#askeladdxoc

[quidell-fics]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

New chapter out now for Sword and Spice!

Fandom: Vinland Saga

Relationship: Askeladd x OC

Chapter Summary: On the eve of departure, Fiadh tries to pry one simple answer from Askeladd and somehow ends up nakey.

Warning: Explicit content!

Sneak peek below cut!

He uncrossed his arms and reached for the hand I had buried in my hair, catching me by the wrist and hauling me to my feet. His other arm slid around my waist the moment I stumbled forward, pulling me flush against his chest as I made an ‘oof’ sound when I collided with his chest.

He gave me that infuriatingly pleased look of a man who had no intention of answering a damned thing while there were far more enjoyable ways to keep my mouth occupied.

“Askeladd.” I tipped my head back as he leaned closer, peering down his nose at me with enough smugness to choke me with.

“You ask too many questions.”

“That usually means you are hiding something.”

“Usually?” His brow lifted. “How flattering.”

Then he began walking me backwards.

I stumbled against him with a curse, my one free hand catching myself against his bare chest as his arm tightened around my middle. Before I could properly find my footing, he was already backing me toward the bed, slanted, amused eyes watching me grow more annoyed by the second, taking me with him until the backs of my legs struck the mattress.

“Oh, no. You are not dragging me anywhere until you answer me.” I poked the small scar on his chest.

“Mm. Might be a little late for that.” He glanced down at me, eyes tracing my face, utterly unconcerned. “You say that as though those two things are related.”

“They are very much related.”

“Not from where I’m standing.”

And with that, he released my wrist and waist.

I blinked up at him, both hands finding his shoulders as I gave him a light shove, half expecting him to simply knock me backward onto the bed.

Instead, I got that far-too-confident smirk.

Then I felt my tunic bunch sharply at my waist.

My brows pulled together before my hands could move to intervene. “What are you—”

His hand shot upward.

So did my tunic.

[quidell-fics]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

New chapter out now for Sword and Spice!

Note: I forgot to post this!

Fandom: Vinland Saga

Relationship: Askeladd x OC

Summary: Fiadh has a very important question to ask Askeladd. One that has been gnawing at her for nearly nine years.

Sneak peek below cut

“And what of me?” I asked. “Do I carry a different scent now than I did back then?”

Askeladd gave me a long, thoughtful look. “No,” he said at last. “You do not smell the same as you did then.”

My brows rose. “Oh?”

“Quite.” His mouth curved. “Now you smell of sex, my bed, and enough of me that the distinction hardly matters.”

My brows lowered again and my nose wrinkled. “So that is how it works? I spend a couple of nights in your bed and your crus—” shit “—bloody old warrior-scent rubs off on me?”

His eyes widened, the answer apparently catching him off guard. Then they slipped shut as a low chuckle worked its way out of him, my choice of words, said and unsaid, having struck somewhere beneath all that practiced dignity.

“You were offended a moment ago by the thought that you stank,” he said. “Now you are offended because you smell of me. Do try to choose one grievance at a time.”

I rolled my eyes. He had stepped neatly around the point and congratulated himself for arriving.

“Not of you. You smell fine. It is the whole warrior-scent nonsense that…” I let out a breath and gave up, turning onto my back. “Never mind.”

I stared at the ceiling and muttered beneath my breath, “Men.”

[quidell-fics]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

New chapter for Sword and Spice out now!

Fandom: Vinland Saga

Relationship: Askeladd x OC

Chapter name: (Feb 1011) Niece of a...

Warnings: NSFW content

Sneak peek below cut!

I arched a brow. “And that troubles you?”

His eyes searched my face before he closed them, though the deep furrow between his brows did not ease. “No.”

I hummed and reached up, pressing my thumb to the stubborn crease. “Your brows are telling a rather different tale.”

Then I pushed against them, trying to smooth the frown from his brow as though it were dough that had risen poorly.

His eyes snapped open, anger darkening them as his hand closed around mine and tore it away from his brow.

Then the room tipped.

My back struck the bedding, and Askeladd came down over me, knees sliding under my thighs, pinning my wrist beside my head while his other hand locked around my shoulder. The sudden weight of him drove the air from my lungs, my other hand slapping his shoulder in startlement. When I looked up, the anger in his face had sharpened into something cold.

“You find this amusing?” he asked, brows and frown cutting low and deep into his face.

And his voice was quiet now, which was considerably worse than shouting, but his eyes bore so much heat as he glared down at my widened ones.

[quidell-fics]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 40 for Sword and Spice out now!

WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THE AFTERMATH OF RAPE AND EXTREME TORTURE. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Fandom: Vinland Saga

Chapter name: (May 1002) Mercy

Relationship: Askeladd x OC

Sneek peak below cut

It did not take them long to find one. But when they carried it toward me, two men gripping either side, my hand stilled.

I could only stare.

Not because it wasn't just any old darkened cauldron…

This one was familiar.

It had belonged to my family. To our cook, more specifically, the man I had waged a lifelong, childlike war against with salt, herbs, stolen ladles, and the firm belief that food should taste like someone loved you and not like punishment served warm. The cauldron was enormous, blackened along the belly, with a small chip near the lip. A chip I had made.

I remembered it at once, sharp as vinegar on the tongue. I had been standing on a little chair, ladling some of his supper into my own smaller pot so I could fix it before anyone was forced to pretend boiled disappointment was a meal. Then the cook had caught me and bellowed from the doorway.

Naturally, I startled. Naturally, the smaller cauldron slipped from my hands. It struck the rim of the larger one, dented, chipped the iron, and then I went pitching backward off the chair with all the grace of a sack of turnips meeting judgment.

The cook lunged across the room and caught my head before it cracked against the floor.

His hand bruised ugly for days after. My father, in a fit of what he no doubt considered fairness and I considered betrayal, made me work under the cook until his hand healed.

Neither of us enjoyed that arrangement.

Though, by the end of it, his stews did improve.

They had stolen our cauldron. Of course they had. Why would they not take whatever iron they could pry from a home they bastardized? They had probably taken all my smaller ones too, the small collection I had hoarded as a child with the solemn devotion of a dragon guarding treasure, if dragons had been very interested in soup.

It made sense. Raiders took iron whenever they found it. Iron was nails, knives, hinges, pots, repairs, trade. In these times, a good cauldron could be worth as much as a purse of gold coins.

Still, seeing it there made a laugh slip out of me.

A small one. Wrong-shaped. Bitter at the edges. I did not know why.

Maybe because grief was a poor-mannered guest and liked to arrive wearing someone else’s face. Maybe because that old black belly of hard iron had survived when so many softer things had not. Or maybe because, after everything, the cook’s cursed cauldron had found its way back to me like an old enemy demanding one last supper.

One. Last. Supper.

[quidell-fics]

I also updated Sword and Spice twice that I did not post here. The links are below.

Chapter 38:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54770248/chapters/227548696

Chapter 39:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54770248/chapters/230425996#workskin

[quidell-fics]

New chapter out now for Sword and Spice!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54770248/chapters/200811031

Fandom: Vinland Saga

Relationship: Askeladd x OC

Chapter Summary: Fiadh navigates thorny political undercurrents, refuses to be claimed, and quietly reshapes the balance of power with a single bold choice.

Sneak peek below cut!

The hall swallowed us as we silently moved down it, the distant murmur of voices fading as we moved farther away. The moment I was sure no ears could catch us, I twisted sharply out of his grasp and whirled on him.

And of course, he looked far too pleased with himself as he let me twist free of his hold, eyes following me downward with that infuriating calm, like I existed solely for his entertainment.

“Way to be subtle—what are you—MMPH—!”

I didn’t finish. I didn’t get the chance.

He stepped into my space like he owned it, like he’d been waiting days for this exact moment. His chest brushed mine, heat radiating between us as his narrowed eyes fastened onto my face with laser focus. His left hand shot up and behind me, fingers threading into my hair at the back of my head, gripping firmly as he tilted my chin back. My breath hitched as I asked what he was doing, but didn't get to finish the sentence.

Then he dragged me into him.

There was no hesitation, just the brush of his breath, his tongue disappearing, the warmth of him overwhelming, the world snapping down to the feel of his mouth crashing into mine. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t polite. It was utterly hungry, unapologetic, a kiss that didn’t ask permission because it already knew the answer. My fingers curled into the front of his red gambeson, under his cloak, where they had fallen like I was going to push him away but didn't as his tongue claimed mine, ruthless and familiar, a reminder and a dare all at once.

Just like every other time, he didn’t just kiss me.

He took complete control of the moment…and I let him.

[quidell-fics]

PLEASE UPDATE SWORD AND SPICE ITS A WORK OF PURE ART NO RUSH ITS JUST ITS LITERALLY THE ONLY GOOD ASKELAD FIC AND IM ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT FOR THE PLOT

Its out!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54770248/chapters/225526526

Chapter summary: And it twisted even harder in my gut when his eyes suddenly narrowed on me again, but this time sharper, more… pissed-off, as his frown cut deep into his chin, the skin between his brows furrowed hard, a look that usually meant trouble. But then—

[quidell-fics]

Sneak Peek for the next chapter for Sword and Spice

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Askeladd x OC

The gravity of what I’d done didn’t really hit until morning, like thunder showing up late to its own storm. Maybe I was still drunk on the aftershocks, too dazed by the kind of ache that felt both unholy and annoyingly satisfying. Or maybe I’d just shoved it to the back of my mind last night, the way one pretends not to notice a knife glinting in the dark.

I’d slept with Askeladd.

And the worst part? I liked it.

Even now, pulling my shirt over my head, I could still feel him everywhere. His teeth had left little love (sarcasm) notes across my skin, each one humming with residual heat. The ache between my thighs strummed reminders I didn’t need, proof that last night hadn’t been a dream or a lapse in sanity, but something far more dangerous.

He was a dangerous man, and I’d let him touch me like that.

Worse still, my body didn’t seem to care about the danger. It was already campaigning for a sequel.

As I bent to lace my boots, the world narrowed to the rustling of cloth and then the echo of footsteps. Heavy, measured, prowling down the hall like they owned it.

I mean, they did own it in a way…

Every muscle locked. My fingers stalled mid-knot. My gaze snagged on the strip of light under the hanging cloth that passed for a door.

Boots.

Then nothing.

A door opened somewhere nearby, then shut with a soft finality.

I let out a breath—a little too loud, too shaky—and immediately wanted to kick myself for it. God, what was I doing? Acting like some blushing virgin over a man whose idea of foreplay was biting. It was just sex. Nothing more about it.

No vows, no promises.

And yet, traitor that I was, a thought tiptoed in: maybe, once the soreness faded and my dignity stopped limping, I wouldn’t exactly object to a repeat performance.

Perfectly fine. Entirely rational.

Totally.

Note: I'm writing! Just... still slow trying to get my motivation back.