#tlk fanfiction

[aemondsbabe]

Love is Patient and Kind

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

pairing: osferth x f!reader

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

word count: 2.5k

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

12 days of smuff masterlist

gif creds to @thecruel!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That we are.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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#osferth #osferth x reader #osferth x you #osferth smut #osferth fanfic #osferth fic #osferth fanfiction #the last kingdom #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fanfiction #the last kingdom fic #the last kingdom smut #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #tlk fic #tlk smut #tlk #12 days of smuff #my writing #ewan mitchell #ewanverse #ewan nation

[arcielee]

Insatiable

Summary: Osferth finally has a moment with the barmaid he has been pining for. Paring: Osferth x Plus Size Reader Word Count: 1575 Warnings: AFAB Reader, kissing, titty sucking, grinding, pre ejaculation because baby monk is thrumming with life being tucked between your thighs, implied sexual themes. Author's Note: This was requested by the lovely, the wonderful @helaelaemond 💜 I hope this does justice to your request. Thank you @aemondsbabe for being my beloved beta reader for this hot mess I wrote at 1 in the morning and thank you @myfandomprompts for the title! 🥰 Dividers by @saradika

They prefer your tavern and its reputation, your wit and your hired help–always the loveliest of girls you gave sanctuary too. In return, you enjoyed both their coin and their company, which was something all encompassing whenever they would enter your establishment.

On this night, it was the tittering of your barmaids that alerts you before the bawdy Irishman announces their arrival. He fills the door frame, his dark eyes settling onto you and you returning his cheeky grin. 

“Lord Uhtred and his pretty boys,” you greet and he guffaws. You begin to pull empty tankards from the shelves behind. “To what do we owe the honor?” 

Finan pushes up towards the bar, his teeth bright beneath his dark beard. “My lady, tonight we are celebrating!” 

“What are we celebrating?” You fill up a mug and pass it over to his wide grasp. 

He begins to gulp it down, ale spilling the corners of his mouth before setting it down, his smile roguish when he says: “First bloodshed.” 

Osferth had slain the great Dane, Sigefrid Thurgilson, and its tale was already webbing throughout the cities that settled along the river bank of the Temes, rising from the ashes of Beamfleot. 

Your brow raises with your surprise. The warrior monk was a recent addition to the motley swart of men that shadowed Lord Uhtred’s steps. Osferth was a solemn addition, tall and lean, with piercing blue eyes that would cut through the crowd, searching for you whenever they visited. 

You could not help but favor him out of all the men that served Lord Uhtred. He was handsome with his sharp features, but you noticed how they softened with your voice whenever you spoke with him. You relish his reaction, the soft pink hues that stained his cheeks, his soft timbre to answer you, and you actually began to mourn him, assuming his inevitable demise at the end of a blade. 

But instead, Osferth showed himself to be so much more. 

The wooden walls begin to vibrate with the jubilation of surviving another day as the locals pour through the doors, adding to the cheers of their heroism. Lord Uhtred and his men preen under the attention, always adoring your pretty help, your girls flutter throughout to refill mugs or fall into an empty lap. 

You were watching, sipping at your own cup, dressed to complement your curves, the low neckline of your blouse to draw the eye to your heavy bust, aglow with the umpteenth retelling of baby monk’s bravery. Only then did you notice that Finan was trying to call your attention. 

“Please,” his lilt was thick as he began to beg, his ruddy cheeks burning and his dark eyes finally pulling away from your cleavage to meet with your own. “Osferth has been so hopelessly besotted with you. I was thinking you should give him a kiss to congratulate that he is now truly a man.” 

His words, partnered with the ale, warm your blood with the realization, flushing your cheeks and your cleavage. It propels your feet forward, pushing through the crowd towards Osferth, whose eyes were already trained to you. They widen, bright and beautiful and blue, to drink in the sight when you lean over, his skin prickling with your whisper to his ear, “Come with me,” and he is quick to stand and follow after you. 

The cheers of his comrades are drowned out with the call for another round, and you leave it to your help to tend and to fawn over the rest of the men as you pull Osferth away.  

The oak door shuts out the noise and you look back to see his lithe frame leaning against the wood. In the intimacy of the room, you could smell the musk of the battle won, lining his angular features, his sandy locks disheveled with the uneven new growth of his old religious style. 

You reach for his hand, pulling him towards the bed, and he follows, towering over you, watching as your hands pull at the collar of his alb; he helps you peel it off, showing the pale planes of his chest beneath.

Even as he sinks to sit on the edge of the bed, he is still so very tall, and you blush, turning to grab a clean cloth from the basin, coming back to touch his jaw and to wipe away the ash smeared across his face. 

Osferth hums with your touch, leaning into your palm, and your blood thickens beneath your skin with his close proximity. Your eyes watch the rise and fall of his chest as he tries to steady his breath, and when he finally looks back up at you, you can see the lustful black swallowing the cerulean coloring of his eyes; they wash over you, drinking in your curves, and a bashfulness stricken your bones with his heady gaze.  

You take a step back to return the cloth, and only then does Osferth dare to push up, towering over you. His large palm catches your elbow and pulls you back towards him. “May I–?” but his question stops on his tongue, your hands already moving to pull him close enough to kiss. 

The taste of ale is present, but not overwhelming, his mouth pleasantly warm and his lips soft to press against your own. You melt against his chest and a soft sigh escapes, allowing his clever tongue to curl, to deepen the kiss and find its tandem with your own. His large hands move, respectful but appreciative of the tactile nature of your figure, touching your soft waist, moving to settle on your hips with a firm hold as he continues to draw the very breath from your lungs. 

You break away for air, for who knew he would kiss like a man starved? You see his lips still pursed, kiss swollen, the hue now darkening to a red stain on his cheeks and on the tip of his nose. 

“Forgive me,” he says after a movement with the same sweet diction you were always fond of, and he grows shy with his admittance, “but I have thought often of how you would taste and I now find myself insatiable.” 

You close the space between, finding his mouth once again, and his palms roam, his stance staggering as he follows the pull backwards, until you both fall onto the bed. 

His arms cage you against the mattress and he dips forward for another desperate kiss; your blouse laces are pulled to allow the natural slope of your breasts, your hands rutting your skirt up so he can slot his slender waist between your plush thighs. You softly whine with the pressure of his length against your clothed cunt, and his deft fingers travel to remove your smallclothes. Osferth then pulls back with a pause, a moment of admiration with the enticing way of how you now spill from your clothes. 

You burn under his gaze, your fingers bold to loosen his ties, his length straining against the crotch of his slacks, now flush and upright towards his bellybutton. Osferth melts against you with his soft groan, your own soft sighs echoing with the delicious pressure of him against your slick folds. Your fingertips move to dig into the divots of his lower back, pulling him to rock against you with the genial glide of the underside of his cock against your warmth, rubbing your clit, and a pleasure begins to lick at the base of your spine. 

He is lost in the rhythm, the now crimson flush spilling from his face to his neck to his chest, panting and trembling against you; his eyes search for your face and you pull him in for another quick kiss. Osferth groans into your mouth, breaking away to return his attention to the tops of your breasts, his hot mouth leaving blooms of color as he suckles and savors every bit of your skin now showing. 

You squirm beneath him, your soft moans spurring his motion, and his brows knit with a focus on your pleasure, your sweet sounds, but it shatters so easily with your breathless whisper of his name that tickles his ear, “Oh, Osferth…” 

With a strangled cry, you can feel the hot pulse of his spend between your thighs. You tighten them around his waist, supporting him as he lowers his weight on top of you. “Forgive me,” he is panting against your flush skin, the ripple of gooseflesh in the wake of his exhale. “Forgive me, my lady, it is no excuse but I…have been thinking about this, about you, for so long…” 

You press a finger against his lips and Osferth is quick to kiss the pad. You smile with his gesture, your hand moving to curl the back of his neck, bringing his lips to your own for another sweet kiss. “Would you like to make it up to me?” Your voice is sultry, velvet, and you can feel the twitch of his cock in response.

His eyes are soulful and wide, with the returning blue a stark contrast to the flush of red that remains on his face. “More than anything,” he vows, “I will spend all night right here, if you wish it.” 

And you kiss him again, unable to help the giggle that spills from your lips. “I wish it,” you whisper and you can feel his smile in return. 

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch

#osferth x you #osferth x reader #osferth x plus size reader #plus size reader #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #insatiable

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Cross to Bear

Summary: A certain monk catches the attention of a woman that Uhtred and his men are gracious enough to rescue. Based on this request. Warnings: Brief mentions of cancer, illness, death, abuse and alcoholism. Slight angst. Eventual smut. Word count: ~3.4k

She is sixteen when her mother passes away from the lump in her breast. She cannot grieve. There is no one left to shield her or her younger sister from the beatings that their father is eager to dish out each evening when he stumbles home from the tavern, drunk and stinking of ale. They make the decision to leave, taking their chances out in the world.

The life of a vagrant is hard, but the exhilaration that is found in freedom is simply unmatched. On bad days, she is forced to share her body with strange men in exchange for coin to ensure her and her sister have enough to eat. On good days, they pick wildflowers in the warmth of the sunshine, and at night tell stories as they cuddle up together beneath the stars. They never remain in a single place for long, always moving, always searching for somewhere to call home.

She is eighteen when her sister develops a fever. She soaks rags in a stream to cool the scorching heat of her skin, allows her to drain their waterskin dry without complaint, and rubs her back as the persistent coughing denies her sleep. Within three days her sister is too weak to travel any further. They have been sheltering in dense woodland and are at least a day’s walk from the nearest town, so she cannot go to get help, she cannot risk leaving her alone in the open for so long. She has no choice but to sit and watch her deteriorate, providing what little comfort she can. By the next morning she is gone.

Upon waking to the feel of her sister cold beside her, she finally allows herself to weep. The ache in her chest that she has held at bay for the last two years finally breaches forth, blooming painfully through the expanse of her heart. She cries for the loss of her mother, for the loss of the only friend she had in her sibling and for how utterly lost she feels. Long after her tears have subsided she remains hunched over the body, consumed by her grief.

“If it is fever you must burn the body.”

She has no idea how much time has passed as she has laid there mourning, but the voice startles her out of her stupor and she looks up to see four men on horseback looming over her. She hadn’t even heard them approach.

They look to be mercenaries, all of them wear light armor and carry swords. The man that has addressed her has long dark hair and is brutish looking. One of his travel companions is bearded and surly, while another has a half shaved head; the Mjölnir around his neck indicates he is a Pagan. Ordinarily, she would be fearful in the face of such intimidating looking men, and assume they mean her harm, however, there is something about the fourth man that eases her mind and assures her she is in no danger. He has soft blue eyes and a kind face that wears an expression that suggests he is more afraid of her than she is of him.

“I-I cannot. I am alone.” She confesses, her voice hoarse from her earlier sobs.

“Then you will allow us to help you.” The long haired man insists, climbing down from his horse.

She learns their names are Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric and Osferth. They carry her sister’s body to a clearing and she stands solemnly, numbness settling over her, as she watches it burn.

“Who was she to you?” Finan enquires gently.

“My sister, my only friend, all that I had left.” She doesn’t attempt to hide her despair, she does not have the strength.

“We should say a prayer.” Osferth offers, his voice soft and full of sympathy.

She has never been particularly religious. What kind of a God would allow her to endure all she has been through and think it just? But she finds comfort in his orison, joining in with the “amen” that he finishes with.

“What will you do now?” Finan asks her.

“Truly, I do not know. I have nowhere to go and no one to go with.”

“You can join us.” Uhtred steps forward, eyeing the rest of the group as they all nod their affirmation.

“I have nothing to offer you.” She says, her cheeks flush with shame.

“Neither do we.” Quips Sihtric with a wry smile.

“Then it’s settled.” Finan decides, clapping Osferth on the back. “Baby Monk, she rides with you, you’re scrawny enough that your horse can carry both of you without any trouble.”

When Osferth discovers that she has never ridden on horseback before, he suggests that she rides up front with him behind her, so he can ensure she doesn’t slip off.

He helps her into the saddle and then climbs on after her. Her heart hammers in her chest as he puts his arms around her waist to take hold of the reins. She can feel his leather breastplate pressed against her back. Being in such close proximity to him causes her breathing to quicken and she stays rigid as they set off at a leisurely trot, afraid that he may feel the reaction she is having to him.

“My lady, please relax, or this will be an uncomfortable journey for you.” He tells her, though his voice is hesitant with shyness.

She blushes scarlet with embarrassment, mortified that he has noticed her unease. She does as he says though, settling back against him. His presence is calming, the warmth of him against her coupled with the gentle undulation from the horse soothes her.

A few moments pass in silence before Osferth speaks. “What happened to you?”

“It is a long story.” She sighs.

“It is a long journey.” He counters. She can hear the faintest of smiles in his voice.

She tells him of her mother, her father, of her and her sister leaving home and all they had endured on their travels. She recounts her sister’s fever, of watching her fade, everything up to the point that she had met him.

He listens, allowing her to speak without interruption. When she finishes he is quiet for a moment longer.

“I am sorry for your loss, my lady. I pray better days may find you.” He says eventually.

She sighs, eager to focus the attention on anything other than herself. “And what of you? Do you have a family?”

“There is not much to tell.” He admits. “I was a monk. Now I serve Lord Uhtred.”

She detects a sadness in his tone, there is definitely more to his story, but she dares not press him further as he is clearly uncomfortable speaking of it. She feels foolish for allowing herself to entertain her attraction to him; of course he is a man of God, he’d never be interested in her.

They ride on wordlessly, eventually coming to a stop once the sun begins to set. They set up camp and she is touched by the effort that the four men go to to ensure she has the shelter of a tent and a bedroll to sleep on.

However, she feels too confined as she lays under the canopy, so used to being able to stare up at the night sky, pointing out each of the stars with her sister. She misses her.

Dragging her bedroll out into the open, she places it close to the dying embers of their fire and lays down.

“My lady, what are you doing?” She hears Osferth whisper in the darkness.

“I am not used to not being able to see the sky.” She responds.

When he says nothing, she allows herself to drift off to sleep, feeling the safest she ever has.

Her eyes flutter open as dawn breaks and she is immediately met by the sight of Osferth seated by the burned out fire pit, looking exhausted.

She pulls herself up slightly, rubbing her eyes. “Osferth? You are an early riser.”

He smiles uncomfortably. “Truthfully, my lady, I have not been to bed.”

“Why not?”

“I did not wish to leave you out here by yourself, it’s not safe. I watched over you while you slept.”

Her heart flutters at his admission, an involuntary smile spreading its way across her features, which he returns with a genuine one of his own.

As the weeks pass, she and Osferth become comfortable travel companions. She spends her days leaning into his chest as they travel by horse. They share a waterskin, their fingers brushing ever so lightly as they pass it back and forth. She is unable to help the tingles that dance across her skin at each of his touches. 

Their evenings are spent sitting around a fire, their knees grazing as they sit side by side, exchanging shy smiles and stories. He gives up the use of his tent, laying his bedroll out in the open too - a means for him to rest, but also ensure she is kept safe.

The first time that the group shares ale together, dread gnaws at her stomach. She has witnessed the effects that it had on her father, and does not know how she will cope with that when up against four men instead of just one. To her surprise and delight the mood becomes lighter and jovial as the amber liquid is passed around. She happily accepts and drinks her fill when Osferth passes it to her. He laughs when she grimaces at the taste.

She knows she is falling for him and there is nothing she can do to stop it. She is certain he feels the same way though, there can be no other explanation for how he looks at her, how he treats her.

That is until they stop for a few days in a town. She hurriedly follows Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric, as Osferth rushes over to them, pleading for help.

“He’s mine!”

“No, he’s mine, you bitch!”

“Filthy whore!”

She watches in shock as the two women exchange insults, slapping at each other, until Finan and Uhtred eventually pry them apart.

He has fucked both of these women. Both of them.

“Why do they fight over you?” Uhtred asks Osferth, holding back a red haired woman, who struggles wildly against him.

“I-I’ve no idea, Lord!” He stammers, before swiftly walking away.

But she knows why, and her heart sinks. She turns away, blinking back tears as she chastises herself for being so foolish. She had misinterpreted his friendliness for romantic interest and is now left feeling hurt as a result of her own delusions.

She swipes angrily at her eyes, swearing to herself that she will pull away from him after this, no longer allowing herself to entertain the girlish fantasy that they could ever be more than friends.

His behavior towards her goes unchanged though. He still holds her close as they share a saddle, still allows his fingers to linger against her own whenever they share water or ale, he sleeps outside each night with her, though always on separate bed rolls kept a respectable distance apart. It eats away at her, makes her ache, to endure such closeness and know it will never be anything more. Yet she endures it, knowing the only alternative is to return to a life alone.

It is a warm afternoon as she stands knee deep in the river, bathing. The water is refreshing against her bare skin and, for a moment, her troubles seem far away, running off of her in much the same way that the rivulets of moisture slide down her body.

She turns and catches sight of Osferth on the edge of the treeline, watching her. She has no idea how long he has been standing there for, but he freezes when he sees he has been caught.

While she is a novice when it comes to matters of the heart, she is certain the look in his eye is one of desire. Deciding to be bold, she steps out of the water and back onto the bank, not bothering to retrieve her discarded clothing. If her feelings truly were requited then this was the best way to find out.

She walks towards him, closing the gap between them. She can see his breathing is unsteady as he takes in the sight of her, he is trembling slightly. Leaning up on tiptoes, she presses the lightest of kisses to his lips, and her heart swells as, for the briefest of moments, he reciprocates.

As quickly as his lips meet hers, he is jerking away. “No, my Lady!”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Backing quickly away from him, the familiar sting of rejection piercing her heart once more, she grabs her clothes and runs from him, before he has the chance to say anything else. Tears stream freely down her cheeks, this time she does not try to wipe them away. This is the second time she has allowed herself to be drawn in by Osferth, only to endure heartache.

He has now made it perfectly clear that he’s not interested in her and she decides it is in her best interests to pull away from him entirely.

She forces herself to sleep inside her tent, becoming used to textile above her head, instead of the glittering stars. She sits as far from him as possible at every opportunity. There are no more shared waterskins, their knees no longer touch. If the rest of the group notice the shift in dynamic then they choose not to say anything. She rides with Sihtric, sitting snugly behind him in his saddle, ignoring the pleading looks of sadness from Osferth each day when she climbs onto another man’s horse and not his.

He is just missing her companionship, she decides, he will get over it when they arrive at the next town and he finds another woman to warm his bed. She hardens her heart, allows her sadness to devolve into anger and continues to keep him at arm’s length.

The day they arrive in Coccham, they spend the day at an alehouse. Uhtred has managed to acquire the only two available rooms upstairs for the evening, so they will have the luxury of sleeping in an actual bed for tonight. She is almost giddy with excitement at the prospect.

When they have drunk their fill, they head up the rickety wooden staircase. Sihtric and Finan file into one room, with Uhtred following close behind. He stops in the doorway, turning to her and Osferth.

“Looks like this room is full now. The pair of you can share that one.” He nods towards the door opposite, before closing his own.

Her face blanches. Bastard. He has done this on purpose.

She sighs, pushing past Osferth and stalking into the room. A small double bed takes up most of the space in the narrow confines.

“Oh, fucking perfect.” She spits, rolling her eyes.

Osferth offers an apologetic smile. “I can sleep on the floor, my Lady, I don’t mind.”

She rounds on him, her anger flaring. “I’m surprised you haven’t found another whore’s bed to share for the evening!”

His eyes widen in shock. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You fucked those other women, Osferth!” She shouts, and before she can stop it, her voice is cracking as the dam bursts and she starts to cry. “You’ll put your cock into anyone but me it seems…”

His face softens and he moves to comfort her, but she is quick to push him away. “What’s so wrong with me?!”

He looks guiltily at her. “There is nothing wrong with you, my Lady, I think you’re beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen actually…”

“But you rejected me! When I tried to kiss you, you rejected me.”

He shakes his head, closing the gap between them and gently grabbing her by the shoulders. This time she doesn’t push him away. “You didn’t give me time to speak.” He explains, looking into her eyes with sincerity. “I wasn’t rejecting you. You deserve better than to be humped against a tree. If you’re to be my woman then I want our first time together to be special.”

She sniffles, her tears subsiding, replaced by confusion. “Your woman? If that is what you wanted then why did you lay with those other women in the last town?”

He sighs, averting his gaze, shame etched across his angular features. “That is not something I’m proud of, my lady. I have wanted you for so long, and been so pent up, I needed a release. I never told you of my feelings because I didn’t think I stood a chance. You are so wonderful and I-I am Osferth. I am simply Osferth.”

Her heart beats wildly against her ribs as she listens to him, staring up at him doe-eyed, unable to resist the grin that tugs at the corners of her mouth. 

“Yes, you are Osferth.” She whispers, leaning up towards him.

When their lips meet he does not pull away. He wraps his arms around her, his mouth moves hungrily against hers in a kiss that is full of need and desperation. They pull at each other’s clothing, months’ worth of built up longing propelling their movements.

When they are both finally naked, Osferth guides her to lay back on the bend and she drinks in the sight of him appreciatively. While he is tall and slender, he is not as skinny as she’d expected him to be, well developed muscles add a broadness to his chest and shoulders. His erection sits hard, thick and heavy at the apex of his slim thighs and she bites back a moan at the sight of it, arousal pooling hot between her legs.

“You really are beautiful.” He murmurs, his gaze flickering over her form as she lays beneath him. “Will you let me show you just how much I desire you, my Lady? I wish for there to be no doubt in your mind.”

She nods, biting her lip in anticipation, waiting to see what he will do.

His hands trace over every curve of her as moves slowly backwards down the bed, stopping once his face is level with her cunt. Spreading her thighs he inhales sharply at the sight of just how wet she is for him.

There is no preamble, and she gasps, arching her back when she feels the flat of his tongue move through her folds.

He whimpers softly at the taste of her, the sound vibrating through her core, his grip on her thighs tightening as laps greedily at her, occasionally dragging the tip to her pearl, causing her legs to tremble.

She cants her hips against his face, noticing how he ruts against the bed as he devours her, his moans of pleasure intermingle with hers and the sloppy sounds of his lips and tongue moving in earnest against her centre. 

As he sucks harshly against the apex of her sex she begins to feel the pressure of her climax building deep within her, her breaths becoming short and shallow. Osferth’s grip on her is almost bruising as the movement of his thrusts against the bed speed up.

With a final swirl against her bud, she falls apart against his mouth, clenching and writhing as he keeps his mouth firmly against her as she cries out in ecstasy, white hot sparks of pleasure rendering her boneless and light headed.

She closes her thighs around his head as he emits a guttural groan against her oversensitive cunny, his own pelvis stuttering against the mattress. 

He appears dazed as he finally looks up at her, eyes hazy and chin shiny with her slick. She is certain she must look similarly bedraggled with how hard he has caused her to peak.

“We may have to wait a moment before we do anything else.” He confesses sheepishly, sitting up and looking down at the blankets where he’d been laying. 

Her gaze follows his line of sight and she sees the mess he has made, a large patch of the bed now sticky with his release.

“You’re lucky we have the whole night then.” She giggles.

He moves to lay beside her, pulling her against him. “Yes, very lucky.”

#osferth #the last kingdom #tlk #osferth x reader #osferth smut #osferth angst #osferth fan fiction #osferth fanfiction #osferth fanfic #osferth fan fic #the last kingdom fan fiction #the last kingdom fanfic #tlk fan fiction #tlk fanfic #the last kingdom fanfiction #the last kingdom fan fic #tlk fan fic #tlk fanfiction #tlk smut #tlk angst #the last kingdom smut #the last kingdom angst

[darlingofvalyria]

An abandoned church made most of broken wood and whimpering winds becomes a momentary resting sanctuary for Uhtred and his men— Osferth finds himself with a crooked root in the shape of a hand, a gold ring, and a full, blue moon.

╰┈➤ PROMPTS ❝ COCK WORSHIP, ORGASM DENIAL ❞

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 2,830 ] [ masterlist ] | Osferth x Ghost Bride!Reader

contains— smut, fluff, angsty-ish - corpse bride!au - this is not the N word okay, you're a ghostly being that becomes corporeal. it's monsterfucking, not that kind of filth - no use of y/n - mentions of christianity lol - dillusioned!reader (if you know the movie, you know) - mention of character death - nsfw: sort of dubcon, smidge coercion, cock worship, orgasm denial(?) - no betas.

a/n— ok, but i am actually very proud of this one!! i enjoyed writing this way too much, adding a bit of comedy aspect to it shdhs. i hope you enjoy it!! oh, also this is the vibe you want if you wanna listen. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

His pack rests behind him, the couple of bundled furs he uses for bedding has hardened into the cold ground, not at all aiding his sleep. Around him, his lord and the rest of the men had managed to fall into their dreams, almost as soon as they closed their eyes.

Even Finan, with a furrow in his brow and his arms crossed, has his head tilted awkwardly to one side that Osferth knows is going to be painful in the morning.

But sleep evades him, and though he scarcely believes in ghosts, resting in a church, no matter how abandoned, no matter that there's gaping, charred hole that has blown over the side of it, trickling the cold, winter winds and soft, wet snow— it feels odd.

It brings a restlessness and a comfort all the same, and with a few minutes more of staring at rotting wood and broken awning, Osferth sighs. Their small fire is dying, might as well get more dry sticks.

The church, though broken and ruined, offers warmth. Once he's out into the wintry night, the pale moonlight bright and full, glittering the wisps of fluffy snow as if you don't come out wet if you sink on it. It's cold. Much too cold to walk, to linger, but he continues. He winds to the other side, leisure in his pace, breathing in the cold whilst warming his hands with his mouth.

It's nice to find a rhythmic motion that empties his thoughts. It is nice to be out of Wessex, out of familiarity. Uhtred brought with him adventure and battle, honour and excitement. It quieted the wrought in his head... until night comes, and Osferth is left with the weight of all those he tries to bury.

He walks quite a bit, observing and carries a faint sadness for a few graves that are left. Some opened, unearthed by grave robbers, uncaring of the Christian faith. Wooden plaque holding no names, just crosses. He moves past, finding himself entering the forest before he could think through it until he comes across a clearing. It's surprisingly, perfectly circled, trees at the side adjusted like soldiers with a curled root at the centre.

Curious and kind of awed at nature, at the wonder of the existence this little tree root, curled and cold, he dips one knee as flutters his fingers over it. The thin spindles look like curled fingers, a hand reaching in a hooked angle.

When he pushes his hand forward, curling his fingers against the root, Osferth makes a surprised hum at how fitted, how perfectly it holds like a hand against his.

Osferth doesn't notice you, dancing between the shadows and moonlight. Hit by light and you fade with it, more air and light yourself than life and physical flesh. You had seen him and his men find the scarred church and setup camp. The four men had not been the first to find the abandoned place, nor had taken refuge.

And time is everlasting when you're dead. Meaningless when there is no end to days and nights.

But he is different, you muse, watching him unable to sleep and walk and walk until he reached the clearing and your cold, dead heart feels a tug.

Does he know you? Is that why he is so different?

You slink between trees, hiding behind a trunk as you watch him kneel where your body lies, curious and awed, watching as he holds your hand, curling his fingers around your own.

Your left hand flexes, a surprised giggle falling from your lips and disappearing with the wind as you feel his warmth. His hand as if he is holding your own. Human touch fades from memory in a span of time and it is a pleasant hold.

Look down, you try to say, excitement you've never felt before, thrums through your body. Look down and see the ring!

If he does, you know do not need to know who he is. You know who he will be.

Look down, look down, look down! Please! you are practically screaming, jumping in the shadows as his eyes, beautiful blue like your favourite butterfly, is entranced by the glint underneath the snow. You hold your hands to your chest. Oh, please! Please, Please look down!

You exhale, feeling life sweep back into your mouth. There. There you are, you say soundlessly as he picks it up. A gold band worn with age but gold it still is. He twists it around, and though others have tried to steal it, pocket it and sell it, you know he is different. His warmth is different. There is kindness in his eye that you like.

And God, is he pretty. You would not mind at all being his bride.

You're on one knee, now propose, you say, willing the vows of old and binding to reach his ears. He twists it and as if playfully entranced, he mutters the words that you echo back in the shadows.

"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows," Osferth murmurs, the words he's listened once as a young boy, hearing the priest anoint two lovers who had escaped to bond their love. "Your cup shall never be empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness."

He raises the ring and places it on your crooked, dried fourth finger— and you inhale air, wintry and cold and so, so alive for the first time in a very long time.

"And with this ring," he says.

"I ask you to be mine," you finish, startling Osferth as you glide toward him. Triumphant. He stumbles, falling on his bum as your arms widen around you in all your ghostly bride attire and glory. "My love! I have waited for you for such a long time. Good thing the ice and winters have been kind to my body and you still manage to find it!"

Though in truth, you had plowed against hard ground to at least unearth your left hand while most of your body had been abandoned. Your skull had cracked in three places, and there's a worm who made a permanent home in your dried liver. But your new husband does not need to know that.

He gapes at you, wide eyed and unblinking, and just as he starts you yell? Shriek— You stumble to him, falling on his lap as you press your hands against his mouth. When you don't pass through him, you let out an excited shriek.

"Oh, my apologies, I don't mean to scare you!" You pout, aged old sadness wisps beneath your eyes. "Please don't scream, my love. I have waited for you for so long. And you're so warm... and so real."

As shock permeates his face, frozen under the feel of you pressing against him— there is weight, he can feel you. You're not as warm as him, cold in fact, and he is able to see through you if his eyes adjust well enough. But you are there. He can see you and he can feel you. Your wide, unblinking eyes drinking him in, exuberant smile composed of pretty lips and a mesmerising happiness. Your hair cascades around a ruined, fluttering veil with dead flowers atop your head.

But by God, you are beautiful.

Your wedding dress— because you are a bride, are you not? Were a bride, Osferth's head is starting to ache from trying to look through and at you — are in tatters and holes, showing more of your skin than what your dress initially thought to show and he swallows. He can see a creamy thigh exposed through a slash. It doesn't help that you're bent over, resting between his legs, and he can see the top of your breasts.

On your end, your hands are just there, on his face, and you start exploring his pretty visage. His warmth is addicting, gliding your fingers through his nose and pretty cheekbones, tickling yourself on his lashes with the pads of your fingers and you giggle. The sound makes Osferth exhale shakily before you are cupping his sharp jaw and your fingers touch his lips, your own mouth turning into an 'O'.

Oh, they're soft and a little chapped, a little cold, but his exhale entrances you. His show of pure, breathing life is tantalising.

You lean in closer, nearly touching his lips with your own as you try to inhale his air. He smells of smoked meat and dried ale. Winter woods and burnt campfire. Your hands drift from his mouth to his neck, to his chest. His heart. There in your palms, you press tight. A quickened heartbeat nestles beneath and you exhale, smiling ruefully.

"My husband." Osferth's eyes widen at the pure adoration and lust in your gaze. "You are wonderful. My wait is worth it."

"Hold on, l-lady." He captures your hands in his, eyebrows furrowed. He swallows as he can feel you both corporeal and wispy. If shadows can be held, he thinks it would feel like this. "H-How am I your husband? Sorry, I've— I don't even know your name!"

What's more is that you're a ghost! But something in his head tells him not to speak aloud such a thing, for another, he isn't sure he hasn't fallen back in the encampment with the others. A bizarre dream of a very pretty, ghostly bride is for one an embarrassing topic to broach.

"Oh. That's right!" You giggle happily, offering your name and Osferth tests in his tongue. A pretty name for a pretty bride. "What's yours? Though, I'm afraid I prefer to call you husband, and would prefer to be called your wife. Or 'your love'."

At another helpless, tinkling laughter, Osferth blushes. Your eyes are distracted by the colour in his cheeks, so long ago contained your own but no more, that you take your hands from his and start petting the rosy tint again. He's so warm that you start nuzzling into him, your head burrowing into his neck.

"O-Osferth." He clears his throat to get your attention. "Osferth, lady."

"My wife."

"Sorry?"

You start to pout. "Call me 'my wife'."

Osferth starts to shake his head. "Lady, I really don't—"

"I am your wife now. See." You sit up, pointing back to your dead hand, gold ring glinting under the pale moon. "You've made your vows and given me the ring. We're married now." Your gaze darkens, your form shimmering and Osferth yelps as you had gotten ice cold. "You have made your vow, Osferth. Are you telling me you do not honour your vows? Are you a man without honour? Is there another... woman?"

Your hands on his face sharpened, like ice, digging through his skin as iff trying to embedded yourself into his skull. He cries out, taking your wrists.

"No, no! I— yes, I am your husband now. I am. There is also no other woman!"

You cock your head, still frowning. "Are you sure?"

"I'm wearing monk's robes, lad— wife," he says helplessly.

"But..." You cock your head to the side. "You don't seem too shock of a woman's body. You're very responsive to me, my love, I enjoy it quite so."

This time, he blushes deeply. "I— Goodness, okay. I've had practice... s'all."

"With... whores?"

He cringes, waiting for you to turn mad, pure ice cold and tear through his skin like you almost did, but you only hum when he nods.

"That is alright. That presents more of a challenge than an obstruction of our love."

"Challenge?" he asks as you gently push him on his back, straddling his hips. You slide your palms up and down his torso almost as if he is a campfire and you are warming your hands.

He swallows at your confident grin before you blow him a kiss and he exhales a laugh, his mind truly unconnected from his body because there is a ghostly woman on top of him, adoring him with flirtations, and he is stirring in his pants.

Truly, he must be deep asleep, in a more awkward position than Finan.

If I am, he thinks watching you with a blossoming attachment. Please, by God, don't wake me.

With a seductive intent, you slide down from his body, making sure you pay a special wiggle in his tenting manhood that he feels a lightning bolt from his cock to the ends of his nerves. He doesn't truly understand what you intend until you've unlaced him and paying special attention to his now, semi-erect appendage.

Osferth is red and sputtering, unable to find the strength to stop you.

You get your face impossibly close to his manhood, your unbridled attention makes his cock inflate until you test a teasing finger from beneath, circling his balls, up and up until you tease the slit and his hips jolt.

"G-God, Oh goodness," he spits, white knuckling his woolen coat. "Please do something. D-Don't just—shit." You test a tongue, laving the underside of his cock until pearly white essence beads from his slit and you lick it experimentally. It tastes salty, inexcusably human and alive, and you decide you like it, especially when you watch Osferth writhe, unable to decide what to do from such teasing little touches.

"Good thing for you husband, your wife made sure to serve a keen listen to gossiping wives behind the church after mass. Well before the raid burnt it all down." You got yourself comfortable between his thighs, loving how snugged you fit against his warmth here, as well as having a beautiful of view of your Osferth. "They spoke salaciously of what keeps their husbands to their beds."

You give him a wink as you enclose your hand on his cock, giving it a firm tug and he chokes. "To keep the whores away." You start slow and teasing, wanting to see what movements pleased him the most, what made him sigh and groan, jolt, hips chasing the feeling of your hand that started to warm and get wet, both from his excitement and the teasing licks you give.

When he started panting, you took your hand away. His head bobs back adorably at you, frowning. "W-Wife? Wha—" But you don't let him finish, sitting up on your hunches as you replace your hand with your mouth, feeling the stretch as he throws his head back again, neck arched. It doesn't hurt, momentarily uncomfortable as you test the feeling of it, the weight now so full in your mouth before you start moving up and down, eased by the slick and guided by his pretty sounds.

And Osferth has been on the brink of peak multiple times, but you kept stopping or slowing midway. At first, he surmised it must be your first time, unused to a man in your mouth but eager to give him pleasure, which he can't help but feel deep fondness for.

By the third peek he's been deprived off, and the little smirk playing on your lips, he realised the truth. But your mouth is a different story. It's hot and heady, just like a real mouth and his stomach is clenching, his pleasure tightening that he's got tears in his eyes, apologising as his hips chase his high in your throat but by the rumble that rocked his cock, it seems as if you were trying to tell him it was okay.

When you started massaging his stones, he was gone. White hot pleasure broke behind his eyelids that he grabbed your head, your veil and hair, dead flowers falling into light as he came, hips stuttering, before holding you down until the last drop of his spend is in your mouth.

He releases you with apologies, chest heaving with tears in his eyes. "I-I'm so sorry, lady, I— inexcusable." He stared gently cleaning your face, unable to realise how much more solid you had become, how much more colour bled in your ghostly blue.

But as you sit back up, you're grinning, unmistakable pride in your gaze as he wipes the corner of your mouth tenderly. You take his fingers before he wipes it on his trousers, coated in him, and licks them clean, sucking hard with a little giggle.

"Good boy," you say. Osferth shudders, his cock already painfully stirring once more.

The Lord have mercy on him. Were there ghostly vixens? Did he marry the only ghostly vixen?

He can't say he's too mad about it.

"Hmm. So that's what it tastes like. I think I like it." You smile, rubbing his thigh. "I also think we are going to have a fruitful marriage, sweet Osferth. What we only need now is one thing..."

He blinks at you. "Hm?"

"Death, my love." You blink back at him owlishly, snapping the dagger strapped to his side. "How can we stay together when one of us breathes?"

Christ, I already have an idea for part two...

#osferth #osferth x reader #osferth x you #osferth fanfic #kinktober 2023 #osferth smut #osferth fluff #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #tlk smut #tlk fluff #︶꒦꒷♡ elle tries kinks ♡꒷꒦︶ #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒 #the last kingdom #tlk #osferth scenario #ewan mitchell characters

[synintheraven]

Okay let's clear some things out; 1) I don't write smut bc I suck at it 2) this is part of a bigger story where the main character/reader gets to know Sihtric throughout several situations, so this is perfect if you want to read about Sihtric & reader's little made-up adventures but not so much if you're only here to read naughty stuff 😅 3) I have no idea what I'm doing :p

pic credits to myself, feel free to use them too/ask for originals (:

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary/small introduction: reader (she/her) is a Norse, Sihtric is a (actual, as in born there) Dane. Sihtric & reader meet each other for the very first time, but I kept it simple and kinda short so you'll have to keep on reading to find out how this goes (; [Side note: Yggr is one of my ocs and the Jarl/Chief of the group, but will not be a current character other than to accompany/give orders to Sihtric and reader]

✵tw: mentions of violence

✵word count: 1,5k

characters info | part two

We were near; the tall cliffs once casting shadows over the sea were far behind us and the fog was getting thicker over the marshes. East Anglia was a land of fishermen huts, distant trees and bad weather: yet somewhere in this muddy land, a band of fiery fighters were hiding and getting ready to fight for their lord.

I recognized the stranded ship half covered in sand, which Yggr had described to me, surrounded by muddy rocks and a small spot of land untouched by the sea waters. Near the rocks, among tall reeds, the camp was set and a handful of men were sat around the bonfire in an attempt to fight the cold wind.

Except for one man.

A tall, dark haired man, covered in a fur cloak; his left hand was resting over the hilt of his sword as he stood near the coast, staring cautiously at our ship as if he was trying to tell who we were. But, as we approached the small island and the fog revealed Yggr’s wild hair, the mysterious man prepared to greet us.

The sail was taken down and the crew started to row against the current, sliding through the rather calm waves to take the ship towards the land. It didn’t take long for the prow to reach the sand and before we were fully beached, Yggr jumped off our ship to meet with the dark haired stranger.

He had a concerned expression and his hand remained over the hilt of his sword, ready to fight should the need arise. Yet, unlike him, Yggr was quick to smile and open his arms, embracing the now smirking Dane like a brother.

The man was Sihtric Kjartansson, a warrior that served the long haired blonde, though he treated him like a big stupid brother rather than as his lord and jarl. Both Danes had grew up together, sticking to each other as their parents seemed to care little next to nothing for the young boys, making it no surprise the concerned stranger was in command during the jarl’s absence.

I didn’t know much about him back then, only that he was a fine warrior and a loyal man; but I had also been told he was rather friendly and welcoming, yet Sihtric looked at me with wary eyes. I stared back at him, almost trying to decipher what was going on inside his mind: studying his gaze, the storm brewing inside his blue eye and the dancing flames around the pupil of his brown eye.

He had the face of a warrior, with scars running down from his forehead and marking the flesh over his deep cheekbones, making me wonder if he was hiding any other under the strands of hair over his temple or under the scarce beard around his rather full lips.

I had jumped on the wet sand of the island shortly after Yggr, however being the only woman among all those men, suddenly the warriors resting around the fire seemed eager to welcome our crew. Everyone but Sihtric, who embraced his lord for a while but pushed him away as his men came along with curious looks.

Unfortunately for everyone else, I was not to be touched or harmed: for I was there merely to help build the camp and eventually, should the strings of my destiny allow it, find the man that killed my family.

The first birds of the day were singing their songs and the sun was setting, the land slowly revealing itself from the fog. It was a cold morning and it got worse as we had to get our feet wet in order to cross from shore to shore, but we were to stay unnoticed and therefore not to use our ship.

We were scouting the surrounding area, following the shore in hopes to find a bigger place to set a new camp. I was walking beside Yggr, with Sihtric a few paces before us to guide our way around; the rest of our group were either guarding our current camp or exploring other areas, though all of us were after the same goal.

The best hiding spots were among reeds, trees and muddy rocks, but those often surrounded water and the rising tides could be treacherous.

We saw stone ruins, abandoned churches and half burnt farms, all a consequence of folk escaping their homes in order to keep their lives, to escape the horrors brought by the monsters from across the sea.

Danes like us were plundering all of Britain; they came with the promise of riches and vengeance but stayed to become kings and killed anyone who opposed them. They had come here to do what that mad man had done to my family, my people.

 I trusted Yggr’s words when he said he didn’t care about a title. He lost his chance to be king and decided to embrace a simple life, only hoping to find a nice place to thrive and stay unbothered by Saxons. Or so it was until the Great Heathen Army decided to terrorize the country, turning our heads into targets for anyone who caught us, Danes and Norse alike, wandering around.

We had stopped, suddenly. We were standing atop a small hill that went deeper in land, hoping to get a better view; the wind was blowing hard and the sun shone upon the land, easily revealing all areas of the territory.

Yggr remained silent, his mind lost somewhere in the dark blue waters from the ocean as the cold wind blew on his hair and beard. Sihtric stood next to me, his eyes narrowed because of the sun while he pointed his finger towards the tall roman ruins to the north.

—That looks like a good spot. —He said to Yggr then quickly looked my way, noticing I was the only one truly listening to him. It was, probably, the very first time he wasn’t eyeing me as if expecting me to take a knife to their throats. —I saw it before, but rain soaked the mud. It will take some work to stop that from happening again.

He had a very calming voice and explained all the work that had to be done for that old ruin to be a proper camp, though in truth all I could think about was the scars on his face: suggesting the man had been in many battles, despite being only a few winters older than Halfdan’s son.

—You two can go. —The blonde man interrupted, resting a hand on mine and Sihtric’s shoulder. —Find some horses and secure the camp, I’ll go find the men and meet you there with the ship.

—Just the two of us? —Sihtric sighed, despite trying to hide his discomfort. —What if the place has been taken? I can’t fight them with, no offense, a woman. —He glanced at me for a split second then stared back at Yggr, hoping to be released of my company.

—I am Norse. And my father raised a warrior, not a weak girl that needs some Dane’s protection. —I snarled back, watching as my words damaged his pride and brought a wide smile to our Jarl.

The only horses we could find belonged to a group of Danes camping in Theotford, a small town with thatched roofs and a run-down church that once sheltered Saxons.

There was about twenty of them, maybe more, standing watch in every corner and every small gap they could find.

—I am not “some Dane”, I’m a warrior too. —He finally added, remembering our earlier conversation.

—You’re the son of Kjartan, right? —I let out and he gave me a grim look then proceeded to avoid my glance, still walking between the tall grasses.

—We’re never going to make it out alive if we try to take one of their horses. There’s too many of them. —And he was right, those were trained warriors and we were merely a pair of lost dogs to them. —The ruins are not too far, we should get there before Yggr if we walk in a straight line and avoid following main roads.

And just like that, our short journey through the autumnal forests of East Anglia began. We walked through shrubs, trees, short walls made of stone and saw a few deer, but there was no sight of other people anywhere. We avoided getting too close to farms or church ruins, trying to remain silent whenever our surroundings were suspiciously quiet.

—So tell me, Dane, how did you end up in Norway? —I interrupted, getting a judging stare from him when he caught me walking closely by his side.

—He told you we should get to know each other, right? —He asked dismissively, moving a few steps ahead of me.

—He suggested we should get along if we’re to live together in the same camp, but you’re not as friendly as he promised.

A hint of a smirk showed on his face, though it didn’t last long. —My father sold information to Halfdan and left me in Alrekstad to either die or be raised by the king’s servants. —He admitted after a while, looking troubled as he spoke.

—There are worst destinies than to be raised with Yggr, I suppose. —I said and saw him grinning at my comment, finally showing some sort of emotion in my presence.

—What about you, Stavanger? —He taunted, making it obvious that our fool of a Jarl told him about my homeland and, therefore, my newly acquired nickname.

—That’s my homeland, yes. But I come from the Isle of Ikke, a once thriving city to the north of Stavanger.

—Then what brought you to Alrekstad?

—Vengeance. —I said cheerfully, but he gave me a concerned look in return.

Some bonus fun facts:

✯Yggr is the son of Halfdan, King of Alrekstad (modern Årstad, in Norway). He's not inspired by any TLK character, though he has a similar personality and looks to Ragnar The Younger, with some of Cnut's silly sense of humour. Yggr was to inherit his father's throne, but has no issue embracing a simpler life - even though his former position as a prince and charisma turned him into his Clan's Jarl (basically an english Earl, but a Jarl can also be someone trusted by its people and chosen as a chief).

✯Reader was born in a small island in Norway (Ikke, which is totally made up hehe) but her family was massacred when she was a baby, so she grew up seeking vengeance.

✯Sihtric isn't a bastard but his mother died giving birth to him and so Kjartan despises him/never properly treated him as his son (nor did he to Sven but he grew up to be just as his father and so Kjartan eventually accepted him as his son).

✯As this story is unrelated to what happens in TLK, I had Kjartan vanished from Denmark; though he became wealthy again by playing the pirate in other territories and selling information to kings as Halfdan, Harald Fairhair and few more across the sea...

#sihtric x reader #sihtricxreader #sihtric x you #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #sihtric kjartansson x you #sihtric kjartansson x reader #my writing #rtv #road to valhalla #okay bye I'll disappear now

[itbmojojoejo]

River of Sins / Finan x OFC x Osferth

Pairing: Finan x Fem!OC x Osferth

Summary: Osferth had been mustering the courage to confess his growing feelings for Elowen, a maiden from Cornwallum who settled in Coccham, but stumbles across her meeting with Finan.

Warnings: MDNI18+ NSFW. Voyeurism. Oral (F Receiving) UnprotectedPinV(I will not write medieval contraceptive methods.)

Wordcount: 1.08k | Other Works.

Authors Note: Thank you @persephones-journey for the lovely prompt request, it haunted me from the moment I received it. You devil, you.

Osferth stirred gently from his slumber, his lips curving into a small smile. He had dreamed of her again, of Elowen. 

The young woman with sleek sandy-coloured hair always worn in different small braids pulling it away from her round face that was constantly sun-kissed, and golden, even in the colder weather when everyone else paled. 

He would never forget her arrival in Coccham, her sing-song tones spinning tales of a life in Cornwallum and why she chose to travel, the deep hues of her green eyes sparkling inside the candlelit inn. 

Today’s the day, he thought. Today he was going to finally confess that after all these months of quiet observation and exchanging kind words only to blush at the bright beam she would gift him that he had grown an almost unbearable amount of adoration for her. 

As he walked through the burr towards the river where he knew she would likely be laundering clothing he tried to make a mental note of what to say. You are captivating and when away I want nothing more than to return to you, hold you, and be the reason you smile… No. Elowen, I dream of you. All I do is dream of you.

As Osferth approached the clearing trees his stomach sank, brows furrowed in confusion as he tried to understand the sight not far from him. 

There on the grassy bank of the river, the woman who held his affection was nude, but not alone. She straddled the lap of a man he would be able to pick out of any crowd, even if it was only the back of him he could see, Finan. 

Elowen’s head fell backwards with Finan’s lips and teeth ravaging the column of her neck, soft sighs coming from them both as her hips rolled against his, clearly lost in their salacious act. 

Osferth’s head bowed as his cheeks grew crimson with heat, a twinge of jealousy and hurt hitting his chest. You fool, of course it was destined to be unrequited. 

The will to walk away and be rid of his emotions was broken by Elowen’s breathy gasp hitting his ears. Osferth’s curious eyes flickered up to see her laid on her back, breasts rising and falling quickly with Finan's head dipped between her supple thighs spread wide, her hands buried in the Irishman’s thick hair. 

Osferth couldn’t make out where Finan’s hands were, or what they were doing but it was quite obvious from the moan Elowen broke off by biting down on her lip that she was enjoying it. 

He only just noticed the fabric of his trousers becoming taut against his groin, and even more to his surprise how his mouth was watering at the sight of her being defiled so openly, where anyone could stumble across her and Finan’s entanglement. 

“Finan…” she whined tugging his mouth away from her core, his beard glistening with her juices. 

Finan bit at her hips, stomach and chest making his way to her lips with a devilish grin, his words coming huskily, “I’m going to ruin you.”

Elowen’s lewd laughter cut off with a sudden sharp whimper as Finan’s cock sunk into her cunt with quick force. 

Look away, return home, this isn’t for you to see, Osferth's mind rattled off but his feet refused to move. He was entranced, his near-silent breaths quickening. 

Elowen’s hand fell away from the bicep she held to the ground, her fingernails digging into the dry earth disrupting the blades of grass and mud. The slapping of skin on skin from Finan’s brutal thrusts almost reached the same volumes as her helpless cries.

Finan growled as he roughly took Elowen’s legs and crossed them at the ankles, positioning them over his shoulder and sank his weight onto the back of the blonde woman’s thighs against her chest. A satisfied moan from her filled the otherwise quiet sky.

Osferth���s hardening erection pulsed causing him to harshly palm at it for a moment before rearranging his cock to sit more comfortably in his trousers beneath his albe.

His gaze trailed from Finan’s hand gripping Elowen’s thigh to her crossed feet resting on the Irishman's shoulder, her toes pointing and curling with a curse tumbling from her swollen lips. The thought that maybe he could be the one to elicit such a reaction one day had his cock throbbing. 

The idea of leaving now to release his building arousal was tempting, but he wanted to see her fall apart and lock it away in his memories. If I cannot have you, at least I will have that. 

Elowen’s unrestrained mewlings began to come breathier, faster and louder as Finan mercilessly snapped his hips against her soft body over, and over and over again. Eventually, he placed his rough hand over her mouth muffling her pleading noises. 

No, let her pleasure be heard! Osferth internally begged, his fingers twitching against the bark of the tree he remained behind. 

“I know darlin’. You’re so fucking tight, let it go.” Finan rasped, a sheen of sweat glistening across his brow. 

He removed his hand from her mouth and knotted his fingers through the hair at the crown of her head, her hands scrambling to clutch at his back as her body tensed under him. Broken gasps with muttered curses fell from Elowen’s mouth, her eyes fluttering closed. 

Osferth bit his bottom lip, focusing on how her grip eased as Finan’s pounding stuttered with a pained groan before letting himself all but collapse on the smaller frame of Elowen. 

After a few moments of the pair catching their breath, Elowen’s musical laughter rang in Osferth’s ears, 

“Get off.” She smiled playfully pushing the Irishman away, and he rolled over onto the grass beside her with his own laugh, his fingers reaching out to stroke along her stomach. 

Osferth found her flushed nakedness was a thing of beauty to witness, the droplets of sweat budding across her brow as she hummed with satisfaction, her thighs trembling underneath the morning sun. 

The pangs of jealousy returned as Finan stood, hauled Elowen up by her hands, and slung her over his shoulder. She giggled as he slapped her arse when he walked into the water, squealing loudly before he sank them both beneath the water's surface, washing away their sins. 

Osferth finally turned away to return home, his head swimming with conflicted emotions of desire and guilt, but he knew one thing was certain, that he would still dream of the maiden from Cornwallum. 

#the last kingdom fanfic #osferth x oc #finan x oc #osferth fanfic #finan fanfic #tlk fanfiction #tlk fanfic

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Authors note: this is the third and last part of @sihtricfedaraaahvicius lovely first date fluff request.

Summary: Sihtric – a talented artist – juggles between his passion for painting and his job as a graphic designer. At the corporate Christmas party, Sihtric's unspoken feelings for his boss are tested when a twist of fate brings them closer than expected. 

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Warnings: actually none, fluff, suppressed feelings

Word Count: 4,2 K

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek

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

You paced the living room, casting irritated glances at your phone. "Why did I leave it on silent? Maybe I missed a notification," you thought, even though you had checked it roughly fifty times in the past hour.

"Come on! Get a grip," you scolded yourself, rolling your eyes. "You're acting like a lovestruck teen! It's just Sihtric." But even as you thought that, butterflies took flight in your stomach. Who were you trying to kid?

You flopped down on the couch, hugging a cushion. "It's just one text. One little message. Is that too much to ask?" But as the minutes ticked by, the screen remained annoyingly void of new notifications. You huffed, tossing the phone beside you.

"Maaaybe I should text him? No, no. Play it cool," the debate in your mind continued.

Just as you were about to convince yourself to opt for some distraction — Netflix or that pint of ice cream in the freezer — your phone buzzed.

Heart leaping, you snatched it up. The sender's name made your heart race even faster: Sihtric.

The screen lit up with Sihtric's name, and the content of the message made your heart do that weird jumpy thing again.

"Hey, just checking in. Are you okay? What are you up to? Also, is it cool if I call you? I know it's late."

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, a flurry of responses running through your mind from "Yes, please call! I've been waiting!" till "No, I'm totally busy and not thinking about you at all!" Ugh, why was it so hard?

"Keep it chill," you reminded yourself, typing back, "Hey! I'm just relaxing, watching the city lights. Sure, you can call."

You hit send, and the waiting game began. Every second seemed to stretch, and you mentally prepared for the conversation, trying to sound casual and not like you'd been staring at your phone for hours. The phone's ringtone finally broke the silence, and with a deep breath, you swiped to answer.

The moment you picked up the call, Sihtric's familiar voice came through, though this time tinged with a hint of hesitation. "Hey, it's me. I, um... just wanted to make sure things are cool between us. Today was... unexpected."

You could picture him, probably ruffling his hair nervously, maybe even pacing his room just like you'd been doing earlier.

He continued, his voice growing softer, "I've been trying to paint, you know, but it's just... it's not happening. All I can think about is you. It's maddening."

Your heart raced. The honesty in his voice was disarming. You took a moment to find the right words, not wanting to sound too eager or too distant. "Sihtric, about today... I wasn't upset about the kiss, not at all."

There was a short pause on the other end of the line, probably Sihtric absorbing your words.

"You weren't?" he finally asked, hope evident in his tone.

"No," you responded with a chuckle, "And I'm really looking forward to your exhibition. I mean, if you can eventually get back to painting."

You could almost hear the grin in his reply. "I'll manage, especially now."

There was a noticeable pause and you wondered what to say next.

"You know," Sihtric started, his voice a tad shaky, "I've been thinking... The exhibition is still some days away, and I kinda... I mean, I don't really want to wait that long to see you again."

Your heart did a little flip. "What are you getting at, Sihtric?" you teased lightly, though your own voice betrayed your anticipation.

He cleared his throat, gathering courage, "Would you... I mean, would you be up for grabbing dinner or coffee or... I don't know, something before the exhibition? Like, a date?"

Your cheeks warmed up, the boldness of his question catching you off guard, but in a delightful way. "A date, huh?" you mused, drawing out the moment just a tad, relishing in the sweet uncertainty of it.

"Yes," you finally replied, your voice soft but certain, "I'd love that."

Sihtric let out a breathy laugh, relief evident in his tone, "Good. That's... that's really good. How about the day after tomorrow? I've got a few last-minute touches to make for the exhibition," Sihtric's voice resonated with a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. 

"That works for me," you replied, the grin evident in your voice. "Gives me some time to pick out the perfect outfit."

Sihtric chuckled, "You'd look amazing in anything. Alright, day after tomorrow it is."

There was a brief pause, the comforting kind filled with bubbling excitement. "Hey," Sihtric finally said, his tone softer, "Sweet dreams, okay? And... thank you."

You smiled, heart fluttering. "Sweet dreams, Sihtric. I'm looking forward to our date."

"Okay, deep breaths," you whispered to yourself the moment the call ended, dashing to your wardrobe and sliding open the doors. Dresses, skirts, blouses stared back at you, making the choice a torment.

After trying on what felt like half your wardrobe, you flopped onto your bed, tired but with a smile plastered across your face. As you snuggled under your blanket, thoughts of Sihtric floated in — his voice as he said your name, the mischievous grin in his eyes, his lips brushing against yours in that crazy, sweet and passionate kiss. And you slowly drifted off to sleep with his voice playing in your head like a soft, contagious tune.

Meanwhile, at his studio across town, Sihtric stood, brush in hand, in front of a blank canvas. The adrenaline from the call, the buzz of the upcoming date, it was a wild mix of emotions and his heart was doing weird flips.  He was in a daze. You weren't mad about the kiss, and hell, you’d even agreed to go out with him. Sihtric felt like he was floating, living out a daydream, his eyes sparkling with glee as the painting started to take shape.

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

The next morning, as the first light streamed in, Sihtric practically leapt out of bed, his mind racing. "I have just one day to make it perfect," he kept thinking. His desire to make it memorable reached borderline frantic levels. So, what started as a simple dinner plan quickly turned into a reservation at “La Brasserie” – one of the city's most exclusive spots. It was the place for celebs and big shots. And while it was typically booked out for months, Sihtric had some connections and managed to nab a table.

And the ride? Well, he imagined you in a killer outfit, and he wanted the ride to be just as cool. A couple of quick calls, and boom, he got a sleek limo with a professional driver ready to roll up at your door.

Sihtric scratched his head over the question of an appropriate gift. "Jewellery? Is that too much?" he wondered. He found this dainty bracelet with these tiny diamonds that caught the light just right.

Throughout the day, he was a bundle of nerves, second-guessing everything. Was it too much? Would you find it overwhelming? But then he'd remember that twinkle in your eyes, your laugh, and he'd be all in again. He just wanted the night to be as special as what he felt for you. 

It was evening already as Sihtric stared at his phone in confusion, his fingers hovering over the phone's keyboard. He wanted to give you a hint without revealing too much, and he wanted to convey his excitement without overwhelming you. With a laugh, he hit the dial. 

"Hey! Hope you're good,” he said as soon as you had picked up. “So, I've got a fun plan for tomorrow night, nothing too wild, promise! Just a heads up to expect... a little something. Excited to see you!”

He waited, fingers crossed, hoping he'd struck the right balance.

Hearing Sihtric’s cheerful voice brought a smile to your face. 

"Hey there! Look, I'm all in for a fun evening. But let's keep it chill and simple, okay? No fancy places with people trying to show off. And please, no gifts. I'm just looking forward to a good time with you, getting to know the guy behind the canvas."

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

"Man, what was I thinking?" Sihtric mumbled to himself after you had hung up, cringing at the thought of the swanky restaurant reservation. All he wanted was to give you an unforgettable evening, but it seemed he was about to overdo it. 

"Alright, deep breaths," he told himself, taking a moment to refocus. "OK, she's obviously into real moments, not big gestures. Easy, chill vibes."

For most folks, a low-key date might mean grabbing coffee or chilling at a park, nothing easier than that. But for Sihtric, this was like a nightmare. He wanted to nail it, to make it perfect and memorable. And how the heck he was supposed to do it in a chill and simple setting? 

Every idea Sihtric came up with seemed too over the top or just plain dull. He kept overthinking, "You've got one shot at this, don't blow it!" But the more he thought, the more tangled he felt. And in truth it wasn't even about the date. Deep down, he was just simply scared that he, as just plain old 'Sihtric', wouldn't be enough. He so badly wanted to show you how special you were to him, and doubted profoundly if the ordinary, everyday Sihtric could do that.

And suddenly, it hit him. An idea so simple, yet so... him. Bingo.

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

Sihtric paused outside your door, a mess of nerves and excitement. He wanted to press the doorbell, then hesitated. It hit him just how wild this was. He was about to take out the very person he'd been low-key crushing on for the last half year,  someone who seemed worlds apart from his everyday life just a short while ago.

He inhaled deeply, trying to calm down. Everything he'd rehearsed in his head had suddenly disappeared, leaving his brain empty and blank as a white canvas. Thoughts buzzed around like, "Should I drop a compliment straight up? What if there’s that weird silence? What if…" 

"Hey, you got this. Just be real," he tried to encourage himself and pushed the doorbell, crossing his fingers in the hope the night would feel as genuine as he wanted it to be.

The doorbell rang and a tiny "Oh no!" slipped out of your mouth. "Already?!" Glancing in the mirror, you were mentally battling with your outfit choice... again. "Too fancy? Or just boring? Why didn't I plan better?"

Shaking off the nerves, your focus shifted. "Wait, where are my shoes?!" Spotting one near the coffee table, you quickly put it on. Then, snapping the other, you hurried to the door, hopping around on one feet and trying to get that damned shoe on too. You must've looked like a scene from a romantic comedy.

Opening the door with one shoe fully on and the other half-worn, you looked up to find Sihtric's amused eyes on you. There was a brief moment where both of you just looked at each other, taking in the reality of the situation.

A nervous laugh escaped your lips, "Well, this is one way to start a date, huh?"

Sihtric's eyes widened as he took in your appearance and his face broke into a genuine, warm smile, as his laughter met yours, "Keeping things interesting right from the start. I'm here for it."

Sihtric took a moment to really see you. You were glowing, looking effortlessly chic. And while he was totally impressed, there was one small issue: in his frantic effort to find the perfect setting, he had forgotten to warn you that his new plan for the evening involved a bit of a chill. Like the real chill.

"Hey," he began, a little sheepish, "you look amazing, like seriously. But, uh, we might be braving the cold tonight. Maybe something a touch warmer?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks reddened, realising this wasn't a typical way to start a date chat. "Just don’t want you freezing. Trust me, though, it's gonna be cool."

Your eyes sparkled with amusement, appreciating his thoughtfulness. With a smile, you replied, "Give me a moment, and I'll be right back. Cosy and warm it is!"

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

"Hey, so we're heading to this cool little town about a half-hour away. Grew up there, and trust me, it’s magic this time of year," Sihtric shared in the car, sneaking quick glances your way as he spoke.

You tried to seem focused, but your mind was elsewhere. The dim light from the dashboard illuminated his features just enough for you to notice the fine lines of his profile, the curve of his lips, and the intense concentration in his eyes. He looked different outside the confines of the office - more relaxed, more...himself. And wow, did it look good on him.

It's funny how different settings can make you see someone in a whole new way and in the soft light of Sihtric's car, miles from the daily office buzz, you started to get it - the connection, the vibe between you two that you'd totally missed before.

You got caught staring, and when you looked up, Sihtric was grinning right back at you. "Oops," you mumbled, your cheeks flushing as you quickly turned to the window, but you couldn't help that sly smile creeping on your face.

His laugh broke the moment. "Caught you." The air in the car became slightly charged. The night was young, and you were all in for wherever it might lead.

The little town looked like something emerged out of a fairy tale. Snow everywhere, and those cute houses all lit up. The car pulled to a stop and next moment Sihtric was already out, jogging over to your side and swinging the door open.

"Lady," he smiled, extending his arm out for you to take.

You laughed, playfully rolling your eyes but taking his arm nonetheless. The snow crunched under your feet as you walked, and the cold air filled your lungs, invigorating and refreshing. Sihtric took you on a mini tour, with each street looking like it could be on a postcard. It was super chilly but the warm lights from the houses made everything feel cosy.

Then you neared the park, the distant sound of festive music and laughter growing  louder, and you actually thought that you were stepping into a winter wonderland. The trees were adorned with these twinkling lights, making the snow sparkle like with some kind of magic. And then there were these cute stalls everywhere that seriously looked like gingerbread houses from a storybook. They were selling all sorts of cool stuff, and the air was filled with the awesome smell of mulled wine, roasted nuts, and waffles. Just thinking about it made your mouth water.

People were everywhere, chilling around fire pits or grooving to some live music from a band on a small stage. 

Sihtric, sensing your wonder, looked down at you, his eyes sparkling with delight. "What do you think?" he asked, the anticipation clear in his voice.

You took a moment, letting the ambiance wash over you, before replying, "It's magical, Sihtric. It's like something out of a movie. Seriously."

His grin got even bigger, and you could tell he was so glad, even relieved you were into it.

The market was just ahead, but right where you stood, the snow was untouched. You couldn’t resist. Gathering up a handful, you quickly shaped it into a snowball. With a sneaky smile, you shouted, "Hey, Sihtric!" The second he looked over, you launched it right at him, nailing him on the arm.

For a moment, he stood there, feigning shock, then a sly smile formed on his lips. "You're so asking for it," he laughed, making up his own snowball.

The next couple minutes were a total chaos. Snowballs whizzed around. Laughter echoed through the chill air, as you both  ducked, dodged and chucked snow at each other. 

Sihtric, being taller and stronger, had a bit of an advantage. But you were sneaky and kept catching him off guard. At one point, he theatrically dove behind a tree to avoid your throw, only to emerge with a heap of snow on his arms, which he playfully dumped right onto you from behind.

"Hey! Not fair!" you squealed, trying to shake off the cold.

He just chuckled, his eyes shining with mischief. "All's fair in love and snowball wars." He couldn't stop laughing, especially when you landed a snowball on his chest in payback.

With that cheeky glint in his eyes, he suddenly lunged forward, grabbing you around your waist and giving you a twirl. The world seemed to blur – the lights, the stalls, the snow. 

When he finally put you down, both of you were breathless and laughing, and for a split second, everything else faded. The rest of the world seemed to be far away, as if you two were caught in a snow globe of your own. You felt the warmth of his gaze, noticed the rosy flush on his cheeks, and how his eyes lit up looking at you. The moment felt so right. He leaned in, and you could feel your heart drumming in your chest. Just as your lips were about to meet, a heap of snow from the tree above decided to tumble down onto both of you. The moment was ruined, but you both just  burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter.

Sihtric glanced at your snow-dusted coat and a tiny worry line creased his forehead. As much fun as this was, he didn't want you to freeze. Tossing up his hands in surrender, his playful grin shifted to a warm smile.

"Okay, okay! You've got me! You win!" he exclaimed, dropping to his knees dramatically. 

You giggled, triumphantly raising another snowball over your head like a trophy. "Well, what say you, defeated one? How will you buy your way out of this?"

Sihtric looked up at you, eyes sparkling, "How about a peace offering? Some mulled wine and waffles as a sign of my absolute and utter surrender?"

You smirked, considering. "Mulled wine and waffles? Hmm... " Tossing the snowball aside, you continued, "You've got yourself a deal. But let's get one thing straight: I'm the snowball fight champ. No rematches!"

Sihtric chuckled, getting up and brushing off the snow. "Agreed." He offered his arm, which you playfully took, and the two of you, covered in snow and beaming, made your way to the market's warmth.

Sihtric guided you to a stall where the scent of warm spices and wine filled the air. Grinning cheekily, he handed you a mug of hot mulled wine, partly as a truce, but mostly as an attempt to warm you up.

Taking a sip, you felt the comforting warmth seep in. Sihtric, meanwhile, seemed to be lost in a little world of his own. He was watching the little things you probably didn’t even notice you were doing: the way you held the mug, the small sigh of contentment as you took a sip.

The rising steam from the wine swirled around your face, giving you an almost dreamlike appearance. Sihtric realised he was staring a touch too long, but he couldn’t help it. He was just so caught up in the moment, feeling like he wanted nothing more than to wrap up in a big, cosy blanket with you and never let you leave.

After you both finished your drinks, Sihtric brought you the promised waffles and nudged you playfully, suggesting a walk around the market. He kept sneaking these glances, not even trying to hide them. Seeing you like this, all relaxed and bubbly, was so different from the always in control boss back at work. Your laughter, the way you’d stop and admire a cute trinket or close your eyes, while breathing in the yummy smells wafting around — these cute moments were absolute treasures for him; they felt like he was getting to know a part of you he had never seen before. And he was all in for it.

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

You felt like you had landed in a fairy tale, a cosy and warm fairy tale, but it wasn’t just the wonderful surroundings that gave you that sense; it was actually Sihtric. Every step you took with him was like a breath of fresh air and you couldn't help but notice the ease that surrounded him.

There was something about Sihtric, maybe it was his childlike enthusiasm, his wholehearted laugh or the way he got excited over the tiniest things, that made you forget all the stress and monotony of everyday life.

While wandering around, he stopped at a stall with wooden toys. He took a small soldier and let it march over his palm. Sihtric laughed, giving you a playful nudge. "Look at this," he grinned, showing the toy, "Simple and joyful. Kinda like how I feel right now with you."

Your heart warmed at his words. Being with Sihtric felt like being kids again, back to times when days were carefree and everything was an adventure. You gave his hand a little squeeze, grateful for the lightness and happiness of the moment.

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

The ride home was easygoing, the radio was playing the usual repertoire for this time of the year, and although you had never been fond of the “Last Christmas”, you found yourself quietly humming along.

In the gentle glow from the dashboard Sihtric sneaked a few quick looks your way now and then, and every time he did, his heart raced a little faster. He couldn’t help but think about the evening over and over again, replaying every smile, every laugh, every touch, wondering if any of it meant as much to you as it did to him. Did you share even a fraction of the emotions he was grappling with? Did your heart race when he was close, just as his did? 

At the red lights, he'd let his gaze linger a little longer, trying to read you; taking a breath, he mustered the courage to break the silence.

"Tonight was... kinda amazing, wasn't it?" he said, voice low and a tad unsure.

You turned his way, your eyes locked for a second, and in that fleeting moment, seeing that weird spark in them, Sihtric felt a glimmer of hope, the possibility that maybe, just maybe, you felt something too.

"Was it?" You blurted out, a hint of blush creeping onto your cheeks, mentally kicking yourself for not having something smoother to say.

He chuckled, "Yeah, it was. It's just...you outside of work…You’re… You're... amasing."

You swallowed, feeling a flurry of butterflies in your stomach. "I had a great time too, Sihtric," you finally managed to respond, your voice soft.

The car ride went quiet for a sec. Sihtric cleared his throat, fingers playing on the steering wheel, and stole another quick glance at you.

"There's...uh, there's something I'd like to show you," he started, voice low and kinda shaky. He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself. "It's a place...a place very personal to me. My studio."

Your eyebrows went up. This was new.

He continued, "I've never really shown it to anyone. It's where I paint, where I kinda dump everything going on in my head." He glanced at you, waiting for a reaction, eyes all open and honest. "I'd like you to see it. Only if you want to, of course."

You could sense the significance of his invitation. Taken aback by the depth of the offer, you took a moment to process. This wasn't just about showing a room with paintings. He was offering you a sneak into an important part of who he really was.

"I'd love to see it," you replied softly, touching his arm reassuringly.

A big, relieved smile spread across Sihtric's face, and for the rest of the drive, an air of anticipation enveloped the two of you. 

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

Sihtric pulled up to his apartment complex, but instead of heading straight for the main doors, he headed towards a tucked-away side entrance with some steep stairs.

With every step, the city noise started to get softer, replaced by the muted quiet of the attic.

Unlocking and pushing open a door, Sihtric stepped aside and motioned for you to go in first. Inside was a world of its own: canvases stacked up, paints and brushes all around, rough sketches pinned up, and candles – like, absolutely everywhere.

“I don’t like the harsh light from bulbs when I paint,” he explained, helping you out of your coat and throwing it on a couch in the corner. Sihtric quickly went around, lighting up the candles.

“So, this is it," Sihtric started, sounding a bit hesitant. "My own little corner, my escape. Thought you should see it.”

The dim candle light, paired with the gentle moonlight glow from the window, added a layer of intimacy to the space and left you touched and breathless. Each piece felt so...alive. It was like walking into a dream,  where colours danced and whispered tales of hope, love, and heartbreak. And it got you wondering – how had you missed this side of Sihtric?

As you moved from painting to painting, a mix of awe for Sihtric and a touch of self-doubt stirred inside. Here was this stunning, handsome and incredibly talented man, opening up his world to you. What did he see in you?

You halted in front of a particularly crazy cool painting — blue crashing into blazing orange, like a wild dance of peace and chaos. Sihtric was quiet, watching you like he was trying to read your thoughts.

"Wow, it’s so beautiful," you breathed out, more to yourself than him.

He took a step closer, sneaking his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. 

"Kinda like life, right? A mad mix of the chill and the storm," he whispered.

You turned to face him, "Sihtric, this is just mind-blowing… It's incredible. You are so talented… And now, seeing all this, I … I feel like I have been blind all this time… and I can’t help wondering... why me?"

Sihtric shot you a playful grin, pulling you closer to his chest. "You know, in the crazy ride of my life, you just appeared to be the missing piece. A skill without a heart behind it is worthless. And my heart just chose you."

You smiled at him, gazing into his warm, mismatched eyes. A soft moan slipped from your lips as Sihtric leaned in to kiss you. It was just the first of many moans, sighs, and gasps of pure pleasure you couldn't hold back that night as Sihtric's lips and hands explored every inch of your body. And by dawn, with the room softly lit by morning's first light, you found yourself snug in his embrace, pleasantly tired and breathless, listening to him whispering words of affection and admiration, and all you could think of was how lucky you were that somehow, the stars had aligned and brought you both together on that balcony just in the right moment for this fairy tale to begin.

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #tlk #sihtric fic #sihtric fanfic #sihtric x you #arnas fedaravicius #sihtric x reader #tlk fanfiction #tlk fanfic #tlk fic #sihtric fanfiction

[asa-do-your-thing]

An Eye for an Eye - 01

“The Rescue” 

Osferth x F! OC - 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 1,4k

Warnings: Blood, Injury, Unconsciousness, allusion to violence / rape / kidnapping, angst

Chapter Summary: Osferth's patrol around Uhtred's camp takes an unexpected turn when he discovers the injured and feverish Aemma in a roadside ditch. Concerned for her well-being, Osferth brings her back to camp, where Uhtred identifies her as the young daughter of Coccham's alehouse owner. Determined to help her recover, Osferth, Finan, Uhtred, and Sihtric rally together to provide care and support.

Osferth had seen a lot of things in his days but nothing could have prepared him for the sight that lay before him. Peering down into the cold, muddy ditch he saw a young woman, not older than eight and ten years, cowering in the corner clutching her knees to her chest, all muddy and bloody. He couldn’t make out her face in the darkness but he could barely hear her whimpering from where he stood.

He scrambled down into the ditch and crouched beside her. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could make out more details about her appearance; she was wearing a filthy dress with tattered edges and her waist long hair was knotted up atop her head. She was trembling as if someone had just shook her awake from a deep sleep and it looked like she hadn’t eaten in days. Osferth had no idea who this woman was or how she ended up here but there was something about her that made him stay put despite all the dangers outside their little camp.

She was barely conscious, her face filthy and her clothes travel-stained and tattered. Her body was frail and her breathing labored, indicating that she must have been feverish for a longer while. Under her breath, he heard fragments of sentences, "I... water... who? What was I doing here? What are you doing here?"

He gently leaned forward and touched her arm cautiously as if trying not to startle her. The woman flinched away at first then slowly raised her head to look at Osferth with huge, fearful eyes that brimmed with tears threatening to trickle down any moment now. Seeing this, Osferth felt pain twist inside of him like a thorny vine— something told him this poor soul had been through a lot of suffering in order for it to lead up to this very moment of desperation and despair. He brushed aside some stray strands of hair from eyes, so she could see properly.

"Who are you?", he asked. He got out a flask of water and brought it to her bloody, cracked lips. "Drink this, you must be parched from the heat and your fever. Where is your family? What happened?"

She greedily took long sips. It felt like it had been months since she last had something to drink. "I... I don't know... I can't remember... my back hurts a lot...," she mumbled though her fever. "Are... are you an angel? Since.. when.. are angels... so handsome?"

He chuckled, his voice full of worry. "As much as I'd love to be called an angel I'm just a mortal. You've been through a lot haven't you? Where did you come from? What do you last remember?", he asked, dabbing away the sweat on her face with the sleeve of his shirt.

With shaky, unsteady movements she nodded her head, trying to stand up but stumbling backward into the ditch. The impact sent a shockwave through her body, reverberating down every nerve ending until she was lost in a daze of pain. Her hand shot out instinctively, grasping for something to steady herself - anything- but it was too late as she fell backwards into the pool of her own blood.

 The sticky substance coated her skin and hair with an oily thickness that refused to be wiped away. With each movement she made, more blood flowed forth from the wounds on her back, staining the ground beneath her with a deep red hue.

"I... I can't remember a lot.. but... please help...", she managed to stutter out, between deep, pained gasps for air. She felt her skin burning up with the fever, trying her hardest to stay awake and conscious.

Osferth felt his heart sink as he saw the girl's limp body, almost lifeless against the ground. He quickly lifted her up, not caring that her blood had now spread to his hands and clothes. His voice was filled with desperation as he shouted for help, running back into the camp. "Don't do this to me! Don't you dare die on me!", he begged, squeezing her tightly in his arms as he ran.

As he reached the camp, he frantically ran up to Uhtred, who had been sharpening his dagger together with Finan and Sihtric. They all jumped up and readied themselves for attack, but relaxed when they saw that it was just Osferth. "Uhtred, please... I know not what to do, she's injured and burning up... I...," he stuttered and held her even tighter.

Uhtred's mouth drew into a tight line and his eyes narrowed as he glared down at the battered girl. "Aemma?! But that's the daughter of the alehouse owner in Coccham! What is she doing here?! Sihtric, get our herbs! Lay her on some furs Osferth, we need to stop her wounds from bleeding!" His voice was tinged with concern. "Just a child, barely reaching adulthood... so many things could have happened to her..."

Osferth tenderly laid her on the thick furs of his tent and nodded to Finan, who ground Sihtric's herbs into a fine powder and put them into a tiny pot of steaming water over the campfire. "Yes my Lord, I recall seeing her scrubbing the floors but I just stumbled upon her in a ditch - lost in an incoherent delirium and blazing with fever. She's been fading in and out of consciousness ever since...," he rambled, gripping Aemma's hand for dear life.

Uhtred exchanged a worried look with Finan and pressed his fingers onto his lips, silencing the Irishmen from saying anything. Osferth took out his flask and placed it gently to Aemma's lips. "Drink this, I want you to try and stay awake.. Please..."

Aemma weakly opened her eyes and took a few small sips, coughing in between. "I... I went to fetch herbs and berries... then... I can't remember...," She muttered and fliched, as she touched her back."I'm so sore..."

Sihtric stalked into the tent, his jaw clenched in determination as he ripped Aemma's dress away and slathered herbal paste onto her wounds with harsh strokes. He muttered a silent prayer of thanks to the gods as he saw that the injury did not appear to be infected. Her cries of agony filled the tent as Sihtric shushed her with a gentle yet firm tone. "She should recover in a few days if we can keep her hydrated and nourished," he declared with a steely voice.

Osferth's tears streamed down his cheeks, mingling with her own blood. He tenderly brushed away a clump of matted hair from her face, trying to ignore the deep gashes that crisscrossed her skin. "What kind of monster would do this to you? I wish I could take away your pain." His heart ached as he crouched before her, pressing a cold rag on her forehead in an effort to soothe her agony. 

Aemma opened her eyes and looked up into Osferth's worried gaze, feeling like she was spinning in a never ending circle of despair. "Yes... please.... just take away the pain," she murmured softly. She forced herself to focus on Osferth's ragged breaths and the chill of his touch against her skin, desperately needing the distraction from her misery.

"Don't fear. I will protect you with my life, so sleep now and forget the pain of your wounds. It's alright to close your eyes now, to rest. You'll get through this, and I will be here for you." When he told her that she would make it out alive, that courage filled his eyes. His voice was strong but sincere. As the men saw her slipping away into a deep slumber, they walked out of the tent and sat down by the fire; shocked by what had just happened.

The men started speculating what could have happened and remembered the times they had seen her in the ale house in Coccham. Uhtred spoke first, recalling a time when he'd seen her talking to a shady looking Mercian with an moon shaped scar on his face. Finan nodded solemnly, remembering another time she had mentioned something about a stranger coming to visit her. All of them pondered over these events, trying to figure out how it could tie into Aemma's current condition. 

Osferth felt overwhelmed with guilt for not being there to protect her; he only wished that he could make it up to her somehow.

They all agreed that this was no mere accident or misadventure, and that it was indeed possible that someone had deliberately done this to Aemma. Outrage filled their veins as they discussed who could be behind this heinous act and what their plan might be. They all made a silent vow at that very moment—to do whatever it took to bring justice for Aemma, even if it meant risking their own lives in the process.

Taglist: @valerie977

#fanfiction #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #the last kingdom #osferth #osferth fanfic #osferth x oc #osferth smut #uhtred of bebbanburg #uhtred tlk #finan tlk #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric tlk #asa writes #asas fics #ewan mitchell

[aemondsbabe]

Wind's Howling

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

pairing: osferth x f!reader

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

word count: 1.8k

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

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @black-dread!

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

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You tense up every time you do.” 

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

“Hi,” you murmur after a moment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Osferth —,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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#osferth #osferth x reader #osferth x you #osferth fanfiction #osferth fanfic #osferth smut #the last kingdom #the last kingdom fanfiction #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom smut #tlk #tlk fanfiction #tlk fanfic #tlk smut #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #ewanverse #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #my writing #12 days of smuff

[arcielee]

Farewell Wanderlust

Warnings:  SA mentioned in passing/implied, abuse implied, death mentioned in graphic detailing (because it was deserved) and overall sexism because it is the 9th century. As always, MDNI, 18+ Pairing: Osferth x OFC Word Count: 4857 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: This chapter is definitely a hybrid of the show vs the books, with me adding flare to what happened to fit the narrative for this story as it is the fanfiction way. Anyway, enjoy. 💜     Thank you to my darling beta reader @aspen-carter for helping me with this chapter. 💜 Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! Dividers are by @saradika Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond​ @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @triscy @assortedseaglass @whoknows333 @shesjustanothergeek @heavenly1927 @greenowlfactif @larlarle @babyblue711 @fangirlninja67 @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @lauftivy​ @tssf-imagines​ (bold means I was unable to tag you!) 

Chapter 4

Coccham thrummed with the return of their lord, and his stride brimmed with an almost arrogance as Uhtred entered the great hall. Keavy thought it endearing to see how he greeted Gisela, how she glowed when his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss. 

“I have the monk you sent me,” she said, pulling back with her brow raised, her lips curled upwards. 

Uhtred had his own roguish grin. “He has left that life behind and wishes to serve me instead.”

Now both her brows raised, with a hum to acknowledge what he said, and then Gisela beckoned to Keavy to follow behind as they moved back towards the small side room. With their entrance, Osferth pushed to sit upright, his dirty blonde hair mussed, and he smothered a groan. He looked expectantly around before his gaze settled on Gisela. 

“I understand you left the monastery,” her tone held no judgment, and her smile remained on her lips. “You truly wish to serve a heathen, Osferth?”

Keavy peered at Uhtred and saw his brow quirked, his expression amused by his wife’s blunt tongue, but Osferth remained focused, his lips pursed in a thin line. “My uncle Leofric told me your husband is a good man, lady,” and he then looked up to meet her eyes. “A great man.” 

“He said that?” Uhtred of Bebbanburg had a presence preceded by reputation; he was fearsome, tall and built solid, but with Osferth’s words, he seemed to soften at the mention of Leofric. 

“Yes, he did, lord.” 

Gisela ignored her husband, her eyes still focused on Osferth. “And yet, this good man will let you join him for one reason only,” and then she looked to her husband. “To embarrass Alfred.” 

His gaze fell back to Uhtred and he nodded. “It’s true.” 

Osferth brought his legs to the side, pushing himself to stand; though Uhtred was tall, he just peeked just past his height. “That may be the reason you allow me to join you, lord,” and there was a determination that burned, complementing the blue of his eyes. “But I will give you a reason to let me stay.” 

Amusement flickered over his features again, and then Uhtred called for them both to be brought to rooms of their own, back at the barracks that housed his men; there were vacant rooms at the end, with Osferth’s next to her own. 

And Keavy began to find a sense of comfort within Coccham’s walls, beginning with the friendships of Gisela and the abbess.

As a grown woman, Keavy had a newer appreciation for the wit and the conversation of Lady Gisela, and she adored Keavy in return, as well as the extra set of hands to help her with the homestead. The children were taken with the Irishwoman: Stiorra was fearless with her affections, whereas Oswald was more reserved, but still offered shy smiles and would always come when she called. 

The friendship that blossomed with the abbess felt forced at first; Keavy eventually understood that Gisela must have confided in Hild and was relieved to know the abbess’ disposition never changed. Instead, she seemed to exude a warmth with her understanding, her blue eyes watchful and kind as Keavy began to share, little by little, what truly happened in Lunden. In return, Hild shared the horrors that Uhtred rescued her from, and she gifted Keavy the chainmail she wore for her years when she fought at his side. 

Keavy felt choked from the gesture, from finally admitting out loud, “I feel broken, Hild.” 

The abbess’ hands still held calluses, though they started to soften with prayer, and her touch was warm, like a balm to the ache that Keavy carried still. “I did as well, for a long time, and I burned through that anger I carried as I fought alongside Uhtred,” she began, and Keavy felt lighter with her confession. Hild smiled. “But it clouded my mind, kept me from the true purpose of my life and the plan that God–” 

Keavy could not smother her groan and Gisela’s laughter was light above them, calling to the abbess. “Hild, remember we sit in a pagan hall,” she teased, a gold glitter that danced in her hazel eyes. “Keep your God within the four walls that my husband allows you and allow us our own beliefs.” 

Hild held up her hands, her own good-natured smile worn, and Keavy looked to Gisela. “I believe in the true gods, Keavy, and I see that you have been brought here by fate,” she finished, her smile as though she was aware of more than she gave on. 

Fate, how it echoed in her mind with uncertainty, something she pushed aside with crimson cheeks that accompanied her daily routine.

Which included her instruction to tend to Osferth. 

Keavy would wake him with a soft tap on his door, bringing fresh bandages and a plate to share their morning meal. She enjoyed his company, how he was not shy to share about himself and she listened with rapt attention, with a rose color dusting her cheeks. 

Osferth shared his origins, how he was King Alfred’s bastard, though the weight he put behind the word meant nothing to Keavy as she viewed that his blood still held royalty all the same. When she said this, she watched how his dimples lined his cheeks with his pursed smile, “It is not the same, my lady.” 

And Keavy was lost in her thought of how handsome Osferth was, dimples and all. “I am not a lady,” she reminded him, her complexion almost crimson.

As time healed him, she saw how his skin mended together, the bold pink stripe of new skin across his chest, and how the bruising faded into muted shades of green, peeking beneath his chest hair. Osferth was lean, but without his shirt or his albe, she was able to admire the tone to his lithe figure and the pale planes of his chest; she was so lost in her thoughts, her fingers were soft to trace his scar, from his shoulder until the middle of his chest before she realized the intimacy of her touch. 

Osferth was watching her, the brilliant blue of his eyes wide. 

Her hand dropped to her side. “You are healed enough,” she announced, her voice too loud, moving to gather the clean cloths she brought with her. “You have no need for these…” 

She burned, too focused to notice how he reached for her, her name fell from his lips, “Keavy…” 

And she recoiled from his voice, her mortification boiling under her skin. “Excuse me,” she rasped, leaving his room and fleeing back to the hall where she found Gisela and Hild at the large table. They were startled with her abrupt entrance, their attention focused on the red that bloomed on her pale features.

While Hild tilted her head, her brows knitted above, Gisela wore her same knowing smile. “How is Osferth fairing today, Keavy?” her tone teasing, as always. 

She was grateful that Osferth was a gentleman, not breathing a word about earlier and accompanying her when she took the children out from under Gisela’s step. He lifted Oswald to his shoulders, with a slight grimace still, and Stiorra rested on her hip and a quilt on the other, and they walked out to a knoll in a nearby meadow.

It was one of the last sunny days of the season and Keavy laid the quilt on top of the grass, a place to sit as she braided daisies into Stiorra’s curls. The boys found sticks and Oswald preened for the praise as Osferth corrected his stance, while the girls’ cheeks were rosy from cheering them on. 

The evening was her own, as always; after supper was had and the children were tucked into bed, Keavy was able to wander through the village. Often, Osferth would join her, his long legs easily keeping with her pace, his eyes watchful as she explored what she considered to be her newfound sanctuary. 

As the autumn months crept, an evening frost accompanied it, and a large bonfire was often made. They seated themselves on a log, talking under the night sky by the crackling fire, long after Coccham was lulled to sleep. Osferth stood, reaching for her hand, a habit that remained and she was always glad to take it still, and he walked her back to their rooms. 

Her cheeks burned within his peaceful proximity, and she shyly admired his sharp features. In the daytime, she was able to speak freely, unabashedly, and enjoyed when she could cause cracks in his stoic demeanor, to see the upwards curl of his lips. 

But in the quiet of the night, underneath the stars that sparkled against the navy velvet sky, she felt her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth, an inability to string two words together before they arrived to her door. 

“I never thanked you,” she almost whispered and she peered up. His face was shadowed with dark, an offset amber hue from a lone torch still perched in the sconce outside; her cheeks grew warm, her gaze falling down. “For saving me that night in the woods.” 

Osferth hummed, a finger curled under her chin and brought her eyes to meet with his. “You saved me first,” he reminded her, a soft curl to his lips. “Sleep well, Keavy.” 

She slipped into her room, the door closed quick and quiet, her backside pressed against and she covered her face. She could feel the heat of her blush against her palms and her fingers flitted to her jawbone, to her marment; it was a reminder of her lot in life, of her place and purpose supposedly ordained by the Christian God, if she wished to entertain the words spoken by holy men and women. 

She was a shadow of a nursemaid, serving an unpayable debt, and possibly cursed, if she chose to believe the slavers. And Osferth had the blood of a king that she knew thrummed underneath; he was honorable, and held no resentment with his disposition, just an understanding of his place in this world.

“I am cursed by God because of my birth, the sins of my father have already doomed me,” he once shared the night they watched Æthelflæd arrive with her new husband. Keavy could see the similarities between his sister, how they shared the severity that Osferth carried in his features.

“I am cursed as well,” was all she said in response, and she did not dare look to him. 

His words embedded into her mind, pushing aside the so-called fate of the gods, and she saw his drive, his determination to create from nothing. There was a flicker of disappointment when Untred denied him to join the men to retake Lunden, how Uhtred pressed his fist into his shoulder and Osferth flinched, subtle, but enough to be decided that he would remain in Coccham still, to continue to gather his strength.  

Silly girl, she chided herself, pulling from the door and undressing for bed. She knew soon enough that Osferth would be well to go and fight alongside Uhtred, and she would remain in Coccham, braiding daisies into a crown for Stiorra to wear. 

And she laid down with the heavy acceptance of this fate that Gisela spoke of, though her last thought was his touch: how right it felt when he held her hand, how gentle his touch was when he tilted her chin upwards to meet with his gaze…

+ + + +

The first four years of his life was spent in the shadow of the family his father had, separate from the mother he never knew and who died bringing him into the world. His brother was too young, but his sister Æthelflæd always regarded him with a curiosity, a kindness that he did not receive anywhere else in the court. 

Osferth only had one memory of his father, remembering how large his hands felt holding his own, and the hereditary severity that lined his features. Dusk was settling over Wintanceaster and the king walked brisk strides across the cobblestone, pulling Osferth to keep with his pace. 

He recalled when they passed the queen, how her dark eyes glared at him in an unsettling way, in a way that pierced into his chest. Her gaze never faltered, holding his siblings tight at her side; Edward seemed sleepy, and Æthelflæd seemed confused with what was happening.

The queen’s heated gaze followed him, as he looked over his shoulder to see her, leaving Wintanceaster for what he thought would be forever. 

Osferth was quick to understand that this haunted look would follow him throughout his life, something that would accompany the title bastard. Sometimes it did not hold the heat, the hatred of the queen’s eyes, but cruelty all the same with smirks and scoffs, always some visceral reaction.  

This was, of course, until he met Keavy. 

His first morning in Coccham, he laid in his bed and listened for the soft tap on his door; he groaned quietly as he sat up, the wound across his chest felt as if it was tearing open with his movement, with a bruising that bore down into his bones. 

Despite the early hours, her smile was bright and she held a tray with fresh bread, cold cuts, cheese and some sliced fruit. He chewed quietly as she then fretted over his injury, unabashed with his shirtless state, her fingers flitting over the gash and a soft hum or tsk that rolled off her tongue. 

He enjoyed how Keavy was open and honest with him, how easy it was to speak with her. There was no judgment that clouded her green eyes when he finally admitted that he was a bastard, how she did not even flinch at the word. “So, you have the blood of a king in your veins,” she stated, as if it was the simplest thing. 

Until then, the taste of the word was bitter, something he had to learn to not react when it was spoken with venom. Though he was grateful that Uhtred housed both him and Keavy, there was the fluttered anxiety that rippled in his chest when his lady wife admitted to the real reason her husband allowed him to stay. 

The short time with Leofric had him imposing the thought that a man’s worth was carried in his sword and Osferth was determined to be just that; he wished to create a name outside that bastard smog that followed his steps. 

But for now, he did not mind the reprieve for his recovery, nor the company of Keavy. 

His chest healed without infection, thank God or the gods–he was no longer certain. When Keavy came that morning, he watched how her pink lips pursed as she looked him over; the rose color that bloomed on her cheeks was lovely and his skin prickled from her soft touch as her fingers trailed his scar. 

Osferth was silent, unmoving. He watched the sudden crimson to her cheeks when she realized, but he had been too slow to catch her hand as she pulled away, all by sprinting to leave his room. 

It left him flustered, his mind cluttered from her touch, something that felt so intimate in the moment. But her reaction left his stomach curdling with a misplaced feeling. Guilt? His anxiety returned?

He dressed quickly with the intention to follow, instead running into the Irishman and the Dane. They saw the shades of red that plumed on his features. “What’s going on, lover boy?” Finan spoke up, his voice loud as always.

Osferth was aware that they did not consider Keavy the conventional beauty that they would lust over; any time alone with them involved them crowing about his crush, saying it would dissipate the moment his cock was wet. He ignored their words; Keavy was a kind of beauty that resonated from within, something so uniquely her own, with her fine figure, her fair skin, her eyes as green as the meadows that lead to Coccham… 

He disregarded their unsolicited advice–”Go and just kiss her already!”–instead he sought her out, shadowing her task to watch the children that day. He knew that the evening would be their own, and that they would be able to speak freely, boldly, without prying ears. 

This was when she opened about the horrors of Lunden, before they had arrived, and it awoke something within him that he had not felt before. 

A bloodlust, a want for vengeance, and the need to gut the one-armed Dane, Sigefrid Thurgilson. 

Uhtred denied him joining to go to Lunden, but took to heart his words spoken–to gather his strength. He found Finan and Sihtric, and they agreed to show him pell stances, ways to train and prepare to be a swordsman. 

Osferth felt weak at first, a soreness that touched every muscle within his body, but it soon dissipated as he pushed through. Then the men returned and he saw a darkness that accompanied them, along with the news that his sister had been taken by the Danes. 

It was a white heat of anger that flitted across his brow before his stoic nature settled again.

He had only regained his sister, remembering how he watched with Keavy from the shore as Æthelflæd climbed onto the docks, walking the shadow of her husband, her mouth a tight line.

Osferth saw her again later that night when she left the church the nun Hild brought up, hearing her soft steps and seeing her cheeks were wet with tears. He had been making his way towards the barracks, but held still at the sight and she stopped, spotting him, her hands wiping her face. 

“Lady,” he was quick with a formal greeting, bowing his head.

“Osferth,” her voice was sad and he met with her eyes, glassy from her tears. “I… I have not expected to ever see you again,” and a soft smile came to her lips. “Did you come to Coccham to spite our father?” 

Her words warmed his chest with how she openly admitted to the relationship that so many skirted around, or would openly jest–other than Keavy, of course. Osferth watched her for a moment, seeing how their father reflected in her posture, with the same severity of her gentle features. 

“Yes I did,” and his own lips curled upwards in response. 

He offered to escort her back to the great hall, where they would expect her husband. But with the mention of Lord Æthelred, he saw how his sister darkened, in the same way Keavy flinched with the mention of Dane Sigefrid. And he knew that he was not a good man. 

It curdled in his stomach that night, the news of her capture rekindling that burning vengeance and he felt its grip on his heart. 

“Lord,” he called when he saw Uhtred. “I will come with you.”

Uhtred noticed how his jaw ticked with his words. “You will come when we have reason to go,” he placed a hand on his shoulder. “When Sihtric and Rypere come back with news.”

Rypere returned and soon enough they were called by the king for negotiations, the similar echo to the time in Lunden–all ego, and without a satisfying conclusion. As they returned homeward, Osferth saw the worry that lined Uhtred’s face, though he did not learn its cause until a private moment with Finan, when Uhtred shared the truth of his sister, and what she was asking of them. 

“She loves him,” Finan almost laughed at the idea, his tone incredulous. “Did we just not attend her wedding to another man?”

“He is not a good man,” Osferth cut through, and he did not expand. Instead, he looked to Uhtred. “What must we do?” 

They returned to Coccham, to rest, to plan, to wait until Sihtric came; Osferth felt the anxiety knitting into his lower abdomen again, and his steps brought him to Keavy’s door, rapping his knuckles against the wood. 

She opened it, pulling a shawl over her simple cotton dress, its burgundy tones bringing out the emerald of her eyes. “Osferth?” Her tone was a mixture of her pleasure, of her surprise. Keavy stepped aside, opening the door to allow him inside. “What is the matter?” And he was a dam broken, reliving the prior days and its events: from the debt of Wessex to his sister’s true-heart desire. Keavy held a quiet contemplation, allowing the spate of his words that broke down the concern he felt for his kin. “You only want the best for your sister,” and her simple words were a balm, a warmth that soothed the knot in his chest. “What do you need from me?”

He had not thought of that when he knocked, balking a moment before he said, “...I thought I would come for that promised haircut.”

The returned rose color that flushed her cheeks, her smile that tugged at his heart in a way he could not describe. “Very well, allow me to get the scissors from Gisela and we can do that later this evening, once Stiorra and Oswald are asleep.” Her eyes met with his own and he swallowed thickly when she added, “I will come to your room.” 

Ofserth was waiting for her when she came that evening, the same soft tap to his door. Inside, he moved to seat himself on a stool, his legs long and his knees jutted up with his feet on the floor. He closed his eyes as she combed through his hair, humming when she replaced it with her fingers. 

Keavy was methodical and he listened to the clipping sounds of the silver edges, his dirty blonde locks falling to the floor around him as she trimmed away the last remnants of his days at the monastery. 

It was quiet and she set the scissors down; he felt her hands rubbing over his scalp, brushing away the stray hairs and it tickled his ears as it fell to the growing pile. She stopped, her hands paused to cradle his cheeks and he opened his eyes to see the green of her eyes watching him. 

He reached to cup one of her hands against his cheek and her eyes met with his, with the slight quirk of her brow. Osferth took a breath, turning his face and pressing his lips against her palm, before releasing his hold and letting her hand fall back to her side. 

Keavy watched him still, her pink lips parted and wet from her tongue, and he pushed to stand, daring to close the space between them, his large palms settling on the small of her waist. “Keavy,” his timbre low and he saw the flush of color deepen on her features. “May I kiss you?”

She nodded mutely and his palms knitted behind, cradling her lower back and pulling her against his chest; Keavy pressed to her toes, the sweetest sigh that spilled from her lips– 

“Baby monk,” the unwelcome bark of the Irishman jolted them apart, accompanied with the hammered sound against the door. Finan pushed it open, his dark brows lifted at the sight of Keavy, a crinkle to the corners of his eyes as he looked Osferth over with a wry smile that spread across his jaw. “I see you have a new era about ya,” he teased, his hand running over his own low cut. “Looks good on ya.”  

“Thank you, Finan,” Osferth was flushed, his eyes glancing at Keavy before returning to the Irishman and his smug expression.

“Sihtric arrived,” he finished. “It’s time to go.”

He then dipped through the door, leaving them behind with their broken moment. Osferth moved to grab his scabbard, though he wished to grab Keavy, to pull her close once more; instead he knotted the leather around his slender waist.

When he finished, he paused for a moment, his hands balled then his fingers flexed before he looked up to see Keavy. She was standing still, her hands folded in front, her eyes still watchful. Osferth nodded his head and as he left, something caught his sleeve and he looked back to see her fingers pinching the fabric of his albe.

“Return to me, Osferth,” she whispered, her eyes wide.

There was the subtle curl of his lips and he reached for her hold, bringing the back of her hand to lips for a kiss, savoring her smell of lavender and thyme. “I will, Keavy. I swear it.”

That moment replayed in his mind as he met with the men, the hurried relay of the note Sihtric brought and a quick departure from Coccham. They rowed eastward, easing the boat to dock a ways up and away the main docks of Beamfleot. The followed the shadows of the woods that lead towards the fort; Osferth felt the flutter of his nerves, as well as the gaze of Uhtred. “Are you afraid?”

“Am I even allowed to admit that?” Osferth asked back.

Uhtred shrugged. “Osferth, at times we’re all afraid. Courage is just finding the will to overcome that fear. Nothing more,” he reached and placed his palm on his shoulder. “But you must find that courage.”   

Ahead, they spotted the Danes that lined the dock, more than was initially thought and a hazard to their escape; with Uhtred’s command, there was a frenzied onslaught and they left the bodies to litter the Temes. 

They pressed until they reached the walls that surrounded the burh, a ruction echoing the stones. Osferth was offered to be hoisted upwards, and even with his lean length there was still a struggle to climb over the battlement, but he managed to land on the cobblestone curtain wall. 

He followed this pathway, finding it unguarded, but remained low, unseen; once he understood he was truly alone, he dared look over at the clamor of Danes that drank and bellowed below in the fortress. From his spot, he also saw the smoke that began to pour from the Great Hall, accompanied with yells.

He was quick to return and called down. “Lord,” his chest heaving. “Fire!”

“Jump down, baby monk,” Finan called back. The gates creaked open and Danes poured through, spilling and coughing through the mouth of Beamfleot. 

Osferth instead returned, ignoring the yell of the Irishman; he moved quickly, his eyes burning in the smoke that rose, but did not stop until he spotted Æthelflæd, the stream of her dark hair as she followed behind a blonde Dane; he pulled her with urgency, and the roar of his name echoed over the chaos.

“Erik.” 

And Osferth saw him, the same Dane from Lunden, his eyes black and his knifed hand glinted from the growing flames. He moved, peering over the stone wall at the gate’s top, watching how the Dane escort paused, how Æthelflæd now pulled at him, begging him to run.

“You dare betray me, brother?” Sigefrid roared.

“I will pay your share of the ransom,” Erik pulled away from her, both covered in soot and she was stanced with the desperation to run still. But instead, Æthelflæd watched. 

There was the disarray of Danes that fled the fire, paying no mind to the ruined fortress or the ruined kinship. Sigefrid laughed, dark and boisterous. “And how will you pay?” His voice was cruel. “In what? Piss?” 

“I will pay the ransom,” he insisted, almost pleading.  

Sigefrid moved towards him, swelled with fury, and only then did Erik unsheathe his own blade, both hands curled around the grip. “You couldn’t pay a goat to lick the sweat off your balls,” and with those words, Sigefrid lunged at his brother.

There was a clash of steel that rang out and Osferth saw the astonishment that played on his face as his brother parried, gutting him with the knife embedded on his arm. Æthelflæd screamed her heartbreak, watching the blood pour from this man she swore she loved, and she screamed again when Sigefrid turned his attention to her, pulling back his bloodied hand and stalking towards her.

“Æthelflæd!” Uhtred ran to the outside of the wall, Finan and men in tow. The distraction halted Sigefrid at the entrance and without a thought, Osferth drew his sword and leapt over, crushing down on top of Sigefrid, his sword piercing through his chest and lungs. 

The Dane did not cry out, only the wet hissing sound of his life leaving his body as they both crumpled to the ground. His shins burned, but Osferth stood upright, looking to his sister, then to Uhtred. 

He saw how his eyes shone with a new admiration of the bold behavior of the bastard; Uhtred then looked to Æthelflæd, taking her hand and he called for his men to follow. 

Osferth pulled his sword from the dead man and then cut through his forearm, then reaching to grab the blade, the blood nub thumping to the dirt. He then slipped it around his waist and followed after, leaving Beamfleot to burn.

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

[andromedaofmilkyway]

maybe it’s just me being dumb but I couldn’t find any

TLK Æthelstan fanfiction here. May I ask you to guide me through a tumblr fancic pls 😭

#Æthelstan #aethelstan #the last kingdom #tlk #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #the last kingdom fanfiction #aethelstan x reader #osferth #finan #uthred of bebbanburg #sithric

[thethyri]

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

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

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

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

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

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

𖦹. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ 2,912k.

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

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

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN CIPPANHAMM AND MELKSHAMM, WESSEX, 892 AD.

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

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

      Wulfwynn felt utterly terrified.

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Lord !”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “We ride!” then hailed Uhtred. 

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

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

₊‧𒀭⋆₊

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

      Wintanceaster was noisy and Finan basked in its noisiness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

₊‧𒀭⋆₊

      Wulfwynn felt cradled. 

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

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

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

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

      And an ache clutched at her chest.  

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

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

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

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

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

      Cynefrith wasn’t there. 

      Eadgyth wasn’t there.

      They weren’t here.

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

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

      “Lass?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Wintanceaster, Lady.”

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

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

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

      Then her stomach rumbled.

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

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

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

CHAPTER TWO. + Archive Of Our Own.

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

#˗ˏˋ — the vodkas.🍷 #˗ˏˋ — the tales of wulfwynn. ☄️ #the last kingdom fic #tlk fic #the last kingdom fanfic #tlk fanfic #the last kingdom fanfiction #tlk fanfiction #the last kingdom x oc #tlk x oc #finan fic #finan fanfic #finan fanfiction #finan x oc #sihtric fic #sihtric fanfic #sihtric fanfiction #sihtric x oc #uhtred fic #uhtred fanfic #uhtred fanfiction #uhtred x oc #the last kingdom oc #tlk oc

[synintheraven]

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary: you finally find Ivarr Ragnarsson and a cup of ale gives an unexpected turn of events between the two of you.

✵tw: mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol, drinking, other than that lots of fluff :p

✵word count: 1,3k

characters info | part five

The sun was hiding behind clouds and a thin layer of snow covered the hills around us. It was cold, the wind crawled under my clothes and a shiver climbed my spine as their eyes were on me.

We had just arrived to Repton, yet the little army under Ivarr and Ubba's command was far more cautious than that of Tamworth. And as their famously reckless Lord stood proud before us, the rabid dogs followed close behind.

There were no children, no wives. Only soldiers dressed in mail, their Lord's most trusted hounds.

—And what of her? Is she your gift to me? —Ivarr asked almost too proud of himself and I was ready to bite back, but Sihtric was quicker to answer.

—She’s my woman. —He said. I frowned, his words still echoing in my head.

—Slave girl? —The Ragnarsson grinned, his eyes fixed on my expression. —Either that or she hates your cock.

Sihtric then gave me a strange look, his hand finding its way along my back and stopping where my butt joined my back, pulling me awkwardly closer to his side. —We’re just tired, it was a long journey from Theotford.

Surprisingly, he seemed to bite on Sihtric’s lie, while I pictured myself with a knife going through the Dane's throat.

—So, why are you here? Guthrum isn’t treating his hounds right?

—We got word that a son of Ragnar had taken Repton, so we thought to serve a true dane lord was better than to follow a stupid man to his defeat.

We knew nothing about Guthrum; not the colour of his banner nor the look of the man’s face. But it was easy to make up a lie when the man himself wasn’t there to deny it, though in truth Guthrum would’ve embraced us as his warriors as long as we looked like Danes.

Ivarr was hesitant, like dry weeds waiting on a spark to set ablaze. Yet he welcomed the fire, not afraid to get burnt.

—Ha! —He said loudly, his gaze studying me with curiosity as he crossed his arms. —And you, woman? Can you fight? Or are you only here to please this pretty warrior? —He finished as he looked at Sihtric, but he was out of words.

—The son of Ragnar wants me to teach him how to use his axe? —I snapped back happily, but my man, the one I wasn’t aware I had, was concerned about Ivarr’s deadly stare.

—I love sassy bitches, you can stay. —He smiled widely, as the men around us joined their lord with a grin. —Same for you, pretty boy.

Everything was blurry; the candles provided the room with a gloomy light and the flickering flames made the shadows around us deeper than they really were, like if whole territories hid among that darkness.

It made me wonder about the unknown, all that is hidden from plain sight but lurks in the blackness of the night. The wild beasts, the magic creatures, and all else that is hidden to us mortals.

I could hear the voices from the drunken warriors around me, their laughter, their joy after a succesful battle. The sound of wooden jars and metal clashing as they celebrated with ale, their harsh steps on the floor.

I was hearing Sihtric as he talked, telling me one more time stories about all his battles, all he had conquered to get here, to England. All about the raids: priceless treasures, gold-filled chests and wealthy norse fools ready to give everything up if only to escape an unneccesary fight, all that he'd managed to steal for himself after years of serving under Yggr's banner.

I watched as he wrapped his hands around the mug and a puddle of ale drenched the linen around his arms, yet he didn't seem to care. A tattoo showed from under his sleeve, an interesting shape playing in the shadow and hiding from the candle light. He simply kept on talking, ever proud and happy about his stories, his life.

Maybe it was the ale, maybe there was something in the air that night, but his words sounded funny in my ears. He was explaining how he once cut off a man's hand with an axe: the splatter of blood, the horror in that man's voice as he screamed out of pain. But all I could hear was a mumble, his attempt at sounding coherent while the ale made its way through his throat.

And so, I laughed. Sihtric's response was to look at me with a frown, then proceeded to burst out laughing with me.

He suddenly stopped and went completely quiet, worrying me for a moment that perhaps I was the reason of such a sudden change in his reaction, though nothing about his glare betrayed whatever was going on inside the man's head.

A young girl walked in our direction, trying hard to avoid Sihtric's eyes. She was skinnier than the others, with skin as white as snow and several bruises dyeing the flesh around her neck, making it no surprise that she was so afraid of the drunken warriors surrounding her. But she was there to serve drinks and so she would.

Her trembling hands made their best to hold the jar firmly and fill his cup, avoiding eye contact with the fearsome man before me. Yet when she was done and ready to escape, his hand wrapped around her wrist.

For whatever reason, I felt as if fire burnt inside of me; but I couldn't recall what was causing such a feeling, nor could I stop myself from standing up, as if something else was controlling my body.

—You're too pretty to be working at this stinking alehouse. —He said while pulling her closer, watching as the poor girl's panic intensified. —There's nothing to fear, woman, wouldn't you rather be with me than serving all these bastards?

There was a glimpse of a smile on his face, despite the terror in her eyes. He was a good man, for a drunken fool, and would've easily let her go if asked to: but that's not what those women were used to around there, so she was desperately looking for a way out.

So I took his mug in my own hand, spilling all its content on the floor. And his confused reaction was priceless.

—You better have a real good reason for that bullshit, y/n. —He stood up, freeing the girl's wrist, though she was still too frightened by him to go away.

—You're trying to hump some random girl and expect me to act as if I didn't care? —I asked with pride in my voice, though struggling to figure out what those words were supposed to mean.

He frowned again, probably trying to remain offended but failing miserably as a silly smile appeared on his face.

—We're supposed to be together, don't you remember, my love? —My words made no sense, yet they seemed sufficient for him, even if Ivarr and Ubba were too far from us to hear anything we were saying.

—Right! —His eyes widened up and he quickly took a step further from the girl, resting his hand on the messy table. —It's just that I'm so in love with you and to touch you would mean to ruin your pure beauty.

To this day I still don't quite remember what happened that night, nor do I recall when did the scared girl left us and ran back to the owner of that shithole of an alehouse. But I do, however, remember how he started to laugh mid-lie and looked down on his empty mug, only to remember I was the cause of it.

—Or perhaps my dear husband struggles to use his plow sword with his beloved wife. —I snarled back and once again he let out a noisy laugh then went quiet when he realized I had meant no compliment by that.

—Are you challenging me? —He asked with a playful smirk, leaning closer as I wrapped my arms around his neck and tangled my fingers on his hair.

My heart was beating hard: surprised at the shiver running through my body as I felt his skin on the tip of my fingers. And, for the first time since I’ve met him, something about his gaze felt different.

The candle light reflected on his face, his brown eye looking warm and inviting while the other side was ever bright, sea waters dancing within his eye.

His breath smelt of ale and his hands were getting a little too comfortable around my waist, but that didn’t stop me from reaching for his lips; even as he teased me, pressing the tip of his nose to my cheek, but avoiding my touch.

Sihtric’s kiss was full of warmth and necessity, feeling as his hands roughly pressed me onto his body. So I gave in.

#sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson x you #sihtric kjartansson x reader #sihtricxyou #sihtricxreader #sihtric x reader #sihtric fanfiction #sihtric fic #sihtric kjartansson fic #sihtric kjartansson fanfiction #tlk fanfiction #the last kingdom fanfiction #my writing #SORRY forgot to post it earlier hehe

[itbmojojoejo]

Fractured Moonlight / Pt 2 / Finan x OFC

Pairing: Vamp!Finan x Vamp!OFC

Summary: A prince forced to relinquish his title so that he may have a home, a princess begrudgingly doing her duty to ensure her lands survival, a king trying his best to keep their world from unravelling as war begins and a brush with death that reveals a secret threatening to destroy it all.

Wordcount: 5.2k | Part 1 | Other works.

Warnings: MDNI18+ NSFW Sexual Content. Mentions of death, violence, blood, alcohol, and arranged marriage.

Authors Note: Just me popping in for a note on the pronunciation of oc's name. It's 'Mar-LEH-nuh' so if you see it shortened 'LEH-nuh' not 'Mar-LEE-na'/'Lee-na'. Not beta read so you'll have to make do with my awful punctuation :) Thank you to @bhxrdy for helping me figure out what to chop off and push back to part 3 xox

Thrashing waves beat against the cliff edges with a howling wind under a glowing moon fighting to shine through darkening storm clouds. Marlena watched as the dim lunar white light skipped and shimmered over the choppy waves from her window high up in the keep’s western tower. 

It had been six days since Finan left with fifty of his best fighters. Four days of downplaying growing tense uncertainty and concern had Marlena taking an evening away from sitting in the council chamber, unable to swallow any more of the fears being spoken by Yannic and be near the grim mood that clung to her father. 

That grim mood had now found her as King Helier stood in her chambers, his hand leaning against the warm stone of the fireplace with eyes the shade of cornflowers staring into the low embers, his voice unsure as he spoke. “I sent a messenger to the north, to King Aelfric, he’ll be here before the turn of the next moon.” 

“You shouldn’t feel guilty for requesting aid Father, they’d do the same if the roles were reversed,” She sighed, pulling her eyes from the window to him. 

“That may be true, but for what we need I had to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse,” His posture straightened as he turned to meet Marlena’s growing frown. 

Aelfric’s lands were strongly fortified, his forces much larger than theirs, and he was unmarried. Marlena quickly pieced this together and her stomach dropped, acidic bile threatening to creep up into her throat, “You didn’t…”

“I can put it off no longer Marlena, I get letters every year asking for your hand, I have since the day you came of age.”

She scoffed, throwing her hands up, “So you are giving me to Aelfric?”

“His son, Wihtgar.”

Sour anger weaved into her words as Marlena’s steps carried her closer, “Out of all the nobles on this earth to choose from you would send me to the north? Their coven is rife with everything I am against, this is madness! Others could assist without requiring marriage and if me being wed is what you so desperately want we have a royal right here in our court I would be better suited to-”

“It cannot be Finan.” He calmly interjected, hands wringing together, “I am aware of your fondness for one another and turned a blind eye to it for far too long, but I cannot allow it.” 

“And why not? He is a prince-”

“Of a land long forgotten and his title relinquished.”

“A prince all the same,” She persisted, disregarding the consequences.

“It cannot be!” Helier roared, making Marlena shrink away at the sudden burst of anger.  She wasn’t on the receiving end of his temper often, not many were. He was one of words, not raised voices and nonsensical ramblings guided by emotions. 

With a deep breath Helier composed himself by smoothing a hand over his crownless curls and walked towards the door, “It is done, we need their army. You will marry Wihtgar.”

As the door closed a singular choked sob escaped Marlena’s trembling lips, a hand clutching the fabric of her dress, the other leaning on the tall post of her bed, fingernails biting into the wood. 

Nestled in a corner surrounded by tall dark oak shelves filled with scrolls organised by monarch, year, and month, Osferth sat hunched over a pile of weighted-down papers threatening to coil closed. 

He was the only being inside the archive room, the burning torch above him bouncing shades of orange and yellow across the walls with the winds of a spring storm leaking through old windows. 

For days he’d read all there was regarding Queen Isobel coming to the throne, how her clever politics and kind nature quickly brokered treaties with every neighbouring kingdom and that her suit of armour was never worn. Not a single word about shadow walkers was written until she fell ill. 

Osferth had studied what vampyres called ‘the maddening sickness’ when he was in the brotherhood. No one could ever be sure what caused it to occur, some speculated that it was their mind breaking due to their unnatural longevity and if it was a younger vampyre it was put down to a weaker, watered-down bloodline. Others speculated that their minds simply snapped worse than a mortal's would when subjected to high levels of stress or witnessing intense violence.  

Isobel never rode into battle, there was no mention of her being attacked or an incident of violence occurring in court, the land was at peace and she was the daughter of a king and queen. How did this happen? Osferth thought to himself as he put the scrolls away and fetched another bundle. 

The next went on to detail how Isobel’s law changes allowing mortals and others to take up protected residency inside the walled city had caused unrest with the northern covens and to resolve the situation she put a blood tax in place and arranged the marriage of her younger brother Prince Helier to Lady Lilias, the only daughter of a nobleman from the northern isles. 

As his deft fingers unfurled the next scroll a torn piece of loose parchment fell into Osferth’s lap. His brows pulled together as he squinted in an attempt to make out the faded writing.

“Peace has been agreed by Her Majesty The Queen Isobel and The Honourable Lord…” He slid his thumb and index finger down the tear, half the document was missing including the name of the mystery noble, “Where is the rest of you?” 

As the bell tower chimed signalling the return of troops Marlena perched on the cushioned stool at the end of her bed. She kept her raven gaze on the steaming water being poured into a large ceramic tub, peony petals and lavender sprigs swirling across the rising surface, avoiding the nervous look her handmaid Adalyn shot her way. 

Marlena’s impatience grew while she remained seated in her simple chemise to ease a much shorter Adalyn’s task of removing pearls, untying braids and untwisting hip-length ebony hair, bringing a needed release of tension.

“Leave me, I can do the rest,” Marlena took a comb from Adalyn’s hand before she could begin to brush through the locks. 

“Shall I return later, Your Highness?” 

“I will send for you, thank you Adalyn.”

Once alone, hair brushed and loosely secured atop her head with an ivory stick and a chalice of wine in hand, Marlena sunk into the hot water with a hiss at the stinging heat. 

She hadn’t been reclining in the bronze gilded tub, mindlessly swirling the petals around, for long before she heard his footfalls stop at her door, his hand gripping the iron handle, then slipping away. She waited a moment, wondering if he’d leave but he didn’t, he was just lingering outside her door. 

With a sigh Marlena spoke, keeping her tone at a volume he’d hear, “Stop lurking and come in.”

“What gave me away?” Finan asked as he entered; An unnecessary question, they both knew her hearing was better than his. 

“I can smell the sea spray, you’re there so often now it’s becoming a part of you. How bad was it?”

He rounded the bath with his eyes set on the tall jug of infused wine sitting on the vanity. His clean dark green tunic hung loose, clearly tied in haste, as were his trousers and boots. Finan’s burnt umber gaze only settled on Marlena after he took a large gulp from his cup, “Worse than we thought, twenty-three lost, and the fight took us to the sands.”

“So there could be truth to the rumours of an alliance?”

“I don’t know, the only ships down there are ones abandoned by traders,” He came to kneel beside the tub, lightly smoothing his thumb across Marlena’s cheek close to her eye, “Why have you not rested?”

Another unnecessary question, they both knew she found it hard to rest when he was away from the keep without ever having to say it. Marlena pulled back from his touch with a groan, took a mouthful of wine and rolled her eyes.

“Hal told me what happened,” Finan conceded, placing his cup down on the stone floor and tugging at the tie of his tunic to let it fall open.

“That I’ve been sold for an army?”

Marlena’s bitter tone fell away as she watched him remove his shirt completely before he lifted her ankle and pressed a gentle kiss to the damp skin, his beard tickling. He spoke low as he slowly dragged his lips up her shin, “The prince could always fall in battle, leave you a widow.”

“Or he could survive.”

Finan hummed as he placed her leg back into the warm water, his fingers skimming over her knee and down her thigh under the surface, “War is messy, soldiers get confused and turn on their own. I’ve seen it happen.”

“Ever done it yourself?” She lightly bit her lower lip, gliding fingers up Finan’s arm over the prominent scars and across his shoulder, tangling them into his hair at the nape of his neck to draw him closer. 

“No, but there’s a first for everything…” He traced patterns along the inside of her thigh, inching closer towards the apex of her thighs, ghosting his lips over hers. 

“What you speak of is treason,” Marlena smiled, her gaze drifting from his eyes to his hand under the water as he teasingly stroked at her folds. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”

A gentle moan slipped from her mouth to his with the first languid circle of her sensitive bundle of nerves, sparking a fire in her core. Her toes curled and flexed with his ministrations, her fingers flexing to keep their grip on her wine, slowly melting into the water with his tantalising touch. 

“It should be me taking care of you,” She breathed, trying to capture his lips but he pulled back every so slightly with a smirk. 

“Later. Don’t drop that chalice.” 

Finan found himself spending more time in Marlena’s chambers than he had before over the next fortnight, trying his best to soothe the anger that was growing in her. He, along with the entire council, witnessed her leave mid-session after being informed she was no longer permitted to lead patrols and that her men were to be divided between his and Hal’s forces to prevent them from growing restless. 

It was difficult for him to balance the sympathy with his relief. While he understood the princess's frustration at losing a large part of her duty it meant she would be safe inside the high walls of the keep, and that both forces had an equal number of day and night fighters, bolstering their chances.

As he was just returning to his chambers he found Osferth sitting outside his door, clutching a thin leather pouch, leg bouncing with his brow furrowed. 

“I could find no record of any lords who held lands that fell outside of a kingdom to need their own treaty,” Osferth concluded after his long rant about what he had found in the archives, quickly taking back the torn parchment Finan held out to him.

“Are you sure it’s not anything to do with the East? Isobel was before Alfred’s time, they’ve easily seen ten kings since she died, who knows how many they went through when she was alive.”

“What if it was the south?”  Osferth stressed; His suggestion garnered a stern look from Finan for even thinking it, let alone saying it out loud. 

“Why would it be the south? Not even your brotherhood really knows what’s out there.”

It was well known to all who occupied the continent that anyone who travelled south was unlikely to be seen again. There were rumours that if you survived the land of shadow walkers you’d likely meet your demise in the thick forests to fae, or be called to your doom by sirens the further along the coast you travelled, but no one had ever returned to confirm the stories.  

The only people brave enough to sail out there were the sea barons, and they spoke to no one of their experiences. All they cared for was trade, swapping pelts and metals for precious herbs known to cause hallucinations; To them, it was no hallucination, but the gods communicating and helping them win their battles. 

Osferth sighed in growing frustration; what he thought would be a simple task was becoming complicated, “Did any brothers remain here? They don’t all return to the brotherhood after their travels.” 

“You’re the only one who’s been let in since Pyrlig, and all I know is that he was tasked with healing Princess Marlena as a child.”

“So the prince would remember him…” Osferth mused, bringing a hand to his chin deep in thought. 

Finan laughed, “Good luck getting him to talk to you about it, none of them do.”

The young mage rolled his eyes and made for the door.

“Osferth wait,” Finan softened his tone, feeling guilty for not being as helpful as he wanted to be but a smile still played on his lips, “Before you upset Hal and get yourself banished, did you look at anything from the start of the king's reign?”

“You know where I’ll be then, should you need me.” And with that, Osferth left Finan for the archives. 

A day later Finan was summoned to Helier’s chambers as the sun began to rise, the calls of gulls gliding through the air as he made his way from the lower corridors of the west tower to the high levels of the south, windows barred by shutters to keep daylight out. 

This was the oldest part of the keep and an area he rarely ventured to. The shorter walls were decorated with paintings of older clan families who once reigned here, and the painting opposite the king’s door was of Isobel. Finan remembered the first time he had seen it, and how much of Marlena he recognised in her. 

A gold diadem decorated with delicate pearls dripping into her long dark curls worn loose, elegant ivory gown and shawl adorning her frame, vibrant blue eyes and a subtle smile that radiated a welcoming warmth. 

Helier's voice pulled Finan away from the gaze of the queen trapped in a gilded frame, “Forgive me for the late summons, but there is a matter I wish to discuss.”

“Your Grace,” Finan bowed, then followed him inside to the plainer living quarters. 

Helier busied himself shuffling strewn letters on his desk, keeping his gaze down.

“The official announcement of the betrothal will happen after Aelfric’s arrival tomorrow. There are a few elements of the wedding contract that need figuring out first, including that he sees Marlena’s dedication to being wed,” With a glance to make sure he had Finan’s attention he continued, “We knew this day would come eventually. So, it’s time you now broke it off. Before or after the announcement, I do not care, but it must end soon.”

Finan cleared his throat, his mouth drying up and clasped a hand over the other before managing a steady, “I understand, Lord King.” 

“Good. That will be all.” 

The ice-cold dread that spread from the scalp of Finan’s head down to his spine as he walked to Marlena’s chamber was the same fear he’d experienced the day the king had revealed he knew of their relationship. 

It was no longer a fear of being found out, but that he’d be losing another part of himself to retain the life he’d managed to salvage for himself. 

As he pushed through the door he found Marlena slowly pacing barefoot, a book held delicately in her hand, a simple bedrobe hiding her figure as her head snapped up to see him. 

Barely giving her a moment to register his presence Finan’s hands cradled her jaw, lips crashing to hers with such a force it knocked the air from her lungs. Marlena’s book slipped from her grasp to the floor, easily forgotten, pulling him close to her body by the waist. 

Marlena managed to speak as his lips trailed down to her neck, her breathing ragged, “Is everything alright?”

Mumbling against her skin, his hands slid through the opening of her robe, the aching want that brought him there quickly turning into a ravenous hunger for her, “I just need you.”

“You have me,” She whispered, pulling him back to her lips as her hands made quick work of loosening the laces of his tunic and trousers. 

Stripped bare Finan hoisted her into his lap, seating them in the centre of the bed, a mess of tongues and teeth savouring the taste of each other. He teased her slick entrance with the rough pads of his fingers, working her until she was grinding down on them with ease and whining when he pulled away to capture a pebbled nipple with his canines. 

His arm wound around her waist, the hand tightly gripping at her ribs dimpled the skin and threatened to crack the bones as he helped lift her. Marlena was quick to drag his hand away from her cunt, slowly sinking onto his throbbing cock with wet walls begging for more. 

As their hips began to roll in tandem her tongue skimmed over the juices coating Finan’s fingers, a low grumble emitting from his throat as he grabbed at her jaw, licking into her mouth. 

Breaking away with a moaned curse Marlena knotted a hand into his hair, the other gripping at his shoulder, her nails biting into the skin. Finan buried his face into the crook of her neck, fighting the soft florals and sweet silvery ichor flowing through her veins overwhelming his senses, tempting him to sink his teeth in for a taste. 

His grip became bruising as she started to grind deeper, chasing her release. Feeling the pressure suddenly build and unexpectedly snap in his core he muttered a panicked, “Fuck,” as his thighs tremored beneath her, flooding her cunt as her walls tightened and fluttered around him with her soft broken gasps. 

“I’m sorry, I-” Finan started to apologise but Marlena cut him off with a gentle hush. They’d always been so careful to avoid him spilling his seed into her, and with recent events, Finan couldn’t help but feel this was an omen of sorts. 

“It’s alright,” She soothed, pressing gentle kisses to his temple and stroking her fingers through his hair. 

In the aftermath, they lay face to face, legs tangled together, their fingers laced and unlaced gliding across one another. Finan brought her hand to his lips, planting light kisses on each fingertip, repeating the process across her knuckles.

Not wanting to break their peaceful embrace with the subject of his upset he kept his tone light, glancing at the gown hanging by the mirror, “New dress for the prince?”

“I picked it out of Isobel’s collection, do you like it?”

“It’s red…” His brows raised, a small smile playing on his lips. 

“A lot of her gowns are, I think the council angered her on more than one occasion.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Red is the colour of rage,” Her gaze slipped to his hand still holding hers.

“I always thought it was the colour of love.”

“Two things can be true at once.”

The distant memory of his mother's words crept into his mind, “A woman’s wardrobe can be her armour, it’s often our only form of expression in court.” how fitting he found it that Marlena would be wearing the colour of war to welcome her betrothed. 

The entire royal household was gathered in the bailey awaiting the arrival of King Aelfric and Prince Wihtgar. Standing in order of rank Marlena found herself third in line, Finan being Lord Commander of the king's forces was on her left, and the only outlier was Yannic to the right of Helier as lead councilman charged with introductions. 

Introductions, how ridiculous. Aelfric had travelled to this court many times, as they had to his, but Wihtgar had been absent for the past forty years choosing to travel. 

“A bold choice of gown, sister,” Hal whispered beside her with a smirk, the bailey was so quiet under burning torches and bright moonlight that multiple heads angled towards the pair, including their father at his statement.

Vibrant carmine material clung to her chest and waist, the airy tulle underskirt her usual shade of ivory to match the overly large string of pearls crowning her head, twisting around her hair keeping it away from her face and spiralling down her back. 

The thick dark wine Osferth had prepared for Marlena before sunset now sat heavy in her stomach, he’d warned her that the small dose of bitter poison would likely do the opposite of settling her nerves but it was necessary for what she required. 

Her unease grew hearing the curious whispers of the city’s onlookers flutter through the streets, lighter footfalls of vampyre accompanied by heavier giants, their armour and chainmail clinking, horses snorting, hooves clipping against cobblestones bringing them closer and closer to the gatehouse. 

Marlena willed herself to stay rooted firmly in place as the gate creaked open allowing Aelfric’s party to filter in, eyes focused on the pale stone pillars carrying the weight of the sheltered curtain walls. She could feel the subtle roll of Finan’s shoulders beside her, likely a fickle attempt at ridding the tension in his body.

“All welcome, His Majesty The King Aelfric Uhtredson and His Royal Highness Prince Wihtgar,” Yannic’s clear voice rang out as bodies dismounted horses with stableboys quick to tend them.

“Helier,” Aelfric extended a hand for a polite shake; the pair had known each other since boyhood, and a formal introduction felt misplaced. 

“You are most welcome, friend.”

Marlena sank into a low curtsey beside bowed men, her eyes cast to the floor. A pair of highly polished boots came to stand in front of her, gloved hand held out palm up. Her velvety ink eyes flickering up over a dark fur cloak, light armour, and an abundance of ornate pendants hanging from thick chains of various metals found the misty sea gaze of Wihtgar.

Gingerly slipping a hand into his she straightened as he bowed, the scar marring his left cheek had not been present at their last meeting, nor the cinnamon beard matching the straight hair of his head. 

Marlena couldn’t help but notice he stood more than an inch shorter than her, even in her simple silk slippers. What Wihtgar lacked in height he made up for with a visible air of grandiose around him as he regarded her. 

“Would you like a tour, Your Grace?” Yannic chimed at Aelfric.

“Hardly necessary Yannic, a comfortable chair and a discussion of the wedding contract are needed.”

“To business then,” Helier gestured towards the steps of the keep. 

Yannic ordered the other council members to congregate in the official chamber before joining the family along with Finan, Sihtric, Aelfric, Wihtgar and his guard Yahya in the king's office. 

“We can increase the size of the dowry so that the princess can take her handmaid and guard?” Prince Hal suggested, reclining comfortably in his chair. 

Aelfric gave him a tight-lipped smile as he turned to Helier with his response, “That won’t be required, we have already prepped Lady Sigunn to take on the role, and there are plenty of those loyal to us who are more than happy to take up a position of protection for Princess Marlena.”

“Lady Adalyn has been by my side for many years-” Marlena started, quickly cut off by her father. 

“And I will have a suitable role for her in my staff to step into.”

“What of Sihtric?” 

“The lord commander can find a place for him in the army, I’m sure he’d much prefer that than escorting you north.”

Finan silently nodded, throwing a look at an amused Sihtric who stood by the door opposite Yahya, their sights locked on each other. 

“It’s for the best, our lands aren’t as welcoming as yours for his kind,” Wihtgar’s smile attempted to be warm; it did little to conceal the contempt he held for changelings. 

Aelfric pursed his lips, placing a hand on his knee, “I propose the ceremony take place sooner rather than later, we have less than a month before summer is upon us and the journey home is long.”

Helier’s counter came politely, “I would prefer we wait until autumn. Marlena is a valuable asset, not just for strategising, the soldiers respect her and will follow her into battle.” 

“We agreed she is not to patrol any longer.”

“And she won’t, but should the fight come to the castle gates I will need her. My people will need her.”

A tense atmosphere rolled into the room as Helier and Aelfric continued to discuss how Wihtgar was not brought along to fight but to be wed and sent home with his new bride, and it was explained that Marlena had always held her duty as a protector of the people highly and was not expected to leave until the survival of the realm was certain. 

After agreeing to the terms and signing the freshly written contract, talk soon turned to Aelfric’s troops setting up battlements in a recently abandoned town close to the southern border, and once the men he left waiting for instruction on the northern border arrive they will work on additional fortification of the city walls. 

Finan took his place in the council chamber filled with excited chatter, ice dripping down his spine in stark contrast to the resentment simmering to a boil in his stomach. 

Three knocks on the cold stone floor ushered in silence, the two kings entered with Prince Hal behind them, followed closely by Marlena and Wihtgar. 

The passage of time usually felt quick to him, but as he watched her walk through the room and stop in front of the small steps leading to her throne, facing the onlookers, a perfect painting of grace and calm to everyone but him, it slowed. She currently wore the same stoic expression he’d seen before she faced battle, he only hoped her courage would endure. 

Helier stood proud, his voice loud and clear, “I am pleased to announce the betrothal of my beloved daughter, Her Royal Highness Princess Marlena to His Royal Highness Prince Wihtgar, son of King Aelfric.” 

As the room erupted into applause Finan bit his tongue, reluctantly joining in as Wihtgar took Marlena’s hand in a show of joy, his smile smug, lapping up the attention. 

He tore away from the scene as soon as it was respectable to do so, busying himself assigning quarters to Aelfric’s men in the smaller bailey. His chest grew tighter the lighter the sky became, knowing he had to act on Helier’s wishes. 

Climbing the stairs of the west tower he saw members of Marlena’s guard spaced out, a precaution put in place with all the new faces in the keep, and a bored Sihtric outside her door. 

The changeling raised his brows at the commander's approach and went to quietly walk away, but Finan silently signalled for him to stay in his place. 

Upon entering Marlena stared at the floor, her maps laid out once more with markers placed on positions of higher ground, eyes softening as she looked at him, rushing forward to envelop him in her arms. 

He resisted turning into the kisses she pressed to his cheek and jaw, reaching for her arms and pulling them away, “That’s not why I’m here,” stepping back entirely as she leaned back in with a coy smile that quickly fell at his actions. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” He sighed. 

Marlena scoffed at the unexpected rejection, wetting her lips, shifting uncomfortably where she stood. 

“What did we say when this,” Finan gestured with his hands between them, “started? That it couldn’t last.”

“And if I’ve become attached to this?” She quickly countered, mimicking his hands. 

“Marlena we can’t. You have a duty and I made a vow that when the time came to give you up I would.”

With a small groan, she held one of his hands in hers, “You can break a vow made to yourself.”

“Not to me, to your father.”

“Oh, so you’re the one who told him?” 

“I didn’t have to, the bastard just knew, right from the start.”

“Then we’ve been hiding for no good reason!” Marlena dropped his hand, turning away from him, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

Trying his best to soothe he placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her back to pull the hand away from her face. 

“Not for no good reason, you are an heir to the throne ‘Lena, you have always been meant for someone else. I know you don’t want to do this, I don’t want you to do it either but it has to be done. So you’re going to put on the performance of a lifetime and show not only this realm but his too that you are invested in this union and how lucky he is to have you for a future wife, a future queen.”

“What happened to the sentiment of ‘accidents happen’? What’s changed?” Her voice cracked on the last word. 

“You don’t know what I saw out there. We won’t survive what’s coming our way without Aelfric’s numbers and he only travelled with a third of his fighters. You heard him yourself, he wanted to see your devotion to duty before sending for the rest to cross the border.” 

Finan hated the way her lip quivered, eyes beginning to shimmer like the sea on a moonless night, how she took a sharp inhale of breath before speaking. 

“So that’s it? I have to sacrifice all that I love for an army, I am to give up the few joys I possess before going to wither and decay in a dank desolate land, trapped in an unwanted marriage that may last centuries for that?” 

Love. The one word and emotion they had always skirted around spoke out loud for the very first time, dripping in despair and not happiness as he’d always wanted it to be. 

“You’re not a selfish creature, this anger you feel will pass ‘Lena,” He spoke softly, his hands clasping around her arms. 

Shoving him away a tear spilt down her cheek with venom lacing her voice, “Princess.”

He hadn’t prepared for the ending of what they had to result in complete rejection, but he should have known that in hurting her she would not tolerate him remaining in her space with their usual pleasantries intact. 

Finan ran his tongue along his bottom lip before setting his jaw, taking a breath he bowed low offering a curt, “Your Highness,” and quickly slipped away from the room. 

“Keep an eye on her?” He asked a concerned looking Sihtric, not bothering to stop just wanting to leave. 

“Always.” 

The shattering of glass off the other side of the thick wooden door sounded out, prompting Finan to suggest Sihtric should send for Adalyn as he carried on making his way to the stairs. 

Next

Taglist: @deandoesthingstome @arcielee @bhxrdy @gemini-mama @persephones-journey (if you don't wanna be here just give me shout xo)

#the last kingdom fanfic #finan x oc #finan fanfic #tlk fanfiction #tlk fanfic #tlk au

[juliets-obsession-corner]

The Fox & The Swan Masterlist

(pictures were found on pinterest)

Erin × Osferth | Ivy × Sihtric

Description: Erin Fox and Ivy Swan have been inseparable since the tender age of eight years old. Where one went, the other followed. This would include falling into ninth century England, as it so happens. They find themselves trapped in the company of Uhtred and his men. Desperate to escape and return home, the Fox and the Swan must tread carefully or be forever ensnared by the past.

🦊 🦢 🦊 🦢

chapter one; should i touch it

chapter two; the lion's den

chapter three;

chapter four;

chapter five;

(ongoing)

#the last kingdom #tlk fandom #osferth #sihtric #osferth x oc #sihtric x oc #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #the last kingdom fanfiction #the last kingdom fanfic