#tlk fluff

there would be a feast that night. music; dancing; ale and wine; women.

the two men glared at one another, pumping out their chests.

“ya only want her ‘cause i do.” finan accused, narrowing his eyes.

sihtric smirked, oddly-coloured eyes darting to you, then back again. “i would have spotted her eventually, my friend.”

“well i spotted her immediately,” finan countered, thumbing the leather of his doublet. “how many times do i wonder ya’ve seen her before and not batted an eye — blue or brown?”

the dane scoffed, thumbing his own leathers as he shifted his feet. “i think i would remember a lady like her, finan.”

“funny,” finan took a step nearer. “i don’t recall seeing her around. i’d remember her, too.”

sihtric quirked the brow that bears a scar beneath it. “uh-huh, what is her name?”

“. . .”

“. . .”

“well i don’t know that yet, do i?” finan chided, a little too defensive. “ya little runt.”

“can i get you lads anything?”

they both jumped at the melody of your voice, finan’s hand flying to his chest while sihtric gazed down at you with bulging eyes.

you gave them a strange look, lips smirking. “did i scare you?”

once finan regained his composure he cleared his throat and leaned against the bar, eyes soft. “you could never scare me, lady. please, excuse my friend,” he leaned forward to whisper the next bit. “he’s not great with women.”

you shot a glance at sihtric who rolled his eyes at the irishman.

“ale?” you offered, jug in-hand.

sihtric parted his lips to speak, but finan turned to him with sour features and hissed. “i saw her first.”

then he returned his gaze to you. “i’d love one, sweet lady.”

you smiled and filled his cup. “and you?”

“i would also love one.” sihtric propped his elbows atop the bar as you poured him some ale, eyes wondering over your face.

“it is rude to stare, my friend.” finan scolded him, which earned him a giggle from you. he smirked, proud. “and get ya mucky elbows off the lady’s bar.”

sihtric only motioned to finan’s own arms which were bent against the oak, then uttered his thanks when you slid the cup into his open hand.

“what is your name?”

finan scoffed at the dane’s question. “smother the poor woman, why don’t ya?” though he was only annoyed he hadn’t asked you that first.

you looked between them with a smile, then gave your name. sihtric grinned at you, igniting a flutter within your stomach. “a pretty name for a pretty lady. please, call me sihtric.”

he offered his hand and you took it, only to flush deeply at your cheeks when he turned it in his palm to kiss it. “and this here is finan.”

the man in question glared at sihtric through a swig of ale, then turned to you. “i would kiss your hand, lady, truly i would. only, i don’t know where my friend’s mouth has been. . . on many other women, i reckon.” he leaned closer to murmur, “if i were you, i’d wash ya hands.”

“thought i was not great with women?” sihtric nudged him. “do not listen to him, lady. he is a jealous little man.” he leaned closer also. “but i am not.”

finan took another sip, then forced himself between sihtric and the counter. “i saw you first.” you chuckled at that, resting a hand at your hip.

“and i do not think ya pretty, i think ya beautiful.” then he glanced back at sihtric as if to say ‘hah.’

“would ya dance with me tonight?” he asked you, and behind him sihtric huffed.

you took your lip between your teeth, eyeing each of the men as they awaited your answer. “the tavern will be busy, but if i find the time, then yes, finan, i’d be honoured to dance with you.”

he pushed himself away from the bar with a grin, the masculinity that festered between them almost as potent as the stale air of the alehouse.

“i will see you boys later.” you said with a smile, then left them to their bickering.

they both wished you farewell at the same time, then exchanged standoffish expressions once you’d gone.

“you only did that because i was winning.” sihtric grumbled, drinking from his cup.

“i was going to ask her anyway. it’s like i said, old friend,” and finan took a gulp from his own. “ya not great with women.”

“at least i asked her name.” the dane shot back.

“i was going to ask her for her name before ya interrupted me.” snapped finan, his brow wrinkling.

sihtric finished his drink, then clapped a hand to the irishman’s shoulder. “so it begins, then.”

finan shrugged his hand off. “so begins nottin’. she’s mine, you’ll see.”

“for now, maybe.” sihtric leaned toward his ear. “soon we will see who is truly great with women.”

as he sauntered away, finan watched him with a face like a slapped arse. “ya just a baby!” he called after him, then sunk his weight against the counter. “i saw her first.”

“might i have this dance?”

you turned at the voice’s familiarity, the steel tankard in your hand squeaking as you polished it. “still competing with your friend for the first dance?”

“well, i asked first.” finan reminded you with a cheeky glint, a far less predatory gloss to his eyes this time.

you nodded and returned the tankard to its shelf, then leaned against the counter. he mirrored you, leaving a small gap between your faces.

“like how you saw me first?”

“precisely,” he glanced around, then turned to you again with that same mischievous gaze. “i think ya can retire from ya duties to join me for a moment.”

the bar was empty, save for you. everyone else was dancing or drinking or both. “i think i can, too.”

so he led you into the space where people swayed to the music, lost within themselves and each other.

“ya look beautiful.” he told you, one hand landing at your waist whilst the other took yours in his.

“why, thank you.” you gushed, resting your other hand atop his shoulder.

you moved in time with the song — a slow, steady beat. he pressed you to him, holding you close. over his shoulder you caught sight of his friends, a familiar face standing out from the rest.

sihtric watched you behind his alehorn, not drinking from it, but rather trying to conceal his thoughts. you could read them just fine; his expression did him little justice.

“your friend appears thwarted, to say the least.”

finan did not need look to know. “he is not known for taking defeat so lightly.” he hovered his lips at your ear, breath tickling it. “just another reason why i am the better choice.”

“i see.” you lifted your fingers from his shoulder to give sihtric a small wave. the gesture was not returned, his focus solely pinned on shooting daggers at the back of finan’s head. “he is not happy.”

“let him stew in his misfortune.” finan gave your back a light pat, regaining your attention. “and let us enjoy ourselves.”

you challenged him with an arch of your brow and a broad, goading smile. “you hardly know me. do you think my affections are won so easily?”

“i know ya enough.” he retorted with practiced charm. with a silver tongue such as his, it was small wonder to you how he survived so much. “and i plan to become acquainted with ya all the more, if i may.”

you glanced at sihtric again, his eyes fixed to yours and finan’s interlaced fingers. “you may.”

— HOW IT PROCEEDED.

you’d never known such attention, especially not all at once. it got to the point that you contemplated asking uhtred he put the two men on leashes.

“finan, i can manage.” you griped as you heaved a barrel from the wine cellar.

“are ya sure?” he asked, arms at the ready should you changed your mind.

you huffed, eyeing the man. “very sure.”

“here, allow me.” offered sihtric, reaching for the barrel.

“thank you, but that’s quite alright.” you rebuffed, wishing they’d stop badgering you.

“you heard the lady,” finan folded his arms. “she said she could do it. are ya questioning her ability to move a barrel, sihtric?”

you groaned, on the verge of banning them both from your tavern.

“i am simply concerned for her wellbeing,” his friend parroted back. “those barrels can be heavy.”

“so are ya questioning her strength?” finan continued to stir the way he would when he felt sihtric had, how he’d say, the upper hand.

“you tried to carry it first.” sihtric shot back with his usual sass. “you are usually the first to point out how you are the first.”

“so childish.” finan said with a tut, then turned to you. “such a man-child. ya cannot be doing with that, sweet lady.”

you scrubbed at your eyes, hands dropping when you could finally face them again. “listen—”

“he started it!” sihtric blurted, pointing at the irishman who looked between you with a shake of his head.

“see now, i would never snap at ya like that—”

“right, both of you out.” and you herded them toward the door. “come back when you have grown up.”

finan began to chime in but you held up a silencing hand. “no, i have heard enough.” you told him sharply. “out.”

sihtric sniggered.

“i am angry with you, too.” you told him with a jab of your finger.

his face dropped and you slammed the door before he could pipe up.

“now look what ya did.” finan hissed, delivering a smack to the back of his head.

and then there was the time the door to the tavern just ‘came loose’. to this day you’re certain one of them loosened the hinges on purpose.

“my sweet lady,” finan announced, opening and closing the door a few times, then gave it a tug. “it would seem this door has seen better days.”

“you did slam it rather hard.” sihtric voiced, barging finan from his way to inspect the hinges.

“yeah, ‘cause of you.” finan grumbled, batting the dane’s hands away. “ya don’t even know what you’re looking at, little dane.”

“i am taller than you.” sihtric quipped.

finan tsked at that. “by a finger nail, perhaps.” and stuck his middle finger up.

sihtric swiped for it. “how many doors have you fixed, anyway?”

finan threw him a sidelong glance, then gave the door an ‘expertly’ tap in several different places, pressing his ear to the wooden face of it. “ah, i know what the problem is.”

sihtric glared at him, incredulous. “what are you listening for?”

“it has woodworm.” finan concluded, thumbing his belt as he turned to you. “an easy fix, if i may, my darlin’.”

“woodworm.” sihtric scoffed. “you made that up.”

“everything was made-up by someone.” the irishman retorted.

you smirked at their exchange. “what is woodworm, finan?”

“it is a wood-eating infestation, my dear woman. it burrows into the timber, ya see,” he pointed at the door, but at no part of it in particular. “nasty things, so they are.”

“you do not talk like that,” sihtric remarked. “you read that in a book, didn’t you?”

“at least i can read.” replied the irishman lowly.

“how did it get in there, then?” sihtric challenged, arms folded.

finan blinked, then squinted at the man. “in all manners of ways, i’ll have ya know.” he took a step toward him. “care to explain in which manner my foot ended up your arse?”

sihtric snorted. “your foot is not up my arse.”

“not yet.” finan leered.

“you are funny, finan.” the blue and brown-eyed man took a step forward, too. “if you are looking for a stick, i might know where you lost it.”

“spose i should start looking at my lovely lady’s backside where i’d be sure to find yer lips, ya little arse-kisser.”

“children, children, please.” you wrenched an arm between them and they backed away from one another. “fix my door, if you must, then kindly be on your way. i have much to do and would rather do it without your squabbling.”

they glanced at you; then at each other, stared the other down; then both raced for the door.

you watched them fight over the hinges, trying to jam their hands into the small gap whilst shoving each other in the side.

it was like watching two kids fight over a slice of cake.

then finan snapped his hand back with a wince, cradling his fingers. “ya did that on purpose, ya shite!”

“i did not!” sihtric placed a hand over his chest, feigning shock or even offence. “you are clumsy.”

“they call me finan the agile, not finan the clumsy.” he growled. “i dance around men on the battlefield, y’know.”

“well, work your magic, by all means.” sihtric took a step away from the door. “dance.”

you shushed them and took finan’s hand in yours, assessing his fingers. “well, they are not broken.” you told him, stroking them gently. “but swollen, yes.”

“he could have crushed them.” finan mumbled, laying it on thick. “ya don’t want to let a finger-crusher court ya, lady.” he kissed his teeth. “bitter little man.”

“if i were truly courting her, it would not be her fingers that risked injury.” sihtric deadpanned, though the implication made you blush all the same.

“and you keep calling me little,” he went on, smirking over his shoulder. “you are the one with small man syndrome. i know this because you display every symptom, friend. temper-tantrums, a fuse almost as short as you, and the like.”

finan huffed out through his nostrils. “by a finger nail.”

you shook your head, adjusting his fingers within your grip. “can you bend them?”

“of course, i can, sweet’eart. we irish aren’t so brittle.” and he bent his fingers in front of your face, then booped your nose. “gotcha.”

“you put your fingers in the way because it is the only way you can get the lady to hold your hand.” sihtric accused, wobbling the door in its frame.

“ya just shitting y’self ‘cause a bruised ego isn’t so easy to tend to.” finan quipped, then leaned down to murmur. “he has chased so many other women, ya see. now he has many wounds from his attempts to show for it.”

sihtric muttered something under his breath, still struggling with the door.

“such a shame that he’ll soon have a broken heart to accompany them.” finan chortled, then let out a pained noise when you bent one of his fingers back.

“be nice.” you berated, then approached sihtric. “those women must have been blind.”

the younger man smiled down at you, finally freeing the door from its rusted hinges.

“what’re ya doing?!” finan marched up to him, conveniently placing himself between the two of you. “why did ya take the whole bloody thing off?!”

sihtric looked at him like he’d been asked to recite the alphabet backwards. “you said it had worms.”

“it’s not a physical worm, ya absolute menace.”

“finan is right.” you laid a hand atop his shoulder. “they are beetles.”

they turned to regard you with expressions that alternated between both surprise and perplexity.

“how d’ya know that?” finan asked, genuine.

“because i know what woodworm is,” you told him with an amused smile. “and my door does not have it. if it did, you would see the damage.”

finan opened and closed his mouth again with a furrowed brow, then you turned to sihtric. “please, put my door back.”

“yes, go on. very bad manners to rip a lady’s door off.” finan told him with a wag of his finger. “he is heavy-handed, always has been.” he drawled, low like a murmur.

“you said it had worms.” sihtric hissed, trying to realign the door.

“i said it had woodworm which is a beetle.” finan corrected with a smirk.

“well you were wrong.” then sihtric switched his glare to a sweet smile when he looked to you. “do not fret, my fair lady, i will fix it.”

“with what? hopes and prayers?” finan pushed him aside. “let me handle this.”

you ended up having to replace the door entirely and fitted it yourself whilst they watched.

oh and how could you forget about the bouquet debacle? you’d never received so many flowers.

“those are pretty flowers.” sihtric had observed one day, nodding to a cluster of floral wildness that sprouted from the soil before him — each petal differing in shade from the last.

“so they are.” finan agreed.

they looked at each other, then the flowers, then each other again. there was a pause, then the two men dove for the bloom, hands wrestling for their stalks.

“find your own flowers!” sihtric seethed, clenching them in his palm while his free hand tried to pry finan’s away. “and do not tell me you saw them first.”

“how do ya know i didn’t?” finan grunted, digging his boots into him.

but it was the dane who prevailed. he leapt to his feet, bouquet raised tauntingly. “you got to dance with her, it is only fair.”

finan rolled onto his side, dusting his front down. “that’s fine, some men do not need flowers to impress a lady. make it your apology gift for breaking her door.”

“i helped her mend it.” sihtric defended, wiping bugs and dirt from the flowers.

“ya did not,” finan took to his feet. “ya got in her way until she kicked ya out.”

sihtric narrowed his eyes at him. “you hammered the nails in upside down.” he waved his hands around, exasperated. “how do you even hammer something that only has one sharp end in upside down?”

“i was distracted by her beauty.” finan grinned, arms spread out at his sides.

“she cannot hear you, you know.” grumbled the former.

so that night, sihtric presented you with the bouquet—a little bent and misshapen—but you appreciated the gesture, placing them in a vase along with the others that both men had offered you over the weeks. you’d acquired quite the collection; the tavern never smelled so nice.

and finan arrived soon after, unveiling a fresh loaf of bread. “here,” he’d said. “a lady who works so tirelessly must keep her strength.”

your stomach growled at the sight and you took it in both hands, very thankful indeed. “oh, thank you! i will get some bowls. please, eat with me.”

the irishman grinned, triumphant. he was absolutely considering it a date. but his smile faded as soon as it came when you invited sihtric to join you.

when you disappeared to the kitchen, sihtric threw an angry finger at the man. “you do not bake.”

“i never said i do.” finan sighed, helping himself to a jug of ale. “you did not grow those flowers.”

“no, but i picked them personally.”

“and i bought that bread personally.”

the only time the pair of them saw eye to eye when it came to you, was when you dared to spike another man’s interest.

“are you seeing what i’m seeing?” sihtric nudged his friend.

“i am.” finan answered into his cup.

“she is laughing.” sihtric panicked, shifting in his seat.

“yeah, at him.” finan slammed his cup down, straightening in his chair to watch more closely. “he is making a fool of himself, surely.”

they both watched from afar, faces thunderous when the man touched your arm. you didn’t back away.

sihtric shook his head, jaw ticking. “i think she is enjoying his company.”

“so the man has jokes,” finan was practically seething. “so do i.”

you indeed were laughing when they approached, though on closer inspection your laughter seemed forced and solely at the man’s expense.

two gravelly throats cleared themselves behind him and he turned, jumping a little. “can we help you?”

you smiled, then took that as your opportunity to escape.

“no, but you can.” sihtric told him, hand poised at his sword’s hilt.

the man glanced at it, then back up, gaze flitting between them. “and how might i do that?”

“by leaving.” finan jutted his chin in the door’s direction.

the man frowned. “i don’t understand—”

“i do not think we can make it any clearer.” sihtric warned, slicing at the words with his tongue.

finan took a step nearer, expression fierce. “we could arrange to have ya carried, big man.” the threat was delivered icily, so much so that the man shuddered.

he never bothered you again.

— IF YOU CHOSE SIHTRIC.

it was probably through rather traditional means. with uhtred’s blessing, he vowed to wed you before he bed you.

he would not wait long before taking you for his wife. the battle for your heart had been a tedious one, perhaps the toughest he’d ever fought.

might as well make it official before his god.

but it had been uhtred who took it upon himself to hurry things along. “sihtric, loyal friend, we cannot bear these longing looks of love much longer. wed the girl, of this i actually beg. you know i do not beg.”

it made sihtric laugh, deep and from the pit of his chest. “lord, i fear the longing looks will not stop with marriage.”

finan, to your surprise, was not as sore of a loser as you’d expected. you broke the news of your decision to him gently out of fear he might kill his opponent, but if anything, he took it on the chin like it merely inconvenienced him.

he took sihtric’s hand, then clasped his shoulder with the other. “ya fought well, my friend. i guess all that arse-kissing paid off.”

sihtric chuckled, genuine and hearty. “it did, friend. she will be my bride, finan. that means you will not have to worry about losing to me next time.”

the irishman guffawed and drew a cross over his chest with his fingers. “well, thank the lord for that.”

of course, he still held a torch for you. a flame like that is not so easily extinguished. on the odd occasion, finan would throw a wink or a flirtatious comment your way; harmless, and no doubt to soften the blow of seeing you at his best friend’s side every day.

he might remind you of what you could’ve had, but sihtric would soon shut him up with a stern glare.

so they drank to it like men, both of them secretly relieved that their little contest had come to an end, which in the grand scheme of things was pretty silly.

“i let ya win, y’know.” finan jeered through a mouthful of ale.

“well then i must thank you, finan,” sihtric grinned. “thanks to your act of virtue, it is me who gets to hump her, not you.”

“virtue?” finan grinned. “a big word for a dane. where’d ya learn it?”

“it is not that big.”

“y’know what else isn’t that big?”

sihtric huffed. “please, do not say my cock.”

— IF YOU CHOSE FINAN.

you went to sihtric first, letting him down gently. he did not try to hide his disappointment but he smiled and said, “the heart wants what it wants. i wish you both happiness, sweet lady. and my friend deserves a woman as kind as you. finan, he can be a lot, but he will never harm you.”

so you went about seeking out the irishman, though you always hear him before you see him.

and when you told him the words he’d been yearning to hear since the moment his eyes first found you, he ravished you in a way one might inhale a mutton chop amidst starvation.

a man starved, he certainly was.

he had not been with a woman since meeting you, and with a sex drive as high as his, he was pleased he had not deprived himself for nothing.

to put it simply, he did not wait until your wedding night to hump you.

if anything, it was uhtred who encouraged him to elope before he impregnated you. “finan, the two of you are like rabbits in spring. for the love of what is good and pure, marry the poor girl.”

and so he did. and before long, there were many mini finans running around to remind sihtric of his loss.

Spring had started not too long ago and you had just started to notice how long Uhtred’s beard had really become over the last two months as winter slowly came to a close this year, it was almost longer than Ragnar’s was.

At this point, you could tell that it was starting to get in his way. There would often be bits of his dinner in it that he never noticed whenever he would sweetly kiss you goodnight. Which, truthfully, grossed you out a little but you always kissed him back anyway, never wanting to withhold affection from your husband’s life.

One morning as he sat in front of the vanity he had built for you a few months prior, combing his hair as his soft skin glistened in the sunlight and he got ready for the day, his upper body still bare and lacking a shirt, you appeared behind him and placed your hands on his broad shoulders. You gently stroked the warm skin there and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, encouraging him to gently grab your wrist and guide you to his lap.

As soon as you sat down and got comfortable there, Uhtred set the comb down and placed one of his large hands on your waist while the other held your right arm out to the side. Your heart beat sped up as you watched him trail kisses from the back of your hand up to your forearm, making heat flood your cheeks as butterflies flew around your stomach. 

You then pressed a light kiss to his lips and giggled a little at the feeling of his beard brushing up against your lips. Uhtred ignored this and soon deepened the kiss as he held your face in his hands like he was trying to wordlessly convey every bit of love he has for you until your giggling resumed that is, prompting him to pull away as his hands reclaimed their beloved spot on your waist. 

He raised one of his eyebrows in your direction, “What is so funny?” he asked as he looked at you with a confused look in his blue eyes.

“It is nothing, your beard just tickled me.” you explained while a soft smile rolled out across your lips, making him brightly smile at you as he started to brush his beard all over your face again and again, causing your laughter to become louder.

“Stop it, Uhtred! That tickles!” you exclaimed a few times in between laughs as you tried your best to get away from his beard even though he was holding you in place.

“Gods, you drive me crazy, woman. I’m so in love with you.” he said through gritted teeth as he finally stopped and he held you in his arms like you were something he would go to the ends of the earth to protect, which he always would, making goosebumps appear all over your skin.

You smiled once more as you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and gently threaded your fingers through his long hair, “Speaking of your beard, now that it is too warm to have one, could I shave it off for you?” you asked him, earning another smile as a look of love filled his eyes. Gods, he was whipped for you.

“Of course, whatever you want.” he lovingly answered before he then placed a hand on your back to keep you on his lap while he retrieved the knife he used to shave his face and a bar of soap from the vanity and handed them to you.

You briefly set them down in your own lap and quickly turned around in his lap to grab the water pitcher from the vanity, pour the water into the cup next to it and wet the bar of soap. Once it was fully wet seconds later, you turned back around to face Uhtred, covered your hands in the soap, rubbed it into his beard and wiped your hands off on your nightgown, it needed to be washed soon anyway.

You took the knife from your lap and started to carefully shave Uhtred’s face like you had seen him do many times before, ignoring the way the bits of hair tickled your arms as they floated down from his face to your lap. As you did this, his eyes never left your face, even for a second. He just silently watched you as you removed each bit of hair from his face with such care that made him feel like he was floating. 

“Why are you staring at me?” you asked as you continued to shave his face, a look of total concentration in your eyes.

He was truly in awe of you, he never thought he would ever be worthy of a woman like you, “You are so beautiful, my beloved. You have no idea.” he said as he continued to stare at you like he couldn’t believe that you were real and that you were his. 

“Considering the way you stare at me every single day of our lives, Uhtred, I think I do.” you told him as you smirked, making his cheeks blush while you tried to ignore how easily he had made those pesky goosebumps reappear.

You then smiled at him again and pressed a kiss to his now clean-shaven cheek a few minutes later, “All done.” you simply told him, feeling a little reluctant to get out of his lap, as usual.

You then placed your supplies back on the vanity behind you and rose from Uhtred’s lap, much to his dismay, to brush his hair off of your dress and into the waste container in the corner of your room.

Uhtred swiftly appeared behind you this time once you finished this task and spun you around by your shoulders so that you were facing him once more, bent down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips as he started to hold your face in his calloused but comforting hands again.

“Thank you, my love. I love you.” he said as he gingerly pressed his forehead to yours and closed his eyes for a moment. 

“I love you more, handsome.” you replied as Uhtred’s eyes opened and flickered back to yours, his cheeks now a light pink yet again.

NAVIGATION send me a request!

If there was one thing you had learned about Osferth from the day you had met, it was that he was an amazing cook. His friends had boasted of his abilities when you had first started dating, but you had yet to experience it for yourself.

So you'd made him promise that at least one of your dates, he would show off those skills. And there was a part of him that wished the boys had said nothing, because knowing you were expecting something amazing but more pressure on him.

But it had become one of your favourite things about him. And Osferth loved how excited you would get every time he would offer to cook you something. It soon became his favourite way to spoil you.

So when the first Christmas spent together rolled around, he had an idea of what he could do to make it extra special.

If Osferth's culinary masterpieces had no fans, that would mean you and his friends were long gone.

Whenever he would cook dinner for you, everything would be finished and served whenever you would arrive. Sometimes, you would see him cook when you stayed over, waking up to him already halfway through cooking breakfast.

So it never occurred to you that it was the same talented hands that would make the delicious desserts that would follow his meals. Yes, you would hear the boys talking about it, but it had taken you longer than cared to admit to realise they meant he had been the one baking too.

It was embarrassing for you really, why wouldn't he be an excellent baker too?

But knowing that, it only made you want to experience his talents more.

His plan was set in motion, mostly at the insistence of his friends. Osferth knew you adored everything he made you, there was even a list you had written out of your favourite things for him to make. Not that he would forget.

But he wanted to treat you, it was your first Christmas together after all. Baking you something would have made you as happy as it always did, but that wasn't what we wanted. He wanted to do more.

After running his idea past the boys, as usual, he decided to teach you to bake. Not only would it be fun, but it would be a gift you could both enjoy for longer than a sweet treat might last.

And of course, he checked your special list to decide what to bake in the first place. It was just a matter of when.

Christmas was only around the corner, and he wanted to do all of this before either of you were dragged chaos of the festive season. So he made the time.

You were sat in the kitchen, eating yet another delicious breakfast courtesy of Osferth when he posed the idea.

"You're not busy tonight, are you?" he asked, filling his own plate and sitting across from you.

You glanced up at him, swallowing your mouthful while your brows pulled up in curiosity.

"I am not…why?"

There was something in how he asked that told you that whatever it was, it would be worth having a free evening. Osferth simply chuckled in response.

"Just wondering, you'll find out later."

It was all you could think about for the rest of the day. Watching the clock tick down on your last day at work before Christmas. Your thoughts running through every possible idea for what Osferth could have planned.

So as you arrived at his place, excitement was still whizzing through you. As you opened the door, you could hear the Christmas music. He wasn't really one for the newer stuff, but it was festive all the same. And you could hear the telltale clatter of Osferth in the kitchen.

"Os?" you called, setting down your things and wandering towards the kitchen.

But when he didn't answer, your curiosity was peaked even higher. And then the smell hit you. Freshly baked crinkle cookies. Solidly in the top three on your list.

Was this the surprise? Your favourite cookies?

As you rounded the corner, you had your answer. On the counter as you entered was an apron and a note with your name on.

"Uh…I was supposed to actually be done baking this batch before you got home but…"

You silenced Osferth with a kiss on his cheek, and an attempt to snatch a cookie from the tray. Only to have your hand slapped away. You pouted, but relented as he handed you the apron.

"I want to teach you how to make them."

He was pretty sure you had frozen on the spot. You weren't even sure what you were so surprised about. Yet it took you a good few seconds to speak, and when you did you managed little more than a soft one word answer.

"Really?"

Osferth took back the apron and lifted it up over your head. Tying it around your back and quietly steering you towards the little work station he had set up.

"Yes, and I know these are a good place to start."

For all his good intentions, the kitchen was a mess. It had started off less chaotic. You watched every single thing he did, copying it exactly.

Then it came to putting the dough in the sugar. You would argue that it was just asking to be swiped over his slightly pink cheeks.

"Love…really?" he sighed, though it was far less annoyed than he could have been.

You giggled, shrugging your shoulders and swiping a matching stripe to the other side.

The biscuits were soon forgotten as Osferth grabbed his own fistful of sugar, laughing as you tried to dodge the powdery cloud that quickly enveloped the small kitchen. The squeals you let out as he chased you were better than any treat he could bake.

Though it was a good job there was a batch already in the tin for later.

Osferth Taglist:

@legitalicat @aemondsbabygirl

@aemondsbabe @tumblin-theworldaway

@sylasthegrim @hoosbandewan @thought--bubble

@kaelatargaryen @leather-bound-fantasies @livmondcole

@alexagirlie @anjelicawrites @multyfangirl

[ +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?"

Ubba?

God no!

A tall man stood in the middle, his sword stained with crimson red, courtesy of his dead victims.

A tattoo was printed on his face adding to his dangerous self "What about them?"

His voice was stern and deep, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your father started to tremble uncontrollably, an idea coursing through his mind "Lord Ubba, let me live and I shall gift you my daughter"

Shit

As if the kidnapping wasn't enough, your father has just sentenced you to death. How could a noble man who claimed he loved God and all his subjects put his daughter's life on the line in order to guarantee his survival?

You felt sick, disgusted even, bits of sweat gathering on your forehead.

Ubba approached the two of you, sparing his men a glance "You Saxon people…I could never understand you even if I tried" He chuckled, his eyes scanning down your body.

The Dane found it amusing how easily the Saxon made the bargain. Ubba was intrigued to say the least and allowed your father to live.

You watched as the old man whipped a few tears and basically ran as fast as he could leaving you behind. Leaving his legacy behind.

___

He was a savage.

You repeated those words over and over again for the first few months.

Only, he was far from that.

Lord Ubba was nothing but gentle with you. Despite how much you expressed your resentment for him, he was still taking care of you, forbidding any of his people to even approach you.

After he had taken you as his wife, Ubba never touched you until you felt comfortable. It was a long time, you must admit but he couldn't really blame you.

Everything that you ever knew was now a faint memory, kinda like a dream.

As you were now living in hell.

"How is the babe?" Ubba asked, entering the tent and picking up a cup of ale.

Rubbing your growing stomach you motioned your son to help his father discard his weapons.

Ubba laughed, patting his head as he watched his son trying to settle down his heavy ax.

"The babe is restless my dear. With each passing day he gets more and more stubborn" You laughed, wrapping a hand around his neck.

He leaned in, giving you a short kiss when he heard your son making funny noises upon witnessing the two of you.

"My dear, you have no idea how much this means to me"

He revealed, caressing your cheeks with his rough fingers.

You gave him a smile and reached out an arm, motioning for your son to come.

He hugged the two of you and pressed his face on your growing bump, whispering a bunch of nonsense to the unborn child.

When he’s away, you always find the time to go to the gate and watch, praying to Frigga that he returns safely to you. You think about him a lot, too. Happy memories, mostly. You try not to think of where he is now, knee deep in battle and in perilous danger, it made your eyes tear up and your breath come up in short gasps and you knew Sihtric wouldn’t want you to worry so much. So instead, you tried to think of happier things. Tried to being the operative word. 

He’d asked you to come with him this time. He hated being away from you, or so the boys told you. They way Finan had put it ‘He never shuts up about you. It’s always (Y/N) this and (Y/N) that’. You smiled, remembering that. You didn’t want to stay here alone and constantly worry for him, but you had responsibilities here and you know you’d only get in his way. ‘No,’ you’d said ‘It’s better that I stay here. You need to stay focussed on your task. I’ll be more of a bother than anything else’. He’d tried to refute you of course, and though it only got harder to say no, you knew it was the right thing to do. This led you here to the walls of the city, watching the road, your head filled with memories of Sihtric, and on your lips a prayer that he returned to you swiftly and safely. 

Through your tears you saw torchlight in the distance through the trees, and heard the muted conversations of men. This first inspired panic, was it more Dane raiders? As the men drew closer, your heart lurched, not in fear this time, but happiness and relief. It was them. Uhtred and his men; they were back home safe. Once they reached the doors though, you paused. Where was Sihtric? You couldn’t see him. You waited at your perch, heart in your throat threatening to stop beating at any second as you waited to see the man you loved. You watched as Uhtred came through the doors, followed by Finan, then Clappa, Halig, Hild, more and more men followed and yet Sihtric was nowhere to be seen. The memory of him leaving, the last memory you had of him, played before your eyes as you stood in abject horror at the possibility of his absence. 

“Come with me. Come on the road with me. Come see what this land has to offer. Please-” His voice broke slightly and you could see the pain in his eyes plain as day. You could tell that leaving you hurt him as much as letting him go hurt you. His hands were clasped tightly on your shoulders and his beautiful eyes stained with pain bore into your soul. You felt the familiar block in your throat as you tried not to cry. You couldn’t break now. It would be a hindrance for you to join, not a help, especially so last minute. You brought your hand up to his face and brushed your thumb across his cheek. 

“You know I cannot. I have little to offer in travel, and I know no sword-skill. It would be foolish” you paused for a moment, drinking in his face and casting every detail to memory “ I will miss you, Sihtric my love, and I hate to leave your side. But you know as well as I that it would be unwise for me to join. I will keep things in good working order here and when you return, all will be well.” He sighed, casting his eyes down in resignation, letting his arms fall to his sides. He fidgeted, not wanting to leave but knowing he had to go. He then pulled you into a sudden hug, engulfing you in his warmth and his scent and all that was him and at once the tears felt like they would pour from your eyes but you swallowed them down. You couldn’t let him see you cry. Not now. He whispered his love for you into your ear, adn his hand rose to lace itself in your hair. Your arms tightened around him, your body betraying your mind and begging him to stay. With a few calls from outside the house, he finally let you go, his eyes burning into you once more conveying a multitude of emotions that he was unable to express with words. His arm had stayed around your shoulder, then brushing down your arm as he walked away, and when he reached your hand, your fingers blindly reached out to his in a futile attempt to keep him within your grasp. When he left, and the door closed behind him, you felt the air escape your lungs with no intention to return. You pulled in a gasp and then another, willing yourself to be strong for just a few moments; just long enough to see him go. Your shaking hands reached the door, pushing it open and then falling limply to your sides as you walked numbly to the city walls. You had to see him go, to wish him well. You owed him that. You stood watching as he left and didn’t stop until night had fallen and the cold air forced you to warmer confines. 

And there you stood, once more, watching with hysterical eyes as men pored in, yet none of them the one you sought. It wasn’t until nearly all the men had entered the city that you saw him, praise the Gods you saw him, driving up the rear on his horse, clearly excited to be home. He looked so happy, and unharmed for the most part. He was alright. He had come home. You leapt from your spot, running down the steps to the ground and down the road to where he was. You didn’t care that you looked half mad, you loved him, and that was all that concerned you. When he saw you coming, he yelled your name as he sprung from his horse and braced himself for the force he knew was coming. You didn’t have a tendency to care for things like velocity when you were worried about him. He caught you with the grace of a man well experienced with your antics, and swung you around. He was laughing loudly, and on;y paused to place you back on your feet to kiss you. He was warm, so warm, with his hands holding your face so lightly as if you’d break if he pressed too harshly. When the kiss broke, you buried your face in his neck and whimpered. You let yourself cry now. You let every single tear you had refused to let out for so long leave you, and he pressed you to him, pressing a kiss to your hair. 

“I am home now, my love. I am home and I am safe. You have no need to worry now” he whispered into your neck before pulling you away from him enough to see you “Come. I am in desperate need of our bed and your cooking.” You giggled at that. You’d never thought you were an exceptional cook, but he always said that yours was and would always be his favourite. He led you back to your house, leaving his horse to one of the stable boys on the way. 

Once inside the house, he scooped you up into his arms and carried you to the bed you’d spent so long sleeping in alone. He shortly joined you after divesting himself of his armour and he held you close. This was your favourite part; laying in his arms and listening to him as he told you all about his adventures. He spoke in a soft voice, stroking your skin and playing with your hair as he did. It was the best feeling you’d ever known. Better than a warm bed after a long day, better than a full plate of food after hard work, better even than his lovemaking (which came in a close second mind you). This moment, when he returned safely to you made you drunk with elation. You turned to face him, taking in how much he’d changed, and yet stayed the same. You frowned a little, noticing the new marks he sported. You reached out your hand to trace them, and he let you, eyes watching you carefully. They had not all scarred yet, some of them still scabbed red and raised. You went to get up from the bed, when his hand snaked around you to prevent it. 

“Let me get the poultice, Sihtric.” You said, half giggling as he pulled you to him, sniggling you within an inch of your life. 

You ignored the tray of dinner the guard, Wilfred, who’d arrested you had placed in your cell, feeling lost in your thoughts over what had happened over the last few days. You’d been captured and imprisoned after Wilfred had witnessed you tending to a man’s wounds after he’d gotten into a bar fight. Wilfred noticed almost instantly the following morning how this man’s wounds seemed to look a lot better compared to just hours before. 

As you tended to another person that morning, Wilfred had yanked you away by your arm, “You’re a witch! I knew it!” he declared but you denied this accusation right away.

“This is not true! I was just helping them! I swear!” you said, poorly attempting to defend yourself and avoid some sort of punishment. But it was pointless. With permission from the King, Wilfred imprisoned you in the kingdom’s dungeon. You were left alone in your now dirty dress to cry and shake in fear while you slowly started to accept that no was going to save you. There was truly no way to prove your innocence, you were going to die here. 

And every night after he “caught” you, Wilfred would return once the sun had set to tie your wrists to the bars of your cell and whip your back until you bled. He was always more violent and merciless than he had been the night before, “Confess your sins!” he’d screamed over and over again, commanding you to confess to being a witch.

“I am not a witch! I am telling the truth!” you’d yelled back as you shook against your restraints from the pain, your screams filling the dungeon as blood left your wounds. Surely they’d get infected soon, hopefully killing you before Wilfred would ever get the chance to.

After a couple weeks of torture and still no confession from you, Wilfred had some news when he showed up to your cell one night a few days ago, “You have three more days to confess or you will be executed. You are a danger to this kingdom and the King wants to be rid of you as soon as possible.” he explained.

This fate prompted you to accept your death once more as another day passed and still no confession left your lips. You knew you were going to die either way, no matter if you confessed or not. Your thoughts were soon interrupted by Wilfred’s figure appearing next to the torch outside of your cell, causing you to shake in fear once more while he unlocked your cell with the flog in his other hand like he did every night. You didn’t know how much more pain you could bear until your body gave out.

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

Meanwhile, a group of men you didn’t know yet, Uhtred, Finan, Osferth and Sihtric settled in an Inn in Kent for the night, desperate to take a break from their travels for the night and rest in the room the Inn keeper had given them the keys to. To them, Kent was just like any other Kingdom they’d visited, it seemed normal. But they didn’t know of the torture that occured here every night in the nearby dungeons. As the hours passed, the four men went about their night as they usually did when they stayed in a kingdom for the night. They ate together, drank together and when they were tired enough, they eventually went to sleep in their shared room on the second floor of the Inn.

As Uhtred finally started to fall asleep, barely able to keep his eyes open, the sound of screams almost instantly woke him up. From what he could tell as he rose from the bed he’d been sharing with Finan, the sound was coming from the dungeon that was close by. Normally he would’ve ignored this sound and just gone to sleep but the sound of a woman’s crying and begging grabbed his attention.

He shook Finan and Sihtric awake, “What, Uhtred? What could you possibly need at this hour?” Finan grumbled as he rubbed his eyes. But before Uhtred could explain himself, the loud sound of your begging filled the room and the two men’s eyes widened.

“Stop, please stop!” they heard you scream, prompting them to put their armor back on, grab their swords and investigate the troubling sound.

They followed the sound of your crying, screaming and begging until they finally found you. Uhtred’s eyes widened at the sight, he’d seen torture like this before of course but this felt different to him. Seeing you, a woman he did not know, be tortured stuck with him more than he expected. Your wrists were tightly tied to the bars that made up the walls of your cell and your back was being violently whipped as a guard screamed at you and you hopelessly begged him to stop. The clothes you were wearing were almost completely shredded, reminding him of when he and Finan were slaves not that long ago. He saw himself in your pain and his heart broke for you. He needed to do something, anything to put a stop to your pain.

Without thinking, he went into your cell through the door that had been left open and appeared behind the guard, pressing the blade of his sword to the man’s throat. He briefly thought of insulting the guard but men like him weren’t worth the trouble so he simply slit the man's throat and let his now limp body fall to the floor. While Finan and Sihtric kept watch for any nearby guards who may have overheard what happened, Uhtred placed his sword back in its sheath on his back and started to untie the rope around your wrists. 

Once you were free, he gently helped you stand all the way up again but because of the darkness in the dungeon, you had not seen these men appear and assumed that the man who was currently touching you was just another guard here to hurt you. You thrashed against his hold, “Let me go!” you screamed as you kept trying to get out of his arms.

He held you close to his chest, “I will not let that man hurt you anymore, I am going to get you out of here.” he told you, making you relax a little. You had no choice but to trust this man, you had no fight left in you after tonight and you let him wrap you in the cloak one of the men he was with was wearing, hiding your identity as they smuggled you back to the Inn they were staying at. You had to admit, it felt comforting to be shown kindness again after what you’d gone through. You never thought you’d ever get to have any sort of peace ever again.

As soon as you reached their room in the Inn, this man gently set you down in a sitting position on one of the beds, assuming that you would be too weak to walk. He kneeled before you, “I am Uhtred, this is Finan, Sihtric and Osferth,” he said, pointing to each man as he introduced them, “You are safe here, I promise.” he told you.

“Thank you.” you quietly replied as you stared down at your lap and the state your dress was now in.

“Is it alright if I clean your wounds?” he asked you, earning a nod from you in response, you felt too weak and traumatized to verbally respond again.

Uhtred placed the fur pelt that had been adorning his back on the ground in front of the fire and helped you lay on your stomach on it, signaling to Finan, Sihtric and a now awake Osferth to leave the room for a little while until Uhtred was done cleaning your wounds. He first grabbed a small dagger from his hip and started to cut what was left of your dress off your back. Then he got the pitcher of water, bar of soap and linen cloth from a small nearby table, quickly wetted the cloth with the water, covered it in soap and started to clean your wounds as gently as he could.

While he did this, you tried your best to contain your screams at the burning feeling erupting from your back, clawing at Uhtred’s pelt like some sort of wild animal. “Sorry.” Uhtred quietly said a few times as he continued to clean your back. But you didn’t respond, you just kept your head down in hopes that he’d be done soon.

And the second he was, he gave you a spare tunic and pair of pants, turning away while you discarded your ruined dress onto the floor and changed into these new clothes. He then helped you lie down in one of the beds, sitting up next to you on the side closest to the door, sword in hand, like he was your loyal guard dog. As you lay there next to him, finally able to let your guard down, he didn’t expect anything from you tonight, not your name or your reason for your imprisonment. He just let you sleep, showing you the kindness he never got while he was a slave.

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

The next morning, the four men helped you get out of the Inn without anyone noticing, Finan’s cloak hiding your face once more. “We are taking you back to Coccham, you’ll be protected there.” Uhtred explained as you started the four day long journey there and you held onto him from where you sat behind him on his horse. You nodded against him, still not feeling strong enough to respond. 

The whole way there, you never spoke even when the five of you would stop for the night, you just stared ahead blankly while the events of your imprisonment replayed in your mind. Two days into the trip, Finan pulled Uhtred aside while they thought you were asleep next to the fire Sihtric had built. “Why’re you still letting this woman tag along? We don’t know why she was imprisoned, we don’t even know her name.” Finan said as he talked with his hands.

“You of all people should understand what she went through,” Uhtred spat back, earning an eye roll from Finan, “If she ends up being dangerous, I will handle it.” he said, successfully getting Finan to leave this topic alone for now and go to sleep.

Immediately after Uhtred sat back down next to where you were laying, you sat up and looked into his blue eyes, “I am not dangerous.” you said, defending yourself.

Uhtred nodded, “I know, I did not mean it, I promise. I just wanted Finan to let it go.” he explained, hoping that you’d understand.

You took a deep breath in and out, “I was imprisoned because that guard believed that I was a witch after he saw me help a man’s wounds heal quicker. If it was not for you, Finan and Sihtric, he would have killed me a couple days later.” you said, explaining yourself.

Uhtred nodded again, “I understand. Not long ago, Finan and I were slaves and were whipped how you were. That is why I told Finan that he should understand what you went through,” he told you, it felt nice to know that he understood exactly what you were going through, “Now that I know your story, will you tell me your name?” he asked.

“It is (y/n).” you made known.

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

For the rest of the trip back to Coccham, you and Uhtred started to become closer but you still barely spoke, only a sentence here or there to him or the other men. You only had the energy to speak when you were spoken to. You could tell right away that Finan, Sihtric and Osferth thought that this behavior was odd but they never questioned it. And just like that first night, Uhtred stayed awake by your side every night for the rest of the trip until his body eventually gave in and he fell asleep, his hand still on his sword even in his unconscious state.

As soon as the five of you finally reached Coccham, Uhtred took you to the spare room next to his which would become yours since no one else was using it. He turned around and headed for the door moments later, wanting to give you some time to get settled in your new home. You then quickly grabbed his arm, stopping him from leaving, “Could I stay with you in your room? I do not want to sleep alone, not yet.” you requested. 

“As you wish.” he said with a nod, he’d prefer to keep you close so that it’d be easier to protect you anyway. He took you to his room instead and left you alone to get some extra clothes for you from Finan’s wife, Ingrith.

While he was gone, you looked out of one of the windows in the room, you could see Coccham’s dungeon from here. It looked almost exactly like the one in Kent, reminding you of what you went through. The sight of this alone caused tears to prick at your eyes while your breathing sped up. You backed up until your back made contact with one of the walls and you slid down it until you hit the floor. You felt like you were drowning in your emotions.

When Uhtred returned almost ten minutes later, he instantly threw the clothes onto the bed and rushed to your side. He didn't ask what happened, he simply wrapped his arms around you and held you close in his lap, “You’re okay, you’re safe.” he murmured into your hair again and again until you eventually calmed down.

“The dungeon here reminded me of the one in Kent.” you explained once your tears stopped and your breathing slowed back down.

“Would you rather have a room that does not overlook the dungeon?” Uhtred asked as he softly stroked your back with his thumb.

You shook your head, “No, I feel safer here with you.” you answered.

He wiped your remaining tears away and hugged you again, glad that you felt safe with him. You felt protected and loved here in his arms. And when you were ready, he helped you stand back up and gave you the clothes he got from Ingrith, a soft smile on his face.

“Thank you, Uhtred. I appreciate how kind you have been to me.” you told him as you took the pile of clothes from him.

He waves off your gratefulness, “You do not need to thank me, you deserved to be freed, (y/n).” he said, prompting you to take his hand in yours and give it one quick squeeze before you let it go. During the short trip back to Coccham, you’d come up with a system since you weren’t ready to talk much yet, one squeeze meant that you were okay and two squeezes meant that you weren’t.

Uhtred smiled at you and briefly left the room once more to give you the privacy to change into one of your new dresses. “You can come back in.” you said a few minutes later once you were fully dressed. 

When he re-entered, he was at a loss when his eyes landed on you. “So beautiful.” he muttered under his breath, not meaning to say this out loud, making you blush.

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

Over the next month, you felt yourself slowly becoming okay again. You started to talk more, you even laughed and the wounds on your back fully healed, turning into scars that you were starting to accept. Uhtred always told you that your scars showed how strong you were, making you feel a little better about them. You could rest easy knowing that you were safe here in Coccham with Uhtred.

But the more time you spent together, the more Uhtred felt himself falling in love with you. He couldn’t get enough of you and desperately wanted you to be his. He wanted to be able to kiss you, to hold you while you slept and call you his for the rest of his life. Little did he know, you felt the exact same. He’d been the first person to ever really show you love and kindness, even before you were imprisoned. You’d faced the fact that you'd fallen in love with him over the past thirty days. It was as if he’d breathed life back into you.

“What is on your mind?” you asked as you sat by his side in front of the fire he’d built, it was just the two of you out here, interrupting his thoughts.

“It is nothing.” he claimed as he stared at the fire, but you don’t give up.

“You know you can tell me whatever is on your mind.” you told him as you took his hand in yours, holding it tightly.

He softly sighed and looked over into your eyes, “I love you,” he admitted, shocking you, “I was just worried that it was not the right time.” he made known as he squeezed your hand once.

Your eyes widened, “I love you too.” you said as you inched closer to him, wordlessly encouraging him to kiss you. And when he did, your heart beat wildly in your chest as your lips moved against his.

“It is so easy to love you, you are my protector and all that I need.” you told him after you’d pulled away, lovingly stroking his cheek as you spoke. 

In response, he practically tackled you to the ground while he kissed you again, his hands cupping your face, “I love you.” he said again and again and again in between each kiss, making you giggle, a heavenly sound to Uhtred.

When you pulled away again, Uhtred wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you onto his lap, holding you against his chest. “But how could you love someone who is still so broken?” you asked him as you furrowed your eyebrows.

He gently brushed your hair out of your face, “You are not broken, my love, you just need time to heal. But until then, I will not give up on you, I will always be here for you. Even when you are healed, I will still be here because I love you.” he answered.

You nodded then pressed your forehead to his and closed your eyes, relishing in the moment. “I cannot bear another day without being able to call you mine. Please, be mine.” he begged.

You pressed another kiss to his lips, “Yes.” you simply said.

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