#King Ragnar imagine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ubbesbabymama · 1 year

Text

Their friend is pregnant.

↳ Pairing. Ragnar Lothbrok, Björn Ironside, Ubbe Ragnarsson.

↳ Summary. How would they react to their dear friend being pregnant.

↳ Warnings. Violence, death, abusive relationships.

↳ Note. I imagine this with them having the same kind of friendship that Ragnar had with Athelstan but with the reader. Let me know if y’all want me to make an individual part of any of these explaining further the dynamics.

Part two.

Ragnar Lothbrok.

He hasn’t seen you in several months and he starts to get worried because for one, you didn’t even come to the dock to greet him after another successful raid and two, you know damn well he doesn’t like to go for so long without talking to you when he is in Kattegat. He learns too much with you.

He knocks on your door one time before letting himself in like he owns it, and that he does of course. He’s the king.

“I just want to know why you haven’t even… oh,” He looks at you with wide eyes, looking down at the small round belly that has started to become prominent.

You look at him expressionless, your eyes filling with tears, he gets to you in two big steps and pulls you into his arms, one hand on the back of your neck and the other grabbing your arm so you can put it around his waist.

“My sweet dear friend, what’s the matter?” He murmurs and you sob.

“I missed you so much, o-oh for the love of Odin, my friend is here.” You cry on his chest.

“Of course I am, I’ll always come back to you,” He assures you.

You look up to him.

“I am with child,” You say and he snorts.

“I can very much see that,” He jokes but his smile vanishes when he sees the pain in your face.

“And he hates it, he hates it so much Ragnar,” You sob. “He said it’s not his child, he swears it’s yours.”

He laughs and walks with you under his arm to your bed, softly falling down and letting you get comfortable on his chest.

“I have to say, it does sounds appealing to bear a child with you,” You snort and sob softly. “But we have never had sex, for you rejected me when I asked you.”

“You wanted me to lay with you when we were camping and getting ready for a war back in the day, it wasn’t the time,” You roll your eyes. “He says my plan all along was to seduce you to become queen of—,”

“Does he even know that you’re the uncrowned queen of Kattegat?” He laughs. “It doesn’t matter, I’ll be the child’s father.”

“Why did I have the suspicion that you would say that when the time of me carrying a child come?” You ask with a small smile and he kisses your head.

“He can’t come near you anymore, he lost his chance.” He explains.

You close your eyes, forgetting everything that made you cry and remembering that Ragnar will always be there for you.

Björn Ironside.

He frowns when you rush into his tent in what seems desperation, he grabs your shoulders to stop you.

“Wow, wow, wow, stop right there,” He says, and when you look at him his whole face changes. “Who did this to you?”

You have a cut on your lip and your cheek is starting to get swollen from a hard slap.

“Björn—,”

“I am not going to ask a third time, Y/N, who did this to you?” He grunts.

“Knud,” You whisper and you step in front of him when he is about to start walking, looking him right in the eye. “Björn.”

“I am going to break his arms, move.” He grunts.

“Björn, I am with child.” You snap, smacking his chest softly so he can pay attention to you.

He looks at you surprised, blinking a few times before slowly sliding his hands all over your belly.

“That’s wonderful, little one.” He whispers and your bottom lip trembles. His face suddenly turns cold. “Which means it’s going to be worse for him.”

He walks around you and out of the tent in the blink of an eye, you sigh and sit down for a few seconds on his bed, your state making things such as standing very tiresome.

After some minutes you stand up and go out looking for your friend, finding him close to the woods with a crowd around him. When you get close you realize that the father of your child is tied up to a tree while Björn is shooting arrows at him, missing on purpose to get him more scared. The whispers of the others are what makes Björn look behind his back, he smiles at you.

“Come here, my sweet one.” He says with feigned happiness, you stand on his side, ignoring the man on the tree on purpose.

“Yes?”

“What do you want from him? His leg? An arm?” He asks you entertained.

“I—,”

“Y-Y/N, p-please! Forgive me! I-I didn’t mean t-to, it was the ale!” The man cries.

“You hurt her while she’s with child and you think ale is the perfect excuse to give me? me?” Björn asks with humor, raising his arms and shooting an arrow right on top of the man's knees, smiling when he screams in pain. “Try again.”

“F-Forgive me for saying that it is not my child, I-I know you haven’t laid with n-no one else, I misunderstood your relationship with lord Björn,” The man cries in pain, sobbing like a child, he looks at you with pleading eyes. “Y/N p-please.”

You look at Björn and give him an enigmatic smile that he understands all too well.

“My friend, I could use a liver, maybe a heart,” You tell him and he hums.

“All you have to do is ask,” He says, shooting right into the man’s heart, watching the life leave his body. “Like that?”

“Like that.” You snort.

Ubbe Ragnarsson.

He’s sure the gods put you in his life with a purpose, because the amount of love and happiness he feels when he’s around you cannot be normal.

He was walking around Kattegat with a smile, watching his people do their own thing and being proud of the stability that they have now thanks to a lot of his, his father and his brothers' sacrifices. He sees you and frowns when he takes in your expression, walking a little faster to get to you.

“That fucking child is not mine!” The man, whom he knows you tend to lay with from time to time, was shouting in your face. “Find the father of that child because it is not mine.”

“Well, last time I checked I am not the Christian Holy Mary to have a child from a god,” You snap at him. “Who else’s child would—?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the prince,” The man accuses you and you gasp, he starts to point his finger at you, every time touching your shoulder in an accusatory manner. “Why don’t you go and tell him that you’re with child, uhm? Since you’re so proud of being his main whore—,”

The man can’t continue his speech because he is interrupted by Ubbe yanking him from the back. Ubbe walks to him slowly, sighing to control his dark thoughts and straddling the man. He starts to calmy destroy the man’s face, smacking him with his open hand, punching him with his fist, with his own head. You crouch down beside him at a considerable space in order to not get punched by accident, with your hand under your chin, watching your prince make a mess out of the poor man that thought he could disrespect you and continue on his day like nothing happened.

“You think you’re too good to put a child on her? Don’t be stupid, you should be grateful that you even had the opportunity to be inside of her,” Ubbe grunts, watching the man’s face unrecognizable now.

He cleans his hands on the man’s shirt and stands up, walking to you and bending his knees a little to take you in his arms. You hum and slide your hands around his neck.

“I would’ve expected Ivar to lose control like that, even Hvitserk, but you?” You murmur into his ear and he chuckles.

“I’m Viking, love,” He says as if that explains the little number he just pulled.

When he enters the Great Hall he walks directly to a chair and sits with you sitting sideways on top of him, he caresses your back distractedly while playing with your hand with his other hand.

“I’m a little scared,” You confess and he looks at you. “It’s my first child, I’m not even married and he already made sure to let me know that he will not be—,”

“You don’t need nobody but me,” He says firmly, confidence emanating from his body. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Ubbe, you have your own obligations with Kattegat,” You try to reason with him.

“And still, I’ll be here for you,” He whispers, pulling you to his chest and slowly sliding his hand onto your belly, you put your own on top of his. “Every step you take, I’m taking it with you, my dear friend.”

“I know you will,” You whisper and kiss the side of his head.

#vikings #vikings imagine #vikings ivar #vikings ubbe #ivar vikings #vikings hvitserk #vikings headcanons #ivar ragnarsson #ragnar lothbrok #sigurd vikings #bjorn imagine #bjorn ironside #bjorn ironside imagine #vikings reactions

635 notes · View notes

shinjisdone · 6 months

Text

To Soften a Warrior’s Heart (Vinland Saga; Thorfinn; Part 7)

In which you have joined Askeladd’s band…and grow closer to the Son of Thors. Though it is more difficult than anyone can could ever imagine…

[Headcanons of how it would be like to meet and crawl your way into Thorfinn’s heart (based on season 1; both platonic and romantic)]

Part 1 is here - meeting Thorfinn at the age of 14 and how he is at that age

Part 2 is here - meeting Thorfinn at the age of 16/17 + headcanons of growing closer (slightly following s1 story)

Part 3 is here - blooming friendship with Thorfinn (slightly following s1 story)

Part 4 is here - Thorfinn unwittingly opening his heart as he realizes he does not want you to die

Part 5.1 is here - sweet things Thorfinn would do for you (headcanons)

Part 5.2 is here - other seet things Thorfinn would do for you (headcanons)

Part 6 is here - meeting Canute and becoming his guard - Thorfinn accepts your relationship and bond

Part 8 is here - Thorfinn wins against Thorkell; Questioning your bond with Thorfinn

Part 9 is here - Meeting Leif and Thorfinn dueling Askeladd; Losing while Askeladd told him the truth of his constant losses

Part 10 is here - Thorfinn and you bound by heart; Promises of Vinland broken and abandoned

Tag list:

@luopenis , @jinsecho , @mitsureigen

[Mentions of murder, death, war, slave trade, harrasment against women and whatever awful things happened in the viking era. Only mentioned and used as examples. Mostly gender-neutral examples but female-leaning ones are there, too.]

[This part will specifically mention: Death of character, Canute being slapped, pillaging, mention of Canute not taking care of himself to the point where he could die, slight gore, Thorfinn leaving you alone, uh oh its Thorkell time]

So It Goes On And On Not Knowing When It Went Wrong...

So. While things have changed a bit, all around everything still seemed the same.

Marching on and travelling by wagon is not bad at all, you noted, and so far nothing has really threatened the prince, that was constantly attempting to glance at your direction.

Ragnar is quiet all around except for the prince and Askeladd hasn't shared one of his 'great plans' in a while, too.

Thorfinn was as grumpy as ever, always by your side.

Yet the snow has gotten heavier.

It was worrying at best...the road to the king was long.

And the food was running low.

So I Just Feel and Feed The Blood That's Inside Me...

It was only a matter of time.

Of course. Askeladd being Askeladd, being the cunning and clever fellow he was, the leader of hungry, savage vikings would take all a single village had to feed his.

You heard the priest, who traveled silently along you with his alcohol in hand, shriek and call out. Björn quickly beat him into submission.

Ragnar argued to leave these good, religious people alone while speaking as little English as possible.

You were just glad Askeladd did not order you to 'help'. You'd stay far back, as far as you could, watching over the prince. You wondered if he could hear the same things as you.

The young man was hunched and not peeking at you for once. Even while no one was there, Thorfinn still insisted to sit close by you, squeezing you into the wall of the wagon and keeping Cantue a good distance away. He said nothing.

Just as the food arrived, he handed you meat. Telling you to eat while you could and that food was food. Canute got his portion from Ragnar.

You cared for your friend. Yet at times you observed his apathy that was as equal to enemies as it was to innocent people.

Still, such things are quickly forgotten. It isn't the first time, after all.

You got food, you got water, and supplies. You'll survive and so will the prince.

All was the same...including when Ragnar invited you once again to eat. Food was food and especially delectable when it was cooked safely.

You convinced Thorfinn to go. Whether or not out of trust and companionship for Canute and Ragnar or for the fact that was it was free and cooked food. Safely cooked food - miles better than charred fish.

Thorfinn pouts. He doesn't particularly care for 'lunch' but if one; you were to go and two; there was food, he'd have no choice but to oblige.

It was eerily similiar to the first dinner - Canute cooked while Ragnar helped set the table. Only would he glance at you from time to time, the smile on his face fading.

Whether or not you note that the man is not fond of his son - well, his prince, fancying you, is up to you. But know that he won't openly do something against his affections as long as they don't cross a limit.

He cannot have his highness believe he can just have you stay at his castle and marry you...

Thorfinn noticed too, and while he understands where the man is coming from, that does not sour his mood any less whenever Ragnar has to...scowl at you like that.

Canute is as shy as a maiden. He cooks and it is like he had forgotten about the pillage as he asked you bashfully how the dish was.

Soon the shanty is filled with conversation of the past until Ragnar was called out by the rest of the band. Eyeing the trio requesting for his presence, he promised Canute he'd return soon and for you and Thorfinn to continue protecting him.

With an narrowed gaze you watched them leave. The door was closed to keep the snow out. Their footsteps slowly grew quieter and finding the table to be cleaned already, Canute shyly attempted smalltalk with you.

You admitted to yourself that you were barely listening. When you looked into the faces of the men, the bandmates that you knew, you could only see Askeladd.

The table shook and rumbled as the men put Ragnar's cold body on it, more carelessly than planned. Askeladd glanced at them before gazing back to Canute with the same narrowed and focused eyes. The latter was trembling at the sight.

"It was an ambush." Askeladd began, continuing with an empty explanation and the request to keep moving forward. Whoever killed Ragnar must be on their heels - and with Thorkell in tow, they'd best hurry.

They leave shortly after with only you, Thorfinn and Canute staying. Your blonde friend said nothing as he prepared his things. Canute could only stare wordlessly at the corpse in the room.

There it was again. Maybe the sliver of compassion left in your heart or the knowledge that it is difficult to move on from death but it is a must anyway - no matter what the reason may be, you once again decided to appraoch the prince.

With a hand on his shoulder, you turned him to you. His dilating eyes couldn't meet yours. "Prince...what Askeladd said is unfortunately true. If we stay, we will all die here. It hurts, but we have to keep going."

It worked in a way as well...as if in a trance, Canute let you lead him out of the shanty by the hand and into the cold snow. His gaze, as wide as a deer's, was glued on Ragnar until he was inevitably out of sight.

The trance was quickly broken though.

The moment Canute was forcefully thrown into the wagon, he found his voice in an agonizing scream again. His big eyes shut close for the first time only to spill out tears as he yelled out profanity after profanity, order after order to have Ragnar not be left behind in some nowhere shanty but properly buried in honor.

The leader of the band made it quickly clear that they do not have time for funerals and honor - a mountain of a man with a bloodlust no warrior deities could match was after them - after him - so he could cease his bawling.

"Ragnar!" His name left his mouth again, his throat beginnning to hurt. If he himself could not stop his grief, then it was Askeladd leaving his face bruised in a hard slap.

"Ragnar is dead. No matter how many times you call out for him, the dead will not hear you. Not come for you nor help you."

Canute brought a hand to his throbbing, red cheek. The tears stopped for a moment as he stared at Askeladd in disbelief, voice shaking.

"...It was you..."

It was clear to everyone witnessing that there were more words to be exchanged, yet the man was faster. Without any hesitation he ordered for everyone to keep on marching no matter what. With a flick of his finger, he pointed back to Thorfinn and you, telling you to keep on having an eye on the prince.

You didn't know what to think. But as Thorfinn helped you up on the wagon and Canute silently hunched in his seat, you only knew you felt anger.

Keep Your Precious Justice To Yourself, Bud...

Only a few days have passed but each was as dull as the next.

Thorfinn and you still had the priviledge on sitting on the wagon next to Canute, who stayed hunched in his lone seat. He hadn't spoken a word ever since Askeladd's lesson of death.

The band's mood darkened like the grey and cloudy sky. Snow kept on piling and piling up and you often had the displeasure of getting off the wagon and pushing it through the thick white while Canute stayed put, not lifting a finger nor his head.

Thorkell was close - everyone knew. Besides the whsipers, only Björn spoke to the band's leader.

Thorfinn ate, slept and sat as if nothing was wrong. SInce the days have been quiet, he barely paid any attention to the prince, and would only acknowledge you. Though due to the gloomy atmosphere among the men, you barely were in any mood to talk and the blonde knew it.

At times he'd nudge you, asking how you feel. He shares his food, dividing it in two, or lets you drink fom his water sash. His blanket and cloak are, of course, also yours to share.

Yet he doesn't even lift a finger for Canute. The young man is grieving in solitude even while surrounded by men there to protect him. He does not reply nor answer anyone's call.

You take a part of the loaf of bread Thorfinn shared with you and offer it to him.

Thorfinn glares at the exchange disapprovingly. Still, he lets you do whatever you think needs to be done.

Even if he doesn't really get it or see it as neccesary.

It takes time, but Canute lifts his head ever so slightly before taking the bread. He chewed on it slowly.

The prince may not speak and seemed even quieter than he was at your first meeting, but he at least acknowledged you and your actions. Whenever the men realized that they would also have to look out for the young man - after all, he cannot starve or die of thirst or cold - they would turn to you for the task. Canute only seemed to accept your deeds and your words.

Ragnar wasn't here to baby him anymore, after all.

As heartless as it may sound, Thorfinn also saw Ragnar's actions as babying Cantue. And now, you are doing the exact same.

After some time Thorfinn would definitely whisper to you, whisper how you are smothering and mothering him. Look at the princess. He barely cannot eat or drink by himself. Another round of your kind and honeyed words will have him demand that you start feeding him as well.

Whether or not you shush or agree with him is up to you. But it cannot be denied that Canute cannot be left alone or else he would easily allow himself to die.

Some men gossip among themselves how you have taken Ragnar's position. None found any glee or schadenfreude in that fact, however, and were more focused on the inevitable meeting with Thorkell the Tall.

Higher Than The Sky And Deeper Than The Sea...

And so it came.

You remember it well. How Thorfinn, sitting next to you, grabbed your arm and shifted you closer to him. His cold glare was aimed at the road covered in snow in the distance and his voice was in a low whisper.

"We have to start looking out for the others as well." He began curtly and dry. Brief with his assumption that something was wrong here in the band, that none of the men liked where any of this was going.

They did not like the plan. The marching. The secrets Askeladd kept to himself and the feral giant hunting them down. It would only be a matter of time before a fight would ensue.

"Look out for yourself. Stay alert." He told you and with that, let go, as if nothing had been exchanged between you at all.

And just like that, it was like a prophecy.

The bridge the men were ordered to destroy was nothing but a pebble on the road for Thorkell. He and his men were visible over the hill and with just one swing of his arm, a spear impaled three men.

As swift as the wind, Thorfinn flung out his daggers and stood in front of you. Canute did not move a muscle at the men falling, nor did he look up to know who was here to 'save' him next.

People dying and fighting over being the 'escorts' and 'heroes' who have safely returned the prince to his king.

A quick arguement began before it became a full-out betrayal.

Not like Askeladd had not seen it coming.

Quickly he ordered Björn to ride off and bring the prince to safety - with you and Thorfinn on the wagon and tow as well.

The tables have turned and a manpower of over thirty are now after Askeladd's head and the prince's saftey. Feet stomped over the broken wreckage and soon, Thorkell stood before them all.

The bandmates hoped to switch sides and offer Askeladd's life as a token of loyalty. But your heart only gave out at the sight of the giant of a man.

No matter how you felt about Askeladd, the conversations you had with him...you could not forget his attempt at your life and all the things he had done to Thorfinn...you could not charge back down there and help him.

But Thorfinn could and would.

As he let out a scream, you held him back by his shoulders. The wagon was rushing away from the turmoil together with the prince and the priest...and more of the traitors came hunting you down on their horses.

"It's foolish to go back there! There's Thorkell, Thorkell! Don't you remember what he did to us last time?!"

Though, Thorfinn does not listen. He aimed at the oncoming men and their horses, shooting them down before they could reach you. Sparing one of the animals, he saddled on before yelling back at you. His face contorted in an rage you have never seen before.

"He is MY prey!!!" He shouted back, "You stay here! Kill anyone who tries to come near you!"

It is the first time where the young viking does not prioritize your safety.

As he charged back to the hill below, he shot down the rest coming for the prince - yet in his mind they are coming for you.

Even as they fell, he left you alone with Björn who is easily tempted by madness.

If he hesitates now, his revenge will be lost.

[idk whats up with me today, my english is just....bleh. I really mix up past tense and present dont ask me why.

More of a 'from plot A -> plot B' kind of thing. Not a lot happens unitl then...]

#vinland saga #vinland saga x reader #thorfinn #thorfinn karlsefni #thorfinn x reader #vinland saga headcanons #thorfinn headcanons #thorfinn karlsefni x reader #gender neutral imagine #vinland saga imagine #thorfinn imagine #thorfinn x you #prince canute #canute #askeladd #this one is kinda eh #but its also because nothing exciting happens #besides...depression #dont worry once canute literally wakes up into his character development #things are gonna go hoooooweee #rip to all the men dying though holy shit #i googled to see how MANY men askeladd really had and uh #wow they really do not leave their corpses alone #uses them for target practice holy shit #i understand canute's view of love now and how vikings need it #thorfinn also idiot #literally leaves you alone to SAVE HIS DADS KILLER smh #HELLO??? U R LITERALLY HIS ONLY FRIEND #AND YOU GET TO BE LEFT ALONE AND NOT BE SAVED #TSAWH

119 notes · View notes

meraxesmoon · 2 months

Note

Oooh Vikings, imagines if Ragnar have another daughter beside gyda , beloved among her brothers imagines like one of those episode where Ragnar meet Loki. He prophesied her to be greatness with many Kings sought for her affection she , she will so protected I think it'll be great if she's also Lagertha daughter

I imagine she's the youngest of Ragnar and Lagertha's children, less than a year older than Ubbe. She's this sweet little baby who doesn't fuss much and is often seen being dragged around on her mother's hip.

After Ragnar and Lagertha separate, babygirl would have to stay in Kattegat with her father, while Bjorn goes with Lagertha. She's mostly raised by Aslaug and Siggy, alongside her younger brothers. Ragnar, despite being a pretty shitty husband, is a fantastic father. He loves his daughter so much, and knowing that she's being taken care of when he's gone on raids puts him at peace.

As she gets older, Ragnar gets pretty paranoid. He doesn't like the idea of marrying off his daughter to some random guy. That being said, any marriage proposals will be turned down swiftly. He wants his daughter to be happy. He wants her to marry for love. He doesn't care if a God asks for his daughters hand in marriage. He'd still turn them down.

All of Ragnar's children are destined for greatness, and babygirl is no different. Whether she becomes a great medic or warrior makes no difference, Ragnar knows that she will be great.

Girl dad vikings >>>

#cw: yandere content #cw: yandere blog #cw: yandere #yandere ragnar lothbrok #yandere vikings #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere #kay writes

66 notes · View notes

arcielee · 8 months

Text

Farewell Wanderlust

Warnings: As always, MDNI, 18+ murder by Temes, character death, angst like a mofo, evil plotting, sexual themes, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving) Pairing: Osferth x OFC Word Count: 6941 Summary: Torn from her home country, Keavy finds herself trying to survive across the Irish sea. She happens across Uhtred and his motley crew, and finds herself befriending a monk who is determined to become a warrior. Author’s Note: Thank you @sylas-the-grim for helping me edit this chapter. Thank you everyone who loved Keavy and Osferth [I am not opposed to a epilogue, let me know]. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chonky chapter. 💜 Deireadh is end in Irish. Dividers are by @saradika Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @tssf-imagines @triscy @whoknows333 @shesjustanothergeek @heavenly1927 @myfandomprompts @fangirlninja67 @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauftivy @vintageypanwitch @heimtathurss [bold means I was unable to tag you!]

Chapter 7

The seasons had gone and Osferth found himself back within the walls of Wintanceaster. Darkness drafted over the city with the swell of storm clouds, heavy with their threat of the last of the summer rains, with flashes of white and its low rumble of thunder; it mixed with the nightfall, casting long shadows from the bold posts of amber light that was stilted in the streets, leading up to the castle.

His legs ached from the time spent on horseback, as they had traveled North to see Ragnar and his swell of rebellion in Dunholm, only to come back again, flitting amongst the cities that thread throughout East Anglia, Mercia, and then back to Wessex. They moved almost headlong, avoiding the threat of the king that hung over their heads, knitted along with the poisoned whisper of Bloodhair’s seer.

She was now dead but death followed them still, something now palpable within the castle walls of the city.

There was an eerie familiarity as he moved with deliberate steps, following two paces behind Uhtred, who followed behind the priest, and they moved, quick and quiet, through the corridor. Osferth thought back to the last time his father dared to publicly acknowledge him, how his large palm had wrapped around his arm, his staggered steps on wiry legs to keep pace with the stride of the King of Wessex.

Until that moment, Osferth had only been a shadow, a murmur of the ealdorman amongst the stone walls. He was only acknowledged by his sister, who would often pull him away to play games, as Edward was too small to be bothered with.

These were moments he cherished, but they were always fleeting, always ending with the sharp gaze of the queen over her pointed nose; it proceeded the rustle of her skirt with her curt pace, as she would sweep Æthelflæd away for prayer and penitence, leaving Osferth to fade away into the shadows once again.

If it had been left to the queen, she would see him to not exist within the walls, but here he now walked, as requested by Uhtred, his steps joining the soft echo of their footfalls. They stopped outside an oak door and Beocca held up his hand before slipping into the room first, leaving them for a moment.

In the quiet, Osferth dared ask. “Why did you bring me here, lord?”

“Why not?” Uhtred turned to face him, his voice low.

“You could have brought Finan to witness what the king wished to say,” he explained, pausing only to wet his lips. “But you chose me.” There was a hum to fill the silence and Osferth could see gold rings reflecting from the candlelight in the blues of his eyes; Uhtred did not answer his question. “The last time we were in Wintanceaster, my grief and my actions led to consequences…”

“You did what was right by your gods, lord.”

There was a subtle quirk of his lips as Uhtred watched him before he continued. “Nonetheless, it did not affect only me, but it still resulted in us being banished and torn from,” and his expression showed consideration for his next words chosen, “those we care deeply for.”

Keavy.

The thought of her name alone sent an ardent surge through his veins, something that always thrummed beneath, knotting with his yearn for her touch, for her smile again. She remained with him, heavy on his heart, alongside the cross pendant gifted that was safely tucked beneath his embossed, leather cuirass and ratted albe; its cool metal often served as a balm for the heartsore he woke up with ever since she left for Saltwic.

It had been thirteen months since he last saw her, since he last touched her or tasted her, her lips haunting the curve of his mouth. He often thought of the moment in the stables, their last kiss shared, how she felt beneath his large palms when he placed them on her hips to help her aback; his fingers ached to let her go and his desperate reach to touch her one last time, trailing up the curve of her calf.

Keavy had looked at him, the green of her brilliant eyes focusing beneath the flutter of her dark lashes; his eyes etched the rose color that nipped at her features, blooming from the cool night’s air, from the urgency to leave the city.

He grasped at these moments, but they seemed to spill between his fingers, a thousand words perched on his tongue but he could only squeeze her calf gently, he could only manage the simple promise, “I will return to you,” and then she was gone, leaving him to choke on the unsaid.

“How long has it been?” Untred asked, his voice low, kind, and easing him back into the hallway of the castle of Wintanceaster.

Four hundred and twelve days. “Over a year now, lord.”

Uhtred hummed again. “Osferth, I brought you here to hold me accountable when we face Alfred, so that we may right what is needed and be able to return to Saltwic, but without the echoes of outcast or fugitive to follow our steps.” He offered a wry smile.

Osferth felt his heart flutter with his words, his fingers pressing to feel the soft crinkle of parchment of the letter tucked away, its edges fraying, and each word memorized. As they traveled, updates were fleetingly sent from Saltwic, and only just a quick recount from Æthelflæd that all was well, that they, that Keavy, were still safe.

She studies beside Oswald, who is becoming your namesake, Æthelflæd’s words teased. She is adamant to continue learning so she may send her own words to you.

His heart held onto these words and the bit of hope they offered, as it was all that could be done with the unprecedented time and travel. But when the threat of Æthelflæd was vocalized in Dunholm, they were quick to come to her aid and learned of Æthelred’s intended ill-will.

It was a mixture of frustration, of exhaustion, just the sheer disappointment to return and find Saltwic empty… “They are safe,” his sister was quick to say, her eyes flitting from Osferth, then to Sihtric, and the rest of them. “I had them sent to Alencestre when Aldhelm warned me…” and she faltered.

It was a wrath returned and Osferth spoke low. “I will kill him,” and he felt Uhtred rest his palm on his shoulder, grounding him.

Æthelflæd watched him, a slight curl to her pink lips, and she stepped towards him. “I swore to you that I would keep her safe,” her words just for him and his gaze flicked to meet her own; she reached for his hands. “This is for you.”

A letter, and he felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards, using the fading sunlight to read. Osferth, it began, the sweet curl of her lettering to the piece of parchment, and he could hear her musical lilt with the few lines she had written, I have not forgotten what you have promised me, and I hold onto the hope that neither have you. I am waiting, still, and I will do so until you return to me.

The simplicity of her message warmed his heart; he took care to refold its creases and tuck it away, carrying it with him always. In the days that followed, he came across an intimate moment shared between his sister and Uhtred; he saw her blush, her swift steps to pull away from him and her expression when she spotted Osferth.

He offered his arm, watching how her brow furrowed, the bob of her neck as she swallowed thickly. “Show me the gardens by the chapel,” he offered a scapegoat.

She tucked her fingers in the crook of his arm, keeping with his languid pace; she did not speak of the greenery. “Love is peculiar, isn’t it?” Æthelflæd, if anything, was fearsome, but in that moment she gave a wistful look over her shoulder to see the embrace the seer pressed onto Uhtred. “It has a way to thread within your heart, but life has chapters that must be completed first until it is ready to blossom, or so it seems.”

Osferth hummed, his steps slowed to keep with her, his mind returning to the words written: I am waiting.

“Do you love her, Osferth?”

It was a relief to admit it outloud, to say something that pressed within his heart, heavy with his steps that traveled northwards and back again. It was a thought that sung with the rising sun and carried throughout to a melodious lull at night. But he also confided his hesitation to tell Keavy just this.

“What keeps you from saying this to her?”

Osferth swallowed, his lips pursed in debate of what words he would choose, deciding to trust his sister: the sin’s of their father and the curse that he was born into.

She stopped walking and he followed, turning to look at her; he saw the maturity to her beauty, the hereditary severity that lined her lovely face with her smile. “Oh Osferth,” she began, reaching for his hand to hold his attention, “I think life is cruel enough on its own without this perpetual penance. God be damned,” she almost laughed, “I see that Keavy has a strength knitted within her very bones. I believe you should allow her to decide her own fate, to allow her to choose to spend our given time on this earth with you or not.”

Osferth blinked. “Promise me you will tell her when you see her again,” she continued, and he saw a sadness to her smile, “as I know she loves you.”

His heart lifted with her words, but the sadness was heavy still with his sister. “What of Lord Uhtred?” His curiosity could not be helped; since the nunnery, he was too aware of the lingering glances, their subtle touches shared, how their every movement was scrutinized from the sharp glare of the witch.

Plumes of red stained her porcelain tones and her lashes fluttered as she forced herself to keep his gaze. “I believe,” her tone slow with a recognition all her own, “that Uhtred and I are maimed by a great love lost, that our sorrow recognizes one another and we cannot help but be drawn towards each other.”

Osferth nodded; the guilt, the weight of Gisela’s death nearly killed Uhtred on the way to Dunholm, and this was first he had seen his smile in months. “I only wish for you to find happiness, Æthelflæd.”

“And I, you, Osferth,” her eyes glassy with her words. “You will always be welcomed in Mercia.”

They were quick to move, called to Aegelesburg and spoke strategy on how to cripple the Dane army that grew. After the bloodshed, they returned to Coccham and found the village thriving, though once they passed through the archway, Osferth could not shake the haunted feeling of the transitory happiness that seemed an eternity ago.

The pagan hall had the spilled stain of lords unwelcomed, with their placed ornaments of the Christian God hanging above while they ate their fill; they were seated at the same table where he helped Keavy tutor Stiorra and Oswald, her endless patience and sweet smile, and how Gisela watched over them, her eyes glittering.

But that warmth was swept from the great hall and Osferth left without a word, following the dirt path that returned him to the room he and Keavy shared. The air was stale, her lingering scent gone, and nothing but a dust that covered the bare furniture left behind.

He took deep breaths through his mouth, the heartache still pressing, and he felt jolted from his self-wallowing.

I know she loves you.

He then heard Leofric, his words clawing through the earth, an echo that rang bold from his grave: a man could be set on a path, but only his steps could create his own destiny.

Osferth felt embolden, something that now seared through his veins, propelling his steps forward with the earth crunching beneath his boots. He thought of the time lost to his damn hesitation, for some curse mentioned by a faith lost, a curse deemed by his very existence and damned by the sins of his father, and how he foolishly allowed it to still his tongue when it came to her.

He knew he loved Keavy, just as Uhtred described once, something that thrummed beneath his skin, in tandem with his heartbeat.

He moved towards the Temes, to allow a new breath, a moment to clear his mind of this burdened relief carried that now was dissipating with each step. He only stopped when he saw Untred and the witch, but he dared to creep forward, silent, wary, watching how the tension lifted in his lord’s shoulders when he released her and how she drifted away with the current.

Uhtred seemed surprised as Osferth moved to the dock, reaching to pull him from the river. He was quiet through the confession, how Uhtred was not proud of what he had done, and he was quick to stop his lament. “You have taken control of your destiny, lord,” and his words burned in his chest, as if branded by the Celtic cross worn. “Today, I have decided to do the very same.”

Curse be damned.

“I will not leave this city,” and Uhtred’s voice returned his attention back to the hallway, perched outside the king’s door, “until we have been reinstated, free men once more. And besides,” Uhtred was watching him, “don’t you wish to see your father?”

Osferth returned the stare; this thought had been furthest from his mind, but the words spoken wrapped around his throat and he swallowed hard. The silence was heavy and his voice cracked when he said, “Yes, lord.”

It was then that Beocca peered out, gesturing to Osferth. “The king wishes to speak with you first,” and the priest moved aside.

Osferth looked to Uhtred for a moment, who nodded his encouragement, and he moved past the priest, slipping into the room.

Orange hues pooled around the bed from the thick tapers lit and the king was swathed in woolen blankets, propped against overstuffed cushions to hold him upright. Osferth marveled at the vestige of the man from Aescengum months prior, his complexion waxen and his skin taught over his bones, with dark rings beneath his closed eyes. He would have assumed the king was already dead had he not noticed the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the muted labored breaths beneath the layers.

And then the king opened his eyes, their shared blue that was muddled with his sickness and that wavered until they fell to where Osfeth stood. There was the shudder of his youth, his want to wilt away from the direct gaze, but instead he moved towards the bedside.

King Alfred watched with bruised, hooded eyes as Osferth seated himself on the ottoman, pulling himself close enough to see that candlelight show the last glimmer of life touching his pallid features. “Osferth,” the king began, his name foreign, spilling from his cracked tongue and lips.

A cough came, a wet rasp that was covered by a handkerchief spotted with blood; Osferth looked to grab a goblet at the bedside, offering a drink that he gratefully took. When he set the mug down, he felt the king clasped his hand onto his other, a papery thin touch, and Osferth dutifully reached with his other hand, dutiful to his dying father, solemn with his returned gesture.

“I know what you have done,” Alfred continued between ragged breaths. “I have heard of your bravery,” and he paused. “You are a good man and I am proud.”

Osferth shifted his weight from his words and the king did not notice, or if he did, he continued anyway. “Death allows you to reflect on your failures, your misdoings in your life,” he released his hold, pressing his palms against the top blanket; the skin clung thin to the bones, his knuckles jutted against. “There is a letter prepared. Bring it to Æthelflæd, she will know what must be done.”

His eyes followed the weak wave to see the parchment folded and the red wax of the king’s seal placed. “I only ever wished to do what was right by you,” and Osferth jerked back towards the murmur of the king, a man of regal regret, and saw that Alfred held a look of awe, as if it was his first time to truly see his eldest son.

“Osferth,” he repeated, his voice weak and his eyes glassy. “I am proud.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, the threat of tears in the same eyes he shared with his father.

Osferth felt a warm touch on his shoulder and looked up to see Uhtred standing over, a gentle squeeze. He moved to stand, excusing himself to leave the room, pausing in the doorway for a final look at his father, who managed a second wind to greet Uhtred; dutiful until the end.

Only in the corridor did he dare peer at the letter in hand, at the king’s penmanship that began: To my kinsman, Osferth.

+ + + +

“I see horsemen.”

Keavy sat below the tree that Stiorra climbed, her back against the trunk and a tome opened across her lap; the girl was growing long like her mother, allowing a reach for the higher limbs, and still slender enough for the branches to hold her weight. Keavy squinted upwards to where the girl was perched, watching. “Tradesmen?”

The cool breeze rippled through her hair and she used one hand to push it from her view. “If they are tradesmen, they travel light.”

Keavy closed the book and set it on top of the quilt spread at the base, pushing to her feet. “Climb down, Stiorra,” she swallowed the tinge of panic to her tone. “It would be best to alert Lady Æthelflæd…” in case they are unfriendly, but she could not say that out loud.

It had been weeks since the Battle of Holme, as it now known; it was a bloodshed of Danes, a revolt orchestrated by Æthelwold that had been met by Lord Uhtred and his valiant men, as well as the Anglo-Saxon allied militia. Despite the victory, the Danes that escaped flitted across the villages of Northumbria, still raiding, still vengeful.

“They may be Dane,” Stiorra continued her assessment, her head tilting; it was one of the many traits passed from Gisela, her unwavering fearlessness as in this moment, watching still. “Or some of them, anyway…”

“Stiorra,” her voice was sharper. “Now.”

She reached for a thicker branch to begin her descent, pausing to say, “Keavy,” and she looked down. “It is my father!”

It had been fourteen months since they had arrived at Saltwic; they rode through the night and following day, coming just as the amber streaks of dusk splayed behind the stoned rook. Lady Æthelflæd came to the courtyard at the call of her men, wearing with the same severity of her brother that was etched onto her features.

She recognized Hild and beckoned them inside at once, with Sigdeflaed guiding the bleary eyed children and Keavy lingering behind with the nun. While Hild recounted the prior days, Keavy was drawn to watch the emotions playing across her fair features in a way that was akin to Osferth, subtle but austere; only when Keavy was mentioned by name was the noticeable flicker, the small curl upwards of her lips.

“You are Keavy?”

She felt the blood pour into her cheeks as Æthelflæd turned her attention towards her, with the same blue that belonged to Osferth. “I am,” Keavy gave a small nod.

“I have heard so much about you,” and she smiled with a warmth that reached her eyes. “You are safe here, I swear it. For as long as it is needed.”

The weeks that followed were quiet, uneventful, though Keavy still kept her seax and dagger on her person out of caution, or perhaps comfort. She still pressed for a new normalcy for both Stiorra and Oswald, who seemed to have aged with their grief.

Stiorra mirrored her mother in so many ways, though her willful temperament came from Uhtred; she had no interest in her studies, but still would participate, in part to torment her brother, but mostly she pushed to learn how to handle a real blade. Whereas Oswald had grown solemn in Saltwic, embracing the supplied priest for their tutoring lessons, newly dedicated to the faith.

Keavy remained present, sitting with Æthelflæd, who would often use the time to pen a letter for Osferth. She was aware of the Irishwoman’s gaze and asked her, “Would you care to add something?”

She blushed as she shyly admitted that Osferth had been teaching her to read whenever he was in Coccham, but never to write; with this Æthelflæd smiled, a soft hum of encouragement for her to sit alongside the priest, taking a personal interest for Keavy to practice her penmanship.

The seasons rolled away as the autumn’s yellows, oranges, and reds were soon covered by the first dusting of snowfall, enveloping Saltwic in white; the only color shown were the rich tones of primrose that bloomed throughout the gardens.

Inside, fresh parchment was placed onto the table and Keavy looked up to see the same kind smile, the same kind eyes that she recognized in Osferth with Æthelflæd’s features. “This is for you, so you may write to him,” was all she said.

Æthelflæd seemed very aware of whatever was between Keavy and her brother, but she still could not help the color that flushed her cheeks. “What would I even tell him?”

“Whatever it is that you are carrying in your heart,” Æthelflæd replied, a knowing smile curling on her rosy lips.

The empty page seemed to taunt her and Keavy remained seated long after the rest retired to their quarters. The quiet, the solitude allowed her to finally pull from her heart as suggested, blowing on the ink to dry.

She heard steps and turned to see Æthelflæd returning downstairs with a man in her shadow. Keavy pushed from her seat, her seax and dagger drawn, her heart in her teeth. “Keavy, it’s okay, I know him–” she held up her hands, a flush of color to her cheeks. “We must act quickly.”

Saltwic was no longer safe and they were to leave for Alencestra at once; the words clawed within her chest as Æthelflæd continued, “I will leave for Wincelcumb, and I will send for Uhtred.” Her eyes were bright with her plan. “You all will be safe there until I come for you… once this matter is dealt with.”

“Uhtred will kill him,” and Keavy sheathed her steel, her eyes still wary of the man. “They both will kill him.” Osferth.

Æthelflæd nodded. “I hope it does not come to that.”

“Lady, be safe.” Keavy reached for the parchment, folding it. “And… if you see Osferth, could you give him this?”

Her knowing smile hinted, the newfound worry lifting for a moment until the hushed whisper came: “Lady, we must hurry.”

The time in Alencestra was long enough for Oswald to announce his departure for St. Wilfrid’s Church, to go back to Wessex, refusing to return with them to Saltwic. Keavy watched him, finally seeing the flare of his father in Oswald, the young man's eyes bold with his conviction. Stiorra was incredulous and only Æthelflæd seemed supportive.

“Father will understand my decision,” he finished.

But Keavy knew that would not be the case.

They returned to Saltwic just as the snow melted with the returned plumes of color from the flowers that sprouted through, followed by the summer rains that thundered and muddied the earth, and continued until it was blanketed once again with the amber colors of autumn, sprawling as far as the eye could see.

And they remained still, without word, without direction from Uhtred, without an update from Osferth. Instead, news only came second-hand: the death of the king of Wessex and the succession of the aetheling Edward, and the bloodied battle won against his uncle Æthelwold.

Kevay tried to smother her impatience, her anxiety that knotted in her chest, waiting for a whisper, a murmur of news, to know if Osferth still lived or if he had died. She wondered if she would ever be able to tell him what she failed to write to him.

That she loved him, and she always would.

And now the words that spilled from Stiorra swept the air from her lungs, her stance wavering slightly. “Stiorra… are you certain?” The girl moved with a newfound eagerness, branch over branch, uncaring how her skirts caught and tore them free. “I see the glint of Serpent-Breath’s handle!” Her tone was gleeful. “He is back as he promised! And he brings your beau!”

Keavy flushed crimson. “You know not what you talk about–”

“I am only young, I am not blind,” she continued with her cheeky tone, teasing just as Gisela had always done. The heartache of her loss remained, but Keavy always pressed for them to recall the good, that it was the love they held for their mother that would keep her memory alive. “I remember how you were sweet on him and besides,” and her grin matched her tone, “I also remember mother saying he was your beau.”

It was as if Gisela was able to still tease beyond the grave. “Nevermind what she said–” Keavy burned as she struggled for her words. “Just, come down, quick!”

Stiorra gave another cheeky grin before dropping from the last branch and landing back onto the ground; her cheeks were rosy from the sun, her eyes bright with her discovery.

Keavy took her hand, the fevered pull of her heart with their hurried steps, her mind repeating the same hope she clung to the prior fourteen months: they have returned, Osferth is here!

It was called throughout and soon there was the spill into the courtyard, the gates opening as they gathered. Keavy stood solid despite the flurried anticipation that trilled her spine, watching until her vision blurred and blinking to clear it again.

Uhtred led the men into Saltwic and its welcoming cries. Stiorra, who was a young woman in so many ways but at that moment, she was a child again and happy to see her father; she preened as he dismounted, pulling her close and pressing a kiss on top of her head. His steady gaze fell to Æthelflæd, her modest smile and the rose color pluming on her fair complexion as she watched.

Then there was the reunion of man and wife, with Sihtric quick to pull Sigdeflaed for a kiss, of Finan calling loudly to their public display, but Keavy ignored it all; her eyes sought for Osferth alone.

And she saw him, further back with Pyrlig, swinging his leg over the cantle and dropping off the side of his horse. He seemed taller than she remembered, a beacon that cut through once his eyes found Keavy, navigating through the men with his long legs.

She willed herself forward, but remained rooted with her awestruck–he’s here. Osferth pressed forward until he was able to reach for her hand, and she was quick to take it, as she always had, as she always would.

It was the familiar fit she longed for, how her hand fit into his own; his fingers still slender, his grip hardened with callouses from the reins, from his sword, but was gentle still, and firm with his hold, as if anything less would allow her to float away. Keavy followed his steps as he pulled her away from the crowd–though she felt their eyes follow, and they walked until they came around to the gardens, where the small chapel stood.

There was the crunch of the auburn foliage with the season change beneath their feet, the cold nipping in the air. Osferth stopped and turned to face Keavy, his hands moving to the dip of her waist; she felt the air wrung from her chest with how he looked at her, the same brilliant blue of his eyes, rose hues that stained his cheeks and the tip of his nose.

“Keavy,” began the gentle timbre of his voice, another flutter that swept through her with how he said her name, “may I kiss you?”

She almost cried with his request, but instead gave a small nod; his lips curled, the blood beneath his skin darkening his features, and he dipped his head forward, the soft touch of his lips before he pressed against her. Keavy melted against him, her hands clasping on his forearms with a tight hold to keep her standing. She was unaware she was even crying until he pulled away, his concern knitting his sharp features and his large palms moving to cup her face.

His touch was still gentle, warm and mindful of her mar, his thumb careful to wipe away the large tears that spilled. “You are crying?” He sounded alarmed, as if he held himself the cause.

“You came back,” was all she could say, a hoarse whisper that broke away from her throat.

“Keavy,” his relief washed over and his lips curled upwards, his gaze softening with her words, “I told you that I would.”

Her laugh was choked with tears and he gave a chaste kiss before he pulled away, not outside of arms’ reach, but space enough to pull the Celtic silver cross from beneath his clothes; it gleamed in the sunlight. “I said I would bring this back. It always seemed to bring me luck,” he teased as he untied the leather. “May I?”

She nodded again, her hands trembling to gather her dark hair as he moved behind her, bringing the necklace and knotting it at the nape of her neck; her skin rose with his warm touch, his thumb against her spine, and she felt his lips touch, his rumbled hum reverberating throughout her.

“Would you rather just keep it?” she felt silly with her question, her fingers coming to touch the metal and turning to meet with his eyes.

Osferth looked to her hand before resting his large palm over, and her heart rattled in her chest. “This is where it belongs,” and she saw how his neck bobbed as he swallowed. “Keavy,” he seemed solemn, almost uneasy, “I know so much has happened, so much that I wish to tell you…” he shifted his weight. “Keavy, I am a man cursed–”

“Osferth?” Her brow quirked.

He shook his head, searching for the words, “I mean this in the biblical sense–”

“I refuse to hear this, damn the Saxon God,” she burst, the flash of severity brightening her eyes as she spoke. “Your worth is not deemed by the sins of another man!”

Osferth watched her with a pursed smile that deepened his dimples, and he leaned forward to capture her mouth; the kiss was soft, it was warm, and when she sighed, his tongue curled within her mouth, a languid pace to taste. When he pulled back, Keavy sighed again, the warmth burning her cheeks, her lips slightly swollen. “Allow me to finish?” His whisper fanned her face and she nodded numbly.

“I am cursed, mayhaps,” and his gaze shifted a moment, but he did not continue with that thought, but instead, “I know that I have nothing to offer your affection, but know that with what I have, I will give you. I knew from the moment I saw you, from the moment we touch, how it gave me a sense of home I had never felt before,” he looked at the hold, how her palm curled within his own, the steady rise and fall of her chest, “I wish you to be my wife, Keavy. I love you.”

And only then did he meet with her eyes, and Keavy could feel how her scar ached with how she smiled. “Say it again, Osferth.”

“That I am cursed?” He seemed uncertain, and even more as she laughed.

“No,” and she pulled her hands away, sliding them to curl against the base of his neck, pulling him closer for another kiss. “Only the last part,” she whispered against his mouth.

Osferth smiled, glowing. “I love you, Keavy.”

And they kissed.

+ + + +

There was a call for the staff to prepare a feast, for barrels to be rolled out so no mug would be empty, as there was much cause for a celebration this day.

Æthelflæd and Sigdeflaed pulled Keavy away, helping her scrub every inch of skin and combing her curls with a rose oil gleam; a cream tunic and kirtle was gifted, cinching at her waist, a rich plum that complemented her fair skin and brought out her green eyes.

There was a soft tap at the door that showed Stiorra holding a garland crown of primroses from the garden. “Just as you would do for me,” she smiled as Keavy placed it on top of her head before pulling her in for a hug.

Arms linked, they walked back outside just as the last stretch of sunlight tucked away, the beginning blue hues that mixed with the burnt oranges and stars beginning to dot the sky. Keavy felt as if she were walking on the air as they entered the small chapel to see Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric, and the priest Pylrig towards the back where the stained glass reflected the tapers lit. She smiled at the sight of Osferth, and he returned it, his dimples lining his cheeks watching her eager steps to meet him.

The priest officiated, taking Osferth’s large hand and placing it on top of Keavy’s. He felt her slight tremble and peered to see the flush of color with her grin; his thumb drew small circles and only then did she look to him, the color deepening on her cheeks.

A quick prayer at the end was followed with a sweet kiss, and Finan crowed loudly. “Fucking finally!”

Night spilled over Saltwic and torches were lit to show the way back, able to follow the rich aroma of the feast prepared; cups brimmed and toasts given to the new king, to the safe return of Uhtred and his men, and to the new lordship, which cause Keavy to look at Osferth.

His grin was shy and he brought her knuckles up for a kiss. “I promise I will tell you everything, but this night I only wish to celebrate my beautiful wife.”

She glowed with his words, leaning forward for a kiss to his jaw with the whisper, “Whatever you desire,” and her tone sultry, “my lord.”

Osferth did not let go of her hand, his slender fingers interlacing with her own, and she followed his sure steps that led away from the continued festivities and towards the room that had been prepared for them. When they came to the door, he drew her close by bringing the back of her palm to his lips for a gentle kiss, relishing in the flush of color to her cheeks before he opened the door.

He pulled her inside, making sure to close and lock the door before he turned to capture her mouth; he pressed against her and she moaned in response, her arms wrapping around his neck, his tongue clever to taste. His large hands that had been hardened from battle showed grace with the intricacies of the lacings on her dress, with Osferth pausing to kiss the bit of new skin he exposed until Keavy was fully bare.

Each touch of his lips seemed to spark against her skin, fluttering to her nerve endings and back again; she felt the coiled fervor in her lower abdomen, a wetness that pooled between her thighs, an ache to be touched by his hands.

“Osferth,” she breathed against his lips, “I need you.”

But instead he pulled back, taking away the warmth he embodied, and Keavy could not help her soft whine, feeling her blush spill with intimate rose hues that stained her skin. He watched, his eyes rolling over her, his brilliant blue swallowed by his lustful haze and an almost playful curl to his lips.

Osferth closed the space he created, a hot whisper in the shell of her ear, “I know,” and he moved closer, feeling her shuddered response beneath his fingertips, gentle to touch her hips and bring her flush against his chest; she sighed at the heavy shaft that pressed onto her lower stomach, “I promise, but first…”

Keavy looked to see a pink dusting that covered his cheeks, his smile almost shy with his continued confession. “You must be first… I certainly will not last.”

She kissed him again, her fingers pulling at the tunic he still wore; they moved towards the bed, a trail of his clothing in their wake, until she was able to fall back against the mattress. Osferth remained standing, a moment to admire her curves, from the width of her hips to her waist, the natural slope of her breasts and watching their rise and fall with her breath.

He climbed onto the bed, moving between her plush thighs; it was a scent intimately her own, mixing pleasantly with the fresh straw and linen. Osferth dipped his head to place a kiss to the bloom above her entrance and she sighed, her thighs clenching in response, but his large hands moved to grip into the softness, pulling them apart so he could sink further.

Keavy felt the blood rush to her head; his touch was familiar, remembered, with his soft nuzzle between and his kisses that led towards her center. She gasped and he only hummed in response, his lips curling upwards as they pressed to savor her essence; it was overwhelming after so long, and Keavy could not help but jump, another gasp that ripped from her chest.

His hold tightened, his pleading murmur against her folds, “Let me, let me,” as he continued.

She could not help but squirm, her fingers combing through his locks to root herself, and Osferth hummed again, a vibration that fluttered throughout her. She felt his fingers press against her silken slit, the curl of one digit within and another followed, creating sparks of pleasure that trilled up her spine with his come hither motion; her heart pounded against her chest from his sensual ministrations, the blood roaring towards her center as each euphoric wave began to crest and press against her seams.

“Osferth,” she cried, pearled tears clumping her lashes together.

“My beautiful wife,” his breathless praise against her wet cunt, “just like that…”

Osferth continued and her stomach tightened before the coiling passion finally burst, stars dancing before her eyes and her sinful clench around his fingers as he continued to coax through its entirety. Once her breath steadied, once her vision cleared, did she look to see he was now standing, his fingers now wrapped around the base his length, heady and heavy and glistening from her release.

She pushed to her elbows to meet as he moved on top of her, capturing his lips and she licked herself off his chin with a giggle. Osferth grinned, moving into the cradle of her hips, resting on his elbows to hold his weight, but she clenched her thighs to draw him closer for another breathless kiss.

Keavy melted against the warmth of his bare skin, the tickle of his chest hair, and his arm dipped between them to line the crown of his cock to her entrance, the gratifying stretch as he filled her. She gasped from the slow roll of his hips, sheathing his length and rekindling a passion with his each thrust; her nails bit into his shoulders, gasping to catch her breath that was being pulled away with the returning crests of pleasure, of something deeper within that caused her walls to flutter.

“Again?” Osferth was flushed, pleased, but his pace did not falter.

She could only give a mewled response, a clenching release, an intensity from the depth he reached inside her, and its rapturous pull that left her boneless and breathless, caged in his arms. Osferth followed her over the edge, tucking his head into the junction of her neck to her shoulder, a muted groan as his cocked pulsed within her velvet walls.

And they laid for a moment before he began to place soft kisses against the curve of her neck, his lips trailing her jaw, and she giggled from his touch. He grinned again, another chaste kiss on her lips before he pulled away, moving to grab a cloth that was draped by the washbin, wringing it out and returning to wipe away the sex, pausing a moment to admire the spill of his seed and how it gleamed against her rosy folds.

The hour was late when they finally crawled beneath the layers of blankets, of furs, and Osferth curled behind her with a deep inhale then a sigh from feeling the softness of her backside pressed against his chest, from how she fit into his embrace as his arms wrapped around her waist. He nestled further into her curls, a scent sorely missed of rose oil against her flushed skin, until his lips touched the back of her neck, eliciting a sleepy sigh from her lips.

He smiled, the low murmur, “My sweet wife.”

Deireadh.

previous | masterlist

#the last kingdom #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fanfiction #osferth #osferth fanfic #osferth fanfiction #osferth x ofc #we need more osferth fanfic tbh #slow burn #farewell wanderlust

109 notes · View notes

theyhavetakenovermylife · 27 days

Text

Random Facts About Luis

Bayverse!Michelangelo x reader

All Children Sunny

A/N: Luis, ma boy. Get your four fingered hands out and wave to the people! They want to get to know you😂🧡

Warnings: None🧡

Cool Luis, Little Luis, Little Great, King Luis, Sun King, DJ Luis, Luis the Jokester, Lulu, all of those were nicknames given to you and Mikey’s youngest, by all of his family members.

You and Mikey had decided on the name Luis for your second born, because just like the name Sunny, it reminded you of the sun. With a slightly different spelling, your son was named after Louis XIV of France, also known as the Sun King, or Louise the Great. All names that tie back to the nicknames Luis have been given by his extended family.

Being one half of the Sunrays with his sister Sunny, and one of the founding members of The Little Brother Club, that he had with Gerardo and Ragnar, Luis was known as a happy boy. He had a lot of fun with his sister and cousins, and is really good at involving the people around him, bringing them into games and conversations.

Luis’ best friend is Gerardo. Not only are they the same age, but both of them have a happy personality, enjoying the same kind of humor and actions. It wasn’t uncommon for them to cook together for fun, sometimes with Ragnar. Whenever those boys were together, you could hear laughter echo all through the lair, the sound bringing everybody much joy.

Luis was one of the two only children of the whole family, who had four fingers on each hand. Both you and Mikey were somewhat shocked when Luis was born with an extra digit on each hand, but Donnie reassured both of you. He made it clear that there was nothing to worry about. In fact, he had expected that a half human, half mutant turtle would have four digits on each hand. He was in fact surprised that it didn’t happen before now.

Just like his father and big sister, Luis showed clear signs of ADHD. He is very hyperactive with big emotions, and grand body movements that go along with that. He was rarely angry, but could get very, very happy or very, very sad, with sadness often taking the place of anger and frustration.

When the best friends, Luis and Gerardo turned 15, they were given a weapon by Master Splinter. And to say that they were excited, might be an understatement. A whole month before Splinter would grant them their weapons, Luis would talk about it non stop with extreme excitement. And when he finally got his weapon, he was over the moon. It was a kyoketsu-shoge - a chain weapon with a metal ring at one end, and a blade at the other. And just like Sunny, he would take a strong liking to the weapon. And yes, at times he would use it like a swing as well.

Luis has a very great imagination. He rarely gets bored, often finding things to do. And if he for some strange reason had no idea how to spend his time, he would happily go along with something Sunny would come up with. A game or just something to spend time with.

Just like Sunny, Luis LOVES spending time with his grandparents. Just as he likes spending time with Master Splinter, he likes to spend time with his human grandparents. Even in his teenage years and later adult years, he would often go to his grandparents' place, and enjoy his time with them.

22 notes · View notes

synintheraven · 6 months

Text

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary: the journey to Tamworth/Mercia begins, Sihtric and reader explore the land as he becomes slightly more approachable.

✵tw: mentions of violence/kills, nothing really :p

✵word count: 1,3k

characters info | part one | part two

We left at first light, riding slowly as we followed the river and the sun emerged from the sea. The green, muddy waters of East Anglia glimmered with the weak light of the morning and the wind brushed the reeds growing in our way, promising a bright day.

But we were soon to leave East Anglia and cross into Mercian territory. Where the small islands covered by the changing tide would be replaced by lush hills and large farm lands; for Grantebridge’s territory was vast and covered by orange-coloured trees, with a handful of churches and poorly fortified villages scattered throughout its higher ground.

—Right there, where the hills are greener, that’s Mercia. —He explained, riding by my side as he pointed his finger towards the Monastery’s tower, hiding behind trees in the far distance. —And we’re to cross it to its northern border, to the Ragnarsson’s camp in Tamworth.

I sensed Sihtric’s mood was different that autumnal morning. Seeing as the fresh wind blew on his face and swept the fur cape over his shoulders, making sure to keep pace with my horse as he stayed close to me. —Have you been there before? —I asked.

—We sailed to Mercia when we heard Danes were attacking King Burgred’s fortress, but we didn’t stay long enough to participate in their war. —He explained with a frown, probably remembering that journey.

—Why not? —I said as his eyes searched for mine, puzzled. —You could’ve taken a lot of plunder from a Mercian King.

—It wasn’t our fight. —He took a deep breath then let out a sigh. —We came here to escape Harald’s ambition and Halfdan’s pointless appetite for war, not to terrorize Saxon kings.

—What are you fighting for then, Dane? —I emphasised the word Dane, aware of how unlikely it was for a Dane to follow Norse lords blindly.

Sihtric took a few moments to answer, watching the heron birds resting along the river’s edge and the smoke filling the sky over the nearby villages, his hands holding the reins tightly as the sun reflected on his silver rings. —I’m fighting for Yggr, and for a spot of land where we can make our own lives. —He said with a hint of doubt in his calming voice, thoughtful.

—So, are you really going to follow Yggr as your Jarl forevermore? Or are you to set sail to unclaimed lands and become a Lord yourself?

—I will follow him, —He paused to look at me again, ever proud of his own words. —but should the Nornir decide I am to be a Lord, then so it will be.

We had reached a crumbling round tower, surrounded by dried trees and yellow grass. Yet it wasn’t the work of Roman giants, its muddy bricks suggesting the damp weather and time had destroyed the structure way before the Romans arrived.

The fog seemed to have lifted from our position, revealing distant cottages and the small church among reeds that sat on Mercian land. It was a reminder that we had quite a long way to go still, but in two days’ time we would reach Tamworth and join the brothers.

Our mission was to gain their trust and discover their plans for Britain, as we hoped to ensure they would leave East Anglia at peace for Yggr’s small clan; though as long as Wessex riches remained clear of Danes, the Great Army would stay away from our camp.

I watched the old stone bridge crossing the river, the ravens circling above the remains of a burnt farm. Complete disaster taking over the land all the way to the west, to Alfred’s Kingdom. Imagining the green hills, ancient roman walls and clean docks, without a single Danish longship navigating its waters.

And so I let out a sigh, aware that we would be forced to march against Wessex if we were to convince the sons of Ragnar of our shared ambition.

—What’s on your mind, Stavanger? —Sihtric interrupted, suddenly catching my attention as we crossed the river.

—Wessex. —I lied, still hoping to find the man who killed my family, feeling as if a hole carved itself through my chest as we spoke. —I heard its churches are full of gold and silver, yet no Dane has ever made it close enough to prove it.

—He’s the King, —he added with a smirk, looking away for a moment. —and he’s managed to keep our kin out of his land. You can’t do that without silver, and certainly can’t raise an army with nothing but empty words about Gods. —The tone in his voice had turned deeper as he explained, sensing the worry in his words.

—Have you killed many Saxons?

—Some, —he paused, probably feeling the unease in my voice as well. —but only when it was necessary.

It was the way of our people: to kill for food, shelter, livelihood and our families. But the Saxons saw a group of evil creatures killing anything and everything standing before them, ignoring that some of us weren’t after a hard, wooden throne.

Some of us were fleeing a mad king and others, like me, were only seeking the end of an old story, knowing no other feeling than that of resentment and vengeance.

We had reached a thin muddy road, following the way of the hill in between bushes and dried grass.

The land around us was deserted, with no more than a bunch of trees leading towards Theotford and a few foxes wandering around the yellowish hill. At the highest point, half covered by the fog, lay a marvellous stone structure. But, no longer beside the river, the view from higher ground revealed a long abandoned ruin, another one of the Roman’s great work.

Torn walls, broken columns and muddy tiles with curious patterns; a place once full with life, but now was home to old vases, smudged paintings on the walls and sculptures of Goddesses.

Yet despite the weather’s destruction, the place remained of magnificent beauty and calm, so we allowed the horses to rest as we explored the area.

It surprised me to realize no one had turned such a place into their home, seeing as the curved roof, made of bricks and stone, still protected one of the buildings against the weather.

—I’ve been here before. —Sihtric added as his eyes were fixated on one of the marble sculptures, running his fingers over the cold skin of its stone legs. —Yggr wanted to turn this place into our camp, but the river is quite far from here and we didn’t want to leave some of our crew behind to guard the ship.

—I’m sure you men would’ve enjoyed all these naked women painted on the walls, though many would’ve been easily distracted by them also. —I teased with a smile, making it obvious that I was talking about him too.

—I prefer women of flesh over these stone ladies. —He explained awkwardly, unable to hide his smile while he looked at me. —Yggr couldn’t keep his hands off one of the tall angels near the entrance, said he regretted it wasn’t a real woman. —he raised an eyebrow as he beckoned towards the tall arch, which I guessed was the entrance of the Roman ruin.

—Angels? —I asked intrigued, though in truth I was trying not to let out a laugh, his curved lips giving away that our Jarl probably wasn’t the only one touching the poor statue.

—They have wings like birds and the Christians think they’re holy creatures, apparently. —He explained dismissively.

—So you and Yggr desecrated their divine creature, then.

—No, I didn’t! —He chuckled with a fake frown, taking distance from the statue before us. —I accidentally broke one of its fingers, but Yggr did the inappropriate touching.

—I hope you remain very appropriate with me, then. —I teased jokingly, watching as his broad smile turned into a smirk and his face turned red.

Bonus facts (again)

Grantebridge/scire: modern Cambridge, both Sihtric and reader have to ride through most of the shire to cross into Oxenefordscire (modern Oxford) and later into Ledecestrescire (modern Leicester), where Tamworth is.

#sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson x reader #sihtric x reader #sihtric fic #sihtric kjartansson x you #my writing #road to valhalla #rtv #tlk fanfic #the last kingdom fic

41 notes · View notes

ewanmitchelll · 8 months

Text

Imagine you are a younger sister to Uhtred Ragnarsson who is rescued by Osferth when a Viking nobleman decides to make Uhtred suffer by kidnapping you. The result? You and Osferth fall in love.

Warnings: long post// explicit smut // *fluff*

***

Your name is Y/N Uhtreddottir. You have been raised with little significance by your father within the four walls of Bebbanburg. Even so, your brother, who was baptized as Uhtred after your eldest brother died, always looked after you.

By the time your uncle usurped Uhtred’s inheritance, you had been swept away for a safe place by Father Beocca. In fact, you were fully raised at King Ælfred’s court, who started to plan a betrothal for you when Uhtred came to your life again and thought you deserved better.

Just like that you left the luxuries and comfort of the king’s religious court and started to spend some time within Uhtred’s own friends—although you found the Danes a bit wild for your liking, you got eventually used to their company.

So here you are, following Uhtred’s steps with his friends. You are already acquainted with Brida and Ragnar, treating them fondly. And it’s right in the midst of such people where you now meet a monk.

“Little sis”, says Uhtred arrogantly as usual. “Amidst our group, you might be pleased to know there is rather a Christian within us.”

You raise your eyebrows.

“Why, Uhtred, must you always reinforce the fact I was educated a Christian as if this was not my destiny? I thought you said yourself that destiny is all, didn’t you?”

Uhtred pulls a face at you.

“Well, Y/Nickname, you could have been raised better, but I must not complain since the Gods spared you and we are reunited. But either way I will ignore your mockeries for your own good.” Saying so he pulls a younger male next to his side and smiles. “This is our baby monk. Osferth, meet my sister, Y/N.”

You giggle softly at how he is addressed, but the moment he raises his eyes, looking shy—you are speechless. There is something so tender around him, so kind, so good….

Oh no.

“My lady”, Osferth mumbles, avoiding eye contact. “I am mostly pleased to meet you.”

“As am I”, you respond in the same tone, detesting how easily you seem transfixed by his presence, so ethereal to you. “Where do you come from, lord?”

“I am no lord, m’lady”, he protests in a whisper. “I am merely me.”

But Uhtred breaks the spell by intruding with a snort:

“Oh please! He is the natural son of Ælfred.”

You raise your eyes epically.

“Ælfred? What Ælfred?”

Uhtred folds his arms when looking at you.

“Who do you think am I talking about, sister dear? This is not a very common name, specially amongst the Danes.”

“Or the Saxons of the North”, muses Osferth.

“Aye”, Uhtred agrees. “That king, overly zealous if you ask my opinion, and I am not attributing any sobriquet that might twist his reputation, felt guilty for fornicating and as a result sent his son away.”

“Oh”, you frown. “That is cruel. I lament it profoundly, Osferth.”

“I don’t”, says Uhtred. “He’s useful to us, isn’t he?”

You cast an apologetic glance towards Osferth, as if you could transmit him how sorry you are for the rude manners of your brother. Osferth, however, merely chuckles low and says:

“It is the will of the Lord and it’s wonderful in our eyes.”

“And here we go with the Christian crap again”, says Brida. “I’m out.”

Before you start to plan a way to get yourself closer to Osferth, however, an unusual event comes to your path. In that same day, a group of danes decide to raid against your brother. Naturally, it is a surprise attack which means this has been planned and there might possibly be a traitor amongst the folk Uhtred surrounded himself to.

No matter. The damage is done. You are terrified: having been raised as a lady in waiting by the king’s wife you are no warrior. A damsel, you find yourself in the midst of strange adventures, specially when raptors take you from his sight.

Just like that you are gone, made unconscious—for these are dangerous lads, sworn enemies of Uhtred, to deal with—as you are knocked down. No harm is done to you.

But a damsel in distress you are… and this is too much for some men to bear.

***

Osferth watches quietly as Uhtred, reasonably so, shows his discontent. He feels, rightly so, betrayed and is trying to find out the unfortunate person who attacked his honor.

However, leaving personal sentiments aside, his angst only grew intense when being told of your kidnapping.

Exasperated, he merged into despair. But Osferth, himself shaken to core, seems to find an atypical spirit of bravery when offering to pursuit you and bring you back alive, safe and sound.

“What are you saying?”, Uhtred asks him, perplexed. “Do you hear yourself, Osferth? Y/N was taken by someone who outwitted us.”

“Nothing is impossible for the follower of Christ Our Savior and Lord…”

“Oh please”, Brida meddles in with a heavy sigh. “Not that martyr crap again.”

“It is more than being martyred, lady”, Osferth insists anxiously. “Tis a quest upon which I must prove my worth. Give me this opportunity, sire. You shall not be disappointed.”

Uhtred is about to retort when Ragnar comes up with a better plan that pleases both sides. It is drawn such as this: the party will be divided in three; the first group of men is to lead the way as to attract the attention of their enemies, openly inviting them for a fight. This will open the pave so the other group takes their household and, as requested, Osferth has the lady rescued.

“Little wonder why people look up at you”, says Brida in awe.

“It is a good plan”, agrees Uhtred, reluctantly brought to reason. “But we must leave as soon as possible. I cannot tolerate…”

“Peace, brother. We must think before act. This plan will fail if we are imprudent”, says Ragnar.

And that is how it starts the plan to rescue Y/N Uhtreddottir.

***

You are located somewhere in Yorvic, locked up at a castle of rocks, praying every evening that no man touches you.

The Lord seems to be pleased with your piety, for your prayers are attended. This man, whom you suppose to be named Guthrid or something similar, is making sure that you remain untouched.

Since you are unable to speak Danish there is little you can do but to wait patiently, praying your brother rescues you soon. You decide to occupy yourself with prayers and sewing, watching from your prison window the day turn into night, appreciating, however, the few glimpses of freedom once you are brought to the river to clean yourself.

It is when suddenly this new routine suffers an immediate change. You are close to sleep in your old maid gown when you hear a strange noise—not one of the kind you’ve forced yourself to costume your ears—that promptly startles you.

Has their patience ran thin? Oh Lord.

But to your pleasant surprise it is a rescuer that comes to your sight, not otherwise.

“Osferth!”, you squeak when seeing him.

“Shh, lady. Silence is in our favor, come, come. We must not take long”, so he whispers.

You nod eagerly, prompted to do as he requests. Although embarrassed for leaving in an old, yellow-ish nightgown, there is no time to change robes as time is running out. One never knows how deep is the sleep of one’s captors, so it’s best not to take risk.

Soon, however, Osferth mounts in his dark horse and you ar right in front of him. You both don’t speak, holding your breaths for fear of being caught.

As he gallops fast and a noise is heard from a safe distance—indicating your escape has been discovered—, Osferth breaks the silence.

“My lady, your brother is avenging you”, his voice is husky like the wind, though soften than breeze. You smile to yourself. “Do forgive us for taking some time in rescuing you.”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways”, you answer him softly. “I am only content that my prayers were heard.”

Osferth smiles at you, pleased to find you a pious damsel. It is still dark, but you could capture the first rays of the dawn.

“Do you know where we are going?”, you ask him.

“To a safe place, lady. There is a lord nearby Kent, within the walls of Mercia, that owns a castle. He is loyal to Uhtred, so we can stay there. At least until all of us are reunited”, Osferth explains.

“I appreciate it. Many thanks for rescuing me, lord.”

“I was being only an instrument to Jesus our Lord”, he answers.

Too restless to stay quiet, the thread motivates your talkative side.

“Are you not afraid of the dark, lord?”

“Nay, lady, for I am familiar with this road”, says the man confidently. “It is the King’s road I tend to follow. Far more trustworthy than other’s.”

“We ought to be mindful of wayward men nearby…”, you muse uneasy.

Osferth smiles, always looking ahead of him.

“There is little need to be concerned, lady. I am not letting any harm to befall you.”

Somehow his words make your heart at ease. It takes no more than a few hours before you reach the castle Osferth told you about.

***

The landowner receives you well. Giving you fancy robes that belonged to his late wife, you now occupy her privy bedchambers. It is indeed a fanciful castle, exhibiting a kind of richness that you don’t remember seeing at the king’s court.

All the while you begin to settle, Osferth remains at your side. The aforementioned lord had informed Osferth and you that he should keep you two safe until Uhtred’s personal war ends.

You can tell it frustrates lord Osferth, much to your internal disappointment.

“Well, lord. As a good knight, you should better rest before taking another quest to come. Let me tend you so I shall return you the favor you bestowed upon me by rescuing me from such evil men.”

“Lady, I had no intention in offending you. Forgive me if it seemed so”, says he, suddenly shy. “To have you brought to this castle safe and sound is a divine task to which I praise Lord for delivering it with no risks for the both of us. I was merely wishing I could borrow your brother my sword and to him be useful.”

You smile at his gallant manners.

“Well, lord, there are plenty of manners a knight such as yourself can be useful. For now, however, it is most wise to rest your energies before your lordship is called upon duty once more.”

“The lady is prudent”, muses the landowner.

As promised, you start tending his needs. You sew new robes to Osferth, earning his admiration at your skills with a needle—and you blush delightedly when he replaces his old robes for the new ones you make for him—, you prepare his bath and make sure to pray next to his side.

When the two of you are not spending the company at the landowner’s side or parting of his feast, Osferth finds himself pleased to walk with you around the gardens.

Soon, time begins to grow the fruition of a seed planted months ago. You and Osferth start discovering common tastes that go beyond piety and knightly values.

One day, though, as he watches you dance with other ladies, the landowner chuckles and says, as he raises his goblet.

“Lord, if I had not known you any better, I’d say you are besotted.”

Osferth furrows his eyebrows, but mutters a not so convincing protest.

“Why, the lady seems to correspond your fondness. Life is too short to shield your heart with pride, boy. Go ahead and court her”, says he who attends by the name of H/N.

“Lord, I see I have little argument to resist reason. However, she is my lord’s sister. I could not…”

“Nonsense”, the other interrupts him. “I shall speak to Uhtred. Do not mind that.”

Osferth hesitates. But one more sip of his wine and one more glance you cast him, he is suddenly urged by professing his sentiments to you.

***

It is late night. Osferth hesitates as he accompanies you to your bedchambers. There is an awkward silence hanging between you two after you bubbled about the dancing of tonight’s feast.

“Lord”, you muse it after a while when you finally get to your door. “Was I impertinent? Please forgive me if…”

“Nay, lady”, he interrupts you, sounding more agitated than his usual self. “I.. This is not it. I… I wish…”

You pale. Your mind seems not to comprehend what’s happening.

“Have I offended you in any manner, Osferth?”

And suddenly, just like that, words slip out of his tongue.

“It is my wish to espouse you, lady”, he whispers, lowering his eyes, though his hands are eagerly pursuing yours to hold. “I am unworthy of the greatest prize of world, which is your heart, but I dare to reclaim it. I promise you that although I have no significant surname, I…”

You barely have to think twice.

“Aye.”

Osferth could not believe his luck. His eyes, when raising again and meeting yours, go wide.

“What?”

“I take you as my husband, Osferth.”

His smile spreads before you throw your hands around his neck and press a soft kiss against his cheek. But right as you do, his face turns and you meet his lips instead.

You shiver at this first contact, but you do not shy away. Neither does Osferth.

***

This is more than a moment where the eyes speak words that no tongue can reach, for this is when two souls meet.

Osferth is as taken by you as you are taken by him. Beneath the glimpse of the moonlight that crosses through the courtins of your bedchambers, he is completely mesmerized as you lean closer to him, your fingers already unlacing his shirt.

"Don't, lady", he whispers, aching in desire as your delicate fingertips move from each muscle of his arms, shoulders and neck before slowly going below. "Let me do this first".

How he begs you moves with your body. You are patient as Osferth carefully places himself behind you, so he can enjoy a better view. You giggle as he intercalates soft kisses in your cheek and jaw with his fingers loosing your braided hair.

But every smirk dies the moment he holds your waist and kisses your neck, taking a long while in letting his tongue taste your skin.

"Lady", he humms, smirking when you start moaning softly; pleased to see you discovering these new sensations, Osferth is aroused in sharing such an experience with you. "Are you enjoying it?"

As he starts unlacing your nightgown, Osferth takes his time in denuding you. Had you turned your head in the slightest, you’d see his eyes shining with lust, devouring you just by admiring your y/c skin.

Yet, however aroused you too are, you are patient. As he slowly removes it, he now leans his chin over your right shoulder. Eyeing your full breasts, Osferth himself gets rigid in his pants.

“God, you are a gift from Heavens. Such a beauty…”, he whispers against your skin when he slowly moves his fingers from your hair to your neck, going to your arms before finally taking hold of each nipple.

“Osferth!”, you exclaim louder than you expected, head back against his shoulder as you experience such a great sensation, loving him with every bit of your flesh.

“Yes, my love”, he groans against your ear, finding almost unbearable to remain motionless when you are giving yourself to him like that. To feel your nipples hardening under his touch is already making his manhood ache. “Tell me… How do you find this of your liking?”

You arch lightly your back, rubbing one leg against the other due to the friction it gives you. Seeing it so, Osferth instinctly tosses away your gown, shushing your silent protests with a kiss before going back to your full breasts with his hands.

Yet now he moves another hand right to the between of your legs and seeing how soaked you are, both of you share a sloppy, moaning and lustful kiss.

He grins lightly at how impatient you are, trying to turn back at him so you can kiss him better and have him all over you. But Osferth is patient, nonetheless; he likes to take his time.

“Osferth…”, you whimper.

“Aye?”, he bites down your lip, smiling broadly at your reaction. “Say it, love. Come to me.”

You give up trying to turn at him, instead letting your body being under his control. As he inserts one and then two fingers in a slowly, but intensely move that makes you breathless… You soon arch your back, your legs are lifted almost out of control and you shake under his touch, much to his delight.

“Heavens!”, he groans, now kissing you fervently as he lays you down. “Perfection, Lady Y/N. Oh!”

“You are mine, and mine alone”, you vow, breathlessly, helping remove his pants and soon getting your hands at his manhood. “Please, Osferth. Please, let me feel you like you felt me.”

Before he could think twice, however, you are faster with your hands. It arouses you further to feel him with your delicate hands.. Never before had you held it.

“Let me help my lady”, he mumbles hotly, getting himself straight so he can show you how it’s done. Osferth smirks at your effort, pleased to see you enjoy taking it as much as he does when being taken. “Oh God.”

“Is it good?”, you ask him innocently, though there is no innocence in your eyes.

Osferth throws his head back at his pillow in response, his cut short breathing giving you a positive response. You feel yourself wet again as you please him, finding his manhood dripping wet as you make circular moves or when it’s throbbing under your delicate fingers.

You want him to come undone, and perhaps you are going on a similar fate. This is lust, a thought occurs you; the very type of lust the king’s wife would admonish you for. You would be a sinner, and a part of your conscience reprehends you for behaving in such a manner.

However, no thought ever reaches your heart the moment your name is out of your lips. No reason can argue it when he rolls his eyes, groaning under his breath. Nothing can dissociate you from the joy of making him feel the same climax he did to you.

You are still admiring the liquid that comes from his manhood when you are surprised by the urgency of his lips against yours. Suddenly he is all over you, your bodies are now linked as one.

“My lady”, he moans in between feverish kisses. “I have longed for you night and day”.

“As have I”, you admit it, holding him close against you. “I love you, Osferth.”

He stops a moment to contemplate the color that paints your eyes and smiles. His smile spreads when touching your face before wrapping his fingers around your curls. You blush at such an intimacy.

“I love you, Y/N. You are my lady”, he says firmly, leaning to kiss you slowly before the two of you lock hands and finally start making love.

***

By the time Uhtred had arrived, you and Osferth had secretly married—or perhaps not entirely secret since Lord H/N helped making all official, which included a grand feast.

Fearful, however, of how your brother would react to such news, you arrange an excuse to make a visit at a nearby convent. But the plan does not come out as any good as you wish for Uhtred comes sooner than planned.

“Sister dear! Y/nickname!”, he beams upon seeing you. “Riding a well a horse, I see. I almost thought you were running away from me”, he jests.

You blush, startled as you are when his thunderous voice comes to your ears. You dismount the horse and goes to greet him properly. In the end, you realize you have missed him too much to fear him.

Not from afar you reunite with Uhtred, Osferth is met by his friends in turn. It is all very gleeful, indeed, when father Breocca—always him—shares the news that Lady Y/N and Lord Osferth have been lawfully married before God.

“You did WHAT?!”

Uh-oh… Something is not going well, perhaps? Though most of Uhtred’s army is giggling like silly girls, he is too offended to join them. Giving you a look and then at Osferth, he seems to fail to understand what could you possibly have seen in the Baby Monk.

Brida, however, is not cutting any slack of his part. She sighs and says:

“Really now, Ragnarsson? How slow are you? It’s always been crystal clear that they have been attracted to each other. Must be the Christian vibe…”

“Not just that”, you protest shyly. “He is like the knight of the stories I’ve been told about. He is kind, generous, brave and good. He rescued me…”

Uhtred frowns at you, far from pleased. He then points his finger at Osferth, who barely blinks at his anger demonstration.

“You had only ONE job, Osferth!”

“Uhtred, let’s be reasonable…” father Breocca intervenes. “Isn’t it better that Lady Y/N is married to a man of your trust than let King Ælfred use her as his political pawn and thus marry her to some stranger lord?”

Uhtred is still frowning, but little by little every anxiety dies when he comes to reason. His face softens, but his shoulders remain tense when he admits, although unwillingly so:

“I see reason in your words, father. Very well. I give you two my blessing. But we must feast it in the right way.”

He smiles when seeing how relieved you and Osferth are. Uhtred beams and puts the young man to a hug:

“As much I hate to be closely related to that moron king of your father, welcome to the family, Osferth! You better watch over Y/N properly…”

He chuckles quietly and gives you a loving glance, one of the kind that warms your heart.

Now in a merrier scenario, all is well that ends up well.

“I vowed before the Lord and…”, he adds hesitantly (much to Uhtred’s pride, though), “your gods too sir that I will love my dearest Y/N until the day I die.”

“Excellent news! Now let us rejoice and drink!”

Osferth and you are finally left aside as the Lord H/N welcomes your brother and his party. Now alone, you lead him to the gardens, enjoying the peace harmony you’ve accomplished.

“I am glad everything ended perfectly well. It is the will of the Lord and it’s marvelous before our eyes”, you whisper, now gently caressing your husband’s face the moment you two stop under a tree.

“Indeed it is. I am blessed for having you here with me and finally able to call you lady wife”, he smiles warmly at you.

Resting your head against his, with no words but a smile stamped on your face, you move his hand and place it over your belly. Osferth’s eyes go wide.

You two exchange glances as if you speak silently with no words. Then comes the giggling and the embrace.

“A family! Our family! I love you, my lady!” He professes it as he spins you around. “I love you mostly ardently!”

“As I love you with my body and soul”, you whisper back. “We are having our family at long last, my handsome lord husband.”

You are finally living your own fairytale and that is enough for the two of you…

#ewan mitchell #osferth x female reader #osferth smut #baby osferth #baby monk #osferth x y/n #osferth #osferth x fem reader #the last kingdom

104 notes · View notes

lexyleblancc · 1 year

Text

What a woman {Finan}

Summary: You find yourself spilling confessions in the rooms of an Alehouse.

Ragnar x sister!reader Uhtred x sister!reader Finan x fem!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Part 2 to “The kindness of a Dane.”

Part one

Warnings: Nothing other than Athelwold being himself

It came to no surprise to you when Uhtred renewed his oath to Alfred once back in Wessex. It came to no surprise to you when Ragnar sent Brida ahead to gather any and all of Ragnar’s men that would answer the call. What did surprise you, was even once in Winchester, Finan never stayed far from your side. “Finan, you do know that you are free to find yourself a woman to bed while we are here? You do not have to stay with me.” You told the man who sat across from you in the alehouse.

“Oh I’m very aware of my freedom to do so, Lady.” Finan spoke with a grin, watching as a woman passed the two of you, her eyes lingering on Finan as she did. “I’m afraid none of them have caught my interest enough.” He told you, lifting his cup with a grin. The man across from you had finally been able to properly bathe, ridding himself of any dirt caked onto his skin, and you had to admit; Finan was quite handsome.

“Well, you’ve caught plenty of their attention.” You told the man with a small laugh, your eyes falling on an approaching figure behind the man. Ragnar sat at the table with the pair of you, a grunt leaving his lips as he made eye contact with you briefly. “What crawled up your arse and died, brother?” You quipped, a snort leaving Finan as he tried to stifle his laughter.

“You are aware that our brother renewed his oath?” Ragnar asked, accepting the cup of Ale one of the barmaids brought over for him. You nodded your head, you were more than aware of the fact your brother has once become the King's personal lap dog.

“I’m sure Uhtred had his reasons for it.” You told your brother. “He did kill a man of the lord.” You spoke mockingly which made Ragnar crack a small smile at your antics.

“Will you stay with him?” Ragnar asked you quietly.

“Do you ask as a request, or do you ask for fear of me leaving you behind?” You asked, an eyebrow raised as you set down your empty mug.

“Both?”

“I think Uhtred may need me for a while.” You said with a sigh. You didn’t want to leave Ragnar, in fact you wanted to join him anywhere he went. You also knew that this time around, Uhtred would need any person he could to follow him. He needed the guidance and support of his younger sister, and you couldn’t bear to leave him once more. “I do expect a welcome party when I come to visit in Dunholm.” You said with a smirk, Ragnar nodding his head in agreement.

“I thought we were going to deal with the brothers?” Finan questioned the two of you. Your eyes drifted to the Irishman as you smiled.

“Oh, we are Irishman.” You said with a smile. “But after we take care of those bastards we ride to Dunholm and avenge our parents once and for all.” The news of your sister Thyra being alive had only set the plan in stone. If Thyra truly was still alive, it was all the more reason to reclaim Dunholm to the Ragnarsson’s.

The three of you paid for your ale, leaving the silver on the table before making your way out of the Alehouse. You were leaving Winchester and making your way to Guthred of Northumbria. In the courtyard of the castle, Finan assisted you onto your horse, you didn’t need the help but accepted it from the man anyways. Finan mounted the horse beside you before the group departed from Winchester for the time being, leaving Gisela in the care of the King.

Ragnar rode with Uhtred at the front of the group, while you and Finan rode behind them. You drowned out the men around you, rolling your eyes when the King’s Nephew Aethelwold spoke of finding a woman to bed soon. You noticed his eyes burning into the back of your head as he spoke those words, as well did Finan.

“Look at her again, I dare ya.” Finan said to him, his eyes narrowing in a glare.

“And what are you going to do if I can’t help myself?” Athelwold asked with a smirk, this gaining the attention of both your brothers. Ragnar was about to butt into the conversation but Uhtred shook his head, his eyes on the Irishman.

“Then you best pray you don’t fall asleep tonight.” Finan’s voice was low, almost a growl. You rolled your eyes at this, but couldn’t deny the butterflies in the pit of your stomach as he defended you. Your eyes met Finan’s and you offered a small smile in thanks. Amongst all these men, you and Hild were the only two women to join them. You were a seasoned warrior, and have seen more battles than you could even count at this point but Hild was a woman of her God and a warrior as well, neither of you should require protection from one discredited heir to the throne.

When the group stopped for rest, they ended up in Loidis, a small village. Everyone was quick to dismount from their horses, sore from the long journey. “Let me, Lady.” Finan spoke, his hands on your waist as he helped you down.

“Thank you, Finan.” Your hips were sore from the movement of your horse, and it felt good to be on your own two feet once again. Your hand found Finan’s arm as he led the way to the Alehouse Ragnar had slipped into with Brida. You knew people would come at Ragnar’s call, if Danes were anything it was loyal to their leader. The two of you slipped into the Alehouse, while others from the group took the horses to the stables to be fed and cooled down. A small group of you stood on the sidelines, watching as Ragnar’s men exclaimed with joy at the return to their leader, a fond smile on your face.

After the greetings had died down, rooms had been paid for, and everyone was fed until their heart's content, you found yourself sitting around a table. You were squished between Steepa and Finan. “Oh Ragnar, your woman’s got the balls of a bear. I like her.” Finan said with a smile, your eyes watching as Brida left the table, dismissing herself for the night. You sighed to yourself, no longer being able to deny the fact that your eyes had grown heavy. You steadied yourself using Finan’s shoulder as you stood from the chair you were sitting on, and bed the men around you a goodnight.

“(Y/N), one of us will have to share a room with you.” Uhtred spoke up, his eyes on you when you were halfway to the stairs.

“Irishman, you’re with me.” You agreed, locking eyes with Finan from your spot at the bottom of the stairs. Finan nodded his head quickly, watching as you disappeared up the staircase.

“You won’t be touching our sister, Irishman.” Ragnar spoke, ripping Finan’s gaze from the empty staircase and to the blonde Dane. The men quickly finished their conversation, coming up with a plan to easily take care of the issue of Erik and Sigefried. When everyone was making their way to the rooms of the inn, Finan pushed the door to your room open. You were curled up on one side of the bed, furs pulled to your chin. You looked much younger in your sleep, when your brows weren’t frowned constantly, you looked peaceful.

“Bar the door.” You whispered once Finan closed the door to the room. He almost jumped hearing your voice, he expected you to be sleeping. He made sure to lock the hatch over the door, before he started ridding himself of his armor. Your own armor was sat on a chair, your sword placed beside the bed. The man copied your actions, looking around the room and frowning at the realization that the bed you were resting in was indeed the only bed in the room. “Stop standing there like an oaf and get in bed Finan.” You grumbled, rolling onto your back so you could face the man.

Finan could feel like blood rushing to his face as you spoke, but pulled back the furs enough for him to climb under as well. He made sure to keep to his side of the bed, laying on his back as he stared up at the ceiling. “Thank you for today, with Athelwold I mean.” You finally said, breaking the silence. Finan glanced at you slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re welcome, Lady.” He replied softly, making you roll your eyes in annoyance.

“How many times must I tell you to stop calling me Lady?” You asked. You knew that this Irishman in particular was respectful, but after weeks of traveling together you figured he would finally listen to you.

“It’s what you are, no?” Finan hummed in response, a smile tugging at his lips. He knew you hated when he called you Lady, that’s why he insisted on it.

“Lady of Bebbanburg, Lady of Dunholm… how much can a title like that hold when both of your brothers have no claim to their homeland?” You questioned. The two of you laid in silence for a while longer, and Finan had assumed you finally fell asleep. “Where are you from, Irishman?” You asked quietly. Finan didn’t talk about his life before he was a slave, which seemed slightly unfair since he knew so much about you now.

“Small kingdom in Irland.” Finan muttered, memories of his homeland were nothing but painful, even after all these years. “Married a sweet Lady, only did it because her status was higher than mine… but I didn’t love her.” He told you, his voice sounded distant as he spoke. “No, I was in love with my brother's wife.” Finan said with a laugh. “She was nothing more than a milkmaid, and yet there was no doubt in my mind that I loved her… so we fled.” Finan groaned as he remembered everything he did his best to forget. “I was exiled, stripped of my titles and sold into slavery after that. That’s about when I met Uhtred.”

You rolled onto your side to face him, offering him a tiny smile. “Would you ever go back to find her?” You asked, holding the furs tightly against you.

“No, I would not, Lady.” Finan said with a dry chuckle. He had no reason to go back to his life before joining Uhtred and swearing his loyalty to him. “I have no reason to go back there, I enjoy my life now.” You reached out, your hand grasping one of Finan’s that rested over his chest. He squeezed your hand tightly, shifting so he could face you fully now.

“I shouldn’t say I’m glad to hear that… but I’ve grown fond of you Irishman.” you whispered, a smile on both of your faces now.

“I’m quite fond of you too, Dane.” Finan replied, bringing your hand up and pressing his lips to your knuckles. “Let’s save the confessions for the morning, you should rest.” The man added in, trying to let your hand go, and only smiling wider when he noticed you refuse to let it go. “If you’re not gonna let go, at least turn around.”

You raised your brow at that, but turned on your other side to face away from the man. He grinned to himself, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you further into his chest. You only smiled to yourself at the action, closing your eyes so you could finally drift off to sleep.

You woke up the next morning to shuffling behind you. Desperately trying to blink the sleep from your eyes you rolled over to face the man who laid behind you. “I think it’s about time we get up, my Lady.” Finan spoke, his voice still laced with sleep. You let out a groan laying your head on the man's chest as his arm wrapped around your shoulder.

“I’m not ready to deal with everyone just yet.” You mumbled, the sound of your voice being muffled by Finan’s tunic. He couldn’t deny that he wasn’t either. As soon as you left this room you would be back on the road for God knows how long, sleeping on the forest floor, all before fighting a battle you very well may not make it out of. “Let’s discuss those confessions you were talking about last night instead.” You said, lifting your head slightly to meet his gaze.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Finan said with a chuckle. There was a big difference between Saxons and Danes. Finan most of the time would beat around the bush when it came to voicing his emotions, while you didn’t have time for that, you were blunt and spoke what was on your mind.

“I like you Irishman, so do you plan to do something about that or not?” You asked, making Finan’s cheeks grow pink at your question. Normally he was the one approaching women, not the women approaching him. Never in his life had someone been so blunt towards him either.

“Oh I plan to do somethin’ about it alright.” The man said with a grin, wrapping his arms around your waist and flipping the two of you. Your back met the furs as he held himself over you. “A Lady such as yourself shouldn’t want an exiled Lord.” His lips brushed yours as he spoke, making your head dizzy.

“Then stop calling me Lady, and you and I are the same.” You retorted, nudging his nose with your own.

“You really want to be stuck with a Christian man, Dane?”

“You want to be stuck with a Dane?” Finan grinned, you could always keep up with his quick wit and he loved it. “If the answer is yes, then do something.” You teased. As much as he didn’t want to give into you, Finan knew that would be impossible. It’d been weeks since you helped nurse him back to health, you trained with him when his hands shook under the weight of a sword, you never gave up on him. You saw the man that Finan would be when he couldn’t see it for himself.

He inhaled shapely before connecting his lips with yours, taking your bottom lip between his teeth as he did. You were quick to respond, your arms going around his neck in an attempt to pull him closer to you. His beard tickled your skin as his lips attached themselves to your neck, making you gasp. “God woman, what are you tryna do to me?” Finan growled against your skin, his hand gripping your hip as he spoke.

A knock on the door broke you two apart. “We meet downstairs!” The voice Uhtred called, you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you while Finan looked from the door and back to you once more. You leaned forward to capture his lips once more, leaving the man dazed as you crawled out of bed and words to put your armor back on. You left the room first, leaving the man who was rushing to ready himself for the rest of the journey.

“What a woman.” He breathed, rushing out of the room to meet the others.

“Might I say, you do look lovely this morning (Y/N).” Finan rolled his eyes hearing Athelwold’s voice ring through the room.

“Athelwold,” Finan spoke, wrapping his arm around you once you were in his sight. “Look at my woman again, and I’ll kill ya, you little rat.”

Athelwold nodded his head quickly, scurrying away from the two of you while Uhtred and Rangar gave each other knowing looks.

“Your woman?” You asked, looking up at the man who was wrapped around you.

“Aye, my woman.”

#finan x reader #finan #uhtred #uhtred x reader #ragnar #young ragnar #sihtric x reader #sihtric #osferth #osferth x reader #athelwold #king alfred #the last kingdom #the last kingdom imagine #hild #father beocca #thyra

496 notes · View notes

literaryuppsala · 2 years

Note

You could take a shot where Ragnar makes a deal with Ecbert so that in the future his children will marry for peace. And the reader is the daughter who should marry Ubbe or Bjorn but as they are both married (margrethe and torvi) it was left to Hvitserk who is annoyed by having to marry because he likes margrethe, but after the arrival of the princess he changes his mind… happy final and smut pls

It took me so long to finish this, I am so sorry. I just finished and wanted to post as soon as possible, so If there's any mistake let me know. I had so much fun while writing It, thank you for your ask. I hope this is just as good as you imagined in your head, hope you like It as much as I did.

Maybe I wrote a Part II for this one

hell was the journey (but it brought me heaven)

You never dared to dream of a marriage out of love, that wasn’t allowed for people like you, you knew what was expected from you. Since you got old enough to understand your place in this world, you always knew you had a duty, a hard but rewarding duty. At least that’s what your father told you, you’d feel rewarded as soon as you fulfilled your duty.

The morning you left Wessex, King Ecbert held your hand and told you the future of all England depended on you, depended on you marrying a man you never met in your life but was destined to since the day you were born.

Years before you sailed, Ragnar set foot at the beach in Lindisfarne and this decided the course of your future. After years of battle, King Aelle from Northumbria and Ecbert from Wessex finally reached a common ground with the vikings: they wanted land and they could have It, If they promised not to raid ever again and this pact would be sealed by marriage, a son of Ragnar should marry a daughter of one of the kings.

Nothing happened for years until Ragnar returned to Wessex, years later, with two of his sons. Your father gave in completely, you were a baby back then and knew nothing about pacts, saxons and vikings, either way your life was completely changed by them.

After sailing for a few days, you arrived in Norway, met by bad weather and curious gazes from the pier. Your ship docked, more people gathered around and someone you imagined was the king walked firmly towards you, followed by more of them.

“Princess.” He announced, his voice was a loud howl that startled you a bit. “Welcome to Kattegat.”

“Thank you, my lord.” You murmured, whispering your words under your breath. “It’s an honor.”

“I’m Bjorn. Come with me.”

They walked you through the city, suspicious looks burned holes on your skin why you crossed the path. As soon as you arrived at their great hall, a feast awaited you, a big table was sat in the middle, filled with food and ale. Everyone was laughing and talking until Bjorn showed up with you on his tracks. Gazes crossing his body like It wasn’t even there to find your small figure hiding on his back.

“This is for you.” He whispered, offering you his hand, which you accepted shyly. “We were all waiting for you.” He led you to the table, offering you a seat.

“You are even more beautiful than I thought.” A beautiful woman caught your attention, she was sitting right across from you.

“Thank you.” You nodded.

Bjorn started to introduce his family, pointing to the people gathered around the table and giving their faces a name you would have a problem repeating. He was the king, you noticed that, people seemed to respect him, he had a lot of brothers they couldn’t be all sons of Ragnar, you thought to yourself. Turns out they were, and that beautiful woman, she was named Aslaug, was his wife, their mother. You learned three of them were already married, Bjorn, the oldest, was married to a woman named Torvi, she had a kind smile towards you. The second one, a man named Ubbe, was married to a woman named Margrethe, someone who didn’t seem as friendly as the others. And the last one, Ivar, was married to Freydis.

“And this one is my brother Hvitserk.” Bjorn announced proudly, hugging him by his shoulders and slapping at his chest. “Your future husband.”

He smiled at you, smirked actually, his lips slightly curled up as he looked down at you. He was handsome, you thought. Long braided hair falling on his shoulders, a beautiful pair of green eyes sparkling on his face, his smirk sending shivers down your spine.

“It’s an honor, Lord Hvitserk.”

Hvitserk bowed, they all laughed and you frowned, but didn’t say anything. The feast kept going, they started to talk about your future wedding, about all the things you must learn and do before the ceremony and how you and Hvitserk couldn’t be together during this period. You didn’t think much of It since there wouldn’t be much of a talk between the two of you.

As the days passed, you got to know more of them, they welcomed you into their space and happily taught you everything they thought you needed to learn, all the fantastic stories you would go to bed to think about. During this time, you grew closer to the women of the family, their mother, Aslaug, was gentle and cared about your well being, always checking If you were feeding and sleeping well. Torvi became your favorite storyteller, she would talk to you about traditions and their past, and was always kind to you. Freydis always made sure your hair was beautifully braided, tamed into intricate patterns. Only one of them always kept her distance from you, not really talking or even acknowledging your presence.

“Who is she?” You asked once, Freydis was sitting behind you and she sighed, her breath slightly touching your shoulders.

“Margrethe.” She answered angrily. “She’s Ubbe’s wife.”

“She doesn’t like me.” You murmured.

“She only likes the sons.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They say she slept with all of them before she married Ubbe. She wanted them all to herself.”

“Hvitserk…” You whispered under your breath.

“Soon you’ll be his wife.” She moved to your front, blocking Margrethe’s vision. “He will only have eyes for you.”

“Does he have eyes for her now?”

She didn’t answer, she didn’t have to, you saw it in her face, something was going on between them. That realization made you extremely sad. You didn’t think he would have been waiting for you, but never imagined you would have to battle for a place you always thought belonged to you. The way Margrethe acted around you was everything you needed to know about her relationship with Hvitserk.

That night, as you laid back on the bed, you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep, thinking about Margrethe and Hvitserk and what you were going to do now, you hated the feeling that you were, somehow, the intruder. You laid there, awake, staring at the ceiling and dealing with the deadly silence until It was bothered by a few muffled sounds.

Frowning in the dark you mentally debated If you should go check it or not and after the sounds got heavier, whispers and sighs, soft words that didn’t seem for your ears, you swallowed hard, your mind lost the control over your body and you saw yourself getting up and slowly walking towards the door, leaning against the wood and trying to listen.

When you finally decided to leave the room and opened the door, the noise got louder. The small corridor was poorly lit by some torches stuck in the walls, the orange light flickered in the dark, creating dancing shadows on your face as you slowly walked towards the noise. Your room stayed in the back of the great hall, the only thing separating the corridor and the front of the hall was a thin fabric curtain that you softly moved away so you could pry on what was happening.

You hid against the wall and looked through the thin material, eyes widened at the scene unfolding before your eyes, utterly shocked. Margrethe was trapped between two bulky men, one of them being her husband, Ubbe and the other one you couldn’t see, he had his back towards you. Her eyes were closed, her lips were parted, she moaned softly while they both moved obscenely against her body.

You couldn’t believe it, even though you heard about their different manners, you didn’t expect that. She tried so hard to hug both of them, but that didn’t seem possible while Ubbe grabbed her hips from behind and the other man spreaded kisses all over her chest, kneading at her breasts. You blinked in shock, but weren't able to stop looking, too entranced by them.

“Too much…”

You heard when she moaned softly, her lips moving slowly while she carefully opened her eyes, a different gray tone mixed with green. She tried to focus on something until she found yours, widened, looking at her. She mumbled something and the man in front of her finally looked over his shoulders, a loud gasp left your throat when you noticed he was your future husband. You quickly covered your mouth and when they all looked towards the tiny door frame where you were, you moved fast trying to hide. Everything went quiet again and you ran back to your room, locking yourself inside, hands on your chest while you walked backwards into the room until your knees met the edge of the bed and you fell sitting.

Timid knocks on your door warned you they followed you, three voices whispered exasperated outside your room, but you pretended not to hear, stayed inside, in silence, waiting until they left, something that happened quicker than you thought. So you sat in your bed for hours, waiting for the sun to rise and when its first rays creeped through the cracks of the window, the maids you had taken there with you, finally entered your room.

“You didn’t sleep, my lady.” One of them whispered.

“Is it that obvious?” You asked back with sarcasm.

They helped you to get dressed, a beautiful red gown with long sleeves to help you face the cold in Kattegat and probably the wrath of the vikings, but you didn’t mind, you had made your decision. You left your bedroom with your maids leading you towards the great hall, the same corridor, the same door frame, you felt chills down your spine. The only table was already occupied and the first pair of eyes to meet yours, was Hvitserk’s, he blinked quickly as you walked firmly towards the head of the table, his brother Bjorn. They all looked at you at some point, the conversation stopped and you sighed before starting to talk.

“We should talk.” You announced firmly, looking at them from where you were.

“Shouldn’t we eat first?” Bjorn asked, offering you a place at the table, but you rejected.

“I am not hungry.” You answered. “The sooner we end this conversation, the sooner I’ll leave Kattegat.”

“What?” He gasped, getting up with a jolt. You startled, taking back a step or two.

“I guess my presence here is useless.” You started. “I don’t think any of us want this thing to happen.”

“What are you talking about?” Bjorn insisted.

“I don’t know what is going on here, but I don’t think Lord Hvitserk wants to marry me. And I know we all have an agreement, but after so much time, we can change things.” You continued. “We can make the decisions for ourselves, you could make the decision of not raiding again in England, and we can make the decision of keeping your settlements safe. It’s not necessary to go through something none of us desire.”

“I don’t think you understand this, princess.” Bjorn tried, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at you, his expression smug and arrogant.

“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.” You hissed.

“I am not. But this thing you’re suggesting it’s beyond stupid, It’s suicidal.”

Hvitserk, who was silent the whole time, finally got up, held Bjorn’s arm, stopping him in his tracks before he said anything else.

“I guess It’s time for us to talk, princess.” He told you, a little too harshly.

“I guess It’s late, lord Hvitserk.” You hissed more sharply than you intended.

“What is going on?” Bjorn tried again, his eyes on his little brother.

“Let’s talk in private, princess.” Hvitserk insisted, ignoring the confused looks from his family.

“I will do no such thing! You’re not my husband, I can’t be alone in private with you!” You replied offended.

“Then we can discuss what happened last night here, in front of everyone.” He smirked and your cheeks flushed almost immediately, your hands went to the sides of your face trying to cover up your embarrassment while you blinked in utter shock. “It’s your choice.”

“Not in chambers.” You warned before walking away without looking back.

You didn’t see, but felt him following your steps outside the great hall. You walked fast, but Hvitserk reached you, held your arm and stopped you both.

“We’ll have more privacy on the beach.”

“I thought you didn’t need privacy, my lord.” You teased.

“I do need actually, you’re just nosy.” He teased back.

“How dare you?!” You raised your hand ready to slap him in the face, but he held It in the air, before It could reach him.

“Lurking in the shadows, watching people while they’re distracted.” He pulled you in, your faces so close you felt his breath fanning on your cheeks.

“I wasn’t lurking!” You growled, pulling your arm out of his grasp. “You were out doors, you didn’t seem very preoccupied with that last night.”

“You remember last night very clearly.”

“I remember how disgusted I felt.”

He stopped, didn’t have any answer for that and you were so angry with him you could scream, you felt betrayed, even though he wasn’t your husband yet, you felt it either way.

“Do you love her?” You asked all of a sudden and he didn’t answer that either.

“Why are you asking me this?” He frowned.

“I don’t want to marry a man who can not love me.” You sighed. “I know we don’t love each other now, but I always thought that whenever I married someone… Maybe… With time… That can not happen If you already love someone else.”

“I… I don’t know…” He answered honestly and you smiled to yourself.

“You always know these types of things. You just don’t want to tell me.” You finally looked at him. “How do you do this? How can you share?”

“I guess a little is better than nothing.”

“Honestly, I don’t want to do this.” You murmured.

You left him there and he didn’t try to stop you. After that you just locked yourself up in your room, well not yours, the room they settled for you and felt like an outsider again. People knocked on your door, your maids, Bjorn, Torvi and Freydis, even Aslaug made her attempt to talk to you, but you didn’t want to see anyone, not in that moment at least.

“What happened?” Bjorn asked angrily, looking at an equally nervous Hvitserk, who didn’t answer.

“She saw us last night.” Ubbe was the one to clarify things. “With Margrethe.”

“What??” He asked again, this time in shock and Ubbe just shrugged.

“This is low.” Ivar said, looking at the food in front of him. “Even for you, brother.” He completed, pointing at Hvitserk.

“Not as low as you.” Hvitserk answered, receiving a bunch of peas on his face thrown by Ivar.

“Stop tormenting your brother. This is serious.” Aslaug scolded. “How could you do this?”

“I didn’t think she was going to see It.” Hvitserk answered.

“She’s just like Ivar.” Sigurd teased.

“At least I'm not a christian and not his future wife.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Bjorn growled loudly, looking angrily at Hvitserk. “You better fix this, because if she leaves, you can forget the last few years of peace.”

“I know brother, you don’t have to remind me.”

“Then why did you fuck Margrethe in the middle of the great hall?”

“I was drunk.”

“Great explanation brother, why don’t you tell her this?” Ivar teased again.

“Ivar, don't make things worse.” Aslaug scolded once again.

The conversation went on for some time, with Hvitserk dealing with his whole family talking about his sex life, but he wasn’t really listening, your voice in his head asking him If he loved Margrethe and his lack of response, he didn’t know that, love was such a strong word for whatever happened between himself and his brother’s wife. He liked her, liked to have sex with her, he felt betrayed when she accepted to marry Ubbe, but he didn’t know If he loved her. And while those thoughts circulated inside his mouth, you were someone he felt he could love someday, someone with whom he could create a family of his own.

He marched to your room, thought about all the things he could say to you and softly knocked on your door. You didn’t answer. He insisted. This went on for a few minutes until he finally heard a few noises coming from inside, next thing was the door opening and revealing your tired shape.

“Would you forgive me?” He asked and you blinked. “Ever?”

You sighed. “Lord Hvitserk.”

He took your hand to his mouth. “It won’t happen again.” He mumbled against your skin and kissed your knuckles. “I can promise you that, If you forgive me, It won’t happen again.”

“You promise?”

That seemed a childish thing to do, asking for a promise, but that’s what you needed and you didn’t even know If you could ever trust him close to that woman, but something inside you turned your confidence into melting butter as soon as his skin touched yours, he had something you couldn’t explain, something that entranced you.

“I promise.”

After the talk, the marriage preparations were rushed, everybody feared Hvitserk could mess up again since Margrethe wouldn’t leave him alone. You could sense her circling him like a vulture, everytime you were together she would sneak around, ask for his help or something, he would smile and politely deny her and she would insist, until he’d give up and go with her, that was the worst thing about the time before the wedding.

Once the day came, all of the women in the family showed up in your room to help prepare you, your maids didn’t have much to do. Torvi brought a beautiful white gown for you, long sleeved with golden embroidment, you were mesmerized. They took you out to the river, helped you wash yourself, dressed you and braided your hair, they even put a flower crown over your head, you felt beautiful.

The ceremony wasn’t really easy for you since you weren’t totally understanding what was happening, but once the few droplets of blood touched your face, you knew It was done. You learned this that week. Hvitserk smiled and gave you a tender kiss on your forehead, another one on your cheek and finally touched your lips softly, your cheeks flushed immediately and you smiled shyly.

A feast was thrown, with lots of ale and food, people gathered around the great hall laughing and screaming with each other. Hvitserk was the happiest you ever saw him since you first met and you were letting yourself think that was because of you.

“Sigurd, now you’re the only one left.” Bjorn teased.

“I have a lot of women, brother.” He teased back, making Ivar laugh on his cup, almost gagging with liquid.

“You??? Who would want to sleep with you???” He laughed.

“Definitely more than the ones who want to sleep with you.” Sigurd rolled his eyes.

“He already has one, Sigurd.” Freydis growled, walking towards Ivar and sitting on his lap. “He doesn’t need anyone else.” Ivar smiled proudly, kissing her on the cheek.

“Sigurd, you’ll have to settle one day.” Aslaug started. “Have a family, have children. I can’t wait to see this place filled with your children.”

“I can arrange that. Don’t need to settle to bring children into this world.” He insisted, making his mother roll her eyes in anger.

“You should be content with just one woman, like your brothers.” She insisted.

“I don’t think Hvitserk can do that.” Margrethe talked for the first time during the whole feast. “He’s too insatiable, too greedy.”

The smile that was on your face slowly faded, everyone stayed in silence and eventually looked at you. You felt embarrassed, but didn’t answer, nor looked at her, you drank from your cup and stared blankly into an invisible point in front of you until Hvitserk’s beautiful emeralds showed up, a tiny smirk curling his lips up before he kissed you again, taking you by surprise. He tasted like ale and meat, strangely pleasant on your tongue when you felt It against his, both of his hands on the sides of your face for a quick moment, a feverish but quick moment.

“I already found the one who can satiate me.”

You blushed, but pride filled your tummy. Your hand met his cheek and silently thanked him for his kind gesture. After that the conversation restarted, what Margrethe said completely forgotten once Ivar and Sigurd got into another one of their fights, but Hvitserk’s eyes were still on you, he was nuzzling into your hand and you were thankful, relieved, maybe this whole thing was right after all.

By the end of the night, they took your husband by his legs and put him on their shoulders, led him to his house while your maids and the girls took you by the hand and followed. The screaming and the laughing stayed for long until they took you to the bedroom and Hvitserk kicked them out very quickly, until you were both alone.

He touched your shoulders, then your neck, lastly your cheeks.

“We don’t have to do anything.”

“It’s alright.”

“So you want to?”

You nodded.

He kissed you again. Slow. His lips softly touching yours while he caressed your cheeks with his thumbs. You shivered, feeling his tongue slowly entering your mouth and massaging yours, the taste of ale was so strong It made you slightly dizzy. You pawed at his tunic, pushing the fabric with your fingers and pulling his body in until his chest pressed against yours.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered against your mouth. “So, so beautiful…” He took his kisses down your face, nipped at your jaw before he started pressing insistent kisses on your throat.

His hands met the straps of your bodice and started to untie until the leather garment fell on the ground around your feet. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in, making you stay on your tiptoes and hug his neck, fingers dipped in his braids.

“Come to bed.” He whispered again, holding your hand and taking you.

Carefully, Hvitserk sat you on the bed, he kissed your forehead before taking off his tunic. That was the first time you ever saw a man half naked, your cheeks flushed and you moved your gaze away from his body. Quickly, he grabbed your hands, putting them on his own abdomen. The rigid muscles tensed under your palm and you bit your lower lip, with his thumb he pulled your lip out of the grip of your teeth, slowly caressing the trembling flesh.

He softly kneeled in front of you, you felt his hands on your legs, first on your calves, then on your knees and up your thighs, his touch raised goosebumps on your heated skin, he smirked when felt you trembling. Slowly, he raised one of your legs and started spreading kisses while sliding up the hem of the dress. His mouth was sinful, wet and soft, he left a trail of saliva behind. He did the same with both of your legs until you were leaned back on your elbows and your gown was crumpled on the middle of your thighs. When his kisses went up a little further, you jolted, shooting up into a sitting position and touching his chest, slightly pushing him away.

“We don’t have to do anything.” He repeated, his hand covering the one you had on his chest.

“Just… Just… Be gentle.” You pleaded, utter embarrassment on your face.

He nodded and got up, taking you with him. His hands met your hips and took the fabric of your gown, carefully he pushed It up, sliding it off of your body leaving you only on your white chemise. Hvitserk then took you on his arms, bride style, laying you down on the bed, your head softly touching the pillows. Your hands met the sides of your face while he laid down on top of you, his hips looking for home between your legs which you allowed, opening up to accommodate him.

Hvitserk then lowered his head, his lips choosing a place on your neck to nip on, he pulled up the sheer fabric of your chemise over your chest, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. The sensitive skin of your nipple prickled even before he did anything. Lowering his head even more, your husband took one nipple in his mouth and you gasped at the new sensation, wet and warm. You fisted the sheets, eyes immediately closed while you whimpered under his ministrations.

“I can’t believe you’re mine.” He murmured after releasing one nipple with a soft pop. “All mine.” He hissed before taking the other nipple into his mouth too.

He lowered his kisses, finding the soft skin of your tummy, licking and sucking, leaving a trail of light red marks. He traced the curve of your belly button with the tip of his tongue before licking down your belly.

“W-What are you doing??” You asked when you saw where he was going, he just smirked, kept licking down your curls until he brushed against your clit and you shivered. “Serk…” You breathed the nickname you heard so many times, so easily It seemed was made for your mouth.

His eyes were dark, nothing of the beautiful emeralds you were growing used to, they had a dark shade of gray while he looked at you. He spread your legs even more, using his shoulders as support as he lapped up your folds, slowly savoring you like the sweetest wine. His tongue was soft and warm, your folds were dripping into his mouth, making him moan softly, humming in satisfaction.

You threw your head back and grabbed the sheets, your toes curled and you wined loud. You never felt that way before, your body was completely out of your control and under his power, the kind of feeling you've never experienced. He kept licking through your slit until you felt his tongue inside of you and you whimpered, a little uncomfortable. He then used his free hand to gently massage your clit, distracting you almost immediately, he buried almost his entire face between your legs as his lips curled around your clit and sucked, you started seeing white spots behind your eyelids, a tight coil forming on your belly when while your hips started to move under their own accord against his mouth. He hummed again, like he was happy you were doing that.

“Serk…” You breathed out, feeling hot and bothered as never before, like you were about to explode. You sequenced his name and your legs trembled around his head, your body went rigid and you moaned long and loud, a relaxing sensation taking over your body. He kept licking on you as you experienced the twitching and the aftershocks of the first orgasm of your life, he only stopped when you squirmed away.

When he raised his head, his mouth was wet with your slick and he had a silly smirk on his face as he climbed up on you and kissed you, making you taste your own juices on your tongue. He was quick to discard his own trousers, all while squirming to stay in between your legs again, you hugged his neck and blinked nervously.

“We don’t-” He started but you touched his lips with your fingertips.

“It’s alright.” You assured him and he nodded.

He grabbed his cock between your bodies and lined the tip with your wet folds, rubbing the head against your clit, making you shudder. He kissed you again and pushed his tip inside you, the stretch burned your walls that fluttered around him, he growled against your mouth, completely immobile.

“Can I move?” He asked you, a pained grunt, like he was using all his strength to stay still. His arms supporting his weight on each side of your head started to shake and you breathed heavily, nodding the permission he asked for.

You cried out in pain when slid a little more inside, his lips brushing against yours as he stopped again, but you pressed your fingers on his nape, a silent consent for him to keep going, he looked at you with true concern, his eyes glossy as he slowly entered you until he bottomed out completely and you mewled loudly, closing your eyes.

Hvitserk spread kisses all over your face, wetting his lips with the insistent tears falling down your cheeks, he burned inside you like wildfire, the stretch was almost unbearable.

“Sweetheart… I’m going to pull out…” He hissed, seeing how painful this was for you.

“No… Just… Give me a minute…” You breathed out, opening your eyes to look at him. “Would you… Would you kiss me, please?” You pleaded with hooded eyes.

“Of course.” He answered softly, touching your lips with his feverishly, it’s messier than the other kisses he gave you, sloppier, his teeth brushing against your lips and his tongue massaging yours obscenely, within minutes you’re deep into his spell again, trembling hands on his neck, tugging at his hair and slightly untying his braids.

Noticing you’re distracted, he moved, pulling out a little and slowly coming back, you mewled into his mouth, your walls fluttering around him but he doesn’t know If it’s because of the pain or pleasure. So he pulled away from your lips, smiling a little when you followed blindly reaching for his mouth, moving under him and pulling him in a little more. He grunted under his breath, sighing heavily while trying not to think about the way your walls feel around him.

Suddenly his forehead is against your lips, his eyes are closed, all of the veins on his arms are visible and puffed, you touched his biceps and he shuddered on top of you. Pride filled your heart knowing you were the one doing this to him, you wanted to do more so you moved your hips up, the burn inside you reduced a bit and you moved again, Hvitserk moaned.

“Sweetheart… Don’t do this.” He pleaded, a breathed beg, his breathing fanning against your chest. A groan left his lips and you felt his cock twitching inside you, the foreign feeling a little overwhelming but not causing any discomfort.

“Please move.” You hissed and he immediately obeyed, like his body was just waiting another sign of consentment. He pulled out a little and slid right back in, you felt the burn and mewled. “Keep moving.” You pleaded again and he growled, doing exactly what you asked.

Hvitserk slowly moved inside you, trying his best not to hurt you, but he never felt that way before, buried inside you felt better than anything he ever felt, It truly felt like Valhala and you looked like a Goddess, blissed out under him, taking all of him so well. He wanted you to feel just as good as he felt, he dived his hand between your bodies and gently touched your clit, you shuddered, that touch being the first real pleasure you felt since he slipped inside you.

He kept massaging your puffy clit, looking at your parted lips as he slightly changed the angle of his hips, searching for that spot inside you. You mewled when he found, fluttering at the new position, widening your eyes and staring at him when you felt that same tingle from before, he smiled when he noticed. He kept thrusting into you, always searching for that spot, always pressing on your clit, but the way you gripped him, he wouldn’t last long.

When he picked up his pace, you felt the burn again, but Hvitserk was deep into his pleasure, he needed to finish, so you hugged him, close, trying not to focus on anything but the gentle tugs on your clit. However, he knew he needed to be faster, so he did, a few more thrusts and he was gone, his hips slapping up yours sloppily quick until he stopped completely and you felt the twitch of his cock, the warmth of his spend inside you and the rough noises coming from his throat.

“I’m sorry.” He pleaded before raising his head up to look at you. Your hands met the side of his face and you smiled tiredly at him. “It won’t hurt this much next time.”

“I know.”

Quickly, Hvitserk moved, getting up from the bed he walked out of the room and came back with a bowl full of water and a clean towel. You watched as he cleaned between your legs with the wet cloth, gently washing away the pink stains on the soft skin of your thighs. When he was done, he put the bowl on the ground and moved to lay down by your side, pulling you in so you could lay on his chest, one of his hands softly touching your hair while the other grabbed your own, tangled your fingers and pulled it towards his lips, he started spreading kisses on your knuckles.

“Will you make me happy, Hvitserk?” You asked all of a sudden.

“That’s the only thing I can do from now on.” ***

#hvitserk fanfic #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk imagine #vikings hvitserk #hvitserk #hvitserk x you #hvitserk smut #vikings smut #vikings imagine #vikings fic #vikings #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk x reader smut #hvitserk lothbrok

745 notes · View notes

dreamonseems · 1 year

Text

Líf

Confessions

- Story seven of Líf series of one-shot stories, about Ubbe, his reader wife, and their children. Every story will be different but within the same universe. Nothing will be in order just random stories about their lives.

- Ok I made up a place called Raven United so any race reading this can Imagine being the reader.

Summary: Ubbe tells Y/N how he feels about her and they run away and get married.

Despite Aslaug's disapproval, Ubbe couldn't help but feel drawn to Y/N's beauty and spirit. As he watched Y/N he saw the potential for something more in her, something beyond just a simple slave.

One day, as they were alone in the fields, Ubbe confessed his feelings to Y/N. Out of nowhere, Ubbe had turned to her and said, "I have something to tell you. I think I'm in love with you. I know we're from different worlds, but I can't help how I feel."

She was hesitant at first, knowing the consequences of being involved with a Viking prince, but she couldn't deny the spark between them.

Their secret love affair soon came to the attention of Aslaug, who was furious. She had a heated argument with Ubbe, telling him that his duty was to marry a Viking woman and continue the Lothbrok dynasty. Ubbe, however, was firm in his decision to pursue his love for Y/N, even if it meant going against his mother's wishes.

But Aslaug was determined to put an end to Ubbe's relationship with Y/N and secure a powerful alliance for the Lothbrok dynasty. She arranged a feast for a noble family that had a daughter of marrying age, hoping that this would distract him from his infatuation with Y/N.

Y/N was forced to serve at the feast. She watched from a distance as Ubbe and the girl talked and laughed, her heart heavy with sadness. But Ubbe couldn't stop thinking about Y/N and how much he loved her, even though their relationship was forbidden by his mother.

When the feast was over, Ubbe found Y/N in her quarters and declared his love for her once again. Y/N reciprocated with tears of joy, knowing that she couldn't live without him.

Aslaug was furious to see that her plan didn't work. She forbade them from seeing each other and threatened Y/N with punishment if she didn't comply. Their argument escalated, with both of them refusing to back down. Aslaug threatened to disown him, but Ubbe was willing to risk everything for Y/N.

Ubbe was able to convince his father, King Ragnar, to grant Y/N's freedom from slavery. Despite Queen Aslaug's objections, King Ragnar saw the love between Ubbe and Y/N and believed in their right to be together.

With her newfound freedom, Y/N was able to explore the world and learn more about Viking culture. She and Ubbe fell deeper in love, but they knew that their relationship was not accepted by everyone. They longed to be free from the judgment and scrutiny of his family and society and dreamed of a life where they could be together without fear of retribution.

That's when they made the decision to run away and get married in secret, hoping that his family would eventually come to accept their love for each other.

After their secret wedding, Ubbe and Y/N spent a few blissful days together, enjoying their newfound freedom and each other's company. However, their peace was short-lived when King Ragnar, Ubbe's father, came looking for them.

At first, Ubbe was hesitant to come back, fearing that his father would disapprove of his marriage to a former slave. But after some discussion with Y/N, they both decided that it was best to face the situation head-on and confront their families together.

When they arrived back in Kattegat, they were met with a mix of emotions. Queen Aslaug was still disapproving of Y/N, but King Ragnar was more understanding and accepted Y/N as a member of their family. Ragnar was glad that his son had found happiness, but he knew that their marriage would not be accepted by everyone in their society

Despite the challenges that lay ahead, Ubbe and Y/N were grateful to have each other and to have the support of Ubbe's father. They were determined to make their marriage work and to show their true love knows no bounds.

#fanfiction #fanfic #bjorn ragnarsson #ragnar lodbrok #sigurd #ubbe fanfiction #ubbe imagine #ubbe ragnarsson #ubbe x reader #vikings #viking #ubbe lothbrok #ubbe x you #ubbe #aslaug #hvitserk #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #ivar

92 notes · View notes

lilacwineandthesinkingsun · 2 years

Note

Csn you do one with bjorn where he meets a Christian women and the feel in love with smut and fighting like she hates him at first please

Thank you very much for requesting one! I am so so touched. This is my first ever request tbh. I really really hope this will be something you'll love to read!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. THIS IS NOT FOR YOU, NOR YOUR EYES. THANK YOU

Bjorn and Halfdan got back from the mediterranian before Ivar and Hvitserk from the Saxons. Ivar was drunk on their victory, blood-thirsty still. The people of Kattegat looked over the ships in horror. Some were packed to the brim with people they took back to be slaves. The women were crying, the children too, the some men they brought just sat with emotionless faces. Bjorn walked and looked at all of them one by one. A single woman stood out of all of them. She wasn't wearing fancy clothes, she probably wasn't anyone important. Ivar would've killed those anyway. Yet this woman was trying to calm the women and children with a straight face. She told them that everything will be allright. One of the saxon men hit her when she tried to console his wife. Spitting on her when she was on the ground, saying that she cannot know that it will be allright, they'll all be sacrificed or just killed for something they had no control over, something that they could not fight.

The vikings standing around enjoyed this show. Bjorn walked closer to watch too. One of the vikings threw a dagger next to the brave woman on the ground with a smirk. She looked at it, then looked at the wife of the saxon man, with their child in her hands. She took the dagger, and held it to the neck of the man.

-You better get yourself together for your family's sake. You are in a land you don't know, surrounded by people you don't know. They depend on you for survival wether you are all slaves or not. I only spare you because i do not wish for your family to know how to make ends meet without anyone to protect them. To make it alone... - the woman said before giving back the dagger to the viking, who laughed and grabbed her ass, yanking her close to his body. The woman did not care for herself, she punched the man in the eye, who fell on his backside, before she spat on him, and walked away, making the rest of the men laugh. She knew mercy, she was wise and strong, yet she was brave enough to humiliate someone who were way above a mere slave. She must have noone to look after, and to care for her.

Bjorn's jaw clenched, but he just walked away, and into the great hall where his brothers an Lagertha were.

-Bjorn.. you arrive at last. - Ivar snarled. - How was your destiny? DId you find it as pleasing as you imagined?

Bjorn just sighed. Ivar was getting way ahead of himself.

-It was satisfactory brother. What are you planning to do with the saxons you brought here?

-Straight to business i see. A lot of Kattegat's good people died when King Harald paid some bastard to attack. I plan to provide slaves for the men so that Kattegat could flourish again.. - he said with a sick smile - for that when i'll be king, i can make it ever greater..

His claim to be king was reasonable, Lagertha knew that sooner or later one of Ragnar's sons will try to take over the power. The seer told her that one of them would kill her someday.

-i want to buy one to help Torvi with my kids. I have seen one that was good with kids.

-Take whichever you want brother. Take it as a gift..

That was how you ended up as a slave in Bjorn's household.

At first he wasn't around much, and when he was, he just watched you from afar as you played with, and took care of his children. Noticing that Torvi wasn't around much, but they never cared for eachother's presence anyways. There was some kind of love, but definetely not the kind you should have for someone that gave you kids. You then stopped, then scolded yourself for even thinking of this kind of thing. You were a slave, far far away from any place you ever knew. The only priority should be to survive. Nothing else. Hopes, dreams and family were out of the picture. The first time in your life you were thankful for being an orphan and having nobody because this way you only really had to worry about yourself.

That winter Bjorn was studying his map in peace, Torvi was in the village with Lagertha while you played with the kids. You urged them not to go on the ice, knowing it was still weak, but they laughed and told you you were just a slave, you had no right to command them. You started to loudly plead for them to get off of the ice. The you hear it break. By the time Bjorn walked out to the front of the house, cuase of his daughter screaming, you put the two boys back on the ice where it was safe, telling them to back inside and change their clothes. You climbet out slowly, looking at your soaked dress, before walking inside to change yourself.

When you walked beside Bjorn, he got a hold of your upper arm, making you flinch as you were already freezing, your lips blue. He wanted to say something, but he changed his mind and he only said Thank you before letting you go to change before you catch a cold.

That night Torvi did not come home, so you cooked soup for the kids and Bjorn. After you put them to bed, you silently placed yourself in the small nook you had as a room, lit a candle and started to patch your dress cause the ice slashed it in places.

Bjorn appeared in the doorway, watching you silently. When you looked up, you pricked your finger and it started to bleed. You hissed and in 2 strides he was kneeling before you taking a hold of your bleeding finger. You tried to take it from his hold, not to bleed on him, but he gave you a stern look, so you stopped moving. He was gently when he swiped off the blood and tied a cloth around it for you. But he made no move to leave, he just looked into your eyes.

-Why did you save them? You could've died.

-They are your children. I am just a slave. Their life is way more important then mine. I have noone to come home to, never had. - you said not looking at him. He curled a finger under your chin to make you look at him.

-We are your family now, this is your home. - he said and you couldn't help but laugh.

-I am your slave, that is entirely different. - you scoffed.

-Then you are not my slave anymore. You are free to stay, or free to go. - he said and you looked at him not understanding. He sighed, and started to explain. - I am setting you free. I want you to think of us as your family, not as someone who own you. We do not own you.

-Big false words.. I will never be free. The Holy God has other plans for me. But it is alright, i know that in the end, my choices will be the ones that matter. - you said, before taking a hold of the wooden cross in your neck. You were so angry you could've cried. But you weren't going to let him.

You were orphaned at a young age, a nunnery took you in. You never knew kindness. Your body was littered with scars from the procedures you had to endure in process to become a nun. They said you were sent by god himself, and that is why you had to endure all this pain, to repell for the sins humans had committed. It was the only life you knew. You were told that if you ever in danger, you have to kill yourself in order to prevent them to corrupt you. You had to stay pure so god would lift to himself to live happily in Heaven. But before you could od it, they captured and unarmed you.

In the middle of the night you were out, kneeling in the snow, dagger before you, silently praying, when Bjorn had found you. He decided not to disturb you, just watch you from afar. He had feelings for you that he cannot understand. You were christian. Sure he hated Athelstan when he was a kid, then he learned to love him. But you were a different case. He felt a pull to you.

-Forgive me father for i have sinned. I have sinned in thought. I.. i had dreams which i cannot understand, aches that i never felt before. I had been practicing repentance but they do not go away. Please lord, guide my soul back to you. - you whispered when you heard steps in the snow. You turned around, pointing the dagger to whoever it was.

Bjorn held up his hands so you knew he wasn't here to hurt you. But you did not lower the dagger.

-Why do you keep watching, following me? - you asked.

-You are a part of our family, i am ought to keep you safe too. There are wolves and bears out here you know. - he said with a smile.

-Good, i should've been dead months ago. - you snarled. His eyes widened.

-What thoughts you asked guidance from your god for? - he asked curiously, as he started to circle you.

-That is between me and my god. - you said arrogantly.

He knocked the dagger out of your hands, and grabbed your hands, holding you close with your back to his chest as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

-Perhaps thoughts of me are plaguaging you ? - he whispered with a low voice, when the aches returned. When you did not answer he knew he was right. -Ain't nothing bad with those love..

-I am a woman of god, i should've kill myself when your people attacked. - you said not resisting his hold anymore.

-But you didn't, you had a job to do still, your god had other plans for you. - he said, and then shoved your head back, hitting him right in the nose, making him let you go. You grabbed the dagger again, holding it to his neck now. He was not afraid though, his hands held your hips as he yanked you closer, leaning down, nose touching yours.

-You will not hurt me we both know that. Perhaps your god is telling you to live a different live as you did. - he said before softly kissing you sofly. You gasped but did not lower the dagger. You broke his kiss, looking him in the eye.

-Tell me one good reason not to cut your throat. - you snarled at him with hate in your voice.

-You do not want to. You may try to deny it, but we both feel it. I never thought i could want a christian, after my friend was killed, but here i am. And i know you feel the pull too, you must have felt it.

-And what if my god is testing me. The devil is tempting me into sin..

You cannot finish because he grabbed the blade and threw it away, before kissing you passionately. You cannot find in yourself to stop it. You had dreamt of this before, this was why you were praying tonight too. For your god to forgive these dreams and thoughts. And now here you were kissing Bjorn under the moonlight. He gently picked you up, not breaking the kiss before bringing you back to your small room, as he put you in your bed, hovering over you.

-Will your wife kill me tomorrow? -you asked as he caressed your cheek.

-She won't, she is also not my wife. We do not love eachother.

-But you have kids together.

-That doesn't mean we want eachother as companion for life. I freed you because i hope you'd want to be mine cause of your own will, not cause you are a slave and have no other choice. - he whispered before kissing you again.

-You would resent me for my god. - you said holding his collar.

-I don't care what god or gods you pray for. I care that you're by my side. - he said before he kissed your neck. You gasped and pushed him away.

-Did you never...? - he asked and you shook your head. - I will take care of you, i can be gentle. - he smiled at you. Somehow he felt that being your first was something big. He wanted it to be good for you. He slowly undone your dress, making you lay bare under him as he caressed the scars he found. He did not ask about them, he can do that tomorrow, for now he wanted to show you love. His lips followed his caressing fingers as he showered your body with kisses until he settled between your legs. He kissed you womanhood just as he kissed your lips before, yet unfamiliar warmth spread across you as a whimper escaped your lips. You felt him smirk as he started to put a finger inside you between licks, pumping in and out gently. You felt something building inside of you, something wanting to snap. It was unfamiliar, most possibly sinful, yet something you wanted to never stop. When the coil inside you snapped, he climbed up to kiss you and sweep some hair out of your face. He caressed your body all over again before laying down on your bed, making you straddle him. YOu did not know when he got naked, but he had a body that screamed sin and holiness at the same time. You looked at him questioningly when he smiled at you, caressing your face again, then grabbing your chin to bring you down for a kiss.

-This way you'll be in control. I do not want to hurt you (Y/n). You can do it in your pace. - he said as he grabbed your hips and started to move you over his shaft. Not entering, just sliding along it, creating a delicious friction that had you moaning again. He stopped when he felt his tip aligning with your etrance perfectly, and he waited for you to sink down on him, letting him impale you in your own pace. You slowly lowered yourself, welcoming the pain of him stretching you out. When you sank down on him, letting him into you fully, you stopped, waiting for yourself to adjust. You looked at him. His eyes were closed, his hands caressed you.

He suddenly opened his gorgeous eyes, and sat up with you still impaled on his lap as he kissed you passionately.

-You were made for me. - he whispered before he started to thrust in and out of you. The feeling was unfamiliar but not unwelcomed. You felt that sweet feeling build up inside you again. You started to meet his thrusts harder and faster, chasing your release. When your moans became louder, your breathing uneven he took over and pistoed into you mercilessly. You reached your climax in no time, your abused cunt squeezing him so much, he thought it won't ever let go of him again, nor that he wanted to ever leave the warm place that was made for him there. He thought of you carrying his child someday as he came in you, as you small battered body, collapsed on his chest. He put his arms around you, holding you close, drawing small circles on your back.

-Sleep now love. I'll keep you warm. - he whispered before kissing the top of your head. And that is what he did. When you woke up the next morning, you felt sore, but you felt something warm under you. You unconsciously snuggled closer to the source, only to hear a faint rumbling and a little laugh. When you opened your eyes, you were met with Bjorn's blue ones, filled with all the love you ever saw. He was looking at you as if you were something holy. You didn't find the words so you just stared at him.

-Does it hurt anywhere? - he asked. You shook your head and looked down, suddenly shy. He pulled you close again.

-You are so perfect... - he said.

#request #requests are open #one shot #smut #vikings history channel #bjorn x reader #bjorn x you #bjorn ironside #bjorn ragnarsson #bjorn fluff #bjorn smut

304 notes · View notes

shinjisdone · 4 months

Text

To Soften a Warrior’s Heart (Vinland Saga; Thorfinn; Part 9)

In which you have joined Askeladd’s band…and grow closer to the Son of Thors. Though it is more difficult than anyone can could ever imagine…

[Headcanons of how it would be like to meet and crawl your way into Thorfinn’s heart (based on season 1; both platonic and romantic)]

Part 1 is here - meeting Thorfinn at the age of 14 and how he is at that age

Part 2 is here - meeting Thorfinn at the age of 16/17 + headcanons of growing closer (slightly following s1 story)

Part 3 is here - blooming friendship with Thorfinn (slightly following s1 story)

Part 4 is here - Thorfinn unwittingly opening his heart as he realizes he does not want you to die

Part 5.1 is here - sweet things Thorfinn would do for you (headcanons)

Part 5.2 is here - other sweet things Thorfinn would do for you (headcanons)

Part 6 is here - meeting Canute and becoming his guard - Thorfinn accepts your relationship and bond

Part 7 is here - Canute grieving over Ragnar and Thorkell catching up; Thorfinn leaves you alone for revenge

Part 8 is here - Thorfinn wins against Thorkell; Questioning your bond with Thorfinn

Part 10 is here - Thorfinn and you bound by heart; Promises of Vinland broken and abandoned

Tag list:

@luopenis , @jinsecho , @mitsureigen , @theknightssecrets

Mentions of murder, death, war, slave trade, harrasment against women and whatever awful things happened in the viking era. Only mentioned and used as examples. Mostly gender-neutral examples but female-leaning ones are there, too.]

[This part will specifically mention: Slave woman purchased just to be killed, meeting with Leif, Thorfinn not giving a sht about Leif :( , and you are like??? bro that is LOVE, he loves you!!!!, THORFINN U IDIOT, Askeladd and Thorfinn dueling, Askeladd snapping, lots of plot-driven dialouge, Askeladd spittin facts, lost Thorfinn]

No, I Don't Want It, I Don't Want It, I Don't Want It...

No more was this a viking band - the majority has been killed by their own leader.

This was now the newest vessel of the youngest prince of Denmark. Leading of what remained of the men with Askeladd being his right-hand man.

Sailing along with all the tricks in the book that he had, all of which he had learned in his life felt like it was meant for a moment like this, for a future king like Canute.

And you had no choice but to go along with it if you wanted to keep on living.

Askeladd seemed more alive than ever. Youthful even as he grinned and spoke and chatted with Thorkell and Canute as if he had been waiting all his life for an opportunity like this. You and Thorfinn had never seen him this upbeat before, unless he was with Björn.

The man in question was still on a mat, resting though.

So in his usual fashion, the older man confidently stood on the boat with his typical shit-eating grin while crossing his arms. He spoke with carefreeness to the prince as they neared a dock in York. Left and right a crowd congegrated at the incoming ship, whispering among themselves on the return of prince Canute.

Yet as loud as their curioustiy was, deadly silent was the arrow that pierced the vulnerable chest almost precisely.

A thud ensued and a scream from your direction caused a commotion from the docks. The ship hurried to land and brought the wounded royal quickly to aid. While few ran over to him, another hurried away from the scene.

Clothes were ripped apart as someone abruptly stopped from taking out the arrow. The weapon was deep but what truly caused many to gasp and back away, was Canute himself approaching the dying woman.

You watched with a glare of anger (or perhaps pity? Indifference? Shock? Disgust?) as Askeladd casually trailed after Canute while letting out the obvious elephant in the room that someone apparently wanted him killed.

The leader made sure to purchase a slave with a form and stature similiar to the prince to act as bait. He ordered you to cause a commotion on land to have the culprit panic and escape from the scene - and then have Thorfinn silently get rid off him. To show the assasins that Askeladd is well aware of their presence and capable of taking them all out.

He has his tools for it, after all.

"Play the dumb but genuine witness," He grinned as he pointed at you before shooing you and Thorfinn out of his sight. Do your part and you'd all safely arrive at York. For now.

The perpetrator was cut down and the commotion that was supposed to bring the attention on the dying woman unfortunately was also brought to Thorfinn.

Still with his arm in a sling, he found himself surrounded by a few guards who also shadowed the culprit but put the blame on the young blonde instead. You hurried to him but even so, your own acting wasn't really able to save him.

"As if!" One pointed out, "You're just a kid, just like him! Obviously you two are in this together so you are trying to save his skin!"

"I told you, it wasn't me. It was him, he had the corssbow in hand."

Still, the guards were not relenting, drawing their swords at the two of you. Behind them was a much smaller man who called out, though his voice was way too meek compared to the spitting insults of the guards.

One insult too many and one step too close to you, and Thorfinn took one out with a single biff. As intimidating as the men seemed, they quickly turned tail and ran off at the sight of his two daggers.

"Thorfinn Karlsefni!"

The young lad who took Thorkell down with just two knifes - gossip turned real at the sight of the beaten blonde.

The scene clearing out so fast left you a bit relieved - perhaps speechless even. Would tension like this cease so quickly in the future too, whenever the name 'Karlsefni' was uttered?

Still, one stayed - the little man in the corner you had noticed. His green tunic was well kept for someone his age, short with half of his light hair already gone on his head. With his moustache spikey but kept short as well as his shining but wide eyes, you doubted this old geezer could pose as a threat.

"...Thorfinn...?" He muttered in a horse voice, "Thorfinn...Son of Thors? Are you the son of Thors?" With each word, he gingerly approached. You watched as Thorfinn merely rose a brow before his own eyes widened.

"...Uncle Leif?"

You watched with bated breath.

The hand on your weapon had long ceased shaking and resting upon it yet still; It was balled into a fist at your side.

Your eyes darted between the two men and their exchange of the past. With your back to the wall behind you and Thorfinn resting on the edge of the dock as this 'Leif' never seemed to stop talking about Thors.

About Iceland.

About family. An 'Helga' and an 'Ylva'.

"That does not concern me." Thorfinn uttered as he got up and adjusted his arm sling, "I am asking you about Vinland. Father wanted to go there and I want to know if you did anything about it."

"But Thorfinn," Leif stepped closer, his arms open as his eyes threatened to tear up again, "You don't need to be here. You want your revenge but what about your mother? She's been getting worse and worse ever since you got taken from us. Ylva has been worried sick as well, you could go back and see them. I'm sure Helga will feel better-!"

"I said that doesn't concern me!"

Swiftly the blonde spun back with dagger in his good hand. His face had quickly contorted into sheer rage once again. "I'm here to take my revenge! Nothing else!"

Seeming to lose air, Leif sobbed as his voice shook. "It's been enough! We've lost you since you were six, Thorfinn, six! You have been in this hell long enough, we can go back home! Go back to Iceland!"

You could feel it. Feel the familiar ire ooze out of Thorfinn. A hatred unrivaled and unequalled in a way you have never seen nor felt in your young years.

"Enough?" His tone was akin to a growl, like a switch.

"It will never be enough! Have you not seen it, how Father died?! As long as this damn bastard is eating, breathing and shitting, it'll never be enough! You hear me?!"

He tried to take a deep breath and in the next moment, grasped your hand and marched back to the boat with you in tow. His grip was tight enough to hurt you. Yet that was the least of your concerns.

Looking back, you could see the man tear up.

"I'll stay...I'll stay right here until you change your mind!"

Never have you heard of such absurdity before.

"I won't give you up, Thorfinn!"

A man from the past - a mere, old, harmless merchant - insisting on bringing someone back home, someone like Thorfinn. To have looked and searched for him. Embracing him tight like a son and weeping at the sight of him. Alive and safe.

"Let's go back home! Please!"

Such bravery, such determination for someone like Thorfinn. That is love, is it not?

You'd certainly feel loved if someone like that was searching for you.

"Let's go back to Iceland!"

I Don't Want It But I Know No One's There...

The day is quick to be over and morning approaches yet again.

Today at noon is the meeting with the king and all his investors and allies. Askeladd insisted on being there as well but you couldn't care enough about the details of high and mighty masteries.

About spying, about rumors, about hired assassins and slaves only to get rid of them...

You would love to say that Thorfinn shares your sentiment and he does but still approves on playing a puppet while you stay rigid and firm on the stage. Not moving.

You simply had watched. Watched as bands fought over a prince, watched as he tamed them like beasts, watched along as the band was reduced to mere three people that serve a royal now. Watched as Thorfinn continued to play along and along and along...

He was as focused as ever today. Today he insisted on getting his duel and revenge.

You sat still and watched. Perhaps a part of you adjusted his arm sling yet again. Out of kindness, out of pity, out of fear, anger, exhaustion...

You just didn't want him to die.

Gods, would it be awful. Would it be foolish if he were to die now.

Though it was noon, the sky was dark. Clouds forebode a storm or blizzard and Askeladd complained about the awful timing. How it had to be so close to the meeting...that two stubborn idiots insisted on dueling him now.

You went up the hill, next to Canute and Thorkell. Both of them said nothing as you invited yourself to their company.

Thorkell, who almost crushed you. Your shorter, younger body that of an insect compared to him, as well as in his eyes.

Canute, who was too bashful to glance at you. Someone who grieved and cried while clinging on your sleeve now seemed like a different, stronger person than you.

And the second dour fool...Björn crawled up the snowy path with nothing but a sword and his wound. He needed to go first and Thorfinn seemed to grant him that wish, watching from the sidelines.

Though the duel was quickly over. So fast and one-sided that it could barely be called a match, let alone a battle. Even as Askeladd held a sliver of shine and love in his eyes as Björn died in his arms, as he confessed his wish and reciprocated it with his own...as he gave him the final but merciful blow to send him to Valhalla...none could find it in their hearts to really feel anything for the old man anymore.

"...Awfully sorry to have kept you waiting, lad." He threw the blood off his sword with a clean swing after he covered the body.

While walking over to Thorfinn almost like in a trance, your eyes never left the snow sullied in blood nor the body growing ever so cold or the sword in Askeladd's hand.

"I shall be witness to this duel and as the prince here, I shall also be the one to decide when it ends." Canute spoke in a loud tone, it was hard to believe he only used to mumble. You didn't look back but felt thankful that he went out of his way to ensure Thorfinn's safety.

Even if that meant not satisfying him and his lust for vengeance.

And here you were in front of Thorfinn, yet again tugging and adjusting his arm sling - which he had also wrapped his dagger around, refusing to have it any other way while dueling the older man - to make sure it stayed put and firm. Firm enough to not have the weapon fall out of its grip and to not have the stubborn fool injure his arm more than needed.

He watched silently, his glare the moment he laid eyes on Askeladd today not yielding. Not softening at the sight of you as they ususally do.

Wordlessly you tug and tie and press the dagger deeper into the grip. Though your work is done, and even needless to an extent, your cold hands stayed on the sling. Cold, bare hands red from the chilling winter day. Hands that have seen and caused chaos gingerly carressed the sling and bandages alongside the blade. Your eyes never left it and neither did Thorfinn's.

No one commented a thing. All waited patiently for both men to begin.

Slowly, ever so slowly and reluctantly, your hands glided down his sling and swung back to your sides. Finally, you looked back at him and stared into his hardened eyes with your softened ones.

"...Don't die. Please..." Was all you could muster after an enduring silence. Thorfinn only left you there as he went up to Askeladd.

The sword is thrown into the snow.

Daggers in both hands, one broken.

Still, as he stood there, ready and unarmed with his neck so delicate and vulnerable, Thorfinn got pummeled nicely; One fist after another as he was headbutted, kicked, uppercutted, held by his hair and biffed until his face was red, blue and black. It was hard to watch.

Thorkell and Canute chatted about bets and strength. The giant of a man teasing you even for probably being the type to bet it all on your loyal friend and buddy Thorfinn even as he is getting the daylights beaten out of him. You refused to talk to him.

You never uttered a word during the duel nor to the other two, yet Canute could easily tell how tense you were with each punch Askeladd threw at Thorfinn. You were just watching with bated breath and a racing heart.

Even though this one-sided brawl was easily, so, so easily in Askeladd's favor, the leader grew more and more frustrated with each swing.

A fool. An idiot. Stubborn and small-minded, braying like a blind animal and lashing out in the most childish way he has ever seen. A real warrior.

How he wished he'd just get into his thick skull, use a bit of his brain! Just a damn bit for once, that complete moron!

Yet as he kicked him for one last time, having the young man fall head-first into the snow, knocked out cold, he rose his sword over his head, only to quickly raise his other arm the moment he heard stomping through the snow.

Canute had called out to you as you rushed towards the man with your own blade - cutting into his hand as he stopped the weapon from piercing through his chest.

Your glare was as dark as thunder and so akin to Thorfinn's. It made him laugh and just as frustrated.

"Calm down now. I didn't even harm a hair on his head." Askeladd gestured to tip of his sword dug into the snow, right next to Thorfinn's head. Swiftly, the man grabbed your own blade, pushing you away with a shove and shaking the blood off his palm. He eyed you with a matching scowl. "Don't get worked up over an fool like him. He'd just cause you trouble."

You paid no attention to his words. Throwing your weapon aside, you were fast as a storm, kneeling by Thorfinn's side and turning him around, holding him in your arms.

"Thorfinn! Thorfinn!" As you attempted to waken him, Canute followed close behind you, yelling out that the duel was over. Askeladd did not reply but instead, took a seat on a few bricks of an abandonded bridge. With a scoff he watched the young blonde regain conciousness but even as he awoke in your arms, the simpleton just jumped to his feet despite his injuries and whipped his head around in search for his prey.

Even as Canute explained the outcome and even as your hands and arms supported him like a mother, as Thorfinn looked dumbfounded at your hurt gaze at the sight of his blue, bloodied and pummeled face...he was still looking for Askeladd.

His blue eyes watched as you tried to wipe the blood off his nose, at the mere graze of your touch had the young viking jump in pain. It must hurt so much to see him make a fool of himself time and time again. Nevertheless, he keeps on crawling back to Askeladd and it sickened him.

For the first time in a long while, Askeladd called out your name in a calm and placid manner.

"Don't waste your enegry on an moron like him. He keeps on getting these injuries because of his own stupidity...you're better off without him."

At that Thorfinn let out an offended groan - Askeladd gestured to his outburst with an unimpressed sneer. "As I said. The idiot brays, then takes out his weapons and thinks himself the hunter as he charges head on while going for my neck. He thinks he's already won...by just roaring out a little victory chant and throwing himself into battle, just like all these self-proclaimed warriors do. They've all lost sight of the nice things in battling."

"Björn was right...I hate all warriors like that. Bastards that take, rampage, pillage, kill and then rob an entire culture of all that they had. Especially those Nordics...those vikings." Taking a deep breath, he called out calmly once again. "Laddie. Let me tell you...how to really murder an abhorrent bastard."

Don't Let Me Go, I Have Nothing Left To Lose...

His eyes never left him. Nor you.

The tale was as old as time for him, funny even in a way. A past that shaped him and all his actions he has done and will ever do but simply reciting it all brought a few chuckles out of him from the memories. The treatment. His mother and her belief of an returning king. The never-ending mountains of ash. The fools of half-brothers he used to have. All the wealth from the murder. The soft 'Why?' as his father met his end.

He didn't even think he'd remember that much!

But it all did happen...he remembered the respect he earned and how he dug her grave in Wales. It is all still there, he hoped.

The kid knew how to kill him now...he wondered if he would actually suceed after hearing his advice.

"So you know now, Thorfinn if you listened to me of course. I've managed to kill my most hated enemy within two years and still here I stand about ten later. Use your wits for next time, you damn numbskull." The man had long stood up and marched over to Björn's cold body. He threw one brief glance over his shoulder to Thorfinn - who was simply fuming in his own blood.

"Shut it!" He got up as briskly as he could from your arms, "Shut up, bastard! I'll, I'll kill you! Until my final breath, I'll rip out your heart! I will definitely-!"

Another clang. The sword hit the snow, it's tip dug deep within the earth. With more fiersome intent than him feigning the final blow on Thorfinn. If you were not mistaken, you reckoned to hear the metal crack.

"Damn it all. You're really pissin' me off."

In an attempt to control his anger, Askeladd balled his shaking hand as he scowled like a wounded beast at Thorfinn. The latter was startled, you noted.

"...You talk about killing and killing and killing. Yet you haven't achieved a single thing. Look at you, lad. You're covered in blood, snot and saliva, it's disgusting. You had so many, so many chances to kill and gut me yet you never used your damn brain for any of them! Look at you!"

With a sudden shout he pointed at him. You and Canute could not help but jump in fright. "You're quick, you're strong, you're talented! I can't deny that...and still you insist on going off on your emotions and losing each little duel you so wholeheartedly persist on! Keeping on losing your cool and brainlessly charging forward. You had so many chances, Thorfinn, and you had equally as much chances to get killed for your brainless behaviour if it weren't for them!" His digit went to point at you. Your breath got caught in your throat.

"If it weren't for the only damn friend you got in this messed up world, you'd be long dead! You owe them more than I owe you! And still...they're gonna end up being the death of you, too."

With a sharp gasp, Thorfinn once again swung his dagger at him. However, he struggled to catch his breath. "Don't bring them into this! This, this is between you and me! It always has been!"

"Don't be laughable, boy!" Askeladd bellowed at him, "It always has been until they arrived! Little dog that you are, you clung onto their hip since then and today as well! Your little attachment will get you killed, fool!"

Oh, how long Askeladd had waited to say that straight to his face! Thorfinn's attachment to you will end up killing him! And what good does that bring when a corpse can't avenge his father?

You watch with a darting, wide gaze between the men. Thorfinn kept denying it, throwing his tantrum with the same threats as before - the same threats he has been spitting his way since he was six years old - only for Askeladd to point out every. Single. Thing. He has ever done for you, sacrificed for you and only you. For your survival. For your honor. Everything. He can't fool him, boy.

"It all started with your absurd, small 'trades'. Yes, I've seen it as you threw them that bunny as amends. I've noticed you bringing in the horses, fix your gear together, having each other's back on the battlefield as you barely even acknowledged our existence. You think I haven't been paying attenton aside from our duels?"

He saw it in the early dawn of spring when you hunt and Thorfinn shared his prey with you. He witnessed it in the deadly cold night of winter when you are huddled and cuddled close together. He saw it when Thorfinn's dear dagger is in your hands as if it was nothing and the lad doesn't see anything wrong with it. Damn it, he sees it in his smile! He smiles when near you, at you and is brought only by you!

Boy, you are laughable!

"And when I told you to go fetch His Highness from Thorkell's men in an exchange for a chance to kill me, you just had to turn around and save their skin. You are as predictable as I thought, Thorfinn." Askeladd couldn't help but snicker, "I've given you so many chances and you all threw them away the moment your little friend just seemed to be in danger. You can't even focus on your goal, idiot, you kept on prioritizing a life that won't help you achieve it. Maybe if they'd never joined, you would have long gotten your revenge."

Askeladd calmed down enough to grin and jest, "But no," He feigned disappointment and shook his head, "You still refuse to have a bit of your wits about you. When I threaten your friend's life, you throw yourself in front of them. When I tell you to fight Thorkell the Tall, you do so only to be the one to chop off my head. And now...you are here. And so am I. Really, you've helped me along the way, Thorfinn...you've been an useful tool."

The young viking stepped back with a choked breath and a gut-wreching hole in his stomach that seemed to take his heavy heart.

"You're like a dog chasing after food. I should be thankful to Thors."

Everything seemed grow hazy around. The cold, the figures talking away, the ground underneath him. The air seemed more piercing with every breath he so depserately struggled to fill his lungs with, fill it to live but that seemed like a task too great for him. Pain shot through his broken arm and his legs gave out as the snow softened his fall. Everything dislimned before him as if all this never happened at all.

You caught him before he could fall into the snow and suffocate. His body freezing and heavy against you. The second dagger slipped out of his hand.

79 notes · View notes