms were wrapped across Sihtric's chest, and whose reddened, bruised cheek was squooshed against his back, although she was shrouded with Finan’s hood. But Sihtric wasn’t bothered in the least. 

      “We'll take her to mine." declared Finan, as they strided towards the stables. 

      A snort. "Really? Huh." Clapa chuckled wickedly. He glared at the Dane. "Well, we're not gonna get her to yers, are we?" Finan retorted. 

      “He’d frighten her.” Uhtred sniggered, as he glanced at the giant. Clapa smirked.

      “Frighten her? I’m but meek, sweet and gentle as a lamb, Lord.” He protested, and Uhtred chuckled, “Huh-uh.”

      They approached the stables and alighted from their steeds. Finan felt the soreness in his legs as he neared Sihtric’s horse. He nodded towards Clapa, “Can ye take her?” and the Dane contourned the horse. He held his arms towards the lass, and Sihtric gently peeled her hands from the crisscrosses of his cotte, before Clapa slithered an arm across her back, as she slipped into his arms, and then slithered a hand beneath her legs. “I’ve got her.”

      "Alright." Finan nodded. The muddy strands of straw of the stables crumpled beneath the soles of Sihtric's boots, when he leaped from his horse.

      The lass’ forehead was nestled in Clapa’s neck, and the hood had flopped back a tad from her head. Finan’s glance fell onto the maroon and olive bruises that dotted her cheeks and chin, the scarlet slit that carved in the slope of her nose and the split etched into her plump, chapped lip.  

      He then turned to Osferth, “We’ll need yer balms and herbs.” 

      “Aye.” he nodded and hurried to fetch the leather satchel on his saddle. 

      They then took her to Finan's. He didn't quite considered it— well, considered it what? A haven? His? His haven? Nah, his haven was Coccham. This was but a humble, wooden hut, scarcely adorned, with a bed padded with straw and wool, draped with a few woollen and linen pillows and blankets, and a few furs. A table, scattered with bowls, melted candles and a hutch of trinkets, stood in the corner, with three stools. Light linen sheers flanked the walls, near the bed, while a wooden chest sat beside it, and a bench stood in the corner, near the entrance. 

      Clapa settled the lass onto the bed, with greater gentleness than Finan had hoped, and, with care, Finan unbuckled the buckle of his coat and slipped the wool from the lass' frail, delicate silhouette, before Clapa laid her tousled head onto the pillows. 

      “‘Tis still as modest as it was the last I was here.” enthused Uhtred, as he entered the hut with Osferth and Sihtric. 

      Finan stared at the lass an instant, and then turned to Osferth. He startled and hurried to the table and, amongst the wooden bowls, grabbed the dusty pestle and mortar. He then brought the herbs onto the table from his satchel, and glanced at the sleeper before he took the yarrow. 

      They stared quietly at the monk, as he grabbed the pestle and mashed the dried yarrow into the mortar. He then grabbed a bowl and poured a quaff of his gourd, and sprinkled the dried plant. Osferth then took the bowl and told Finan, “It’ll soothe her body.” 

      Finan took the bowl and nodded. Softly, he knelt onto the bed's edge, and slowly tickled the beverage between the lass' chapped lips. 

      “Then?” Sihtric queried as he neared the table. Osferth took the bowl back. "Then," he mumbled, as he tossed plants in the wooden bowl, and took the pestle, "I'll tend to those scrapes and scratches with chamomile," he grimaced, as though he was scraped and scratched, "and soothe her bruises with nettle." 

      Sihtric glanced at the lass and the frown between her brows. And a tinge of concern tickled his chest. Osferth grinded the chamomile and the nettle in the bowl, and then poured a quaff, “She’ll heal.” he assured, as he approached the bed and settled on the edge. 

      “But she’ll need a while. She’s quite enfeebled.” he murmured softly, and placed the bowl onto the woollen blankets. “But she’ll heal.”

₊‧𒀭⋆₊

      Wulfwynn felt cradled. 

      Shrouded in the softness of the wool of Cynefrith's sleeves across her hips, and swaddled in the warmth of Eadgyth's skirts and kirtles, her legs entangled with hers. She felt utterly well.

      She hadn’t felt well in quite a while. But between Cynefrith and Eadgyth, she felt soothed. 

      Yet, Wulfwynn stirred in her slumber. She nestled her nose in Eadgyth's tangled and tousled tresses, and hummed with contentment when the scents of chamomile tickled her nostrils. She felt Cynefrith’s gentle breath tickle the back of her neck. 

      Wulfwynn sighed with delight. She laced her fingers with Cynefrith’s, and Eadgyth wrapped her arm around them, and cuddled them. 

      And an ache clutched at her chest.  

      Wulfwynn’s brows furrowed. She huddled and clutched Cynefrith's lithe fingers, and snuggled into Eadgyth's neck. But she gasped as her chest tightened. 

      And she sobbed. Whiffs of cinders and embers, of nettle and of dust swamped her nostrils and tickled her guts. She sobbed, and sobbed, as the ache clawed at her heart. 

      Sleep left her, slowly, so slowly it felt an eternity. 

      Her sight remained blurred a moment before she discerned the shutters, and the pale gleams of the morn that crept between them. Then she glanced beside her. But Eadgyth wasn't there. And when she turned and peered above her shoulder, Cynefrith wasn't there either. And then, she remembered. 

      The yells, the tears. The lake. The sobs, the pleas. The plains. The blood. 

      Cynefrith wasn’t there. 

      Eadgyth wasn’t there.

      They weren’t here.

      Wulfwynn whimpered. There was neither Eadgyth nor Cynefrith. There weren't their embraces, merely linen blankets and furs. There wasn't their warmth, just a woollen and straw mattress. They weren't there. 

      She sobbed, her hands clutched at her chest. She sobbed, her scraped and scratched knees beneath her chin. She sobbed, muffled into the blankets. She didn't hear the squeak of the wooden door and the creak of the boots onto the floorboards. 

      “Lass?” 

      Wulfwynn perked and winced. "Ye're awake, at last." Finan huffed, as the concern that etched his face melted into relief. Wulfwynn's tears trickled from her cheeks and wetted the blankets. Finan approached the bed. 

      “Ye’re alright, lass. Ye’re alright.” he reassured her. But Wulfwynn wasn’t alright. 

      Her lips quivered, “I,” she huffed quietly, feebly, “I fled, but I—” and faltered, “I fled,” 

      “Hey, hey,” Finan neared her, and she felt her heart thump, "I— I fled but I—" she sobbed, "But—" And Finan gently seated at the bed's edge, “Hey, ye’re alright, lass, ye’re alright.” he repeated. “Ye’re fine,” he murmured softly. 

      Alright. She was alright. Wulfwynn nodded. Was she alright? She wasn’t quite. But she nodded nonetheless. Her sobs ebbed. She felt, as she had felt with Uhtred, oddly, yet agreeably, comforted and reassured when her eyes anchored into Finan’s. But she felt terribly feeble too. And sore. 

      “Ye shouldn't tire yerself too much. Ye're still weak and ye haven't eaten yet.” he uttered prudently, as though he feared he might frighten her. “Ye’ve slept quite a bit and Osferth has tended to yer,” he swallowed, “wounds.”

      Wulfwynn glanced down at her hands, wrapped in thin strips of linen, folded around her thumbs and knotted in the crook of her palms. The whiffs of chamomile and nettle wafted to her nose when she wiggled her fingers. She noticed she was no longer garbed in her shredded skirts and kirtles, drenched with sweat, sullied with guts and smeared with mud and dust, but a linen shift that smelt of sage. Hence why she had felt so comfortable in her slumber. And she frowned. If she’d been changed, then had they—

      “We haven’t.” Finan assured, halting her thoughts, as though he knew what she was wondering. “Osferth merely tended to the wounds on yer arms and legs. Yer virtue is untarnished. Lord Uhtred's sister and Abbess Hild tended to those he couldn't. And then changed ye.” 

      She nodded shyly. “W-Where,” she licked her lips, “Where are we?” 

      “Wintanceaster, Lady.”

      He stood from the bed and went to the table, in the corner, where there were three stools and, scattered onto the table, dusty baubles and wooden plates, bowls and cups. “Have I,�� she straightened slightly and grimaced, “H-Have slept long?”

      He picked a goblet and grabbed the jug, near a plate in which there were the scraps of a meal. Wulfwynn then wondered if they had remained there while she slept. “About three days. Since we arrived.” 

      “Oh.” she murmured. Finan returned to the bed and handed her the goblet. She whispered her thanks, and wondered if he had heard her, but as he nodded, she thought he must have. She took a sip and felt the soreness of her throat. 

      Then her stomach rumbled.

      Her cheeks dusted with embarrassment and she coughed. She hadn't eaten but a few berries in days, and hadn't eaten aught but stale bread in weeks. The mere sight of the scraps of a meal had her stomach growl. 

      "Ye must be famished." Finan frowned, as if concerned. He then nodded, as though approving a thought he'd just had. "Alright. I'll get Hild fer ye and we'll take ye to the tavern. I'll be quick." 

      He then turned on his heels and strode out of the hut.

CHAPTER TWO. + Archive Of Our Own.

©TheThyri. All rights content belong to @thethyri​​. Do not repost, translate or plagiarize my works in any way or on any other platform without my permission. Gifs rightfully belong to @dailytlk.

[viking-chaos]

Of Irland, Chapter 24

Chapter 1 \\ Chapter 23 \\ Series Masterlist

Instead of being taken captive in Winchester, Stiorra leaves for Irland with a friend of her father’s. There she meets Sigtryggr, a Dane, the grandson of Ivar the Boneless.

Chapter 24: Ships and more Ships

Chapter Warnings: Language, threat, nothing serious really. Words: 3507 AO3 A/N: My heading layout has changed because I am using a different app.

“So, when will the ships arrive?”

“They will arrive when they arrive, Ivar, as I told you the last fifty times you asked.”

“But it hasn’t arrived yet!”

“I said it should arrive today. I didn’t say I knew what time exactly it would arrive. How am I supposed to know that?”

“You are a fucking seer! These are the sorts of things you’re supposed to ‘see’. So why can’t you just ‘see?’”

“Because it doesn’t work like that!”

This was the argument that greeted Sigtryggr and Stiorra as they made their way down the stairs to breakfast. Sigtryggr gave her hand one last squeeze before they parted. It was best for both of them that Ivar didn’t find out. They would keep their relationship a secret as long as possible.

“That is exactly how it is supposed to work!” Ivar said indignantly.

Drifa sighed, putting her head in her hands. “Ivar, I see death, life, grief and love. I do not see the exact time and place an enemy will approach. I do not see whether or not it will rain or snow. I certainly do not see the exact time that a ship will arrive.”

“You're not much of a seer then, are you?”

Drifa gave a defeated groan and turned to the newcomers, sitting themselves at the table.

“How was your night then?” she asked, a wide grin on her face.

Stiorra choked on her morning porridge. 

“My night would have been better if I knew a ship or two would arrive safely today with supplies and goods,” Ivar interjected.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Drifa retorted. 

This back and forth must have been going on for some time, as Drifa sighed and put her head in her hands. “And I have told you. The bloody ship arrives today. I don’t know what time.”

“What she means,” Asvard called out from a table across the room, “is she doesn’t give two shits about the ship. And you’re not even worth one!”

“Asvard!” Drifa admonished, but Stiorra could see her smiling. 

“You can go look out for the ship,” Ivar ordered. 

“You are not my king or my jarl, “Drifa reminded him, standing.

“You serve my family.”

“I serve Bjorn Ironside, Ivar. He is the king back home, or have you forgotten,” Drifa said, standing.

Stiorra froze. Bjorn Ironside. The brother of Ivar the Boneless? Drifa had often mentioned her king back ‘home’, wherever home was to her. But to have Bjorn Ironside as a king?

“But I will go.”

Ivar nodded. “Good.”

“Partly so she doesn’t have to look at your slimy shit-face countenance again,” Hæfnir piped up.

This time she didn’t even bother yelling at him. Just shook her head and left the hall.

“Bjorn Ironside?” Stiorra whispered to Sigtryggr. “Her lands were given to her by Bjorn Ironside?”

“No,” he answered. “They were given to her by his father. And my grandfather’s father.”

Stiorra sighed, flopping back in her seat. “Everyone seems to be related to everyone,” she grumbled.

___________________________________________________

After a rather tense and silent breakfast, Ivar ordered both of his brothers to make their way down to the docks to await the ship. Stiorra went with, partly so she would not be left alone in the Great Hall with Ivar. Rognvaldr vanished somewhere on the way. 

They found Drifa staring pointedly down the river. 

“What are you doing, my friend?” Sigtryggr asked, trying to figure out what she was staring so hard at. 

“I am following orders, Sigtryggr. I am ‘looking’ for the ship.”

Stiorra giggled. Trust Drifa to find some way of annoying Ivar.

A small crowd had started gathering around the dock, all eagerly awaiting the arrival of this ship. It was strange to Stiorra that one ship could gain so much interest, but given where it was coming, it almost seemed reasonable.

“Has this ship come straight from Fjall?” she asked. 

“No, the one before that never arrived did,” Drifa answered. “This ship came from the Mediterranean.”

“The where?”

Drifa chuckled slightly. “The Mediterranean is a sea. The Roman Empire once held sway over the lands that surrounded it. The ships that come from there are often laden with spices and silk, herbs, linen, many things. Anything that comes from there tends to be the best of the best. The lands there are rich in resources.”

As Drifa spoke, the crowd surrounding the docks swelled. People were jostling each other, trying to see if the boat had come. Fear of Drifa probably kept from coming too close.

A laugh from behind turned Stiorra around to see Sigtryggr laughing with his friend, Alvin, Arnas? She couldn’t remember.

Whatever his name was, he did not seem particularly pleased at his friend's hysterics.

“What did you do this time, you half-wit?” Drifa teased.

The red haired man rolled his eyes. “She was complaining that her back hurt, so I reminded her of the time I jumped off the walls in a snowstorm and landed back-first in a pile of snow,” he mumbled, now looking more ashamed of himself. “So she whalloped  me with one of her skirts.” 

Drifa, like Sigtryggr, burst out laughing. 

“Why would you jump off the walls in a snowstorm?” Stiorra asked, giggling herself because it sounded so stupid.

“Because I dared him too,” Sigtryggr answered. Stiorra’s jaw dropped. There was no way, Sigtryggr, of all people, would dare his best friend to do something so ridiculously idiotic. He was too responsible, level-headed, and intelligent.…

“I was young and foolish once, too, Stiorra,” he said, seeing her expression. He stepped closer and placed a finger under her chin, applying the barest of pressures until her mouth was shut.

They stared in each other's eyes for what seemed like an eternity. A small pool of wetness grew between her thighs.

The moment lasted until Sigtryggr’s friend swung his arm around the much taller Dane and whispered conspiratorially in his ear, “Are you humping her?”

“Anlaf!” Sigtryggr snapped back at him. Anlaf (that was his name then) held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I won’t be telling Ivar. He scares me more than he scares you.”

Sigtryggr scoffed. “Ivar doesn’t scare me.”

He was lying. Stiorra could see it in his eyes. Ivar scared them all. 

Drifa walked up to them, having apparently abandoned her ‘efforts’ to search for the ship.

“Anlaf, you should try being pregnant sometime. When you wake up, you need to pee, to get up, you have to roll over. You have to be careful not to roll on your overly large belly that swells in front of you, while that same belly prevents you from rolling yourself over.”

Anlaf sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“When you finally do get up and pee, your back hurts. You sit down and you need to pee again. Your arse hurts, your breasts have swelled and they hurt,” she continued. “And on top of that, you have a husband who complains that you're always hurting, because you are, you never satisfy his needs because you’re too tired. You have your own needs, which your husband is too afraid of hurting the baby to satisfy, and he still expects you to cook his meals, and clean the house he pays for, and clean his clothes, make the bed, mend his shirts among other things. All of which you are too bloody pregnant to do.”

Everyone just stared at her for a moment. 

“Have you ever had a baby, Drifa?” Anlaf asked, shocked, “because I can’t for the life of me figure out how you know all of that without having any children.”

“Perhaps I have had children and you just don't know about it,” she joked. No-one laughed with her. Stiorra almost believed it for a moment. “Because as the midwife who checks on your wife every week, that is what she tells me.”

Anlaf nodded, looking, if it was possible, even more ashamed of himself.

“It is also what every woman tells me when I visit. They tell me their husbands do nothing to help. That they’re useless. Some husbands do not care to help.”

“Tell me what I can do, Jarl Drifa?” Anlaf asked. “What can I do to help her?”

“You can help look after your daughter, you can help her with whatever tasks need doing around the house. Let her rest, put her feet up.”

“You could rub her feet,” Sigtryggr suggested out of nowhere. Stiorra looked at him blankly. How does he know that?

Seeing her confused expression, he smiled. “I also help in the hospital sometimes.”

Suddenly someone yelled, “SHIP! THERE’S A SHIP!”

The crowds jostled impatiently. Drifa signalled to some of her men to keep the crowds back. Stiorra was searching frantically for this ship.

Drifa’s ships were somewhat famous. As a traveller, she had to take a large enough ship to carry as much supplies as possible, as well as the men and women she’d bring with. She never wanted to bring a whole fleet, just to carry supplies. And so once, not long before she set on an extremely long voyage, She designed an enormous ship, large enough to carry around two-hundred men. The only problem was that many were built before she realised she didn't need dozens of ships that could carry an army twice the size of the army she already commanded. So she loaned them out to traders in return of a particular tax and a particular set of rules. This route went all the way from her own lands in Fjall, through Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and over the North Sea to Lunden and Wessex, places in Frankia, Espana, all the way through the Mediterranean. And of course, Dyflin. The route even connected to the Silk Road that led all the way to China. All places Stiorra had never been to, or barely even heard of. This venture earned her a lot of money, as well as the taxes she received from Fjall itself. There was a theory that she was the richest person in the entire world, although that would never be confirmed.

As the ship finally entered view in the harbour, Stiorra was finally able to see the true size of these things. She’d never seen one of these ships up close. Even the one they’d used to get to Dyflin had been a regular longship. And it was enormous. The hull itself was taller than even Sigtryggr. This boat was longer and wider than any ship that had ever been built. Stiorra even wondered how it was afloat. It finally came to rest at the docks, docks that had been specially built to accommodate the sheer size of it. The bright red sail appeared to be made of at least four regular sails stitched together. 

“Four times the size of your regular knarr. Can hold four times the amount of cargo, yet with a very similar amount of crew,” Drifa said proudly and the gangplank was lowered.

A dark haired man wearing a bright red cloak like the sails stepped down the plank. He had a bushy beard that obscured half his face. His bright blue eyes just peeped out from the tangle of his hair.

“Ornulf!” Drifa called, waving to him. The trader, Ornulf, walked slowly down the plank, limping as though he had been wounded. “What happened to you?”

Ornulf stumbled off the end of the plank as though his legs were not used to standing on unmoving ground. Sigtryggr, the hero he was, caught him before he hit the ground. “Pirates happened.” 

Sigtryggr then guided him over to a bench, where the trader sat, rubbing his leg.

“So, you know what happened to the previous ship?” he asked.

“I do, Lord.”

Men started to unload the large ship, but all eyes were on Ornulf.

“We had just arrived in Cookham for Yol, as you instructed, Jarl,” he began. “Lord Uhtred told us about the ship. And he said that two of the pirates had gone into town, gotten themselves drunk, and they foolishly boasted about their conquest. Lord Uhtred informed me that they apprehended the men in question. I offered to bring them here to you for judgement, given it was your ship they sank.”

Ornulf signalled to two of his men.

“Did these men say who they were?” Drifa asked.

“One was called Hermand, the other Anlaf.”

A struggle on the deck caught the attention of those watching. Two of Ornulfs burlier men were dragging two younger smaller men down the ramp.

The first was tall and muscular. His dark hair was long and braided. His face was covered in intricate tattoos that extended down his neck into his armour. Most curious though, was the pendant in the shape of a bear around his neck. Most warriors wore a hammer to represent Thor.

Stiorra glanced at Sigtryggr and noticed him grip his sword tight. She laid a gentle hand on his arm, hoping to calm him.

“That man there is a berserker, like Hæfnir,” he whispered. 

“But Hæfnir doesn’t wear that pendant,” she whispered back.

“People call him a berserker because he fights like one, in a crazed trance, but he is not a true berserker in the way most think of it. He is called that for a joke.”

The second man was not quite as tall or burly. His face was long and thin, his hair was long, as was the fashion, but unbraided and wild. As he came closer, Sigtryggr relaxed his stance and sighed audibly. He muttered something in Irish that sounded like a swear word.

Once both were standing in front of him, he approached the berserker. “Hermund,” he said by way of greeting. “I am sorry about your wife.”

Hermund snapped to look at him in shock. “Did you not hear?” Drifa said. “She died giving birth to your son, Ingilmundr. The boy is here, he has been cared for by his uncle Anlaf.”

Stiorra looked at him. Anlaf was tense as well, holding onto the axe strapped to his belt.

“Brother,” he called over. 

Sigtryggr moved onto the other. “Nephew,” he said.

Stiorra froze. Nephew. One of the raiders was his nephew? But Ivar doesn’t have any children.

“Take them both to the Great Hall. And someone tell Ivar,” Sigtryggr ordered.

Stiorra raced after him as he started to walk off. The crowds surged forwards now the fun was over, wanting various items from the immense ship.

“Sigtryggr!” she yelled after him. He stopped and grabbed her hand to pull her through the crowd safely. 

Once they were both out of the crowds, she was able to ask him the question on her mind.

“You never said you had a nephew,” she said.

“His father is Ivar’s older brother, Guthfrith,” he explained. She remembered Drifa saying something about him, that he left Dyflin many years ago.

“Around the time I was born, Guthfrith had a falling out with Ivar. I was only a babe, so I don’t know much about it. I only know it was bad enough for Guthfrith to leave with his wife. Five years later, his wife came back, heavily pregnant and covered in bruises. Drifa was there at the time, creating a trade deal with my father. Guthfrith’s wife gave birth a week after she came back and died, but she was alive long enough to name her son Anlaf, and to ask my father to raise him, which he did.

“Five years ago, Anlaf left with his best friend, Hermand, who is my friend, Anlaf’s brother. They both left to find his father, and we haven’t heard anything since. Hermand was married, and his wife was with child. She gave birth six months after they left, dying ten days later, after begging her brother-in-law’s to raise her son.”

There was silence between them at the end of his story. 

“Your friend has another brother?” she asked tentatively.

“Yes, his name is Skoll Grimmarsson,” he answered, “and he is Ivar’s best friend.”

A loud clanking turned both of them around. Drifa was walking towards them, Asvard beside her carrying a large box.

“And Skoll Grimmarsson is one ugly pain in the arse,” Drifa added. “We don’t like him.”

Who could be surprised? A friend of Ivar’s was likely to be just as bad as him.

“It is a complicated family,” she sighed. “First you have two Anlafs. We call the nephew Anlaf, Other Anlaf.”

Stiorra giggled. 

“Then there’s the fact that yous two are cousins.”

Stiorra gaped at her. Sigtryggr looked as though she was mad (which she was).

“It’s true!” she insisted. “Gisela was the daughter of Harthacanute, who was the son of Sigurd Snake-Eye, who’s brother was Ivar the Boneless. You’re second cousins once removed, I think.”

Still they stared.

“It’s not incest!” she protested. “It doesn’t count!”

“Not like them,” Asvard said. 

“Oh, yes, them.”

“Who’s them?” Sigtryggr asked, exceedingly confused.

“Them who shall not be named are famous for the incest. But, they shall not be names,” Drifa said, tapping the side of her nose with a finger. “Besides the point,” she gestured to Asvard, “a present from Lord Uhtred of Cookham to his daughter.”

Asvard presented the box to Stiorra. Drifa hit him on the head. “Take it up to her room, you oaf, it’s heavy.” Asvard grumbled as he walked off in the general direction of the Great Hall. "You're welcome," she added. 

"Umm, thank you?" Stiorra said quizzically. She wasn't really sure that being told she had humped her cousin had been at all necessary. 

Sigtryggr tapped her shoulder and whispered, “You should go back to the room and open your presents. Drifa and I have to have a little talk,” he finished with glare in the skald’s direction.

_______________________________________

Back in the Great Hall (Ivar had mercifully left to deal with the arrival of the ship), Asvard was just coming down the stairs that led to the bedrooms. He held out an arm to stop Stiorra from going any further.

“Lady, um” he started, “I’m not sure how to say this, but the roof to your room collapsed.” Shit. That was not good. She distantly heard Asvard say something about leaving the box in Sigtryggr’s room, which was probably for the best. Ifhe had it his way, he would never leave. She managed to let out a thank you to the man before continuing on her way. 

She could see her door at the end of the corridor open. She glanced briefly. The damage was extensive. She would not be sleeping there for a good while.

Now, then, what did my father send me for Yol. She would worry more about her room after she’d seen what she got.

The box was sitting at the end of Sigtryggr’s bed. Stiorra hesitated before opening it, remembering how her father (or more often, whoever was not drunk) had to stop Finan from giving her something inappropriate for Yol. He would often drag poor Osferth (who would be too drunk to even realise what was going on) with him.

Poor baby monk. He’d been so innocent once (or so she had been told).

But then, her father would never have let this box out of Cookham without checking it thoroughly first. She opened it, and began to pull out the contents one by one. There was a trinket from Osferth, a string of beads. Finan had sent her a small flagon of ale. Sihtric had sent a drawing that appeared to have been done by one of his children. 

And then there was Uhtred. He’d gifted her a knife. A sensible gift. A note was attached. “I hope you never need to use this.”

Tears started leaking out of her eyes. She hadn’t seen any of them for months now. 

The door opened softly behind her. It was Sigtryggr. She could tell by the careful footsteps.

There was a light metallic clatter as he removed his sword and belt. Then his arms came around her.

“Has something happened, my love?”

Her heart gave a jolt as he said those two words. It had only been a few days. She wondered if she’d ever get used to hearing them from his mouth.

“Everything is fine.”

“You’re crying.” Damn him for being so observant. “What’s wrong?”

He turned her around to face him, gently wiping away her tears.

“I miss home, my father, my ‘uncles’.”

“Even the ones that get each other in trouble,” he smiled, trying to cheer her up.

“That would be Finan dragging poor Osferth into his schemes,” she chuckled through her tears. 

“Osferth, the baby monk?” he confirmed. Stiorra nodded. 

“I hope I get to take you to meet all of them, one day,” she mused.

“Hmm,” he’d said. “I may be rather afraid.”

“Why? From what I’ve seen, you’re afraid of nothing.”

“Just think about what would happen when the Dane-Slayer finds out that a Dane is humping his daughter.”

She hadn’t thought of that.

[moris-auri]

Oh simple thing (where have you gone?)

pairing: Osferth x Brynja

rating: E

wc: 672

"I don't know how you've bewitched me, but it needs to stop," Osferth barely manages to get out. His voice is as hoarse as she's ever heard it, thin and strung out and everything in between- a testament to the hours she's had him coming undone by her hand. Sweat glistens at his temple, making strands of his hair look more brown then the beaten gold she's grown accustomed to. 

"Oh, does it?" Mischief glimmers in her dark eyes, endless pools that seemed to draw him in no matter how hard he tried to resist. Bold and self assured, she grins in response. She edges closer to him, the fabric of her shift bunching around her thighs as she situates herself atop him. "If I've bewitched you, beloved," she breathes as she bends forward, extending a hand out to card her fingers through his hair, inwardly delighting when his eyes fall shut halfway. "How will you stop me?" she queries, her hand dropping from his hair, the backs of her knuckles rasping over the cut of his jaw. 

Whatever he had wanted to say dies when her head dips more, a shudder ripping through him at the feel of her breath ghosting over the shell of his ear and the curve of his jaw down to his pulse point. "Brynja…" he made a half strangled noise in the back of his throat, managing to withhold a groan but by the skin of his teeth as he stared up at her, his eyes gone half-lidded, his fingertips biting into the skin of her hips. 

Despite his half clouded senses, he can hear the bed creak as she shifts, fisting the hem of her shift in her hands and pulling it over her head. She raises a brow as her gaze finds his again, eyes glinting with a hunger that he knows all too well. 

The sight of her body outlined by the slowly fading sunlight made him inhale sharply, his pulse pounding in his ears. She was the very embodiment of temptation. A confounding paradigm. But one he would not trade for the world. He had thought of it more times than he could count- why she had chosen someone like him when she could've had anyone she wanted. 

She shifted yet again, each languid roll of her hips drawing a string of moans from his chest as his hands roam over her sun warmed skin and hair, murmuring half intelligible words under his breath, yet not so faint to where she cannot hear them. More than content to watch her, his eyes never leave her face, taking note of each miniscule thing. The way her lips twitched. The way her teeth stood out as she bit her bottom lip. The way the heat that emanated from her bled into him from the hand she had pressed flat to his chest. 

Osferth half rises then, murmuring her name as he weaves his hands into her hair, the dark brown strands contrasting against his skin. He can see himself reflected in the dark of her pupils, her breath fanning warm against his face. He pressed his mouth to hers a second later, all but groaning as the taste of her and him and them, his hand snaking around her to flatten against the small of her back to keep her flush to him. 

"You are a vision," he pants, feeling her fingers find purchase on his shoulders and in his sandy hair. His lips part as he watches as her head falls back, the previous silence broken by the sounds they made almost in tandem- as if they were one soul split into two bodies. 

He pulls back, eyes roving over her face, fingers briefly tightening on her waist. The look on her face was more serene now, the hunger that had been in her eyes only minutes before replaced by something softer and warmer as she pressed her forehead to his, her nose rubbing against his not unlike the way a cat would.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Feeling you

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: I don't know where this came from, but I just needed to write it, as I simply couldn't get it out of my mind these two days. I probably won't be posting much for the next weeks. Holidays are coming and they are always stressful.

Warnings: Fluff, SMUT, 18+ , virgin Sihtric x experienced reader, hints of abuse in past

Word Count: 4,4 K

Part 2, Part 3

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf

If you want to be added to the tag list - write to me.

"I thought we had an agreement," you hissed through gritted teeth, your voice low, your fingers clutching Eanflaed's sleeve and refusing to release her. "I don't do that anymore."

"I understand, I understand," her response came quick and hushed. "I just thought you might consider making an exception. It's Uhtred..."

"I don't care who it is," you interrupted her.

"Let me finish," Eanflaed rolled her eyes and took a step closer to you, clasping both your hands in hers. "Just take a look. There's a young, handsome boy with Uhtred and Finan. They're sitting together at the table."

You turned your head reluctantly. There, in the far corner of the room, sat Uhtred and Finan. They were known to be good clients—generous and respectful towards the girls. But this time, they weren't alone. A young warrior was seated with them, unmistakably a Dane, with a Mjöllnir pendant hanging from his neck.

"Fine, I see him. But I'm not interested," you maintained your resolve.

"He's still a virgin," Eanflaed whispered into your ear with a chuckle, her voice barely audible. "Uhtred just promised me thirty shillings for the best girl in the house to spend the night with the lad. Can you believe it? Thirty shillings! It's a fortune. I know you could put that money to good use. I'd do it myself, but I'm too old for him. Besides, you," you rolled your eyes at your friend, but she seemed oblivious to your reaction, "you're still the best in this establishment. Just think about it." Eanflaed chuckled as she gently freed her sleeve from your grasp, picked up the brimming ale mugs you had just poured, and continued on her way, her hips swaying seductively as she served the drinks to the men at the tables.

You shook your head as you returned to cleaning the mugs. You were not a whore anymore, you reminded yourself. Not anymore. But thirty shillings? It truly was a small fortune. You owed three months' worth of rent for your room, and the old landlady had already threatened to evict you. The choice between having a roof over your head and having a meal was always a difficult one. Eanflaed was already paying you more than you would earn in any other alehouse just for serving drinks. She was your friend, but you couldn't ask any more of her. She had three little mouths to feed, and her husband had passed away last year after being kicked by a horse.

You turned your head ever so slightly to steal a glance at them from the corner of your eye. There was no denying it; he was incredibly handsome. Your gaze fixed on his impeccably defined, strong jawline, complemented by a straight nose and high cheekbones. A scar adorned his right cheek, and another traced its way across his forehead on the same side, but they only seemed to enhance his appeal, adding a touch of rugged masculinity to his youthful features.

You didn't want to stare, but something about his appearance had captivated you, drawing your gaze irresistibly. He didn't seem to speak much, you observed. He appeared somewhat lost or perhaps nervous, constantly shifting in his seat. His right hand clenched the ale mug with unnecessary force, while the other fumbled with his armor, tugging at its neckline as if it were too tight. It was clear even from a distance that he was very young; Eanflaed was right to call him a boy. But his well-built physique was hard to overlook, his sleeveless leather armor revealing muscular upper arms. His broad shoulders were equally conspicuous, even though he seemed to hunch over himself, as if trying to conceal his true stature.

Suddenly, the young Dane turned his head, and despite your best efforts to avert your gaze as quickly as possible, your eyes met for a brief moment. Two deep pools, sparkling with a blend of alertness and warmth, framed by long, dark lashes, met your gaze in surprise. Even in that fleeting moment, you couldn't help but notice a hint of insecurity and sadness mingled with youthful innocence in his eyes, sending a shiver down your spine.

You silently cursed under your breath. Thirty shillings, and the boy looked so sweet and endearingly anxious. You saw Eanflaed gliding back to the counter with a cheeky, satisfied smile on her lips.

"I'll take care of it," you heard yourself saying, surprised by the sound of your own voice.

"I've already informed Uhtred that you'll be available as soon as the last guests have departed," she purred, her satisfaction evident.

"You did what? How did you know?" Your surprise was impossible to conceal.

"I know you too well, darling, and I know you need that money. Look at him; he's such a sweetheart, and he belongs to Uhtred. There's nothing to fear. Besides, if you hadn't agreed, I would have sent someone else. Ealthwin will take over the counter, so you can go get ready."

Your hands trembled, and your heart raced in your chest, its beats echoing numbly in your ears, as you unstrapped your apron and placed it on the counter. Then you made your way to the back chambers, where Eanflaed had already prepared a bath. You shivered as you sank into the warm water, steam enveloping you in a white cloud. This all felt too familiar, as if the last time had been just yesterday, not two years ago. You closed your eyes, trying to relax.

"What's this?" you asked in bewilderment as you opened your eyes and saw a new dress carefully laid over the chair by the bath.

"It's one of mine. I don't wear it anymore," you heard Eanflaed's voice from behind. "I want you to have it; it's quite lovely."

"I want you to enjoy yourself," Eanflaed whispered in your ear as she helped you fasten the laces. "You haven't been yourself since then. I think it's time for you to move past it. Uhtred warned me that the boy has had a rough time recently. Be gentle."

You furrowed your brow as you watched Eanflaed leave the room. With a deep sigh, you followed her, stopping in the doorframe to observe the remaining men in the room. Some had already been approached by the other girls. Uhtred and Finan exchanged furtive glances, as if anticipating something, while the young warrior stared down into his ale mug, his fingers gripping it as if it were a life-saving buoy in an open sea.

You started moving, one step after another, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm your racing heart. Finally, you reached the table and gently placed your hand on the young warrior's shoulder. His reaction was immediate, a sharp flinch that nearly sent his mug toppling. You withdrew your hand quickly.

"I'm sorry," you muttered, your gaze shifting to Uhtred with a questioning look. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Uhtred nodded at you, tapped the boy's shoulder reassuringly, and whispered something in his ear. Then, he gestured to Finan, and they both rose to leave. The young Dane raised his head, looking bewildered at his lord, his eyes wide, and his cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson. He half-lifted himself from the bench, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something, but Uhtred was already engrossed in whispering sweet nothings into the ear of a giggling girl, his arms wrapped around her waist. Sihtric simply settled back into his seat.

"What's your name?" you asked, placing your hand back on his shoulder and deliberately moving closer, so he could finally see you. Your initial intention was to seat yourself on his lap, a familiar gesture from your former profession. However, the way he looked at you, a mixture of embarrassment and confusion, his breath quickening with each exhale, and the tension you felt in his muscles under your touch, as if he were preparing for an escape, made you change your mind. Instead, you stopped in front of him, your palm still resting on his shoulder, a warm smile curving your lips.

"I'm called Sihtric, lady," his voice was pleasantly soft and melodic, almost too gentle for a warrior, you thought, and it quivered ever so slightly, betraying his nervousness.

"Am I to your liking, Sihtric? Would you like to accompany me?" you inquired. Sihtric fidgeted anxiously in his seat, and you could hear him swallowing hard. It seemed as if he would rather hide under the table at that moment than follow you. But then, a hesitant, barely audible response came, "Yyyes, lady."

Teasingly, you trailed your fingers down his arm and slowly took his hand into yours before turning around to lead the way. Sihtric rose from the bench and followed you, his hand pleasantly warm and slightly sweaty. His fingers wrapped around yours, as if seeking support as he walked beside you.

You turned your head to offer him an encouraging smile, feeling a shiver run up and down your spine as you gazed into the young man's big, expressive eyes. They looked back at you with a mix of alarm and trepidation, and a hint of inexplicable sadness hidden in their depths. An endearingly shy, hesitant smile graced his lips briefly before he averted his gaze. However, his grip on your hand tightened, and he willingly followed you upstairs to your room.

You shook your head as if trying to dispel a vision. You recognized this look all too well; it had greeted you countless times from the hazy, bronze mirror in your room. Your heart swelled with deep sympathy for the young Dane. Whatever he had endured had left its mark on him, just as it had on you. And now, you understood why Eanflaed had chosen you to be his first. You didn't need words to comprehend his emotions; you could feel them. Suddenly, a heavy weight lifted from your heart, and you knew you wanted to make this night special for him. As special as only you could.

You led him into the room and turned to close the doors behind you. The room wasn't large, but it was the best one in the house. It featured a generous bed with a new, soft mattress, covered in fresh blankets and adorned with several pillows. There was also a table by the window, accompanied by two chairs, and a pitcher of ale along with two mugs had been thoughtfully arranged on it.

"Would you like a drink?" you asked, heading toward the table. Sihtric still stood in the same spot you had left him, his hands hanging somewhat awkwardly by his sides, his shoulders slumped forward, and his gaze fixed on the bed, exuding uncertainty.

Without waiting for his response, you poured fresh ale into the mugs and returned, offering one to him. Sihtric's gaze shifted to you as he accepted the mug, raising it to his mouth and emptying it in two big gulps.

You watched him, and despite your best efforts, a hint of amusement played on your face.

"I... I'm sorry," he whispered, handing you back the mug. His gaze dropped to his feet, his hands nervously fumbling with his armor as if trying to adjust it, though there was no need.

"It's just... I... I've never..." he stammered, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"It's alright, no need to apologize," you reassured him with a smile, raising your own mug to your lips and taking a small sip. "Please, have a seat." You gestured toward the chair, and Sihtric obeyed instantly, moving toward the table and taking a seat. You poured another mug and placed it in front of him. Sihtric's hands wrapped around it, but he didn't lift it; he simply clung to it, grounding himself in the sensation of holding onto something.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of. We've all had our first times, not just in this," you said, setting your mug down on the table and starting to slowly unfasten the laces of your dress. A sharp exhale escaped from Sihtric's chest as he watched the fabric slide down your shoulders and to the ground, revealing your simple linen underwear that clung closely to your frame, accentuating your curves. You stepped out of your dress and moved closer to him. He released the mug, his legs spreading slightly to allow you to position yourself between his thighs. You placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling him flinch at your touch. However, you didn't let it distract you this time. Instead, you put your fingers under his chin and gently lifted it, so his eyes met yours.

"I'm here for you tonight. I want you to feel good, to feel safe with me," you murmured, leaning in and gently cupping his face with your palms. "I won't do anything that you don't want or don't like. I will always ask you if you want that and you just have to tell me, if not." Leaning even closer, you noticed Sihtric's breath quickening, and a soft moan escaped him as your lips finally met his.

Still cradling his face with both hands, your lips explored his, savoring the taste of him. His lips were soft and warm against yours, his breath carrying the scent of ale and fresh berries. You smiled as another moan slipped from him when you gently sucked on his lower lip.

Opening your mouth, you allowed him to decide if he wanted to deepen the kiss. Sihtric's lips eagerly brushed against yours, his eyes closed, his breath shallow and rapid. You couldn't help but smile as you realized he didn't quite know what to do with his tongue. So, you teasingly slipped your tongue into his mouth, and Sihtric groaned in response as his tongue met yours. They entangled in an intricate dance, while his hands, growing bolder, slid over your hips, pulling you closer.

A soft whine escaped him as you pulled away.

"May I?" you whispered softly, placing your hands at the laces of Sihtric's armor. He responded with a simple nod, which you took as permission. Your fingers began to work slowly on the fastenings, one lace at a time. With each touch and tug, you felt Sihtric's breath quicken, his eyes following your every movement. Finally, when everything was loose enough, you removed his leather armor, revealing his incredibly well-built torso to your astonished gaze.

"Let me see you," you murmured, tracing your fingers down his muscular upper arms. However, Sihtric buried his face into your belly, inhaling deeply, his arms pulling you even closer as his muscles visibly tensed. You stroked his curly, soft hair and waited patiently. There was no need to rush; you had the entire night ahead of you, and you wanted him to relax and trust you.

"Sihtric," you called him, your voice soft, just above a whisper. "If you don't want this, just tell me, please. I... I'll understand if you don't want this to happen with... someone like me."

Sihtric raised his head to look into your eyes, surprise evident in his expression. "Oh, no, lady. Don't get me wrong, please. I want this. I just... I don't know..."

"I'll show you," you murmured, not allowing him to finish as you leaned in to kiss him again. He responded eagerly, almost desperately, and you deepened the kiss, slipping your tongue between his parted lips into the warmth of his mouth. His eagerness left you slightly flustered, and you didn't want to break the sweet kiss. Shifting your undergarment higher up your hips, you straddled him and lowered yourself onto his lap to gain better access to his lips.

An unexpected moan escaped you as even through the layers of clothes you felt the hard bulge of his cock pressing against your clit and a familiar yet almost forgotten warmth settled in your lower abdomen, slowly spreading further across your body. 

Sihtric's hands found the hem of your undergarment, bunched around your hips, and slipped beneath it. His fingers traced up and down your bare back, his lips never leaving yours. His soft moans and whimpers were like music to your ears, and you didn't flinch as his hands grasped your undergarment and swiftly removed it in one fluid motion. You melted against his broad, warm chest, burying your nose in the crook of his neck. Your tongue slid down it, kissing him there and gently sucking at his sensitive skin. Sihtric groaned, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you even closer, his hips rolling ever so slightly against yours.

"Do you like it?" you whispered.

"Yyyes," came a slightly quivering answer.

"Do you want more?" you purred against his ear.

"I do... I want more... I...," Sihtric's hips bucked against you, and you swallowed his moan with a passionate kiss. His large hands gripped your hips, urging you down against his lap.

You shifted a bit, losing contact with his crotch, and placed your fingers on his stomach. Tilting your head, you watched him hold his breath, as you started unlacing his breeches. Your hand slipped inside and you stroked his hard length, wrapping your fingers around it. Sihtric’s head snapped back as he groaned loudly at your touch. 

Sihtric looked endearingly sweet, his lips parted and flushed from your kisses, his eyes half-lidded. You could feel his fingers trembling slightly as he caressed you in return. This was unexpected; you had believed you would never experience something like this again. Yet now, you could feel lust slowly enveloping you, and you had to admit to yourself that you craved this young, handsome man with every fiber of your being. It was as if his gentle, shy caresses and his sweet kisses had awakened your body from its slumber. The sensation was so overwhelming that you couldn't help but let out a soft moan.

You released his cock and lifted yourself from his lap, but Sihtric was quick to grab your hand, his face bearing a pained expression.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked hurriedly.

"Nothing, you silly boy," you smiled at him reassuringly. "You are good and so gentle." You praised him as you hooked your fingers in the waist of his breeches and gently pulled him up. Sihtric followed your lead, and you continued to draw him toward you with a teasing smile. You took slow steps backward until you felt the edge of the bed against your legs, and you sat down on it, facing Sihtric’s crotch just at the level of your mouth. You pulled down his breeches, freeing his fully hard cock and your eyes widened in surprise at how big and thick it was, precum dripping from the tip.

You wrapped your hand around it and gave it a slow stroke, as you looked up to Sihtric. He was frozen, his eyes wide open looking down at you, his arms hanging at his sides.

“I want to take you in my mouth, Sihtric. Do you want me to?” you asked, your gaze locked with his. Sihtric swallowed hard, appearing as though he wanted to say something, but no words escaped his lips. Instead, he simply nodded in response. It was enough for you and you placed a soft kiss on the red tip of his cock, feeling him twitch in your hand. You wrapped your lips around it and sucked gently, moving your head up and down his length. 

The sounds, rolling over Sihtric’s lips, filled you with hot, boiling desire and your cunt throbbed with hunger for him as your walls started clenching around nothing. Sihtric’s hands found their way into your hair, tangling in them. 

“Oh gods… It’s …. It’s so good… It’s…. I…,” he mewled incomprehensibly, his grip on your hair tightening and his hips starting to move, thrusting forward into your mouth. It didn’t take long for you to feel he was already close to the edge from the way his movements got sloppier, his eyes rolling back into his head. You almost gagged on his length, tears welling in the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t pull back. You let him use you, moaning around his cock, as you drove him closer to his release. 

“It’s too much… I… I can’t….” he cried out and you felt his cock start twitching as he spent himself down your throat, loud moans and whimpers leaving his lips. Sihtric’s legs were trembling from the force of his release, it lasted so much longer and was so much more intense in comparison to the pleasure his own hand was able to give him. Sihtric let go of your hair, breathing heavily, a sheepish, pop-eyed expression on his face, as he looked down at you.

"I... I'm sorry... I didn't...," he stammered, blushing deeply, even to the tips of his ears. Then, he noticed tears in your eyes, and his expression softened. "Did I hurt you?" he whispered, genuine worry filling his beautiful eyes as he cupped your face with his trembling fingers.

"No, you didn't. It's alright," you reassured him with a smile, wiping your chin, as you crawled backward onto the bed and invitingly pulled him by his hand. Sihtric followed your lead, hurriedly removing his boots and breeches, which were still tangled around his knees.

His lips sought out yours as soon as he was beside you, and his kiss was incredibly gentle. He kissed away your tears, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you as close as possible, his legs entwined with yours.

"Please, tell me how to pleasure you in return," he whispered in your ear.

Your core was aching with desire for his touch, and the genuine care in his voice made you shiver. You turned to him and pushed him back into the mattress, as you straddled his naked body.

You took his hands, placing them on your breasts. “Touch me,” you whispered, arching your back as Sihtric’s hands squeezed them slightly, his fingers brushing over your hard nipples. 

“Please, show me more,” he begged and you guided his hand between your legs, pressing his thumb to your clit, pushing slightly and circling it. You moaned, feeling the pleasure rapidly building up in you. It had been so long since you had felt this fire burning inside you.

You grind your wet pussy against Sihtric’s crotch, and a gasp of surprise escaped you as you felt his cock hardening against your folds. You kept moving against him, coating his cock with your slick and soon you both moaned and whimpered in unison.

“I want to feel you inside me,” you moaned, lifting yourself so that you could wrap your hand around Sihtric’s now fully hard cock.

“Please, lady, I’m all yours,” Sihtric breathed and you didn't let him wait as you aligned him with your entrance and lowered yourself down on him. You went slowly, savouring the pleasant stretch, taking him in bit by bit. You leaned forward and your lips found his, swallowing eagerly his loud moan as you took him in completely. Sihtric’s hands took hold of your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he tried to control himself.

“By the gods, it feels so good. You feel so hot, so tight around me. I’m sorry, but I will not last long,” he confessed with a sheepish look in his eyes.

“You don’t have to. You feel too good,” you whispered against his lips as you started rocking your hips against him. 

You pulled back and looked into his big expressive eyes, dark with lust and longing, his cheeks flushed. You could feel how tense he was, how he was trying to prolong the pleasure. His fingers found your clit again, circling and rubbing at it. He had memorised what you had shown him.

Sihtric pulled himself up and wrapped his hands around you, the new angle allowing him to reach so deep inside you that it almost hurt. His breath was warm against your skin as he kissed your throat, and you whimpered slightly. Every move and tender touch, every gentle kiss, every shallow breath, sigh and moan that escaped his lips, the way he held you and the way he looked at you, told you that he wasn't here solely to receive pleasure from you; he wanted to please you. He wanted to love and feel loved, even if only for a brief moment. Tears welled up in your eyes as you wished you had met him in another life, one where you weren't selling your body for silver, something he would likely forget as soon as he left this house.

Sihtric held you in his strong arms, rolling his hips against you and thrusting up into you, his groans of pleasure mingling  with your moans. His grip tightened as he flipped you over. His lips were all over you, kissing, sucking, biting and suddenly the shy and hesitant boy was fucking you relentlessly with increasing pace, moans rolling over his lips and you met his thrusts with the same eagerness, digging your nails into his back.

“I … I can’t hold back anymore,” he hissed and after few more thrusts you felt his cock twitching, his hot seed spilling deep inside you as he came with a loud groan, and you let yourself fly, clenching around his cock and crying out your pleasure, as you fell into oblivion, your orgasm washing over you in hot waves of pure bliss.

Sihtric collapsed over you, and you wrapped your arms around him, savouring the moment and not wanting to let go of him. 

“Thank you,” you whispered in Sihtric’s ear as he finally pulled out of you and rolled to the side. 

He furrowed his brow in surprise but quickly pulled you into his embrace, and you nestled against his warm body.

"Please, can I stay here with you? I just want to hold you a bit longer, if you'd allow me," he asked with uncertainty in his voice, his nose buried in the crook of your neck.

"You can stay for as long as you want," you replied, pulling the blanket over both of you. You lay there for a long moment, enveloped in silence, with Sihtric's arms tightly around you. There was nothing you could do to prevent your tears from slowly trailing down your cheeks.

"Lady, why are you crying? Did I hurt you? Was I not good enough for you?"

You shook your head vehemently. "No, Sihtric. Not at all. You were wonderful. You were too good for me. You don't have to understand it, but believe me when I say that you simply saved me."

With a deep sigh Sihtric pulled you closer in his embrace and you had a feeling that he understood you, that he felt you, and that even if only for this short moment, you were his, and he was yours.

Part 2, Part 3

[timetravelingpenguin1066]

Of Irland, Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Instead of being taken captive in Winchester, Stiorra leaves for Irland with a friend of her father’s. There she meets Sigtryggr, a Dane, the grandson of Ivar the Boneless.

Chapter 1: Let Me Go

Chapter warnings: Drinking, Language, Mentions of SA Words: 3977 A/N: This was originally posted on AO3, now being added onto Tumblr. AO3

“Drifa please,” she begged. “Please let me come with you.”

“I cannot,” Drifa sighed. 

They’d been going around in circles for what must have been an hour. Simply put, Stiorra was bored with her life in Coccham. She yearned for adventure and excitement. Things that Coccham did not offer. She’d been surrounded by the same men for years on end, forced to have a Christian education. But she believed in the gods. Stiorra had no intention of remaining in Coccham where, one day, possibly soon, she’d be sold into marriage to a man she despised. It had happened to Aethelflaed. She did not want it to happen to her.

Drifa was leaving for Irland to help the Danes who were in trouble there. She’d once served Young Ragnar there and helped him make a name for himself. Drifa had been at Ethandun and at Dunholm, which was where she met and befriended Uhtred. Then Ragnar was killed, and she’d spent a few years in her home far across the sea in Norway. She held land and was a Jarl there. When she came back, she’d brought some men with her. And now they’d stopped in Coccham on their way out to Irland, to adventure, which was exactly what Stiorra wanted.

“I will not risk your father’s wrath,” Drifa said. She was not afraid of Uhtred, but that did not mean she wanted to lose his friendship. “Irland will be very dangerous. A war zone. It would not be sensible to take you there.”

“I can defend myself,” Stiorra insisted, drawing her knife. “Anywhere is better than here. Please!”

“Stiorra, you are the Dane Slayer’s daughter. I am going into a nest of Danes. If they find out who you are, half would want to hump you, and the other half would want to kill you as vengeance.”

“I can defend myself,” she repeated. 

Drifa sighed, running out of excuses. They had ranged from not enough room on the boat (“I’m small, I won’t take up much room.”) to not having enough horses (“I can ask my father to give me a horse”). 

“Please, Drifa. I want to live amongst my mother’s people, to find the part of myself that died when she was taken from me.”

 Drifa did not have a good counter to that. Gisela had been her friend. 

“Please, Drifa,” Stiorra pleaded. “ Let me go .”

Drifa groaned, turning towards the window, and leaning on the frame. She sighed, conceding. Stiorra would make a good politician. “Fine,” she growled, grudgingly, not happy to be admitting defeat. “You may come.”

Stiorra jumped up in victory. 

“But,” Drifa warned. “But.” 

Stiorra stopped jumping. 

“You will follow my every order. You are one of my people now.” 

Stiorra nodded. 

At that moment, Finan’s voice called up the stairs. “Unless you want us to eat all the food, you two better come down here!”

“Not on your life, Finan,” Drifa joked to the Irishman. “Not on your life.”

“Then hurry up. I’m starving.”

Drifa looked back at Stiorra, who’d been giggling, her face turning serious. “I will tell you all you need to know on the journey. And Stiorra,” she told her. “You had better remember it all.”

“How’s the food, Drifa?” Uhtred asked.

“Delicious as always, Uhtred,” Drifa said. “My compliments to whoever made this.” She was just being polite, as always, Stiorra could tell. The stew was disgusting.

“It was Finan who made it,” she informed. 

“Well, in that case,” Drifa began. She swallowed another spoonful, and grimaced. “You need to find yourself a woman,” she spluttered. 

Everyone began to laugh. 

“I have no idea how you’re even alive if this is what you eat.”

"So, Drifa," Uhtred said, when the laughter had simmered down, "tell us a story from Irland. I'm sure you have one you have not yet told." 

"Oh, always, Uhtred, always," she chuckled.

"Well, then," goaded Finan, "tell us a story from home."

Drifa put her spoon down and thought for a moment. “Which one do you want me to tell?” she questioned.

“Innis dhaibh am fear mu dheidhinn a 'phut,” proposed Asvard, Drifa’s best friend and advisor.

“Chan eil mi cinnteach gur e deagh bheachd a tha sin,” she said, raising her eyebrows in a jokey manner.

“Would it kill either one of you to speak a language we can understand?” Finan said exasperated. 

“Just tell the story!” encouraged Sihtric. 

Drifa nodded. She downed her cup of ale and set it down.

“One night,” she began, “I was walking the streets of Deflyn. The moon was out, the stars were shining. It was peaceful. I was walking to the tavern, in need of ale. And, I hoped, to watch the world go by. I’m almost there, just around the corner, when I hear this noise.” 

At this moment, Asvard let out a large snort. She glared at him murderously and he quickly changed his laugh into a cough. Stiorra began smiling. Drifa’s stories, at least the funny ones, always led somewhere inappropriate. She silently hoped her father would forget she was there and not tell Drifa to stop.

After she was finished glaring, Drifa continued: “Now this noise, it sounded like a dog. And I do not really like dogs, so I went to investigate.” 

Hæfnir had most of his fist stuffed in his mouth, desperate not to laugh. Jomar was staring fixedly at his plate, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. 

“I drew my knife.” 

Another poorly concealed snort. Stiorra was staring to giggle herself now, in anticipation. 

“I walked to the door. I slowly opened it.” 

A small chorus of snorting. Everyone on the edge of their seats. “And I was confronted by this magnificent, wonderful, beautiful view of a…” she paused for dramatic effect. “A butt.” 

A massive snort came from her men. Asvard had his face in the crook of his elbow. Stiorra choked on her drink.

“WHAT?” Uhtred shouted, perplexed. 

“You heard me!” Drifa said indignantly. “A butt, an arse, a buttocks, bum. Derrière, if you’re a Frank.” She paused for a breath. “A butt!” She took two chicken legs and two bones laying them on her plate like a butt… but with something else. 

Stiorra began to understand.

“You mean to say,” began Sihtric. “That you walked in on someone… um,” he stopped, not wanting to say the word in front of Uhtred and in the presence of his daughter.

“Humping?” Stiorra said, innocently. There was silence. You could have heard a pin drop. 

Uhtred’s eyes widened. “Stiorra!” he admonished. 

The silence began again. Then all hell broke loose.

Hæfnir fell off his chair, taking his wife, who’d been sitting on his lap, with him. Sigbjorn fell face first in his food, prompting Ingemar to laugh at him so he shoved Ingemar’s face into his food. Asvard fell back off his chair. Finan and Sihtric clung to each other. Osferth had stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth. 

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” Finan spluttered. “What did you do?”

“Well, what do you think I did? I turned tail and ran.” 

They started to laugh again. 

Drifa held up a hand. She was not finished. “And I spent the rest of the night at the tavern trying to forget what I had just seen.”

“Well, did you know who the arse belonged to?” asked a puzzled Osferth. 

There was a snort from Sihtric.

“I knew exactly who it belonged to. The funny part is that when I woke up, he was coming out of a house. But not the house I’d walked into.”

“So,” Finan sputtered, “are you saying he humped two different women in one night?” 

Everyone looked at her.

“That is precisely what I am saying.” 

Silence followed her words. When the hilarity exploded this time, Stiorra half expected soldiers to come running with how loud they all got.

When everyone had calmed down, Drifa spoke again. “Bear in mind that this happened a few years ago, when he went through a…” she paused, thinking of the right word, “rebellious streak.”

“Must have been one hell of a rebellious streak if he was humping two women in one night,” Finan joked.

“Oh, yes. His brothers gave him hell for that.”

“He reminds me of Hæfnir,” Unn recalled. 

Mutual agreement spread through the table. Hæfnir was still picking himself up off the floor.

Another hour of feasting, laughing and joking flew by. Drifa began ordering her people to bed (“To sleep ,” she emphasised) and Stiorra, exhausted, followed suit. 

She collapsed on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Tomorrow, she would be riding away, far away from here. Riding to Irland.

Stiorra was woken the next morning by someone shaking her. She opened her eyes, finding herself staring back into Drifa’s blue-green ones. Her eyes almost seemed to glow, even in the half-light of dawn. Seeing she was awake, Drifa left the room, her footsteps barely audible. 

Stiorra rubbed her eyes and glanced out the window. There was barely a sliver of sun visible on the horizon. Yawning and stretching, she got up, dressed, and tiptoed downstairs. Drifa’s men also seemed tired but were busily packing a few remaining things. Stiorra followed suit.

They crept out of the house, trying not to wake anyone. Drifa left a note on the table for Uhtred. They mounted their horses and rode off. They rode long and hard. There wasn’t much conversation, the noise of the horses was too loud. The wind whipped through Stiorra’s hair, stinging her eyes, but she kept them open, not wanting to miss one bit of this incredible journey. 

She was leaving home. She was going to Irland. 

She’d be able to live amongst her mother’s people, the people that had raised her father. She was no longer tied down and stuck in Coccham, waiting, and dreading the day she’d be forced to marry someone she despised. 

She was free.

They stopped only once, partly to relieve themselves and partly to eat. That was at midday. The next time Drifa called a halt, it was dark. 

Stiorra was exhausted. She almost collapsed getting off the horse. 

Unn cooked a stew for supper. It was eaten in silence, everyone too tired to talk. 

Once all the bowls were clean, Stiorra laid down on her bedroll and slept.

She was awoken the next morning by Drifa. Again. The sun was barely up. Stiorra groaned, leaving the warmth and softness of her bedroll for the cold hardness of the saddle. 

And again, they rode. Long and hard. Onwards and onwards. The trees and grass and hills seemed never-ending. Wessex was so much bigger than she had thought. They rode so fast; Stiorra was surprised that they had barely stopped. Drifa seemed desperate to get to Irland.

By evening, the party came to a stop at a port town called Bristou. Drifa arranged lodgings for the night while everyone else secured their horses. Stiorra was tying her horse in the stables when Thora, Frida and Mœid appeared at her shoulder. 

“We’re going to the market,” Thora informed. “Would you like to come?”

Stiorra eagerly accepted.

The market was bustling, even as the sun went down. There were stalls selling all kinds of things, things Stiorra had never seen before. There was gold jewellery from the Far East, swords and fabric from Frankia, furs and axes from Scandinavia. 

Stiorra was surprised. 

Danes were free to trade here.

She turned her head, left and right, not knowing where to look. 

Frida was looking at the Frankish linen, Thora and Mœid were admiring the jewellery. 

Stiorra could have sworn she saw Hæfnir at one of the stalls, buying something for his wife.

The fun ended too soon. Asvard came and told them that it was time to eat and then to sleep. “There is still another leg of the journey.”

The Innkeeper did not seem particularly happy about so many Danes sat at one of his tables, but Drifa’s silver kept him quiet. She seemed to have an endless supply.

 Stiorra wondered how she got it all. 

Over supper, Drifa finally told Stiorra why they had rushed so quickly to get there. “The Danes in Irland will need help if they do not already. Cnut should be going to help them, but I do not trust him. He is slippery.”

“Who’s in charge in Irland?” Stiorra asked. She was sure Drifa had mentioned it before, but she could not remember.

“Irland was conquered by Ivar the Boneless. It was passed to his son, Ivarr and now it is ruled by his sons: Ivar, Sigtryggr and Rognvaldr.”

“What are they like?”

“Ivar is… stupid, ugly and an arse. Rognvaldr is less ugly, but drunk and an arse. Sigtryggr is…” she paused. “Sigtryggr is smart, like his grandfather.”

“She paused because she thinks Sigtryggr is han-” Drifa’s cousin, Asfrid began.

“You shut your mouth!”

Asvard spat out his drink.

Much later, Stiorra lay on her bed, thinking about Irland. Thoughts were whirling round and round her head. What would Irland be like? What would its rulers be like? She’d said Ivar was stupid. Was he like Cnut? And Rognvaldr, a drunk. A drunk she could imagine. And then there was Sigtryggr. Smart as his grandfather. He had to be a formidable warrior.

Stiorra shook her head, trying to empty her mind of these thoughts. She couldn’t start obsessing over people she had never met. One last leg… That last leg on a boat. She’d never been on a boat.

Only a few more days until she stepped on non-English soil.

Stiorra threw up over the side of the boat. The wind blew some of it back in her face. 

Ingemar laughed. “Still have to find your sea legs!” he jeered. 

She glared at him while the others joined him in laughing. 

Drifa let out a small smile. She stood at the prow of the ship, looking out for Irland. 

Stiorra found that she liked a boat even less than a horse. A horse left pain in your head and your arse. A boat left waves of dizziness, followed by bouts of sickness. If she had to choose, she’d take the horse. When she did not feel sick, she gazed around her. If she squinted, she could see Wealas on one side, and a part of Irland on the other, barely a ghost on the horizon.

The sea churned beneath them again. Another vomiting session. The boat sailed further West. Soon enough, land was properly in sight. They docked on a beach near a village called Trá Mhór. 

“I will go in,” Drifa was saying. “We don’t know what has happened these last few years.”

“So, we stay on the boat?” Stiorra asked Thora.

“We stay on the boat,” she said, “and let Drifa find out what has happened. Then we will sail on to Deflyn.”

Drifa was gone until long after dark. When she came back, she told them that a rebellion had started forming. “They’ve raided a few villages, but apparently nothing serious enough to get Ivar’s attention.”

“Ivar ignores his people being killed?” Stiorra said, confused. What man did not care for his own people.

“Like I said. Stupid. Maybe I should have added another stupid,” Drifa joked.

“Ivar Ivarrsson does not give a shit about his people,” Asvard said. “As long as the Irish are not bothering him, safe in Deflyn, then no, he does not care.”

“Not all men are like your father,” Unn told her.

The boat began to move again. The sickness returned. By the afternoon of the next day, the end of the journey was in sight. 

“Feast your eyes on Deflyn!” Drifa announced. 

Deflyn was a small city, far smaller than Winchester. Its walls were made with wooden logs. Small watchtowers were dotted around the city. A few scouts were visible in the trees, but they did not bother the ship.

The ship was docked, and the group walked into the city of Deflyn. It was messy and crowded. There was a market street, traders shouting, showing off their wares. All kinds of things were sold. The market was almost as busy as Bristou had been, perhaps more so. Taverns were everywhere. Men already deep in their cups. Women sitting on their laps. A few people waved at Drifa. One man stumbled up and cheered, forgetting the woman who was now picking herself up off the floor. She punched the man in the face. The man, drunk as he was, tried to hit her and ended punching someone else. A tavern brawl in earnest.

This was what freedom looked like. What being a Dane looked like. This bustling city, with its wooden houses and noisy people. 

Stiorra loved it.

The party walked on to the Great Hall. It was easily the largest building there. Danish carving decorated the door frames. There were many windows all over. It was like a palace. The inside of it was full of smoke and rather stuffy. 

Stiorra could make out the vague shapes of men sitting at the long tables. Suddenly, the smoke cleared. She glanced at Drifa. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back. She had used her magic to clear the smoke. Stiorra turned her attention to the raised dais at the back of the hall.

A long table was perched on top. There were many seats, but only three men were actually sat there. The one on the left had long brown hair and a pointed face. A small beard covered his chin. Stiorra suspected that this must be Rognvaldr, particularly as the next thing he did was pick his mug of ale and drink deeply. 

She could not see the one on the right. He was shrouded in shadow. 

The middle one had stood, glaring warningly at the newcomers. He stomped around the table, and towards Drifa. Up close, Stiorra could see that he was large. His hair was red and long. His beard thick and streaked with grey. His eyes were a cold blue.

“Who are you, stranger?” he said, his voice harsh.

“I am many things. If it is my name you want, then ask for it,” Drifa retorted. “Otherwise, I shall go into the long meandering ramble of who I am.”

“Then your name.”

“My name is Jarl Drifa,” she told him. “And what might your name be?” 

He glared at her. 

She glared back. Then she broke into a wide grin and started laughing. 

His harsh expression shattered too, and he joined in. “She’s back!” he called to the Hall. The men too began to laugh. “Come, sit, eat, drink,” he offered, leading Drifa and her people to the table. 

Asvard pulled Stiorra along with him. He dumped her unceremoniously in the seat next to the man in the shadows. She turned to speak to him, but he got up and left. All she saw of him was the back of his head, his long mane of hair.

“So, tell us, Jarl Drifa,” Ivar was saying, “what new stories do you have to entertain us this time?!”

Rognvaldr noisily swallowed his food. “It had better not be another version of the story of my brother’s arse!” 

Asvard snorted into his ale.

“I could tell you of your own arse!” Drifa joked.

“You could tell us of this woman you have brought with you,” Ivar suggested. 

Stiorra did not like the way he was eyeballing her.

“Leave off the eye-fucking,” Jomar told him. 

Ivar raised an eyebrow at his language.

“Jomar,” Drifa sighed, “I swear, that one of these days, I am going to kill you.” She took a deep breath, and then yelled, “SHUT IT WITH THE LANGUAGE!” 

Asvard choked on his ale.

“Like you have any control either,” he spluttered.

“Faodaidh tu do bheul beag inneil a dhùnadh agus a bhith nas lugha de tholl asail,” she jabbered.

“Like I said.”

“What did she say,” asked Ivar.

“I told him to shut up.”

“You do know asail actually means donkey.” 

At this, Drifa splashed her ale in his face, to which he responded by punching her. The men cheered, egging them on. 

Stiorra half expected Ivar to put a stop to the fight, but he too joined in the egging.

Danes, she thought.

The feast lasted for many hours, and there were many more drinks and fights. A man, very drunk, tried to get Drifa to hump him. 

She replied by kicking him in between his legs. At some point, Drifa stumbled over and suggested that she take herself back to the house. 

Drifa had pointed out the street that she and her warriors lived on, and Stiorra was confident that she could make her way there. She lurched up, a little drunk herself, and began to slowly walk.

The night air outside the Hall was cool. Stiorra hadn’t realised how hot it was in there. She took a few deep lungfuls of the soothing air, and began to walk. Well, stumble. She was drunk enough that she did not look where she was going. Then she collided with something hard. 

That something hard turned out to be a Dane. This Dane turned to see what hit him and found himself looking at a small, drunk girl. He sneered. 

Stiorra started to back away. “Where are you going, woman?” he slurred. “Are you lost? I could help you find your way.”

Stiorra kept moving back. “I am going home. I know where I live.”

“It is not safe for a woman to be alone in these parts.” His hand shot out, catching her wrist. 

Stiorra struggled, trying to break free. 

“Stop fighting!” he ordered. “It will do you no good.” The Dane dragged her into an alley. 

She tried screaming, but he blocked her mouth. She wriggled, viciously, trying to dislodge herself. But the Dane was strong and huge. She heard a ripping noise. And she begged the gods to save her.

A whoosh, then a thwack, and the Dane was pushed off her. Stiorra fell face first into the ground. She glanced behind her, wondering who her saviour was. 

The Dane who’d tried to attack her was getting up on his feet, but there was another Dane. Her helper punched the man again. And again. And soon, the Dane who attacked her was no longer moving. 

The other rose, turning his attention to her. He came towards her, and she backed away. But he knelt down, holding his hand up. “ I will not harm you, ” was all he said. 

Stiorra stopped moving. 

She could only see a sliver of his face, an eye. An ice-blue eye. Like Ivar’s. Only this one was warmer. 

He held out his hand to her and she took it. His hand was warm and rough. His eyes (for she assumed there was another) looked her up and down. He released her hand and shrugged out of his tunic. He held it out. 

She took it, pulling it down over her own head. It smelled of leather and iron. A nice smell. 

He offered her his hand again and pulled her up. She stumbled slightly, and strong, muscled arms caught her. He picked her up and carried her. 

She still said nothing, wondering at this handsome stranger who saved her. Her drunkenness was causing her to become dizzy, so she still could not see his face.

He carried her to the houses that Drifa had mentioned. 

Stiorra wondered if this was perhaps one of her other men. The ones who’d been sent before. 

He knocked on a door and it opened to reveal Torgärd. 

She gasped at seeing Stiorra’s beaten and bruised state.

Stiorra faintly heard her thanking the man and began pulling her inside.

“Wait,” Stiorra said. “Who are you?”

She turned around to see him better.

“I am Sigtryggr.”

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

Officer

Note: I have no idea what happened here... (proof readed, but am still exhausted from last weekend, so excuse any errors left)

Warnings: fluff/angst/smut 18+!!! Dom/sub vibes.

pairing: modern!Sihtric x you (f)

summary: You met a bunch of cops during your first day at your new job.

wordcount: 3,7k

Masterlist

'You're closing alone tonight, aren't you?'

'Go on then, they don't bite,' Hild laughed and cocked her head towards the table of impressive looking men you had been staring at for minutes already.

Right now, everything was new to you. The line of work you were in and the way Hild, your boss, treated you with respect and kindness; this was your first day at work in the pub downtown, and you had been nervous already but it got worse when you realised the good looking group of guys were regular customers, and they were policemen, as they were all dressed in their dark uniforms. Hild nudged your shoulder in an attempt to make you go over to the cops who had ordered their drinks only moments ago at the bar. The loud laughter from the table made you smile, as the men seemed to enjoy themselves, and what's a better view than a bunch of handsome, muscular guys smiling and bickering amongst each other? But it also made you nervous, because you wanted to make a good impression. You took a deep breath and walked over to their table, and the men became quiet when they noticed you.

'Your drinks,' you said shyly as you placed the serving tray on the table.

'Aye,' the Irish man smiled, 'three ales and one glass of coco for the baby cop,' he grinned and pointed at the blond haired guy who sat across from him.

The Irish man had dark, short hair and a good beard, and the blond guy was looking much younger than the rest of the men and looked shy.

'Finan's just messing with you,' another man said when he saw your slight panic. He had long hair, half tied up in a bun and the sides were shaved. He spoke with an accent you couldn't quite place, and he smiled, 'We all ordered ale, lady.'

'Oh,' you chuckled, relieved, and handed Finan his ale.

'And Uhtred likes to ruin jokes,' Finan sneered at the man with the unrecognisable accent, who took his glass out of your hands when you reached out.

You tried to hide your smile as you handed the young, shy cop his drink, whose cheeks had reddened by now.

'Osferth here is still a virgin,' Finan grinned as Osferth took his ale from you, and he slapped the boy on his shoulder.

'I'm not,' the blond cop rolled his eyes and looked down at the table.

You chuckled and handed the last glass to the quiet man beside you, who was already looking up at you with a sweet, sly smile when you looked at him. He was handsome and had a few scars on his face. His eyes were two different colours, one light and one dark, and his head was completely shaved at one side whereas on the other side he had dark curls. His eyes and haircut resembled the two vibes he gave off as you looked at him; sweet and devilish.

'Sihtric, stop staring,' Uhtred remarked, and he grinned at the stunning man you still locked eyes with.

'Your Sihtric,' you said, and immediately froze, 'Uh, I- I mean, y- your drink, S-Sihtric,' you stammered as you handed the man his drink and you turned on your heels immediately.

Sihtric smiled at your flustered behaviour as he licked his lips. And he couldn't help but turn and check you out when you walked away as fast as you could. You almost tripped as you made haste back to the bar, where you hid behind Hild and turned your back towards the men who were already joking around again. Except for Sihtric, who still had his eyes on you.

'What happened?' Hild asked when she saw your flustered face, and she looked at the men.

'Nothing,' you mumbled, 'just made a fool out of myself and I'm sure they think I'm an idiot.'

'Are you sure about that?' Hild furrowed her brow and looked back at you with a smile, 'because the Dane can't stop looking at you,' she said and walked away.

'The Dane?' you frowned and glanced over your shoulder, only to find Sihtric looking back at you over his shoulder. He flashed you a half smile, raised his glass slightly before he took a sip, and then he winked.

You tried your best to continue your new job, but you constantly felt Sihtric's eyes on you, and you also couldn't keep your eyes off him, no matter how hard you tried. Every few minutes your eyes wandered back to the handsome Dane, and you looked away as fast as you could whenever you met his eyes. And just when you felt a little less flustered again as you were cleaning up at the bar with your back turned to the room, you were startled when you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

'Miss?' a warm, low voice sounded.

You turned around and stared right into Sihtric's mismatched eyes.

'Y-yes?'

'You forgot this,' Sihtric held up the serving tray you had left on their table almost an hour ago, and he put it on the bar, shoving it towards you.

'Oh, thank you,' you felt your cheeks heat up and quickly grabbed the tray.

'You're welcome, lady,' Sihtric smiled and sat down on the barstool in front of him, and he leaned in on the bar towards you, 'you're new here,' he remarked.

'I am.'

'Mhm,' he hummed and stroked his goatee, 'where are you from?'

'I've lived in this town my entire life,' you shrugged.

'Really?' Sihtric smiled playfully as he mindlessly toyed with a few rings he wore around his tattooed fingers, 'how come I've never seen you before?'

'I don't know,' you chuckled, 'guess I just never had to call the cops.'

Sihtric laughed softly and wetted his lips while he looked at you.

'Hm. So you've been a good girl,' he said, his smooth voice and choice of words made your heart skip a beat.

'I- I guess so,' you blushed and awkwardly tried to find a spot to put the serving tray at, as you still held it in your hands.

Sihtric watched you fumble around and it clearly amused him, being very well aware he made you feel flustered and nervous.

'So… what's a good and pretty girl like you doing in a pub like this then?' 

'Career switch,' you said and leaned on the bar, trying your hardest to look confident, 'I got tired of working in an office all day, and Hild is a family friend, so I landed this job easy.'

'Fair enough,' Sihtric said. He leaned in towards you, and looked you up and down quickly before he gave you another cheeky smile, 'so, will you be a good girl for me and pour me another drink then?'

The policemen came in for a drink every day, and the tension between you and Sihtric was always electrifying. No one mentioned it, but everyone was aware of it. His eyes always lingered on you, and you leaned in just that little closer to him when you brought the guys their drinks. The guys always drank a glass of ale, and then switched to fizzy drinks and some snacks to enjoy as they chatted, but they never became drunk as they knew all too well to not drink and drive. And every evening when Sihtric came up to you on his own to order another drink, he leaned on the bar and said the same words with the same sly smile;

'How's my good girl doing tonight?'

And every night it made you giggle softly and blush without fail. You had been serving them for several days in a row when Hild told you that you had to close off the pub on your own tonight. She had an urgent matter to take care of and trusted you to run the place while she was out. You knew you could do it, and it was a rather quiet evening as it was a thursday, but were nervous regardless. And things got worse when the piece of shit of an ex boyfriend suddenly showed up at the pub, a few hours before closing.

You tried to talk him into just leaving quietly, but he wasn't having any of it and started to cuss you out as he leaned in over the bar. The table of cops noticed the slight commotion when you walked up to him to shove him out the door, and they saw how your ex grabbed your wrist forcefully. The men all jumped up, and Uhtred grabbed the guy's shoulder and squeezed it harshly, upon which you could free yourself from your ex's grip. Finan and Osferth stood back as they watched Uhtred towering over your ex, while Sihtric was fast to get in between you two. Your ex quickly became aggressive as Uhtred told him to leave, and he started to curse at you again as well as trying to swing a fist at you, but Sihtric shielded you by shoving you behind his back and he gave your ex a harsh shove.

'I'm giving you a choice right now,' Sihtric said firmly as the deranged guy stumbled backwards, 'you either walk out on your own right now, or I'll make sure you won't ever be able to walk on your own again.'

You heard Uhtred and your ex argue vaguely as you tried to process everything, and you tried to peek out from behind Sihtric, but he turned towards you before you could move. He circled his arm around your waist while he towered over you, and your ex was shoved out by the three remaining cops while you stared up into the Dane's eyes.

'Are you okay?' Sihtric asked, his face was so close you smelled the ale on his lips.

'Yeah,' you lied and feigned a smile.

Sihtric watched you carefully for a moment and then pulled you closer.

'No, you're not,' he said softly, 'you're trembling, sweetheart. Come here,' he wrapped both his strong arms around you, and you buried your face in his chest as he held you close for a short while.

'Did you know him?' he eventually asked.

'Yeah,' you swallowed hard, 'he's my… my ex.'

Sihtric leaned back slightly and took your arm, gently tracing his warm fingers over your skin where your ex had grabbed you moments before.

'Did he hurt you?'

'It's fine,' you pulled your arm back and looked down at your feet.

'Is it?' Sihtric lifted your chin with his fingers, 'is it really fine?'

You shrugged lightly and couldn't help resting your hands upon the cop's broad chest as he leaned in again.

'You're closing alone tonight, aren't you?' he asked, having noticed Hild left hours ago already.

You nodded and Sihtric sighed, then raked his fingers through his hair. He looked over his shoulder, seeing his colleagues walk back in and signalling that your ex had been taken care of, and they went back to their table to finish their drinks.

'Do you want us to stay until closing?' Sihtric asked you.

'Oh, n-no,' you said, 'please, it's… it's fine. Thank you,' you smiled weakly and tried to step away, but Sihtric trailed his fingers down your arm and gently took your hand. 

'Sweetheart,' he said, and you stopped breathing when you stared up at him, and his eyes trailed down to your lips before he looked back into your eyes again, 'do you want me to stay?'

About half an hour before closing time, Uhtred, Finan and Osferth got up to leave. They wished you a good night in passing while Sihtric stayed behind at the table. You greeted the men and changed the open sign to closed while a handful of other regulars finished their drinks quickly. They all paid and told you they'd see you tomorrow, to which you chuckled. You closed the door behind the last man who left and you locked it. 

Sihtric eyed you up and he finished his drink while you started to quickly clean the tables. You carried the empty glasses and plates over to the bar, and Sihtric followed you with his eyes before he got up to bring you his empty glass.

'Is this seat taken?' he smiled and pointed at the empty barstool right in front of you.

'I'm not sure,' you chuckled, 'it's rather busy here right now…'

'I see,' Sihtric played along and sat down, 'guess I'll have to try my luck then.'

You smiled, took his empty glass and placed it in the dishwasher with the other dirty dishes.

'All jokes aside, sweetheart,' Sihtric then said, 'can I help you with anything here, darling?'

You looked at him and smiled shyly, 'Well,' you snorted, 'actually…'

'Spill it, sweetheart,' Sihtric rolled his eyes and smiled as you hesitated.

'So, these empty crates need to be brought to the basement,' you explained, 'but it's kinda… creepy down there.'

'Creepy?' Sihtric frowned, 'how?'

'Yeah, you know, it's all old and dark and the lights don't work well. No one likes to go there.'

Sihtric looked at you and then chuckled as he got up.

'Fine, show me the way and I'll take care of it.'

You handed Sihtric a few empty crates and walked him to the door that led to the basement. You opened the door and Sihtric stared down at a dimly lit staircase, then he grinned and looked at you for a second.

'Very creepy,' he taunted.

'Be careful,' you said as he walked down into the basement, and Sihtric chuckled in reply.

You waited at the top of the stairs, and when Sihtric didn't reappear as fast as you wanted, you leaned in slightly to listen for any sounds, but it was quiet.

'Sihtric?' you called down the basement.

Nothing. You took a step down and listened again.

'Sihtric?' you said a little louder and felt spooked when there was no reply, just the flickering of the dim light.

Then suddenly you heard Sihtric let out a yelp and you heard the empty crates being dropped on the floor.

'Sihtric!' you yelled, panicked, and almost ran down the stairs, but then he appeared again with a grin on his face.

'God!' you huffed, relieved and slightly mad, while Sihtric laughed as he climbed up the stairs and followed you closely back to the bar.

'Aw,' he chuckled in your ear as he snuck up behind you, 'you were worried about me.'

'I was not,' you turned to him.

'Yes, you were,' Sihtric smiled and circled his arm around your waist.

'No, I wasn't. You're stupid,' you chuckled and stared up into his eyes as he pulled your body against his.

'Am I?' he said softly.

'You are,' you nodded while Sihtric leaned in.

'Yeah? Hm,' he hummed as he smiled, and brushed his lips lightly against yours.

'Yeah,' you whispered, and your breath hitched in your throat when Sihtric slowly flicked his tongue against your lower lip.

He chuckled lightly, and then captured you in a soft, firm kiss. He kept his arm around you, his hand resting on the small of your back while his other hand settled on your neck, keeping you close.

'Yeah,' Sihtric whispered in between kisses, 'come on,' he sighed and kissed you again.

He slowly pushed you back behind the bar, where he trapped you between the old, wooden cabinets and his muscular body.

'Give me a little more, darling,' Sihtric whispered against your lips and smiled.

You moved your hands up to his neck, and slowly unbuttoned his black uniform as you kissed him, and you sucked his lower lip gently as you pulled away.

'Yeah, that's it, sweetheart,' Sihtric husked, and he grabbed your waist firmly while one hand moved up into your hair, and he parted your lips along with his as he kissed you passionately.

You continued to unbutton his black shirt while your tongues were deep into each other's mouth. Sharp gasps and soft moans filled the empty pub, and you both felt the sexual tension thicken quickly until it was unbearable, but was disturbed when your phone buzzed several times. You broke the kiss to read the texts you received, and you chuckled.

Hild: hey

Hild: I'm not spying on you

Hild: but I took a quick look at the camera because I know you're closing alone

Hild: and then I saw you're not alone

Hild: just don't have sex in the pub, please…

Sihtric laughed softly when you showed him the texts, and he looked up into the camera that was right above you. He smiled directly in the lens before he switched it off, and brought his eyes back on you again. You pulled his lips back to yours, and he took your phone out of your hand as you kissed him with a new kind of hunger. You finally ripped open his police blouse and stared at his muscular torso with heavy lidded, lustful eyes.

'Your boss said to not fuck here,' Sihtric chuckled and grazed your ear with his teeth while you ran your hands over his warm chest.

'Or what?' you asked innocently.

'I thought you were a good girl,' he murmured against your lips as he unbuttoned your jeans.

'Maybe you thought wrong,' you breathed and unclasped his black, leather belt.

'Oh, yeah?' Sihtric rasped and pulled your jeans down, 'or did you maybe lie to me about being a good girl?'

'What if I did?' you asked, and cupped his arousal through his uniform jeans.

'Well,' he hummed and groaned softly, 'lying to a police officer is considered a crime.'

'Then maybe you should arrest me,' you batted your eyelashes, 'officer.'

'Yeah, you'd like that won't you?' Sihtric said as he pushed you up on one of the cabinets behind the bar, and he spread your legs with his knee, 'you want me to handcuff you, hm?' he chuckled and reached for the metal cuffs attached to his belt.

You giggled in reply, and before you could even blink, Sihtric had your wrist cuffed and he gave you a cocky smile.

'Are you a good girl?' he whispered and slid his hand down your panties.

'No comment,' you said as you tensed up slightly.

'No comment?' Sihtric chuckled and slowly teased your wet folds while he cuffed your hand to a metal bar above you, 'I'll ask you again,' he said, and pushed two fingers inside you, 'are you a good girl?'

'Fuck,' you moaned at the feeling of his warm fingers inside you, and you tried to grab onto his open shirt with your free hand, but Sihtric stopped you and pinned your arm behind your back.

'Don't make me ask again, sweetheart,' he licked his lips slowly as he fucked you faster with his fingers.

'I… I- ah, god,' you moaned and threw your head back upon the feeling.

'So you're not a good girl?' Sihtric said and clenched his jaw, 'do you have any idea what I do to bad girls?'

You smiled with half open eyes and shook your head, biting down another moan.

'No?' Sihtric teased, and added another digit inside you, 'well, at least you're taking it like a good girl,' he chuckled, 'but I'll have to fuck you into a good girl again. You know how that works?'

You could barely speak, or even think as the cop smiled at you with his devilish smile while he thrusted his fingers in and out of you.

'I'll tell you how it works,' he said and brought his lips to your ear, and whispered, 'I won't stop until you cum on my fingers first,' he paused as you let out a heavy moan, 'and when you finally do, which,' he chuckled, 'won't take long, because I know you were already so… fucking…. wet for me as soon as you saw me walk in here tonight. Ain't that right, sweetheart?'

'Y-yes,' you moaned, and squirmed in his grip.

'Yes, officer,' Sihtric ordered.

'Yes, o-officer,' you squealed.

'That's it, good girl,' Sihtric smacked his lips and smiled, 'and after you cum, I'll taste you on my fingers, and you'll watch as I do so,' he said, 'and then you'll open that pretty mouth of yours, like a good girl, so I can spit in your mouth. And you will swallow it, why?'

'Because… I… I,' you breathed, 'I'm a g-good girl, officer.'

'Exactly,' he said, 'and after that I'll take that cuff off that metal bar,' he looked up above you, then back into your eyes as he continued to finger you, 'and I'll handcuff both your hands behind your back, and you will get down on your knees for me and let me fuck your pretty face until I cum on your tongue. Why?'

'F-fuck,' you moaned, 'please, I'm-'

'No,' Sihtric said sternly, and tightened his grip on your arm behind your back, 'you won't finish until I say so. Answer my question, darling. Why?'

'Because I'm a good girl, officer,' you cried out with ragged breaths.

'Exactly,' he chuckled, 'and you will take it like a good girl. And after I fucked that pretty face of yours, I'll sit you up on a table, your hands still cuffed behind your back, and I will eat your pussy until you scream out my name. And I will make you cum over and over again, just with my lips and tongue, sweetheart, until you beg for my cock. And then I will bend you over and fuck you so hard, so deep and so… fucking… good,' he breathed, 'that you'll still feel me inside you by this time tomorrow. And you'll be sore, probably,' he shrugged, 'but I know you'll be squeezing your thighs together all day tomorrow when you think of me, and you'll probably even consider to sneak off during your shift to get off on your own, knowing I'm just sitting right over there at my usual table, with a hard, leaking cock,' he chuckled as you began to mumble and beg, 'and you will ask me to to stay until closing time. And then I'll take you home with me, where I will fuck you so good again and again and again, until you confess you're in love with me. Why?'

'B-because… I'm… a… g-good girl, officer,' you murmured.

'That's right,' Sihtric smiled and pecked your lips, 'because you're such a good girl. My good girl,' he whispered, 'now cum for me, sweetheart.'

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @andakth @chompchompluke @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @moonchildrenandflowercrowns @foxyanon @djarinsgirl27 @sigtryggrswifey @liandav @diiickbrainn

[errruvande]

New family member

or the one when Uthred finds out

my entry to the loveliest @emilyhufflepufftlk 's celebration 💖 (I'm sorry it took me so long)

Characters: Uthred, OMC, Finan, Osferth

Words: 3212

Warnings: none

AN something light and warm, I think we all need something warm now

Ugh. Uthred hated those days. Even if his best friends were around: Finan mocking the hell out of him while Osferth trying to stop Finan making a fool of Uthred and of himself too, Sihtric who was looking for a gift for his wife (our always so loving boy). He always hated days like this one. But now especially. 

When it’s not Alfred who summoned him to Winchester. When it’s peace in the lands and when Uthred lived his best peaceful life, drinking ale and whoring and from time to time parenting his son and Aethelstan (tho he gladly accepted Finan’s help there). 

Edward wasn’t his favourite person, nor he was his favourite king, but he was summoned to help, and there Uthred was. In Winchester. 

The land inside these city walls brings too much bitterness, the name of the city itself felt like a lemon on Uthred’s tongue. That was the reason why he wasn’t glad to be in Winchester at all. This very road is the road he and Brida first entered the city by and his path had started. These very people, never seeing him as part of their life, he was a Dane, he still is, even after saving Wessex more times than any Wessex’s King had, he still a Dane in their eyes. But, of course, a Dane they are happy to see. 

The nice tavern where he was drinking till he saw the stars flying in the bright blue sky, the house his family lived in - everything was giving him a heartache. 

“Lord?” Finan pulled the hand and squeezed Uthred’s shoulder, shaking his unconscious mind. “‘S everythin fine?” 

Uthred blinked a few times, trying to hold back emotions overwhelming his mind completely, standing so near the house his wife and his children lived in when the time was… better? “Yes, I’m fine, let’s go”

“Will we stop at the tavern or do we go straightforward to Edward?” Irishman glanced over Uthred’s face, tracing the fading look of distress. Oh he knew Uthred hated meetings with Edward. Treating his family line well enough, the bastard was even more stubborn than his father was. Probably his mother’s fault. 

“We go to Edward, faster we get there, faster we get to the tavern.” To tug a silly smirky smile was an act of hard work, but Uthred wanted to prove Finan he was fine. 

By the time they came to the King’s Palace, there were only two of them, Osferth was lost out of sight, probably tangled in women’s hands trying to get him into their bed, and Sihtric, well, Sihtric was roaming the main market in search for something Sig asked him to buy. 

When Uthred got lost again, in the scents and buildings of the past, and bumped into someone in the street, Finan took him by the hands. “I’m not sure everythin's fine, lord.” 

That silly smirk on Uthred’s face appeared once again, but died down as soon as he looked his friend in the eyes. 

“There’s nothing good left here.” Uthred rolled his eyes after a brief look around. Finan had noticed the little shrug his lord and friend’s face tried to hide. “Every good thing in this city is gone now, Winchester only causes me pain.”

“I don’t believe there’s nothin that can bring you joy?”

“There’s nothi…» Uthred shifted on his legs, looking past Finan into the crowd. “Nothing.”

“Lord?” 

Uthred shook off Finan’s hands and slid into the crowd like a ghost, making his way through all the people till he was standing a foot away from the man that caught his attention. 

It was like seeing a ghost from the past. Uthred’s knees weakened at once and he almost found himself on the ground if not for Finan’s hand, catching him under an armpit, and trying to catch a glimpse of Uthred’s thankful smile, or something else that would have tell Irishman he’s still with him here, and not roaming the bitter tasted memories once again. He felt Uthred’s grasp been wrapped tight around his hand, helping him to stand, but his eyes were focused on that mysterious man Finan had no idea why intrigued his friend so much. While Finan was hoping to see Uthred’s face smiling at him softly, Uthred heard his heart throbbing in his ears louder with every step, with every oddly familiar detail of that man. 

Uthred was shifting on his feet, and have you ever saw Uthred of Bebbanburg, Uthred the Godless, the DaneSlayer staying nervous like a little girl, eyes grazing the tall figure in front of him in search of any hints of why his legs had drove him to this man. 

“No…” he muttered in disbelief, eyebrows raised, giving his face such softness you wouldn’t have seen so often. “It cannot be…” tracing the so familiar features, the mannerisms he knew so well and finally his eyes fell on the weapon the man possessed. 

Uthred’s eyes fell on the ax that was hanging on the man’s belt, and he felt his heartbeat cease. The ax he saw almost twenty years ago and the cross that had been carved into the wooden grip right before Uthred’s own eyes. 

The flashbacks wave covered Uthred whole, the pictures of the little hut, a firepit barely heating the cold bitter air, Iseult sitting next to him and the sour conversation with Eanflaed. The memory so soft and harsh at the same time, Uthred didn’t know how to shake it off. He didn’t notice his fingertips touching the cold metal of the ax, and the same second as he did, he felt the sharp point of a sword resting on his throat. 

“What do you want from me?!” The heavy voice snapped Uthred back to reality and he stepped back from the tension of the sword on his neck. 

“You better to put down your sword boy…” Finan sneered, unpleasant by the possible danger to Uthred. He placed his blade atop and moved it away from Uthred’s throat. But Uthred waved him off, demanding him to put his sword back into its scabbard. “Lucky you, but don’t make me draw my sword a second time.”

The man’s face was untouched by Finan’s mocking, he drilled Uthred’s instead, not breaking eye contact once. “What do you want? Wanted to steal my ax? Not look like a thief to me.” 

Uthred ducked back, holding his hands slightly up, so the man could see he wasn’t trying to defend himself. “N-no,” he breathed, shaking, still not quite believing in what he was seeing. “This ax, I know it, I mistook you for another person, you just look exactly like him.”

“Like who?” He still held his sword before Uthred’s chest, though people around the square started chattering and a few guards were looking at them, touching the hilts of their swords. 

“Uthred, we’r wastin time, remember what you said? Sooner we meet Edward, sooner we meet our ale. Savvy?” Finan repeatedly pointed to the king’s hall and to the tavern, looking tiresome. 

Suddenly, the sword vanished from Uthred’s throat, it gnashed on the stony steps of the palace’s stair. 

“Uthred?” the man craned his neck to look up Uthred closely, as if he hadn’t been studying him this all time. “You are Uthred? Of Bebbanburg?”

“Lord Uthred for you, boy.” Finan tugged a sly smile, peering at the man from under his brows. 

Uthred hissed at him, and Finan put his hands up in a mocking way. He was silent for a heartbeat and then looked into the soft brown eyes of the boy next to him, not noticing how his own eyes were covered with a veil of tears. “I am, and you?”

“Osgar, lord. You, you knew my father” the man was a huge pal, but he was quivering, cracking on the word father. 

Uthred lost any words as his mind became empty in a matter of seconds, letting the picture of his long lost best friend took all the room inside his head. His jaw fell open as he cupped his face in his palms, looking at Osgar with ashy, marble eyes. That was the moment Finan saw the first tear breaking through and rolling down Uthred’s cheek. 

“You’re Leofric’s boy…” From fighting the painfully sour urge to cry, the words that came out of Uthred's mouth were creaky. “You look just like him.”

Not even thousands of horses could stop Uthred from pulling Osgar into the bear's embrace, clutching his body as he once did with his father's. His fingers creaking on the leather of Osgar’s mail, and Osgar drowning in the fur of Uthred’s cloak - the hug was so desperate, it screamed of tears, of pain and friendship. 

They could stay there forever, sniffling, tearing up, but the man showed up, calling Uthred to haste and see the King. 

Uthred teared himself off Osgar and cupped his face softly, clapping his cheek with one palm. “Meet me in the tavern after the witan is over.” He smiled wildly, and Osgar nodded. He then turned to Finan, taking SerpentBreath out of her scabbard and giving her to the palace’s guard. “Find Osferth, tell him to meet us in the tavern later.”

The witan was dull. Not cause Uthred’s head was busy thinking about Osgar and Leofric, feeling sharp stones filling his chest on every thought about his long lost friend. Not only cause of this, but because witan were always dull. What was the point of talking about bridges, and trading, convincing Edward that Sigdryggr was a friend and he did want peace, if he could lead yourself into the middle of a snowstorm, letting the wet, huge flakes of time long past stick to him, into the snowstorm of warm feelings and lovely old times blooming in his mind like the flowers in the spring. Uthred wanted witan to end, sooner the better, he had a far more significant person waiting for him in a tavern. 

He bursted out of the King’s Palace like water bursting from the cliff into the lake, each and every step making earth shake under his feet. In his mind, he already had answered all of the Osgar’s questions, covered all the topics he could even think of, Uthred was so happy to see the face that reminds him of the good old times, he almost forgot to take back SerpentBreath from the palace’s guard, but his enthusiasm vanished as soon as he bumped into the tavern’s door.

The cacophony of the thoughts and inner voices in his mind turned into empty nervous silence. He’d been staring at the wooden door for a long ten minutes, catching glimpses of Osgar and Finan sitting inside, at the corner table. People were looking at him with curiosity, some making jokes about fighting the wine problems and how they knew the feeling, but Uthred was only shifting from one foot to another, until he finally tugged a firm smile and opened the door.

“So, you are here!” He sat himself into a chair, across from Osgar, who was sitting on the other side of the table. Osgar already ordered a few cups of ale to be served, so when Uthred came, he didn’t need to wait too long to ease his throat. 

“Tell me about my father!” Uthred didn’t get a chance to even take a sip of ale, the boy started piercing him with questions from the moment Uthred sat down. 

The warm smile spread on his face, as he leaned on the armrest of his chair, gulping from the cup. Osgar was twitching on the edge of his chair, seeing the glimpses of fire in Uthred’s eyes.

“You father was the biggest pain in the ass, boy,” he put down the cup lazily and then rapidly bent in two, laying his elbows on the table. “but there wasn’t any man I trusted the most. Not once I trusted him with my life, and he never, never failed me. He risked his life for me and I don’t know how and why have I deserved this from him, cause it’s me who always was a pain in the ass, honestly.” he poured the dry, gloomy laughter down with a huge gulp of ale, eyes looking empty, aiming the wall behind Osgar’s head. “He was my first friend in these lands, without any reason, he’d always been there with me when I needed him, until he wasn’t.”

For a few moments there was silence. Osgar gave Uthred the time in peace, battling his own emotions, because the tears are always hard to stop from falling. Uthred lips were set in the firm line, twitching and he had to bite them on the inside to stop, to distract his brain from the pain the memory had offered him. When he laughed at the thought he had, Osgar saw the trace of blood running out of his mouth, and Uthred wiped it out with his wrist.

“When I was on my deathbed, a few years ago, my Gods decided to torture me, they could make me see so many people I have failed, my whole family that I lost and then failed on so many levels, but they decided to show me Leofric…” Finan, who was sitting in silence this whole time, shrugged on the memory, picturing dying Uthred having visions so painful that he wanted his life to end. “He was talking to me when I was unable to even speak. He was making an enemy out of me and that was my Gods wanted, to make me squeal from pain, and I did”

“My father? He would never!” Osgar seemed to be offended by Uthred’s words, he never knew his father, but he wanted to believe Leofric would never hurt someone he loved and cared about. And Uthred was the one. “He would never hurt you like this!”

“I betrayed everything he believed in! I betrayed England, I betrayed my king, I fucking panched Alfred, put the knife to his neck, I betrayed his faith…” he was looking into the almost empty cup, circling it in his fingers. “Did I said until he wasn’t’?” Osgar looked at him in question, slowly nodding. “Forget it, he’s always here, always here when I need him, always give me councile, I’m not always listening and then fuck up hugely, cause Leofric’s always right…” Uthred brought his weary stare at Osgar, eyeing his every inch. “Where have you been all these years? You have to be twenty… six?”

“You have a keen memory, Lord.” Osgar smiled, waiting for the additional question he was sure was about to be asked.

“I tried to find your mother, but I failed.”

It was Osgar’s time to look into an empty cup, smiling with the corners of his lips while in his eyes only gloom and sadness rested. “She fled from Winchester after my father’s death. She had no strength to live there in the town full of people who knew him so well, asking her, paying their condolences each and every time they met her on the street, it was all way too painful for her. And she just fled.” he waved to the barmaid and continued, waiting for the next cups to arrive at their table. “We’ve been living in a little village near Ethandun, just so we can always visit him. His grave, Lord, it’s like one of an ealdorman,”

“I ordered it. I told you, he was one of the greatest men I’ve ever met in my life.” Uthred took the ax Osgar lay on the table near him, following the old carving with his thumb, memory flashing the pictures from the hut once more. “How is she now, your mother?”

Osgar shrugged, pulling away the empty cup. “She passed away a few months ago, that’s why I’m finally here.”

Uthred’s brows knit together as he covered Osgar’s hand with his own. “I’m so sorry to hear that…”

“She’d been sick since I was a boy, I’d been looking after her till she passed.” Osgar’s eyes once become filled with light and joy. “She’s finally with him, with my father, I buried her near him, so they are both in peace now.”

After a few moments more cups of ale were put down on the table and everyone had their turn to drink, Uthred fell forward on his hands, drilling young Osgar. “So, you came here to follow your father’s steps?��

“Aye, lord, though Edward I don’t much like.” he gulped from the cup, looking around in hope nobody heard him except Uthred and Finan.

“Then you’re truly following his steps.” Uthred laughted out, pointing out to the boy that Leofric despised Alfred by all means, but still was one of the most loyal men to the King in the whole Kingdom. “What about following his other steps?”

“W-which?” Osgar bent his head on the side, being quite intrigued by Uthred’s proposal. He held his cup just under his lips, being caught in the middle of the drink.

“Come with me! Live with us, my people will be happy to have you, are you, Finan?” anf Finan Ayed, laughing, clasping his jug with one of Uthred. “See? your father lived with me the whole time I knew him, so my doors are always open for you.”

“I… I… I don;t know what to say, honestly, I never thought of–”

“Lord, you’ve asked for me?” the moment so pure was ruined by one baby monk busting into the tavern, looking around in horror. “They nearly killed me, the girls!” Finan almost choked on the ale from the ugliest laugh, waving to Osferth to come and seat by.

“Osferth! Come here quickly, come, come, come!” Uthred was patting the seat next to him, eyes just so sly and cunny, Osferth backed up when he saw the stare. “Don’t you recognise the guy?”

Osferth seated down, still looking rather uneasy with the way Uthred was looking at him. He eyed Osgar and shook his head. “Have we ever met?”

And Uthred burst into laughter, pulling Osferth closer, wrapping his hand around the monk's shoulder. The nervous smile was stretching on Osferth's face, and he looked at Finan pazzled. 

“Let me introduce you, my boy, Osgar, your cousin!” 

Osferth, being drinking the ale already, gugged on the liquid and started coughing, not knowing on whom to look, Uthred or his knewfounded cousin. “My cousin?!”

“Osgar is Leofric’s son, and Osferth,” Uthred turned to Osgar, gesturing to his coughing friend. “is the son of your father’s sister,” he tilted forward, and by twitching his fingers he asked Osgar to bend over the table. “and Alfred’s bastard son” he whispered, hiding his mouth with the palm. 

For the few heartbeats the two men were studying each other in silence, they eyes squinting and widening with every second.

“You do look like Leofric a lot…” Osferth breathed out, mind frozen by the unexpected knews, but his chest was fire, it was hot like the stones on the summer day, spreading the warmth through his entire body.

“So?” Uthred put the jug on the table, making both Osgar and Osferth look at him. “Will we celebrate the new family member this week at Cookham or not?”

Osgar was twitching on the edge of his seat again, trying to die the ugliest smile he could ever stretch on his face down, looking from Uthred to Osferth and to Finan, who was happily drinking his ale. “You will!”

Thank you for reading this one! I'm happy I actually finally posted it ah ah Hope you liked it ❤

TLK taglist: @thespiritoflife @lauwrite1225 @mrsalwayswrite @kingslionheart @cxrgans @magravenwrites @the-irish-girl @katbookwurm @morosemagick @lllostgirlll (cause I'm bold to assume you're maybe interested lmao)

Leofric taglist: @valhallasubstitute

If you want to be added to the tag list, DM me or send in an ask 💕

[aadmelioraa]

For the Touches Ask Game, 24 for hand-holding

24. “only realizing it when they have to let go." you didn't specify the ship, so here's a little pre-canon newlywed alfred x aelswith <3

“Who goes there?” Alfred calls into the fog, holding his sword before him at the ready. At his side, his new wife waits, hardly breathing for fear of being overheard.

The wood is silent apart from the pounding of their hearts and the nickering of the horses, no indication if there is friend or foe waiting for them beyond the curtain of mist which blankets the ground. Their armed guards have vanished, and whatever ran them off the road must have vanished too—Alfred prays it had.

“My lord!” one of their men reappears, pale beneath his helmet but unscathed. “It was a lone deer, nothing more. We may return to the carriage.” Behind him, the rest of the guard appear, equally sheepish they’d been so diverted by a harmless beast. They had not gone far, the mist is heavier than it had appeared.

Alfred hears Aelswith exhale in relief. His pulse begins to slow to its normal rate. “Very well,” he declares, hoping his voice is clearer than it sounds to his own ears. “We will continue on.”

It’s only then that Alfred realises his wife’s hand is caught in his own—he does not know if he had reached for her or she him, but they must have been holding hands since they’d exited the carriage, once he’d drawn his sword.

“My lord.” She drops her gaze and pulls back her hand, ashamed of whatever human weakness she had exhibited, as if he had not been equally as frightened. 

“I think, now that we are married, you may call me by my name when we are in private,” he teases gently. 

Alfred cannot be sure—the light is very dim—but he thinks a blush creeps over her cheeks. “I will certainly keep that in mind when we are truly alone, my lord.”

He hides a smile, offering his hand to help her into the carriage. Once she’s seated, he takes a seat beside her, rather than resuming the seat across from her. Gently, he reaches for the hand which lays in her lap. “We are alone now, Aelswith.”

She turns towards him, her expression perfectly composed but for a slight twitching of her lips. “We are indeed, my lord.”

He shakes his head, nearly laughing. “I will allow you this stubbornness, given the alarming encounter we’ve just endured.”

“I did not fear,” Aelswith replies, raising her chin earnestly. “For I had you and our God to protect me.”

He strokes his thumb along her wrist, then leans forward to brush a kiss to her lips. The quiet way she draws a breath of surprise is a new source of pleasure for him.

She kisses him back, deference transforming into boldness, boldness still tempered by decorum. He’s sure he’s only just begun to acquaint himself with her in this way. 

The carriage rolls on.

[deetoxicity]

Jesus Christ, thats a pretty face (chapter two) by deetoxicity

Finan/Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Finan (The Last Kingdom), Oral Fixation, Power Play, this should really just be called uhtred's mouth, Sorry Not Sorry, Bottom Uhtred (The Last Kingdom), Implied/Referenced Sex, Public Display of Affection, Top Finan (The Last Kingdom) Slow Burn

The second time it happened they were alone and Finan thanked his god for small mercies. It was the height of the summer months and the heat had proven uncomfortable for many of them. Uhtred especially, because he’d taken to using old wet rags as cooling towels, of course this only served to make the man damp and sticky but he wouldn’t listen when Finan warned him and therefore by rights, he deserved the way the sweat pooled.

Chapter 2 of Part 1 of Uhtred's Mouth

notes: It's been far longer than intended and mainly because I've been selfishly keeping these words to myself, trying to gather a collection of them, but the time has come to post some. And then hopefully some more. I'm aiming for at the very least once a month word dumps. Hopefully more.