Odin, Allfather, Keeper of the Tree,
Bearer of wisdom, vast and free,
Guide my steps through shadow's snare,
With Nauthiz, your fire, teach me to bear.
O Rune of need, of struggle and flame,
Your sharp edge carves through fortune’s game.
When want and hardship grip my soul,
You light the path to make me whole.
Odin, wise wanderer, bless my fight,
Grant me the strength to forge through night.
Through Nauthiz, your lesson rings true—
What I lack will forge what I must do.
In trials bitter, the spark is born,
A fire within the frost forlorn.
Grant me patience, and may I see,
The gift within necessity.
By Nauthiz, the binding and the key,
Teach me resilience, set me free.
Odin, Allfather, I call on you—
Through struggle, grant me something new.
Odin met me in the same field I was in for my uruz meditation. (This field makes appearances in future meditations, too.) The field was largely barren. The soil was dry and small tufts of brown grass littered the area. The skies were dark grey. There were a few sparse trees in the distance and no animals to be found. Odin spoke of a spark to help create what was needed for life to return. (It brought to mind the Magician card in my Universal Monsters deck with Dr. Frankenstein on it, who quite literally used sparks to return something once dead to life.) Odin talked about how the field was once full of life and could be again. But in order to revitalize it, we have to assess what it needed/what is lacking. If you don't know what the lack is, you can't properly address it. Any treatment is only a temporary solution if it doesn't get to the root of the issue.
He then showed me an image of someone sitting in a recliner, relaxed, looking out the window at kids playing in the street. I interpreted this in two ways:
1. A lack of war means peace. Peace after the sacrifices of and loss sustained during the war. Lives paid for the comfort of others.
2. A false sense of peace - ignorance at the cost of your soul. "Freeing" yourself through denial.
At this point, Odin asked me what I was lacking in this meditation, and reminded me that I already have what I need to deal with this lack. I just have to use it.
No one is coming. It’s just you and the shadow at hand. You’re stuck, paralyzed, captured, bogged down. You’ve exhausted yourself from struggling. You’ve had a good cry, and now it’s time to come to grips with your new reality. You’ve hit bottom and it’s time to climb out. Your mind is now calm; sharp. You start looking for the vulnerability – that one anomaly that can be to your advantage.…
Our main system blog is mostly aesthetics and art tagged and attributed to different members of our system which isn't really conducive for random ramblings, Shitposts, stuff we like, or for alters to just shoot the shit. So- repurposing this blog for that basically!
If you know us and just want to hear dumb stuff we have to say sometimes feel free to follow and interact!
Nauthiz means "need fire" and is the rune of need/necessity, resistance, friction, and innovation. Necessity, as the old cliche reminds us, is often the mother of invention. The next seven days could prove difficult. Some of you may experience more resistance than usual to what you want to do, and some may be experiencing greater hardship. However, opportunities to find creative solutions to problems you are facing will surface as well. Now would also be good time reflect on what you need and what is truly important to you right now.
Warnings: noncon sex; hand job; oral; intercourse.
This is dark!viking!Thor and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Raiders arrive and chaos ensues.
Note: I think Viking Thor might be the greatest Thor I’ve ever written and I must share him with all of you.
Thank you. Love you guys!
As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3
Nauthiz - desire
Sæta = sweetie, cutie.
🌧️🌧️🌧️
The cold rain whipped across your face and your skirts flapped in the wind. It hadn’t stopped storming since they’d come. Since the raiders’ horn had wailed and signaled the imminent destruction.
The downpour washed away the blood of those strewn around you. Your grandfather was among them. He’d spent his life for yours, or tried to. You’d begged him to stand down. To toss aside the rusty old sword he prized from his days following the former lord in the campaign to the Promised Land. He had died at home by the hands of another type of savage. A true savage.
You shivered and took Winifred’s hand as she sobbed. The men had been herded into several houses along the eastern row. Some were wounded, others dying. The invaders had been much rougher with them, though many of the women who stood with you wore torn bodices and bloodied skirts. The children were with the few elders in Alfie Halfers’s barn. Your sister and brother were there, with crooked old Mary Greene.
The men in their mail and armor stood all around with spears, axes, and blades. Winifred cried louder, along with several others. Like you, they’d lost family that day. Like you, they had no idea what was to happen to them. Like you, they were aggrieved, angry, and alone.
You couldn’t cry. You tried. You wanted to. Your grandfather’s blood was on your cuffs still, you could smell it. His voice was still in your head. ‘Run, my sweet child, run.’ You had run once he’d fallen but not fast enough. You hadn’t wanted to leave him yet he’d met the same fate you feared if you had. And you’d met that he’d died to prevent.
You were angry at these beastly men. Angry at fate, angry at yourself.
Lightning flashed in the sky and screams rose in fright. The approach of heavy boots squelching in the mud preceded the broad, fearsome shadow of a man. He emerged into the moonlight, filtered through the blowing rains.
His golden hair poked out from beneath a fur cap and a thick beard hung from his jaw. The other men stood rigid as he approached. He spoke to them in another language. Then he turned and looked down the line of trembling women; some just girls. He smiled and his voice boomed again. This time, in your own tongue, lilted with a keen accent.
“We are not here to harm you. We only defended ourselves against your violent kin when they drew steel” He began. “Do not linger on the bloodshed, but consider our mercy. That you still stand here, that many still breathe, offered shelter still from this ragged storm.”
He preened at his own declaration. His English was fine for his kind. Many of the raiders knew only grunts and gibberish.
“And that we would prize you with our favour. Men of pure blood. Men descended from the gods.” He boomed and thunder echoed his tone. “Bow to us and we will be benevolent. Refuse and we will teach you to bend.”
Winifred nearly pulled you down with her as she crumpled into a heap. She wailed and murmured madly as the rain battered down on her. You tried to lift her to her feet but she wouldn’t budge. A man approached and forced her up, dragging her away as several other snuffed their sobs at the scene.
“What will they do to her?” One asked in a hoarse whisper and was shushed by others.
“We will not have you fine women out in the rain all night. You would grow ill, so let us proceed,” The blond man continued.
He neared the far end of the line. Many craned to watch him as he began the long walk along the distraught women. You kept your head straight and blinked through the rain. Let him pass you by and leave you to languish with the rest.
He got closer and closer. You could hear his boots and the little comments he made and the laughter of his men in response. The toe of his hide boot appeared at the edge of your vision and without thinking, with all your spite, you spat at his feet. You looked up as he flinched and turned to face you. You stared into his eyes and curled your lip.
“Murderer,” You snarled. “Beast.”
He tilted his head and looked back and forth along the line. Then he glanced behind him at his men. He laughed. Loudly. All others were silent as he raised his head and backed away from you. He raised his hand and his chuckles died. He gestured to you with two fingers and a man approached to wrench you forward. You stumbled as you were thrust towards the large blonde man.
“Fiery woman,” He sneered. “I do admire your will.” He smirked. “So I will reward you.” He grabbed your chin as he stepped closer. “Behold, a mighty king does claim you. I, Thor, Son of Odin. First of his name.”
You bared your teeth and your nostrils flared. He pushed you away before you could spit again and you choked on your saliva.
“You might gird yourself,” He warned as he signaled to the man to grab you once more. “Within reason. I do like a taste of fire.”
The man, a king by his word, Thor, turned away. You were urged after him by the man at your shoulder as the other gave an order in his own tongue. You tried to drag your feet, tried to fight, but your soles slipped in the mud. You grunted as you were nearly jerked off your feet by your escort as he muttered some unknown curse in your direction.
The sky flashed and the thunder was followed by the frantic voices of women and the guttural tones of the armored men. You peeked over your shoulder and blanched at the sight of the raiders closing in on the women as they huddled together in a fearful herd. They hauled them away from each other as you were ushered away. You were better off than no other. You would be better off among the bodies on the ground.
“Woman,” Thor called as he slowed to walk beside you and took your arm. The other man released you but tarried behind. “What do I call you?”
You pursed your lips and kept your eyes ahead, blinking away the droplets as they caught in your lashes.
“I will not keep from forcing it from you, so tell me.” He warned.
You sniffed and tried to tear your arm away. He didn’t falter as he kept on. You swallowed and answered him. He nodded.
“And which of these is yours?” He looked around at the varying houses; some little more than huts, other shared houses with sheds and troughs around the side. You were quiet again and he stopped to turn you to him. “I rarely repeat a threat twice before following through on it.”
You looked down at his hand and back to him. “Up that hill,” You peered over at the incline just a row away. “At the very top. The miller’s house.”
He patted your head with his large hand and angled you around the corner. He hurried you along as you struggled to keep up with his long strides. Your legs burned as you trekked through the mud up the hill.
The rain pelted down heavier than before and you stopped dead as you came up to your grandfather’s fence. His body was still there. Just inside the gate. Thor nearly took you off your feet but paused too as he noticed the corpse. He let go of you and bent. He bowed his head and said some words to the mud.
You backed away and he stood quickly to grab you again. He shook his head and pulled you through the gate.
“He died with a blade in his hands.” He said. “Brave.”
“Unlike you.” You hissed.
He chuckled and continued along the muddied patch to the front door. He shoved you ahead of him.
“I expect a warm welcome.” He taunted. “In.”
You pushed through the door and he was close behind. Your grandfather’s house was small; a single room. A fireplace against the back wall, a counter built of wood along the other, a table, several barren chairs. Your hay mattress rested in the corner and his own was placed at the foot. The door slammed and another roll of thunder sounded.
Thor let you go.
“A light.” He commanded.
You went to the table and blindly felt around for the candle there. You lit it with the flint that sat on its tray and you backed away. The small glow cast shadows across the space. The king removed his hat and wrung it out before tossing it beside the clay basin on the counter. He unclasped his cloak and slung it over a chair.
He unbuttoned his lined jacket and looked at you. Your eyes went to the door.
“How far do you think you would get?” He asked pointedly. “My man is at the door and others will patrol the streets.”
You lowered your chin and turned away from him.
“You stay in that dress, you will be sick.” He said. “I will start the fire. You will undress.”
You spun back to him and crossed your arms. You were cold and resisted a shiver.You went to the chest and placed your hands on the strap. He followed and planted his muddied boot on the lid.
“What are you doing? I said undress.” He snarled.
“I will need a clean dress.”
“No.” He said. “Undress.”
You glared at him. He didn’t back down. He kept his foot on the chest and his hands gripped his hips as he stared you down. You reached to the laces along the front of your bodice and untied the top gruffly. You didn’t look away as you loosened them and pulled your collar open. He smirked and retreated.
He took the flint and knelt at the fireplace. You wriggled out of your dress and threw it across the chest. Your shift was just as wet and nearly transparent. You pulled it over your head and tossed it atop your dress. You ripped off your shoes and rolled down your damp stockings. Naked, you turned away, trying to hide behind air.
“Let me see you,” He said.
You peeked over your shoulder and turned slowly. He neared as you faced him and he stopped before you. His fingertips tickled your cheek as his eyes ventured further down. You couldn’t resist the shiver that rose along your back.
“Lay down.” He said. “Get under the covers. Get warm.”
You bit down and crept onto the mattress against the wall. He dragged your grandfather’s to rest beside yours and stood. You slid under the blanket as he tugged removed his mail then tugged his tunic over his head. He draped it across the back of the chair closest to the fire and bent to push his boots off.
He placed belt and the large hammer he wielded against the wall. His socks were stretched over the seat of the chair and he unlaced his pants deliberately. He threw those over his tunic and bent to free himself of his undershorts. He dropped those with his socks and you closed your eyes as he came around the table.
Your heart raced as you heard him near. He gave a low laugh as he approached and the floor creaked. You could sense him looming before you.
“Open your eyes.” He demanded. “Look at me.”
You covered your face and he laughed louder.
“You never seen a man before?” He asked.
“I have.” You uttered. “I don’t want to see you.”
“Afraid?” You felt the other mattress shift against yours as he got down on it. “I don’t blame you. You won’t be able to resist once you see me.”
You grimaced and kept your eyes shut.
“This is the last I’ll repeat my words.” He said. “Open your eyes, girl.”
Your eyes snapped open at his tone. He was on his knees before you. You stared at his face. He grinned.
“Look at all of me.” He hummed.
You gulped and inhaled. You drew the blanket snugger to your shoulders and your eyes fell almost without thinking. His chest stood broadly above his tightly muscled stomach and his arms were as thick as the rest of him. Unlike any man you’d seen before, often as they bathed, his member was large and upright before him. It bobbed against his stomach and he reached to cup stroke it.
“You ever seen a man like me?” He teased.
You turned onto your back and stared at the ceiling. “I told you. I’ve seen men before.”
“But not like me,” He said as he lowered himself across the mattress. “Girl,” He tugged on your blanket and spread it over him. “Come close. It will help you get warm.”
“I will stay.” You insisted.
He growled and shoved his arm under you. He rolled you against him and settled you under the blanket with him. He brought your head up on his shoulder and you could smell the rain in his hair and dried sweat on his flesh.
“I tire of your whims, girl.” He turned you until your breasts were pressed to him and his other hand groped your ass. “I am helping you. You were in the rain too long. You must warm yourself.”
You were silent, tense against him. You’d never been like this with a man. And he was right, you’d never seen a man like him. His fingers crawled over your skin.
“You have good hips.” He said. “But you have no children. That old man could not have been your husband.”
“My grandfather,” You said. “And no, I have no children.”
“You say you’ve seen men,” He caressed your arm. “Have you touched one?”
You said nothing. You couldn’t.
“No.” He answered for you. “Well, I can say I’ve touched a woman. I’ve made women scream.” He inhaled your scent as he clung. “I will do things to you you will never forget.”
You folded your arms against your chest as he rubbed your back lightly.
“Not tonight.” He purred. “Tonight, I will show you how to touch a man.”
He retracted his hand and grabbed yours. You resisted but only until he twisted your arm. He led your hand to his member and pressed your palm to the firm flesh. He bent your fingers around him and his thick veins bulged in your grip. He shuddered.
“Tightly,” He bid. “Move up.” He slid your hand to the tip. “Down.” He pushed it to his base. “And again.” He repeated the motion. “Don’t stop.”
He rescinded his hand and you kept on as he’d shown you. You listened to the crackle of the fire and his thick breaths as you numbly stroked him. He began to groan as his hand slapped against the mattress.
“Faster,” He begged. “Faster, girl.”
You obeyed. You didn’t ask why, you didn’t hesitate. Whatever was happening, you wanted to be over. He pushed his head back as he jutted his chest up and the blanket slowly slipped further and further down his torso. He grunted and flicked it away from him so it hung from your shoulder.
“Watch.” He rasped. “See what you can do to me.”
He lifted his head and looked down at your hand as it glided up and down his member. He bared his teeth as his blue eyes dilated in the dim light. His thighs tensed as your eyes stuck to the scene and his voice got louder. The arm beneath you curled and he pulled you closer. You could hear his heart as your head was pushed further onto his chest.
He exclaimed and his hips jerked. A warmth suddenly spilled down your hand and spread beneath your palm. The white liquid spurted up and coated your fingers as your lips parted. His hand stopped yours as he sputtered.
“Enough, enough,” He growled. “You know what that is, girl?” You blinked. “That’s my seed. If you are good, I will honour you with it.” He slowly released your hand. “You might be fortunate enough to carry a king’s child.”
Your hand slipped down and you wiped away his seed on the blanket. You quivered as the balmy smell of his sweat and arousal enshrined you. He drew away from you, carefully, and rose. He went to the table and snuffed out the candle. He returned to you through the flickering shadows of the fire and pulled you close once more.
“Where is that voice, girl?” He slung your leg over his. “I will help you find it again. Never fear.”
🌧️
You were wakeful, restless. The large behind you snored with his arm firmly around you as the storm raged without. When last it quelled and the steady beating stopped, you wriggled free of his grasp. You shivered as you turned your back to him and dozed for an hour before the sun in grey wisps through the cracks of the shuttered windows.
You woke as a warmth pressed to your back and Thor pressed his nose to the back of your head. He pushed himself against you. He was hard again. He rocked against you as he growled low in your ear. He drew away abruptly and sniffed. He sat up and the blanket fell from your shoulders and you shivered in the morning chill.
“Girl.” He said as he rose with a groan. “What will we break our fast with?”
You held the blanket to you as you crawled across the mattress and you went to the chest. You reached for your dress and he tilted his head in warning. He wagged his finger.
“Did I say you could do that?” He asked.
You dropped your hand as he neared and tugged the blanket away. He tossed it back on the mattresses and backed away.
“I said you would cook my meal.” He turned and went to the fire, barely more than ashes. He added the splintered wood from the woven basket and stirred it until it sparked. “So, be quick.”
You rounded the other side of the table as he sat and you took the heavy iron pot from the counter. You added oats from the bag and emptied the last of the ewer into it. You added nutmeg and cinnamon bought from the merchants in the next town and hung it from the hook over the rising fire.
You avoided looking at him as he watched you. He scoffed as he picked at the wood of the table.
“You want to say what makes you frown.” He said.
You looked up and he smiled. You averted your gaze and folded your hands. You would never used to being so bare. You raised your chin and swallowed.
“How do you know this language?” You asked.
He snickered and tapped his fingers on the table. He ran his hand over his beard and you made yourself look him in the eye.
“I’ve been to many villages like this. Those men I did not kill, I took as slaves. At least a dozen or so. The women… I never took many of them. They are not so strong for the field and their use is… fleeting. But those men I took, I spoke to them as I could.” He leaned back and dropped his hand to his lap. “I learned to tell men how I would kill them before I did.” He lifted a brow. “That fear before I bring my hammer down… that is… it is that destiny the gods made for me.”
You crinkled your nose without thinking and your blood turned cold. He spoke of killing as if he were shearing a sheep or sowing a field. He was amused and you wiped the disgust from your face. You turned and took a wooden spoon and crossed to the fire to stir the oats.
“No…” He began. “I never did take a woman. I feared they wouldn’t make the journey after… after they had bowed to me.”
You withdrew the spoon and returned to the counter with it. You set it down and peeked over at him.
“The ego is the male sin,” You said. “Tolerance is a woman’s penance.”
He inhaled and rumbled softly. “Our gods do not speak of sins. How grim. They speak of glory. To take and not beg from some spiteful wraith.”
You pushed your head back and said nothing. He kept his eyes on you. His gaze made you uneasy but if you let him see, it would only be another victory to proclaim.
“Oh, how glorious,” You took the wooden spoon and went to the pot again. “To take oats from an old man’s hearth.”
🌧️
Thor left you after he ate. His man remained outside the door, the occasional clink of his mail assuring you of his presence. You pulled on a dress unwrinkled by the rain and sat by the fire. The sky outside was grey and the sun refused to show. You spent your hours mending a collection of holey stockings and your grandfather’s old cloak. It was likely pointless work but it kept you from thinking.
You chewed on stale bread as the day wore on. Then you sat at the table in silence. The winds persisted but the rain did not return. You couldn’t hear the usual livestock grazing along the neighbour’s yard or the voices of children as they ran along the dusty paths. The was only the eerie dearth of life all around.
The door clattered and you sat up as you looked over your shoulder. Thor wore his cap and long fur-trimmed cloak. He came up beside you and his hand settled along the back of your neck.
“You’re dressed,” He remarked. “You think when I am gone, I am no longer king?”
“You’re not my king, here or there,” You said. “This is not your land.”
“It’s not?” He taunted. “This is a dead man’s house. I can only claim it as my own.” He ran his thumb along the bottom of your skull. “You will be allowed a shift at supper.”
You stood and shook his hand away. You went to the counter and bent to the basket of potatoes beneath. He snorted and followed you. He poked your head.
“We are not eating whatever gruel you can cook up,” He said. “My men are having a feast. In celebration of a fruitful journey.”
You stood and sidestepped him. You crossed the room and turned back to him.
“It is cold out. You expect to wear only a shift?”
“You shall have my cloak while we walk,” He unclasped the cloak. “My jacket is more than warm enough.”
You sighed and pulled the cowled neck of your dress over your head. You swept it away and threw it onto the floor. You stood in your shift, it fell just past your calves and left you frigid. You grabbed your shoes and pulled them on over your stockings. Thor neared and held out his cloak.
“Bear fur.” He said as you turned and let him place it over your shoulders. “Fell it by my own hand.”
When his large hands had secured the cape, you stepped away from him. It was oversize for you. You held onto the sides to keep it from dragging.
“We hunt for food, not sport.” You said.
“As do we. And there is much more to do with a bear than just eat.” He passed you and opened the door. “My people do not waste. We use every bit… until there is nothing left to be had.”
He let you out first. The man who stood guard at the door watched you pass as his king followed you. You descended the hill quietly and he guided you along as a din of voices rose from the church along Cutter’s Road. The priest had been housed with the elderly. He was the only ordained cleric in the village as the inhabitant paid their tithes in the upkeep of the chapel.
Inside, the pews were pushed against the walls and men sat in clusters all around steaming spits of roasted lamb, pig, and goat. The livelihoods of several families filled the stomachs of these killers. Thor led you to the front of the chapel and sat amid a group of a dozen men. They greeted him with deference and doffed their cups. Lee, the baker, also brewed his own ale, and it was quickly being drained from his hidden vats.
The king removed the cloak from your shoulders and spread it on the floor. He sat and drew you down beside him. The men around you leered openly as you sat on your knees and Thor withdrew a knife from his pelt to carve off a thick hunk of sheep meat. He offered you a piece and you accepted it wordlessly. You’d nibble so that you wouldn’t have to eat more.
As you stared at the floor, aware of the whispers spoken in another tongue but no doubt about you from around the circle. Thor humoured some, returned a bawdy joke, and ran a knuckle along your arm.
You stiffened as another hand rested on your knee. You sneered down at the hairy paw as it crawled up your thigh, the fabric of your shift threatened to rise. You dropped your handful of meat and slapped the man who dared to accost you. He swore as he drew away and you struck out at him, your palm met his cheek loudly.
He grunted and raised his own hand. It was stopped by another as Thor leaned over and pushed until the man rescinded. The king growled a warning and repeated it to the entire group. He sat back and played with the top of your shift.
“Girl. You are brave but stupid.” He tugged at your sleeve and his hand fell to rub his thigh, his thick legs crossed before him. “Sit with me.”
He pulled on your arm until you moved. You were clueless until he grabbed your hips and led you over into his lap. He took another bite of sheep and offered you a bite. You shook your head and he finished the slab on his own. He wiped his hands on a rag drawn from his pocket then wrapped his arms around you.
“Let me tell you something, girl.” He began as his hand spread over your stomach, his other pinched the fabric of your shift along your thigh. “I do not talk so much to the women of this land. I would have my way and be done. They are too meek.”
You shifted and he groaned, his fingers pressed against your middle. You felt his bulge against you.
“I bid you wear your shift for my own ease.” You glanced around, those men around you and others through the hall watched you. “Often, after such a feast, I would bend my prize over and the men would be unable to look away. When I finished, they would take their own pleasure.”
He took a deep breath and chuckled.
“I will disappoint them tonight. While I long to pull up your skirt and bury my fingers inside you, I have decided it would be wrong to share you with these men.” He purred and gripped your hips, pushing you down so you felt his arousal more plainly. “A woman has never riled me as much as you, sæta.”
You stiffened against him and grabbed his wrists. You felt as if you would melt beneath the heat of a hundred eyes.
“Not here, sæta,” He repeated the name. “I will have you and only me. I will taste you first.” He squeezed your hips. “And then claim you entirely.” He tickled your sides.. “And if I am satisfied, you might see my land and warm my bed there.”
🌧️
The men around you grew to a bawdy drunken racket. Words you couldn’t understand shouted to the response of laughter or plain threats. Their king did not discourage them as he only splendoured in the rowdy rapport. He paused only as you began to fidget impatiently. You were irritated by these raiders and you felt as if you were the crux of their amusement.
Thor pushed you up and you stood. A few men quieted by the din remained. The king lifted the cloak and wrapped it around you as he had before. He announced his departure as he bent to take his stein and rain the last of the fragrant ale. He let the cup fall back to the floor and led you to the church doors. Heads turned and grumbled laments bristled in your direction. The king had chosen not to share his spoils.
In the night air, the king clung to your arm through the thick cape. He traipsed along as he looked up at the moon. You wanted to run. To slip from his grasp and flee into the forest. You stumbled and he jerked you forward.
“That would be a fun game, sæta.” He lilted. “I am fast. Are you?”
You lowered your eyes and took a deep breath. You said nothing as he ushered you along.
“My people have a similar repast. A festival in honour of the gods. A hunt.” He explained. “Our maiden set off into the trees and we wait a while before we give chase. The last of the women to be found is our festival queen. She is adorned with furs and gems and she is the next to be wed.”
“We do not partake in those unholy rituals.” You assured him.
“No, you take your crosses to listen to an old man ramble in a forgotten tongue.” He said. “This night, I will show you how your people live grey lives. The gods did not put us here to mourn our own being.”
“We live on our own toil, not by taking others’,” You muttered.
“You live by that quick mouth,” He hissed. “You do amuse me, sæta, but you tempt me to anger as well.”
“Would you bend to any who invaded your home and killed your people?” You countered as you set up the hill.
He was quiet as you approached the gate and he let you through. The man remained by the door in his armor and greeted his king with a dip of his head.
“Though you do not admit, we are more alike than you believe.” He opened the door and pressed his hand to the small of your back as he led you within. “You are right; I would not bend.”
The door closed behind him. He swept the cloak from your shoulders and hung it as he had before from the chair. He pushed the candle towards you and turned to the fireplace. You lit the wick and he stirred the embers to spark the log he placed over them. He stood and removed his fur cap. His golden braids shone in the lowlight and the silver beads at their ends added to the glimmer.
He removed his jacket next, then his mail, and his sword belt which held a large hammer rather than a long blade. He set it down and straightened to look at you. He bent his leg and tore off his boot, and then the other. His eyes stuck to you as thoughts curved his lips.
“Undress and I will bend to you, sæta,” He said. “And you will feel the glory of my gods.”
You stared at him. You bent to slip out of your shoes. You stood but could not bring yourself to lift your shift. Even though the night before had bared all that you could hide from him, you couldn’t. You pressed your palms to the linen over your thighs and he neared.
He bunched the fabric along your hips and slowly raised it. He pulled up until you were forced to lift your arms and he drew the shift over your head. He let it fall behind you. His hands framed your face then slipped down to your neck. He turned them flat to your chest and dragged them down to cup your breasts.
His hands continued their descent and he carefully got to his knees before you. His arms snaked around you he kneaded your ass before tickling along the back of your thighs. He shifted closer and pulled one of your legs up. You grabbed onto his shoulder with a gasp as you nearly toppled.
He bent your leg over his shoulder as his hand ran up past the top of your stocking to your hip. Your foot arched until you were on tiptoes and he bent closer until his hot breath tickled the hair along your vee. You shivered and wobbled as you tried to pull away.
He held you close and nuzzled you. You squeezed his shoulder as he hummed and his lips brushed your cunt.
“What--” You choked on your voice as his tongue poked between your folds.
You’d never felt that before. Never felt such a cool heat. Never felt that tingle that started along your tailbone and rolled through you. Never felt the weight settle inside you as his tongue pressed to your bud and flicked back and forth. Your other hand went to his golden locks and you clung to him as your leg quivered beneath you, the other hooked snug around his shoulder.
He purred and it sent a delightful ripple through you. He lapped more eagerly and you turned your face up to the ceiling, your eyes rolling back. There was that voice inside telling you it was wrong; for this man to do what he was doing to you, to feel this way, to be unable to think of anything but the pulsing of your core.
Was that you? Were those your moans? You quaked as your body acted on its own. As you sank into the sheer joy of that moment. You bared your teeth as you reached the peak and plummeted over. You cried out and latched onto Thor as you tilted your hips into him. He stopped only as you quieted, breathless and barely standing.
He drew away and you felt an empty chill. You looked down at him, your vision a haze, and he tickled your thigh before slowly slipping it from his shoulder. You wavered as you held onto him to keep your balance.
He rose as he took your hands from him. His lips glistened as he gazed down at you hungrily.
“Look at you, sæta,” He smirked. “Aching for more already.” You pulled away from him and elicited a chuckle. “Do not be ashamed. Your god holds no power over me or mine.”
He backed away and pulled his tunic off in a single swipe. He tossed it away and it slid over the chair on the other side of the table. He undid his breeches, sighing as he opened the front and rolled them down his thick legs. He stepped out of them, along with his wool socks. He did not wear his undershorts. He was erect; proud as he stood naked before you.
He turned and pulled a chair close. He sat, his hands on his muscled thighs.
“Here, sæta,” He beckoned you close with two fingers. “You have my patience… for now.”
You blinked and staggered forward. He caught your hand and drew you close. His other hand slapped his thigh.
“Up,” He commanded.
He tugged more adamantly and grasped your hips as he urged you into his lap, your legs folded over his thighs. You held yourself over his length as his chest puffed out and he sighed. His eyes held yours as he felt beneath you and led his tip along your folds. He pushed on your hip.
You resisted as his head pressed to your entrance. He pinched you and growled. You grabbed his shoulders and tried to keep yourself from slipping. His jaw squared and his other hand gripped your waist. He forced you down and you exclaimed. There was a pain so deep it felt close to pleasure.
He pushed deeper and you slapped him. His flinched slightly and grabbed your hand. He took your other and guided both behind your back. His fingers wrapped around your wrists as he kept them there. His other hand went to your thigh and he began to rock beneath you. Each tilt of his hips had him impaling you deeper than the last. Your walls ached around him.
He leaned forward and nibbled at your breast. You couldn’t help the whine which escaped you. His mouth toyed with your nipple before taking the other. He snarled against your flesh as his grip tightened on your wrists and he guided your hips and the chair groaned.
He grunted and pushed his head back. He watched you hungrily as you gulped at air. The same pressure began to mount as he moved you faster and faster. His hand slipped back and stretched across your rear. He took a breath and stood with little effort as he kept you moving against him. You moaned as thrust into you from below, bouncing your body as if you were nothing.
You wrapped your legs around him as he released your wrists. You hugged him to you as you writhed in desperation. You needed more. It didn’t matter what he’d done or who he was. You needed it. You needed that peculiar release which made you feel both empty and entirely full.
You buried your face in his neck as you came. Your body quaked as he didn’t let up. The noise of flesh slapping filled the space and the flicker of firelight had your vision cloudy.
He began to walk, his steps uneven and clumsy. You clung to him tighter as he slowed you just slightly. He dropped to his knees on the straw mattress and it caused him to sink into you completely. You mewled and he reached to your arms. He untangled them as he bent over you and laid you on your back.
He sat up slowly. He kept your pelvis up against his, your weight upon your shoulders as he held you at an angle. He rutted into you harder. You whimpered and he did it again. Even rougher. He paused between each thrust, admiring your senseless cries. It wasn’t long before your eyelids met and you were once more squirming in bliss.
He grunted loudly with each jerk of his hips. His pace was steady and deliberate until he could control himself no more. Until he was crashing into you so rapidly you thought you would shatter into pieces. He snarled and let out a thunderous roar. The heat within you bloomed as his pelvis spasmed and stuttered to a shaky halt.
He let out a thick breath and fell forward over you. The smell of his sweat filled your nostrils and your eyes fluttered open. He stared down at you, his face flushed as he brushed his nose against yours.
“Sæta,” He rasped as his fingers tickled your cheek.
“What does that mean?” You uttered, trapped beneath him.
“It means you are sweet,” He said. “It means I will keep you.”
