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viking-raider · 1 year

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Fright Night *Halloween Fic*

Summary: It's Halloween! You and Henry take to the great city of London, as Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf, to enjoy some of its Tricks and Treats. Before letting the night enchant you.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count:

Warning: M - Cotton Candy Fluff, Dressing Up, Alcohol Use, Jump Scares, Stupid/Chessy Jokes, (I'm so sorry!) Flirting, Haunted House, Teasing, Protective!Henry, SMUT - Unprotected sex, (wrap it, before you tap it!) Oral: F-Receiving, Biting, Light Role Play, Body Fluids, Hand Job

Inspiration: It's Halloween! Let the mood inspire you!

Author’s Note: There is a possibility of future parts! I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!

“It's Fright Night, babe!” Henry cheered, suddenly coming up behind you and grabbing your sides, scaring the living daylights out of you.

“Jesus Alive!” You yelped, body jerking, before you spun around and started a barrage of slaps to Henry's chest. “Would you quit doing that!” You snapped, even though a smirk was spreading across your face.

“Doing what, my dear?” Henry grinned, scrunching up his muscular upper body against your assault, while chuckling at you, mischievously.

“You've been jump scaring me every day, since the bloody first of October!” You replied, shaking your head at him and turning back around to the mirror. “You messed up my makeup too!”

“Babe, it's Halloween, your makeup isn't supposed to be perfect!” He said, watching you through the mirror.

“Speak for yourself, Wolf-Boy.” You giggled at him, checking him out.

Henry was dressed up as a sort of biker, Big Bad Wolf. He was rather dedicated to this costume as well! Having grown his beard out for it and everything. He had a pair of realistic wolf ears molded over his own, a painted-on wolf nose and a pair of red and black, Halloween contacts. He had on his leather biker jacket.

You would easily admit though, Henry looked pretty badass and spooky.

“I'd rather bite you, Little Red.” Henry purred, snaking his arms around your waist and playfully nibbling on your exposed neck.

“Now now, naughty Wolf.” You cooed, turning your head and kissing his temple, leaving a pair of red lips behind.

“I don't know if I'll be able to make it through a night out with you looking like this.” He said, stepping back to look you over in your dark Red Riding Hood costume.

He loved the black, silk and floral stockings that went all the way up above your mid-thigh, felt a tingle in the base of his spine that wanted to make love to you, with only you in those stockings. You smirked at him, fixing and finishing your makeup, then picked up your cape.

“Would you like some help with that?” Henry asked, holding his hand out.

“I don't know.” You frowned at him. “My grandma-ma told me not to trust big, bad wolves.” You said, batting your eyes at him.

“Hm.” He hummed back, stepping closer to you and lowering his spooky eyes, causing a little chill to race down your back. “What a smart woman, your grandma-ma is. But worry not, Little Red, I'll keep my biting to a minimum.”

“Well,” You smirked, resting your hand on the black, v-neck he was wearing under his jacket. “At least until we get home.” You purred, with a wink.

Henry threw his head back and let out a loud howl, which caused Kal to start barking elsewhere in the house and you to giggle. Taking your cape, Henry helped carefully tie it over your shoulders, then planted a delicate kiss on your lips.

“Are you ready to go?” He asked, pulling back.

“I am, are you?” You nodded, giving yourself a once over in the mirror.

“Yes, ma'am.” Henry nodded, zipping his leather jacket halfway.

“Wait, Mr. Big Bad!” You called out, as Henry stepped out of the bathroom. “You still got kisses on your face.” You giggled at him, grabbing a makeup wipe to remove it.

“No, leave it.” He protested it, turning his head away from the wipe. “This Big Bad Wolf wants the world to know he's been awoo'd by his Little Red Riding Hood.” He chuckled, grinning at you impishly.

“What a silly Wolf you are!” You chuckled back, shaking your head and tossing the wipe away. “Aren't you supposed to have fangs?” You asked, following him out of the master bathroom and into the bedroom.

“Yeah, I was just waiting to put them in.” Henry replied, picking up a small, U-shaped case off his nightstand. “The creative department for the Witcher helped me out with these.” He smirked at you, opening the case to show you the custom werewolf fangs inside.

“Oh, those look so wicked, Puppy.” You nodded, seriously impressed with the top set of fangs.

“Mmhm.” He hummed, happy with them as well. “So, where do you want to go first?” He asked, taking one of the fangs out and started putting it in.

“I don't know.” You replied, biting your lip and glancing down at your shiny flats. “You know more about the London Halloweens than I do.” You pointed it out to him.

This was your and Henry's second Halloween as a couple. Your first Halloween had been spent at an amazing party thrown by one of Henry's friends, where the two of you had gone as Geralt and Yennefer. This year, even with several party invites, you and Henry decided to spend Halloween together and hit the town. But you knew almost nothing about what London did for Halloween events, other than the typical haunted houses and trick or treating.

Getting the last fang in, Henry grinned at you, and you smirked back, he looked absolutely amazing as the biker Big Bad Wolf. “I'm more than sure I can find several things to keep our adrenaline pumping and our Halloween spirit high.”

“Lead the way then, Big Bad!” You said, waving your hand towards the door.

Winking at you, Henry led the way downstairs, he grabbed your coat and held it open, while you put it on, then grabbed the car keys. “Kal, guard the house from tricksters!” He called out to the Akita, pulling open the door and ushering you out first.

Finding parking in downtown London, You and Henry make your way towards the Thames. You could see the London Eye looming in the darkness on the river's edge. You wondered, if the Eye was doing some sort of late night Halloween rides, that Henry was taking you on. Letting you see the City in all its sparkling glory on All Hallows Eve. But as you both turned the corner, you found a decent size line and looked up at Henry, with a cocked brow.

He grinned, wolfish, and squeezed your hand.

Trusting him, you got into line, and thankfully Henry looked different enough with his costume and everyone being more interested in what was at the head of the line, to take a closer look at the fact a celebrity was waiting among them. Enabling you and Henry to enjoy the wait undisturbed by would-be fans, asking for photos and autographs. You were curious about what your boyfriend was getting you into though. Everyone in line seemed super excited about what it was. The two women in front of you, dressed up in really wicked SteamPunk outfits were chatting excitedly with each other.

“It's going to be amazing; I can't wait for us to get down there.” One of them said, adjusting her top hat.

“Down there?” You echoed her words but looked up at Henry.

“Oh yeah, down into the bowls of London.” He said, making his voice sound spooky and leaned close to you. “Where the shadiest and scariest Londoners go.” He whispered, holding your gaze for a long moment before jerking forward. “Boo!” He wailed, grabbing you by the arms, and laughing as you yelped.

“You're so easy to scare, babe.” He smirked, pulling you in towards him, winking at the two ladies as they looked back and chuckled at the two of you.

“I hate you!” You huffed, punching him in the chest as he hugged his arms around you.

Henry chuckled again, lips ghosting across your forehead as he held you. “I know.” He replied, swaying side to side, before moving you both forward with the line.

Getting to the head of the line, you noticed a ghoulish black and red sign above a set of glass doors, The London Dungeon. It piqued your interest in stepping through the doors, finding the inside heavily decorated for Halloween. Henry paid for your entrance and the two of you were ushered, by a guide, to a lift with a small group of others. The lift took you deep underneath the building and out into a dark coordinator that was a blast from the past.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the London Dungeon!” The guide called out from the head of the group.

There were loud sounds from all-round, ominous dongs, the rumbles of what sounded like distant thunder and screams, along with bright flashes of light. The guide led the way through the dark hallway that was lined with all sorts of things. Buildings from medieval London, gently swaying clotheslines hung high above your heads, things you couldn't quite make out strung along the walls and over darkened doorways and windows.

Through one window, a woman in old clothing and a cloth cap, face painted to make her look much older than she was and several warts, jumped out and feigned reaching for your group, making many of you scream and jump in the air. You nearly climbed up Henry as you grabbed onto him, gasping with fright. While he just jerked with surprise and laughed, smiling and shaking his head as the woman retreated back into her dark hovel.

“I think my heart leapt out of my chest back there.” You panted; arms tightly hugged around Henry's as you urgently panned around for the next scare.

“It's still there, babe.” Henry chuckled, threading his fingers through yours. “I can feel it hammering against my arm.”

The group paused before an open building. It looked menacing, shelves lining the walls with various sized bottles, a skeleton hung from the ceiling on one side. But it was the table on the raised platform that drew everyone's attention. Laying under a soiled and grungy sheet, was the outline of a body. Then, from a door, came another woman, but she didn't jump scare the group like the first one, she was dressed in a bloody smock and her hair was covered in a bandanna, while holding a Plague Mask on a long stick.

“They say this beak is to help prevent the plague!” She said in a high-pitched voice, pointing to the long leather nose attached to the mask. “They put herbs and spices in the end to keep you from getting infections, like the Plague.” She grinned at the crowd, leaning close over the barrier fence that separated them.

“At least, that's what they say!” She cackled, pulling back and running off to put the mask up.

“Now, I'm one of the last physicians here in London fighting the infection!” The live actor declared, hopping up onto the stage with the autopsy table and body. “And this poor fellow is one of my patients! He went mad from the pain in his brain! Jumped out the third story window.” She said dramatically, pressing her fingertips into her temples and leaning over the covered body.

“And splat!”

Looking over the group and grinning sinister, she giggled. “What a shame.”

Then, slowly peeled the sheet back.

“Now! It's very important to know what Plague he died of, the Bubonic or Septicemic. To do that, I must first cut a hole in his chest!” She pulled a knife from under the table that was rather overkill and cut through his chest, little spurts of blood coming out as she did, before delving her arm inside.

“Oh, my dears, the smell is really quite awful now!” She groaned, face pinched, and fanned the air with her free hand, all while struggling with something inside the body. “It's putrid and quite squishy in there.” She gagged and grimaced, before finally pulling something long, bloody and wriggling out. “Hm, I wonder what this is for?” She hummed, waving it around, then tossed it behind her, filling the room with a wet splat.

“Good lord.” You gulped, even though you knew it was an act and all a show, your stomach still churned.

Her hand disappeared again inside the man's chest. “Ah-ha! The heart!” She beamed, rubbing it against her cheek, smearing blood all over the side of her face. “Still warm too!” She cackled, setting it between the man's feet.

“We'll save that for later.” She said, winking at the crowd, who laughed, Ooo-ed or gagged.

You noticed faint noise, like a low groaning, that was steadily starting to get louder the longer the autopsy went on. The small hairs on the back of your neck and along your arms started to stand up. Suspense building inside of you as you waited for someone to jump out of the darkness or something to fall from the ceiling above. You clutched Henry's arm, while he continued to watch the performance, in thralled by the historical terror and gore going on.

The plague doctor stepped away from the body, squinting into the darkness. “What's that noise? Do any of you hear--” She started to ask, before a blood curdling scream filled the air and the body on the table sprang up into a sitting position.

Everyone cried out and the plague doctor screeched at the top of her lungs, arms flying up in the air, as she bolted past everyone and vanished into the darkness, her screams fading away.

“You all right, babe?” Henry asked, smirking at you, feeling you shiver against him.

“I'm fine.” You replied, trying to put on a brave face.

“Mmhm.” He nodded, kissing your forehead.

You and Henry finished the London Dungeon, and even though you had been scared out of your wits more times than not and it was a good thing Henry was wearing a leather jacket, protecting his arm from being maimed by your nails as you clutched at him. You had actually loved the tour, learning about the history, dark as it was.

“Where to now, Big Bad?” You asked, looping your arm with Henry's as you strolled along the river.

“Hm.” Henry replied, taking a deep breath of the evening air coming off the Thames. “Are you hungry? We could go for a nibble.”

“I do say, I could go for a nibble and something to drink.” You nodded, resting your shoulder against his, and smiled up at him.

“Then, let's find somewhere spooky to satisfy ourselves!”

“Please, Hen, no more scares.” You begged him, as you headed back towards the car.

Henry chuckled and squeezed your hand. “Oh, all right. I suppose you've had enough for one night.” He conceded, turning the corner with you, only to have two teenagers jump out, scaring you enough to hide behind him with a scream.

“Very funny, gents.” He chuckled, but his face gave away how unamused he actually was.

The kids tore off down the street, laughing their heads off, while you worked on swallowing your heart back down into your chest. “It's a good thing I love Halloween so much.” You said, coming out from behind Henry.

“Only Halloween?” He asked, giving you a side glance, as you made it back to the car.

“I love you, three-hundred and sixty-five days out of the year, Henry.” You replied, beaming at him, as you buckled your seatbelt. “I don't need a holiday to love you even more. I wouldn't even know if there's anything in the multiverse that could make me love you more.”

“I could—TURN YOU!” Henry proclaimed, suddenly lunging across the console to attack your neck.

You howled with laughter, feigning trying to fight him off, pressed between your seat and door. Henry nibbled on your neck and tugged on your earlobe. “Down, boy! Down!” You wheezed, still giggling hysterically, but Henry kept up his assault, even licking up the side of your neck and making you squirm.

“Easy.” You cooed, turning to your Kal soothing tactic, gently petting Henry's hair and rubbing one of his earlobes. “Who's a good werewolf, huh?” You smirked, hearing him start to pant in your ear and nuzzle the side of your face. “You are!” You said, voice slightly high pitched.

“Yes, you're Little Red's favorite wolfie.”

“I damn well better be!” Henry huffed, pulling back slightly, to look you in the face.

“You are, as long as you don't tell Kal.” You chuckled, kissing him on the lips. “He thinks it's him, and I can't bear the thought of him knowing otherwise.”

“I see how it is.” He smirked, straightening up in his seat. “You're playing both of us. Calling whoever is with you the good boy.” He said, pulling out of the parking lot.

“And what would be my reward in this scenario?” You chuckled, lifting an interested brow at him, wanting to know where his thinking was going.

“All the perks of Kal and I being good boys.” He replied, checking the street for any trick or treaters.

“Ah, like Kal keeping all his toys in his bed and you remembering to put the lid back on the milk container.” You pointed out, shooting him a playful look.

“Something like that.” Henry blushed, reaching out to take your hand and resting it on his thigh.

“So, where are we going for our nibble?” You asked, relaxing and peeking out the window, admiring all the amazing Halloween decorations that dotted the businesses and parks.

“There's a cute pub in Leadenhall Market that really goes all out for Halloween.” He explained to you. “They do different themes each year. The last time I was there, they did Harry Potter. Which was fitting, since one of the movies had just come out that year. They serve great drinks and appetizers, so I figured we'd go there, then walk around the Market. Snag some of the treats from the pop-up stalls.”

“That sounds really lovely.”

The pub was alive with people, when you and Henry arrived, the murmur of voices, laughter and music. As you entered the Nightmare Before Christmas themed establishment, a woman dressed as a cat was passing by with this strobing and smokey drink in her hand, drawing your eye, instantly.

“Oh my god, what is that?” You blurted out, pointing to her drink, and slightly startling her.

She smiled at you and held it up. “It's called, A Witch's Brew.” She explained, taking a draw from a black and white silly straw with a witch's hat, then continued on.

“I want one of those!” You declared, looking up at Henry, eyes wide.

Henry laughed and nodded. “All right, one Witch's Brew coming up! Why don't you go find us somewhere to sit, while I get it and something to eat.” He suggested, turning his head towards the crowded bar counter.

You weaved your way through the packed pub, looking for an open table, making a couple comments to others on their costumes, before finally finding a corner booth. You took your phone out of your jacket pocket, while waiting for Henry to return, and snapped a couple selfies of yourself and several of the pub, posting them on your Instagram, then answered texts you had from family and friends.

“One Witch's Brew for Little Red Riding Hood.” Henry's voice called over all the noise, as he made it over to you, setting your drink down on the table.

“What do you have there?” You asked, motioning to the other glass in his hand.

“This is a Poisoned Apple Cider.” He said, sitting beside you with a glass of red and luster-y liquid. “Non-alcoholic, of course! Since I'm the designated Werewolf for the night.”

“Ha-ha-ha.” You chuckled, slapping him on the thigh, then looked at your drink, blinking and smoking, with purple alcohol in a stemless wine glass. “Did you manage to figure out what's in this?” You asked, picking it up.

“Um, yeah.” He nodded, taking a quick drink of his cider. “Vodka, blue curacao, grenadine and Sprite.” He rattled off the list the bartender had given him. “How is it?” He asked, watching you try it.

“It's pretty darn good.” You nodded with approval. “Did you manage food?”

“I ordered something sinister.” He replied, giving you an impish look.

“Oh dear, Cavill. What have you ordered for us?”

Henry leaned in close to you. “Mummy fingers and blood.” He whispered, before letting out an evil laugh.

“What would a Mummy finger count as, beef jerky?” You teased, taking another draw off your curly straw. “Well, I guess that's what I get when I let a werewolf order for me. Nothing, but bones to gnaw.”

At that, Henry let out a deep belly laugh, eyes sparkling in the orange and purple lights hung around the pub. “I keep forgetting you haven't turned yet.”

“You only just bit me, big boy.” You said, rubbing his chest. “These things take time; I know it's your second try after all.”

“Second?” He mumbled around the rim of his glass.

“Well, you did try it with my grandma-ma, and failed.” You deadpanned, stirring the ice in your drink with your straw.

Henry choked on his drink, setting it on the table, and started coughing. Pounding on his chest to try and recover. You gently pat him on the back, concern on your face, until you saw he was all right, feeling bad to a degree.

“My apologies, Wolf. I'll put less silver in my jokes next time.” You grinned, kissing his cheek, as a server made her way over with your plate of appetizers. “Thank you.” You nodded at her and discovered Henry's Mummy's Finger were Mozzarella sticks made to look like Mummy fingers and the blood was marinara sauce. “Oh, these are so cute, and look tasty!” You cooed, picking up the warm stick, smirking at it, before dipping it in the sauce and taking a bite.

“That they do, my love.” Henry agreed, digging in himself. “You got sauce on your lip.” He pointed out to the small spot at the corner, leaning in.

“Don't you dare, lick it off.” You warned him, in a low voice, smirking.

“My mother taught me manners.” He replied, calmly, before kissing the corner of your mouth for a moment, and when he pulled away, the spot was gone.

You let out a shaky breath and shifted in your seat, picked up your drink and took several sips of it, ignoring the straw, then cleared your throat. All the while, Henry smugly ate beside you, like he didn't know what he had done wasn't driving you wild.

“You all done, Little Red?” Henry asked, finishing his cider.

“Yep!” You nodded, wiping your mouth.

“Cool. Let's hit the Market and get some treats.” He said, standing up and waited for you to do the same, dropped a tip on the table, then walked out with you. “Oh, that cool air feels good.” He commented, unzipping his jacket all the way.

“I'm the one that had alcohol, but you're warm.” You giggled, shaking your head at him. “Or is it all that werewolf hair? Do I need to get you to a groomer?”

“Ssh-shh-ut up.” Henry chuckled, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you in against his side. “Let's just get some sweets.” He said, kissing your temple and leading the way into the main thoroughfare of the Market.

Scents greeted your nose, making you moan, as you entered the hustle and bustle. Freshly popped popcorn, warm and sticky, candied apples, hot out of the oven biscuits, the whirl of candy floss machines, spinning all sorts of fluffy, brightly colored clouds. The treats were just too many to account for and every time you turned your head, you found another treat you needed to get your hands on.

Henry's eyes weren't on the confections, they were on you, seeing the lights in your eyes, the wonder and the short circuit of not knowing where to start or what to try first. “How about candy floss?” He suggested, motioning over to the station, where a woman was walking away with a fluffy pink cloud on a stick.

“That sounds good.” You nodded, heading over with him.

“Two, please.” Henry said, digging into his back pocket for his wallet.

Nodding, the vendor filled the machine, and you watched excitedly as the thin webs started to whirlwind out of the holes, filling the basin. You knew it was just heated up sugar, but watching it happen in front of you was so magical. Dipping a stick in, the worker collected the thready goodness into a puffy pillow, then held it out to you.

“Thank you.” You smiled, taking it from him.

Henry paid and took his own, before the two of you moved on, picking contently at your treat and checking everything out. You picked up a bag of different biscuits, shaped like pumpkins, witches and skulls. Henry grabbed a box of delicious and gooey brownies and a pair of candied apples, drizzled with white and milk chocolate, then wrapped in Halloween cellophane.

“What do you have there?” He asked, as you came back to him.

“Cake-pops!” You smiled, holding a cloth tote with a smiling pumpkin on it.

“Nummy.” He cooed, licking his lips.

“But there's one thing.” You said, moving really close to him.

“I'm listening, Red.” Henry replied, seeing a familiar look in your eyes.

“I wanna go home, Wolf.” You whispered, ignoring all the people moving to step around you and Henry. “And have our own trick or treat.”

A smirk twitched at the corners of Henry's lips. “I couldn't think of a more appropriate way to end the night, Red.” He winked, then offered to take your tote of cake-pops.

“Nope, these are mine.” You shook your head. “Last time I trusted you with cake-pops, I got one bite and only saw the sticks to the other ones.”

“You know cake is my weakness.” Henry chuckled, as the pair of you navigated your way back to the car.

“Just like silver.” You quipped, taking out one of the eyeball cake-pops and started nibbling on it.

The drive home had started off light, nibbling on the treats you had bought at the Market, but they were quickly forgotten, as the mood you had only became more infectious. Amplified by the alcohol and sugar in your veins and the mysterious atmosphere of Halloween. Henry was by far just as aroused as you were, having you touch him. But he was frustrated, when you finally got home, since he couldn't touch you like he wanted, having to drive.

He was literally like a werewolf, when the two of you were finally out of the car and in the driveway, abandoning the containers of treats for each other. Henry swiped you up off your feet as soon as the door was open, making you yelp with surprise and giggle, seeing the rabid look in his eyes, even through the contacts. He kicked the door closed and hauled you upstairs, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss along the way. Kal barked at you from the bottom of the stairs but went ignored.

“My, my, what big eyes you have.” You cooed, panting as you broke the kiss, making it to the bedroom.

“All the better to feast on you with.” Henry replied, pushing your jacket off your shoulders and tossing it aside, looking you over in your costume, then growled in his throat. “And feast on you, I will.” He purred, untying your cape and letting it drift to the floor behind you. “There's never been a more beautiful Red Riding Hood.” He said, leaning in to start kissing your shoulder and neck, while his hands moved over your hips and kneaded your sides, then disappeared behind your back, to slowly unhook the back of your dress.

Shivering, your hands found the front of Henry's jeans, impatiently tugging them open and shoving your hand inside of his boxer briefs, finding what you knew as already there. His rock-hard shaft, that you'd stroked into existence on the car ride home. Henry let out a shuttered growl in your ear, feeling your hand wrap around his cock, the tips of his wolf fangs grazing your neck made you gulp and whimper, worried for a moment that he might actually bite down.

“Henry.” You whispered, tipping your head back to look at him, the concern of his fangs in your eyes.

“I should take them out.” He mumbled, blinking a couple times, before tugging them loose and tossing them on his nightstand. “I'll turn you next year.” He smirked, helping you out of your dress.

“Leave the stockings on.”

You giggled. “As you wish, Wolf.” You smirked, kicking out of your shoes. “But you have to keep the rest of your werewolf stuff on.”

“I'm taking these out.” He said, taking out the contacts. “They're starting to make my eyes itch.”

“Fair.” You smiled, then turned and crawled up to the head of the bed. “Come and get me, my Big Bad Wolf.” You beckoned, crooking a finger at him.

Henry let out a loud howl and scrambled out of the rest of his clothing, dashed over the bed and between your stocking-clad legs, playfully snapping at you. You giggled and pretended to be terrified. Henry actually did bite your neck this time, making loud growling noises at the same time. You rubbed your hands over Henry, squeezing his nape and lightly dragging your nails down his back, hissing as one of his rough love bites landed near your throat.

“My, what sharp claws you have.” He rumbled, placing chaste kisses on his artwork of bites on your neck and shoulder.

“All the better to mark you with.” You cooed, turning your head to tug on his earlobe.

“Mmm, Big Bad loves the sound of that.” Henry hummed, turning his head to look at you, the side of his nose lightly touching yours, his eyes giving you a devilish smirk. “I want to go trick or treating.” He said, kissing you and started working his way down.

“Oh, two treats right away.”

Henry's hand cupped one of your breasts, gently kneading, and rubbing his thumb over your hardened nub, sending bolts of pleasure through your body. Mouth closing around your other breast, as your back arched off the bed and eyes fluttered shut with a soft moan. His hot, velvety tongue glided over the little bud of flesh, applying the slightest amount of suction. The pooling heat between your legs only intensified, the more Henry toyed with you. You hooked one of your legs over his waist and rubbed up against him, letting him feel how slick you were.

Getting the hint, Henry moved on, nibbling down between the valley of your breasts, the muscles under your skin dancing as his teeth grazed ticklish spots. He smirked, his face leveling between your legs, nuzzling the inside of your thigh, your leg resting on his shoulder. Licking his lips, he dipped his head, your scent filling his nose, as his tongue flicked out to taste your wet folds. A hum vibrating in his throat and a smirk spread across his lips, your flavor taking over his tastebuds.

“So much better than Halloween candy.” He purred, warm breath wafting over your glistening womanhood.

“Oh yeah.” You moaned, carding your fingers through his hair. “Even cake-pops?” You teased, squeezing his shoulder.

Henry buried his face between your legs again, splitting your folds with his tongue, drawing a surprised gasp out of you, and collected your juices, savoring it for a long moment, slowly nodding as he did. You giggled and melted again, pressing your palm to the headboard and tangling your fingers into the back of his hair. Henry's mouth cupped you, the tip of his tongue circled your clit, drawing maddening designs that had your legs twitching and toes curling in those black, floral stockings. Your chest heaved, as a light sheen of sweat broke out over your body, whimpering at the invasion of Henry's tongue inside your core.

“W-wolf!” You mewled, bucking against his lips, thighs hugging around his head and feeling the burn of his bearded cheeks. “Henry!” You cried out, slamming your palm against the headboard, eyes rolling into the back of your head, feeling your orgasm build.

Your legs grew numb and heavy, while goosebumps formed over your damp and fevered skin. A bubble of moans and whimpers flowed past your slightly parted lips. Henry's mouth worked your pussy greedily, lapping at the heady slick that flooded from you, grunting like a starved man satisfying his appetite. The seedling of your orgasm was almost in full blossom, when Henry came up for air, lips glossy with your juices and spread with a grin.

“No! What are you doing?” You whined, as he moved up your body, instead of finishing his task. “Hen-'' You gasped, his heavy fingers finding your swollen and charged clit, sending an electrical charge, like Zeus's lightning bolt, shooting up your spine.

“So impatient, Little Red.” He husked, watching your face through hooded and stormy-blue eyes. “This Big Bad Wolf wants to savor his meal.” He smirked, a deep laugh rumbling in his flushed chest, sweat drenched curls stamped to his forehead.

His thick digits scissored as they stroked the length of your sleek privates, intentionally avoiding the stimulation you truly wanted, him buried to the root inside of you. Henry sealed his lips over yours, delving his tongue deep into your mouth, filling your senses with the mixed taste of your arousal and his love. All the while, he still fingered you, working you into a whirlwind orgasm that left you dizzy, limp and sighing, softly.

“Beautiful, Little Red.” He cooed, pressing a kiss between your brows and wrapping his arms around you, rolling over until you laid, heavily, on top of him, face nuzzled into his neck.

You laid there with him for a moment, existing in a teeter-totter of euphoria and sleep, the scent of Henry's hot and sweaty skin filling your nose. But you found balance and pushed yourself up, palms pressed to his muscular chest, as you sat and positioned yourself. Rubbing your sticky womanhood on his hard, throbbing length, feeling his growl against your hands. You planted your knees on the bed, to either side of Henry, to steady yourself, then took him in one of your hands, fisting him. Every ridge and vein reacted to your touch, the velvety skin hot, like lava in your palm. Thick and lustrous pearls of come dripped from his tip and over your fingers, acting as a lubricant.

Henry's hands caressed your thighs and tracing the floral pattern of your stockings, while pushing up into your fist. His body glowed, in a warm flush, the werewolf makeup on his face began to lose its definition with each new bead of sweat. Working him for a few moments more, you straightened up and aligned yourself over Henry's dripping tip. Looking directing into Henry's eyes, you sank onto his shaft, sighing softly as it started to fill you. Henry wiggled his hips, helping you adjust to his size and move ever deeper inside of your core, humming softly.

Reaching out, Henry rested his hands on the back of your arms and pulled you down onto his chest, then turned to lay you both on your sides.

“Henry.” You sighed, hooking your leg over his hip and shifting him deeper in you.

He let out a breathy chuckle, nuzzling his face close to yours, to capture your lips in a slow, but sensual kiss. Rocking together, Henry's hand caressed the length of your back and pulling your leg higher, while still kissing you. Your fingers played with his curls, twisting them around your fingers or tugging them straight, only to have the downy strands bounce back to true.

You pressed your chest against Henry's, and felt his pounding heart, its strong rhythm matching your own. As if, a war drum was being played between your bodies. Breaking the kiss, you tucked your head beneath his, clinging onto him, like a second skin. Soft sounds escaped both of you, as the strength of Henry's movements grew stronger, caught in the primal frenzy of his building climax. Hugging yourself tighter against Henry's smoldering body, you rode every thrust he made, moaning sonorously into his chest.

“Babe.” Henry crooned, fingers curling in the hair at your nape, the sensation of your walls constricting around him, driving a shiver up his back, and milking him over the edge, he buried himself deep and took you with him.

Laying there, still linked and catching your breath, you placed soft kisses all over his chest, while stroking the small of his back and he nosed your hair, cradling you close. You tilted your head back, pressing your lips to the underside of his jaw.

“Hey.” You wheezed, staring up at him.

“Hm?” He hummed back, angling his head down to look you in the face, smiling softly and rubbing noses with you.

An impish look crossed your face. “Aahh-wooo!” You giggled, howling loudly.

“I knew I'd turn you!” Henry roared, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tight.

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queenbananya · 1 year

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This week's episode of Vinland saga was deeply heartbreaking.

So far we have seen how terrible slavery is, but only (mostly) in theory. In the way one may look at a neighboring country with serious issues and think, yeah, that sucks.

This episode takes it to a personal level. Sure, we saw Einar's family die at the beginning of the season, but we didn't care for him then. We didn't know him. He was just one of many victims. Like Arnheid. She is first introduced as a mild, nice lady that won't harm a fly, fooling us into thinking her life is perhaps not too bad. And little by little, we're fed pieces of her misery.

Abused by the mistress of the house. Doomed to a life as sex slave, and pregnant with a child of the master. A dead child. A lost family. And yet she smiles through it all. She picks up the little crumbs of joy she can and gives up on her freedom, on her past life. She is able to laugh at last. Until the storm hits, and she's not able to let it pass. Just when she was starting to accept her fate, when she was settling in her life as a slave.

Garnar, her husband, ruined by slavery, shaped into a desperate beast driven by blind revenge finally reunites with her, only to die in her arms as he dreams about the life they can no longer have. And she can't even have that one moment in peace, because she's a slave, and surrounding her are men waiting to take her back to her doom. Her life is no longer hers. Her future snatched right out of her hands.

Just beautifully done. At the beginning of the season I used to think Thorfinn was being too hard on himself. He was just a child after all, when he was out in the war. However, living like this, amongst slaves, experiencing first hand their struggles and regrets, the sheer injustice of the abuse, how could he not blame himself? He, too, ruined lives, broke families apart. Killed indiscriminately and sent people into slavery.

#vinland saga #vinland saga spoilers #thorfinn #arnheid #I feel for him #you're doing great Thorfinn keep up the good work #but seriously this season has surpassed all my expectations of it I thought it would be another action packed vikings #which is not bad I do love a good historical viking #but this??? shit it is done so well #thorfinn is very much just a human #he is no hero #and neither are the people he surrounds himself with #I am looking forward to seeing him grow his own forest of mushrooms #living peacefully with a group of hippy friends that stare at the sky all day and talk about the meaning of cats

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1-800-choke-me · 3 months

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Ivar the bone(r)less core 👀

#to soon #my bad yall #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings #vikings tv

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amberstormblade · 1 month

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Hey! Here's part two for that TMSP fic I wrote earlier! I'll leave a link to part one here in a sec! Enjoy! :3

Edit: Here's Part One!

Ruby’s day had been going quite well! He was feeling a lot better and was finally able to get out of bed. Although he was still a bit achy, getting to just walk around with Vintage made everything worth it. Some of the other members of their little town even joined in, it seemed like only Viking was missing. It wasn’t until Vintage had mentioned that they needed some materials for a build they were working on that things went wrong.

Climbing down through the cactus farm left the little group scrambling to adjust after coming from the late afternoon sun and soon they were all stumbling their way over to the chests lining the wall when Box spoke up.

“Do ya hear that? Mighty strange noises ya got down here.” He looked around as if trying to locate it but not immediately seeing anything.

“What do you mean? I don’t-” Ruby started but they were quickly cut off by Vintage

“It sounds like… crying, almost. It’s faint, but I can definitely hear it.”

Ruby looked at Jay but he just shrugged, unable to hear anything either.

“Yeah! Maybe one of our neighbors is in a bit of trouble! Let’s go check it out.” Without waiting for an answer, Box ran over to the tunnel leading to the clock tower. The rest of them followed after, the sound getting louder as they approached. While the other three were distracted by the massive tower hanging from the ceiling, Ruby’s eyes locked onto something at the bottom of the cavern. The blue and yellow mass was shaking next to a pool at the bottom, tears in his clothes showing that he had most likely fallen down the side of the cavern at some point. He seemed to be weakly gripping his head, fingers tangled in his wild mess of hair, showing that this had been going on for a while.

“Viking!” His name tore itself from her lips as Ruby saw her closest friend fall limp. Jay had to hold her back from practically throwing herself down the pit and instead, they all carefully rushed down the stairs haphazardly carved into the wall. Running over, Ruby collapsed next to Viking, his knees practically giving out as he rushed to make sure he was even still breathing. When that other person had told him to make sure Viking didn’t kill anyone, Ruby never imagined Viking himself would have to be put on that list.

Placing a hand on his forehead, Ruby gasped. “He’s burning up! Ca-can you guys help me get him back to the surface? I don’t think being down here is any good for him. “

Box immediately scooped him up like he was nothing while Jay and Vintage helped Ruby back to his feet. Together, the group made their way to the surface, material collecting forgotten for the moment, and towards Ruby’s house as it was close and didn’t have a bed on the roof. No one really knew why he thought that was a good idea. Box placed him on Ruby’s bed and then took a step back as she sat down next to him. He was pale, dark circles under his eyes making it clear he hadn’t been sleeping well. His eyes were scrunched tight and his breath came out in short pants. It was clear that he wasn’t doing well.

After looking him over, Ruby spoke. “I-I didn’t realize, I mean- He seemed tired yesterday but not like this!? I need-”

Vintage cut them off, “What you need to do is take a deep breath, and know that we’re here to help. What do you need us to do?”

“Okay, okay um- Jay, can you go to Viking’s house and see if he has any extra potions? I kinda burned through all of mine.” Jay nodded and dashed out the door. “Box, can you um-um-um oh! We should make some fresh soup! Can you help gather some ingredients for it! Lots of fresh veggies! And Vintage, you can help me make it! We can start prepping the broth!” Soon, everyone was working, doing their best to help out their fallen neighbor. A cool cloth had been placed on his forehead and the two in the house kept throwing glances at him but he never seemed to change. Box returned first and the soup was well underway when Jay came back.

“Alright, so, I got the potions, actually had to brew up some more because he was running low but, it seems like he’s already taken a lot of them? There were empty bottles all over his house, it’s actually a bit concerning.” Jay gives a nervous laugh, not sure what to do with this information.

Everyone seems to pause at this. If Viking had been using potions to combat whatever this was and they hadn’t worked then that was bad news. Any number of things could be happening to him and even Viking himself might not know what it is. Before anyone could speak, however, a groan suddenly came from the direction of the bed. All heads whipped towards the source as Viking started to shift, hands coming up to clutch his head. He started to violently shake as tears began pouring down his face. He started moving around so much that he almost fell off the bed, only stopped by Box jumping into action. The two were now on the ground with Box holding him up.

“Hey there! Don’t be doing tha-“ Box cut himself off as he got a good look at Viking’s face. “Oh… now that’s- that doesn’t look quite right.” A twinge of concern leaked into his voice. “Eyes don’t normally change quite like that.”

At this point, everyone rushed over to try and see what he was talking about. Viking’s eyes were wide and unseeing, almost as if someone was forcing them open. They kept darting around as if searching for something but never latching on to anything. The most worrying part was the color. His usually yellow eye seemed to almost be flickering, looking a bright green at times while the blue one seemed to have the same color slowly pulsing around the pupil. All the while, he was gripping his head tight enough that they all worried he was going to tear out chunks of his hair.

His eyes caught onto Ruby. They reverted to normal for a split second and then went back to their strange and colorful battle as things seemed to get worse. He started whimpering through gritted teeth and thrashing around as much as he could. It almost looked like he was fighting with himself, and losing. Box had given up on trying to hold him still at this point and was just staring in shock along with the others. Ruby did her best to approach, trying not to get hit by his spastic movements.

“Viking?” their voice shook seeing him like this, but they pushed on. “Hey, I don’t know if you can hear me but I think I know what’s going on? Well, maybe not know but I have a guess? You- you need to sleep Viking, do you understand? Just- it would be for the best if you just went to sleep.” At this, he seemed to panic, frantically trying to put space between himself and Ruby while trying to cover his head. He tried to say something but his voice was still shot, the only noise coming out was a hoarse rasping thing. Upon trying to stand he slipped, slamming his head on a nearby barrel as he fell. “Oh gosh! Is he dead?” Shrieked Jay as Viking landed with a sickening thwack back on the floor. The poor farmer seemed stuck between rushing over to the body and backing away as quickly as possible, keeping him rooted to his spot. Vintage started making her way over to him but stopped when he dazedly sat back up.

He rubbed the back of his head and groaned as he shakily got to his feet, eyes pinched shut. He then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as tiredly opened his eyes. It was then that everyone noticed this was no longer Viking. A green eyed stranger stood in his place, a handful of signs at the ready for any questions that would be thrown at him.

#viking pilot #vikingpilot #rubyco #vintage applesauce #therandombox #jaydraws #I feel bad because I don't think I gave the last three as much screen time as Ruby and Viking but writing multiple characters is hard #Twitch smp #fanfic #I never know how to tag this stuff T^T #Let me know if I need to tag other things or something

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malenamoonlight · 10 months

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Lagertha - 3x01.

#lagertha #katheryn winnick #vikings #m #i miss my baby so bad

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gumnut-logic · 3 months

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Óen (Part 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Thunderbirds Are Go and HTTYD crossover.

Here is the next little bit. There won't likely be a bit tomorrow as I'm working pretty much 12 hours so will likely come home and crash. But I will give writing another go on Friday, hopefully.

Many thanks to the wonderful @onereyofstarlight and @idontknowreallywhy for both the readthroughs and the cheerleading. You guys are so kind to me.

And thank you to Thunderfam for supporting this crazy venture. Thank you for all your comments and support. You guys are amazing to me.

Have a little Scotty and Johnny :D I hope you enjoy.

-o-o-o-

“He’s found us again.”

Flaith Scott O’Treasaigh stared at his brother. “You’re sure?”

“A definite report from the Wind. He was sighted just off the far southern isles. I hold some hope that the peoples there saw his true self and acted accordingly.”

They could only hope. A spear in that’s man’s belly would improve the world.

The thought was an uncouth one, and beneath his station and belief, but considering the curse Gaat had been on their souls, he was almost willing to damn his own if it would protect his family.

Scott ran his fingers through his short beard, resisting the urge to scratch as always. It was necessary to wear the beard in these northern climes. That or have his face freeze off in the air.

John had let his hair grow, well past his shoulders. Scott almost envied the warmth it gave his brother. But he could not grow his own hair that length. Too many bad memories.

Besides, there were other reasons to grow all that red hair. It hid the scars down the side of his brother’s face and Cóic’s scale. It didn’t pay to advertise, after all.

“Cóic’s response?”

“She’s calm. She has confidence in you.”

“And Eos?”

His brother’s lips twisted just a little. “Let’s just say I’m glad our flying gear is fire-proof.”

“Angry?”

“I wouldn’t advise letting her near Gaat should we ever encounter him. I don’t think he’d be fireproof enough.”

“She has reason.” Scott sighed. “We all have reason.”

But that was not the commitment.

“How much time do we have?”

“Some days, a week, perhaps. He is without dragon. He must have learnt from last time. But he does have several ships and an army of mercenaries.”

“We could stay and fight.”

“We are outnumbered and Cóic has no wish to expose our family to war.”

Scott cursed under his breath. There were advantages to having your own militia, but they had left that all behind when they fled their home, choosing the same reasons Cóic was choosing now. The hood wanted Cóic and all their dragons and Scott was unwilling to put innocent lives between the deadly cretin and the great dragon.

But Gaat could not have the Thunderbird. Not while Scott O’Treasaigh lived.

“Do we have a path?”

“Far to the east are the Viking lands. There are many fjords and islands that will help us hide. The distance is barely half that we have already travelled across the great sea, but there is talk of a vast land beyond the fjords that while harsh, may provide safety.”

Scott stared at his dear brother, the aquamarine of his right eye out-shining the dull blindness of his left. Cóic’s iridescent gold scale, embedded in the burn scars at his temple, almost glowing in the dull light as if to make up for all the harm its presence had caused.

“Let me think on it.”

John reached out and clasped Scott’s arm. No words were said, but then none were needed.

Both men startled at a loud thump on the door. It opened slowly and Virgil, followed by Alan, ushered the young Viking into the room.

At least timing might be opportune.

“Ah, Hiccup.” He limped towards the boy. “I’m glad to see you up and about.”

A big black nose pushed open the door wide. The young black fury stepped into the room; green eyes wary as he slunk up beside his rider.

“And Toothless. You are both welcome to our clochán.”

The Viking’s expression was curiosity itself. He dipped his head. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

There was no humility or fear and Scott received the impression that Hiccup was used to speaking with nobility.

Fair enough.

It was obvious this room was where the decisions were made. Despite their sometimes nomad existence, John made a point to remind Scott exactly who he was by decking the meeting hall with drapery from home.

But no matter if his brothers now thought him Flaithri, Scott would never consider himself king while hope remained and he made a point to ignore the ornate chair Virgil insisted they lug across the oceans vast. It was their father’s, not Scott’s and it sat at the head of the hall, ever empty.

Scott preferred the wooden chairs they made from whatever tree they could find locally. Even a cold rock would be better.

He gestured Hiccup over to a table at one side of the room. “Let us sit and share news.” And he didn’t need Virgil’s pointed glare and his leg to know that he needed to sit down before his brother called in Máthair Chriona and she decided to stew him alive for ignoring her advice.

He limped over and sat beside Hiccup.

And no, neither of his brothers left the room. Virgil sat with him and John stood behind as if he was some kind of protective sentinel.

The night fury made a point of sitting beside the young Viking, strategically placing his body directly between Scott and his rider.

Just as defensive as Óen. A glance at John and he found a frown on his brother’s face. And that would be a yes on the same level of defiance to Cóic. No doubt the matriarch had told him to step back but the fury had ignored her.

Interesting.

Hiccup was watching all of them and again, Scott was again struck with the impression that the boy knew nobility. Likely was nobility.

“Virgil says Toothless needs time to rest his wings before you return home. You are welcome to stay with us for that time. I would be interested to hear your tale, get to know a little of you and your people.”

Hiccup straightened. “And I would be very interested to get to know you as well. Your dragons…your night fury. Where did you find him?”

Scott let his shoulders relax. “Óen was my father’s.”

-o-o-o-

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #how to train your dragon #httyd #thunderbirds fanfiction #httyd fanfiction #scott tracy #john tracy #hiccup haddock #crossover #nuttyfic #I did soo much research for this #at least two different languages are here #not including English or Viking #I had to buy dinner because I took too long writing #bad parent and wife

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thevikingwoman · 13 days

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Vanilla gpose challenge #7 - companion

YOL

Her Yol is incredible important to Meryta, and her preferred way to travel. Her parents insistence that she were not allowed to participate in the nadaam, it was a big moment for her to prove herself at Bardam’s Mettle. Her yol is her trusted companion, having developed a deep bond after she first called him.

FFXIV vanilla gpose challenge: #1 job - #2 landscape -#3 NPC - #4 battle -#5 vacation - #6 emote - #7 companion

#ffxivvanilla24 #ffxiv #ffxiv gpose #vanillagpose24 #viking gposes #meryta khatin #that's all of them!#okay I didn’t name him because I’m bad at naming but #he should have one lmao #love big bird

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author-morgan · 11 months

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Title: Pleasures of Politicking Rating: M Pairing: King Ecbert x fem!Reader Summary: Sometimes, you’re the only one King Ecbert desires to see. Can be read as a sequel to The Best Laid Plans. Part one of the planned birthday fics for wifey: @mrsragnarlodbrok. 🎁❤️🍻 Happy Birthday!!!

THE PROBLEM OF the Northern invaders weighs heavily on his mind —and the crown upon his brow is a heavier weight still. Ecbert may only be the King of Wessex, but he shoulders the weight of all England. None of the other petty kings have his strength and will, not even Ælla of Northumbria, for all his pride and bloodlust.

Lesser lords, nobles, and smallfolk alike fill the great hall of Wincestre —all come to voice their concerns and woes. Most are piddling requests to appeal to and stroke Ecbert’s ego. Others have come with calls for justice against supposedly broken oaths, unfaithful spouses, and stolen sheep. It’s dull and tiresome and wears on the king’s patience. He loves his subjects, as all good kings should, but one can only endure so much yapping over insignificant squabbles in the face of the pagans who have come to murder, rape, and plunder riches from Wessex and the entire English countryside.

Ecbert lifts one of his hands from the throne’s armrest and shakes his head, cutting off Ealdorman Wulfstan’s declared grievance against his neighbor and known political rival, Leofric. “I will hear no more today,” he announces —the morning court has worn on his nerves enough as it is.

Whispers of indignation rustle through the hall, even amongst the nobility and gathered clergymen. It is not like the king to end court so soon and after hearing so few of those who have traveled far to reach Wincestre. “All of you” —Ecbert looks over those gathered, anger stirring in his gut— “leave.”

The doors of the great hall open wide, letting people shuffle out and to the courtyard. Æthelwulf stays, lingering after most have cleared —he does not understand the cause for his father’s short temper this morning. He steps to the dais, and Ecbert’s gaze falls upon his son —his only son. “This includes you, Æthelwulf.” There are protests on his son’s tongue and lips, but Æthelwulf quells the extempore thoughts and bows low before leaving too.

You step from the shadows near one of the great stone pillars —gaze lowered in piety. “What of me, my king?”

King Ecbert almost laughs —it’s an absurd question for the one he considers his closest confidant to ask. No, right now, you are the only person he wishes to speak with. The only one who truly understands the inner workings of his mind and heart. “Never you, my dear,” he answers, extending his hand toward you. “Come,” he beckons, motioning to the space beside him on Wessex’s throne. “Sit with me.”

You go to him and take the space at his side. Ecbert swore never to marry another after the death of his wife, but there are times when he wonders if such an oath is worth breaking or if you should both carry on as you do now —as king and fidus Achates. If nothing else, marriage would finally make the bishop and priests’ woeful complaints of his sinful ways out of wedlock null. But even without ceremony, you are the Queen of Wessex in all but name —everyone knows it, and nobody with half a mind would dare say otherwise.

He draws you into his side, arm draped over your shoulders as you both look ahead at the empty hall. “Did you hear?” Ecbert inquires —his hand slipping from your bicep to the nape of your neck. “Ragnar Lothbrok and his band of pagans have left our shores.” The news reached him in the early hours of the morn, and he had not wished to wake you so early for such affairs. Where once there were ten longships anchored on the river, now there are only two and a handful of lingering tents. The scouts watched from the forest for hours, but Ragnar Lothbrok was gone with his dark raven banners and shields.

“So suddenly?” You were there when Ecbert made his offer to Ragnar Lothbrok, not but five days past —an exchange of land for the help of the Northmen in strengthening Wessex. It seems a strange thing that such a fearsome and capable man as Ragnar would tuck tail and run after coming to treat with King Ecbert. You cannot imagine what drove him and his kin back across the sea with so little to show for their travels.

“A smaller party remains,” he tells you —twisting a lock of hair around his ring finger and tugging on it every so lightly, just enough for you solely focus on him. “Though, it does raise the question of what is to be done.” He’s thought of summoning the most senior of those left to treat with, but that will only serve to anger the lords and residents of Wessex even more.

“We cannot trust these Northmen.” It’s obvious, of course. In truth, it is likely foolish to put any trust in Ragnar —or any pagan. An oath not sworn to the Father or on the Holy Book is hardly an oath at all. Ecbert smiles and nods his agreement. “Nor should we entertain their presence and whims.” Their supplies are not endless. Soon they will turn their gaze to villages and towns to plunder. Such behaviors cannot be tolerated.

“No,” Ecbert concurs. “That is why I am sending Cuthberht and a score of men to remedy this.” To either drive them back across the sea or slaughter them. He hopes it will be the latter. A slaughter will be cleaner —no loose ends. You nod. It is a sound choice, an easy one too.

Still, even with one encampment eliminated, more will return —of this, you are certain, and so is Ecbert. There has been no peace since the first raid on the monastery at Lindisfarne, and now their gaze has turned southward. But England will not be able to fend off the Northern invaders if every petty king is at each other’s throats as they are now. With Northumbria, Mercia, East Anglia, and Wessex divided, England will have no choice but to fall into ruin. “England must be better prepared for the future when Ragnar and other Northmen return,” you advise.

“Yet we cannot unite amongst ourselves,” he sighs, reaching for your hand, thumb running over your knuckles —and the bare spot on your finger where he’s considered putting a ring too many times to count. Perhaps that should be his ambition —to become the King of all England and finally crown you as his queen. Ecbert lifts your hand and presses a lingering kiss on your knuckles.

You twist your hand in his grasp, threading your fingers with his, and fall silent as you ponder what can be done, what should be done. “If you could bring Mercia under heel and yoke.” It is not the first time you have considered such measures, but it is the first time you have spake of them to Ecbert.

He shifts on the throne. His curiosity piqued by the proposition, and his hand slips from yours and to your thigh, fingertips pressing into your flesh through the linen and silk of your dress. Ecbert always enjoys listening to your ploys. Often, they are taken to heart and implemented too. If you’ve a plan to unite England, he will hear it. “How would I do that, my dear?” He asks, brow raised. “Since Offa’s death, there are no less than a dozen claims to the Mercian throne.” Mercia would sooner tear itself apart than cooperate —a large host of Northmen may even be able to take the kingdom for themselves and instill Dane Law.

“Ælla.” Ecbert smiles at the mention of the boisterous King of Northumbria. Mercia lies between Wessex and Northumbria. The two kingdoms could serve as pincers and bring the unruly lords of Mercia to heel. “Ally with King Ælla,” you tell him, reaching for the golden pendant set with a polished black onyx resting on his chest, “and quash this petty rivalry among kinsmen.”

The King of Wessex goes quiet, a hand stroking over his beard while he thinks over everything you’ve said and what he’s long been considering. “Split the kingdom?” He proposes. A fair bid to share the land of Mercia, so long as it's divvied equally.

“Or install a puppet ruler,” you supplement, tugging on the pendant to draw him nearer.

Ecbert shifts again, and this time he gathers you in his arms, pulling you across his lap. The smile beneath his golden and silver-speckled whiskers twinkles in his steel-grey eyes —as do the golden flames of the candles burning in their wrought iron candelabras. “Sometimes I believe you are crueler than even I am,” he muses, one hand squeezing your waist, the other cradling your cheek. It is not the first time your advice has led to bloodshed. “And then I thank God you whisper in mine own ear and not another lord or king’s.”

You smile for him, reaching to comb your fingers through his beard, and he leans toward you, closing the distance. His lips are on yours before either of you can think further about the consequences should someone decide to barge into the great hall and see such sinful deeds. You answer his kiss, slowly at first, then with more fervor when you settle your hands on either side of his neck, drawing yourself closer.

Parting, you press your forehead against his and meet his heated stare. “Surely you have already considered such things, though.” You refuse to believe this is the first time he’s considered such actions.

“Perhaps,” he professes —one of his hands slides over your long skirt and then under it, his fingers running over your ankles and calves —masked from his touch by wool stocking— and finally to your knees and thighs, bare and warm. His palm is hot, resting against your inner thigh, his thumb rubbing distracting circles. “I do so love to hear you speak of politics,” he admits, his voice suddenly rough with want.

You shiver under his touch and burning gaze. “Ecbert,” you chide, doing your best to keep a stern tone and countenance —you cannot deny your desire for him, but here of all places to commit such sacrilege? You’ll not be able to look upon the throne of Wessex the same afterward. Ecbert cares little, though. He is king, and he would gladly take you at the foot of a church altar were you willing.

He knows how to play you like the court bard does his lute, and he kisses you again, but this time he catches your bottom lips between his teeth and gives a light tug, pulling a muffled cry from your throat. A final detrimental crack in your resolve, and then the tips of his fingertips stray farther, brushing against the damp folds of your cunt, and you shatter completely, caving into him. Ecbert makes a strangled noise of approval upon finding you so ready and willing for him.

Resignation passes over your expression, alas, and Ecbert’s lips twitch upward —another victory, even if it is small compared to winning a battle or kingdom. A gasp and weak moan escape your lips as the pad of his thumb circles around your clit, his other fingers slipping through your slick folds —teasing. “Shh, my dear.” He hushes you with his mouth as he strokes his fingers through your heat, feeling your muscles tense and flutter and his cock twitch —already straining against the ties of his britches. Ecbert nuzzles his face into your neck —lips dragging over your pulse, the beard on his jaw scraping against your skin. He’ll see you come undone by his own hand before taking his fill.

Nimble fingers fill you without warning, first one, then two. He bites his lower lip, twisting and scissoring his fingers deeper inside you, making you squirm, then repeats the same motion —this time slower, ensuring you feel the torturous drag of his knuckles. You can’t help but softly moan as Ecbert curls his fingers inside you, sweeping repeatedly over just the right spot for your vision to blur and your limbs to tremble. Ecbert watches your face twist and the warmth rise to your cheeks, his name a hushed whisper on your lips.

He curls his fingers again —moving faster— his thumb pressed tight against your clit as you rock your hips, trying to increase the friction. “Ecbert!” You plead, a little louder and breathier than before. The coil in your stomach tightens, and when you gasp aloud, he presses his mouth to yours, swallowing the noise as a man starved does a warm meal.

But his impatience wins over —he needs to be sheathed within your warmth— and Ecbert withdraws his fingers, letting you up. He fumbles with the laces of britches once your rise, just enough to free his cock, and you quickly ruck up the skirts of your dress and straddle him fully. He’s so hard and warm beneath you, cock twitching —aching— all for you. Ecbert’s cheeks are flushed in the summer air, fighting to keep his regal and temperate composure. But you hold an obscene amount of power over him —even without sitting astride his lap with a hand lazily stroking his cock, guiding him into your cunt.

Ecbert helps lower you onto him, grabbing handfuls of your thighs and bottom, and as you sink onto his cock, you clutch at his back, nails digging into the rich-blue fabric covering his shoulder blades. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, groaning as he slowly slips into you, inch-by-inch, letting you reacquaint yourself with every vein and ridge of his cock dragging along the walls of your cunt. When your hips meet, you both still —a moment to adjust. But then he rocks his hips against yours, urging you to move too. His thrusts soon meet yours, hips rising from the throne. You squirm atop him, the head of his cock striking that place deep inside you with every roll of his hips.

The coil in your stomach tightens again, and this time you’ll have your end —you can feel it build inside you like a million sparks racing through your veins. “Ecbert,” you whimper, the fire in your core burning brighter, stomach fluttering with each husky grunt rumbling through his chest. He lays his lips on your neck, and you know he’ll leave more than just a small mark there —you’ll have to conceal it at mass so as to not draw more scrutiny from the bishop. Sighing into him, you direct one of his hands to your clothed breast, silently begging him to touch you there. He obliges a merciful king, indeed.

You balance yourself better with a hand on his shoulder, sliding your other hand between your bodies, but Ecbert pushes your hand aside, replacing it with his own. He tussles around, moving your skirts out of the way, and presses the pads of his fingertips against your clit, rubbing tight circles. The friction draws a long, drawn-out moan from your parted lips that you do your best to muffle against his neck as you cling to him.

The falter of your pace causes you both to fall out of rhythm, but it doesn’t matter. Not with how your cunt is clenching around his cock with each thrust. Ecbert makes a noise, halfway between a grunt and moan when your fingers twine into his gold-silver hair, tugging lightly at the roots, then your name spills like a prayer over his lips, and you can’t help it —between the smooth grind of your hips and the little whimpers and groans betraying both your lips— you press your mouth to Ecbert’s, feel the warmth of his tongue against yours. He relinquishes beneath you, giving himself over wholly in a surge of heat.

Ecbert ruts up into you thrice over, fingers still rubbing at your clit until it's too much. The warmth of his release, the friction, the tightness in your gut. Your head lolls back, eyes closed, and lips parted, and only when you are descending does he pull his hand from between your bodies. He wraps his arms around you, drawing you flush against him. You rest your head against his shoulder, labored breathing slowing in unison with your beloved king’s.

He presses his cheek against the crown of your head —all the annoyance and ire he felt earlier during court is gone. Perhaps he will be more amicable now should he invite the leeches and lepers back into the great hall to continue the morning’s affairs. He’ll have to reconvene at some point anyways.

But his thoughts stray from duty to desire again —though there is no reason why those cannot be one and the same given some circumstances. Ecbert runs his hand up your back, under a veil of hair, and comes to rest on the side of your neck, his thumb stroking the edge of your jaw and cheek affectionately. You lift your gaze to meet his, smiling lazily, but his expression is one of curious intent. “How would like to become Queen of Wessex?” Ecbert queries.

All you can do is kiss him —and it is both an answer and a promise.

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