𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: 𝔟𝔞𝔱𝔰! 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔪𝔲𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔶 𝔠𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢, 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔬𝔱𝔥 𝔠𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔰 - 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔠 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔦𝔠. 𝔦 𝔞𝔡𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔱, 𝔦 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔭𝔲𝔱 𝔞 𝔣𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔢. 𝔦 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔞 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔯𝔲𝔞𝔩. 𝔦 𝔭𝔲𝔱 𝔭𝔬𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔣𝔬𝔩𝔨𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔤𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔬𝔬𝔡. 𝔦𝔱'𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔰 𝔣𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔦𝔥𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔠 𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔢.
@bluntfriend @oddsnendsfanfics This is for ya, hope ya like it.
𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: 𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔬𝔯𝔰 𝔠𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔠 𝔳𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔤𝔢. 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔥𝔲𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪. 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤.
𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: 𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔰𝔦𝔥𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔠, 𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰, 𝔭𝔲𝔰𝔰𝔶 𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔣𝔬𝔬𝔡/ 𝔩𝔦𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔡 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶, 𝔡𝔯𝔲𝔫𝔨 𝔰𝔢𝔵, 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔣𝔱, 𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔰𝔢𝔵, 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔰𝔭𝔞𝔫𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔠 𝔠𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢, 𝔡𝔯𝔲𝔤𝔢𝔡, 𝔠𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔡𝔯𝔲𝔤𝔰, 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔠 𝔤𝔬𝔡𝔰, 𝔪𝔦𝔡𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔠.
Fire, smoke, and herbs drifted through our woods. Thank Gods—Swarog, Mokosh—they protected my land, that's why we can have a kind winter and a mouthful summer. Then they came. First time we thought it was Vikings; we have a lot in common, plus they were good in trades and goods, which they bring. But they were different. Wore some strange wooden simple geometric thing—they called it a cross—and they believed in one god. How pathetic. Not everybody. When our lord came up to the gates, he saw them. There were few people, but mostly three of them was on top. The one—looked like a viking with long hair and a sword in amber—looked up to my lord. Behind him there were two men: one with a beard and a cross on his chest, and the other looking different, some kind of north danger, half-curl of his hair tossed to his neck, but the other was nearly bare-shaved. "Who are you?" My lord asked. "I'm Uhtred from Bebbanburg," the amber-sworded man answered, his voice low and steady, carrying the cold air of the northern seas. My lord narrowed his eyes, studying the strange cross dangling from the bearded man's neck before looking back at Uhtred. "You carry iron and the scent of war into peaceful lands. What do you want with us?" Uhtred stepped forward, unbothered by the heavy stares of our guards. "We seek trade, and shelter from the coming storms. We mean no blood here." Behind him, the north danger—the one with the shaved head—shifted. His dark eyes flicked over the palisade, tracking every archer, every movement, like a wolf testing the wind. When his gaze briefly caught mine, a sudden, sharp heat rushed through my veins. My lord studied them for a long moment, then gave a sharp nod. "Very well. You may enter. But break our laws, and the forest will take your bones." "Fair enough," Uhtred muttered, a faint smirk touching his lips. They were led toward the clearing, but as the evening shadows stretched across the grass, my mind was no longer on the lord's guests or their strange wooden crosses. It was on the wild, sharp-edged northern warrior. I slipped away from the firelight,ready to brew something that would make him forget every god but the ones breathing in our woods.
Every man looked at them suspiciously, but me and the other women couldn't stop looking and adoring the new coming guests. My lord stepped forward, greeting Uhtred:
"I have heard of you, Uhtred of Bebbanburg," my lord said, eyeing the strange northern steel at his side. "They say you dance between kings and gods, and that your blade is as sharp as your tongue."
Uhtred met my lord's gaze with an easy, unbothered smirk, resting a hand on the pommel of his amber-hilted sword.
"They say true things, my lord," Uhtred answered, his voice steady and carrying the weight of a dozen battles. "Though Alfred and I have had our share of arguments, I know how to keep a bargain. We seek only trade, rest, and safe passage through your woods."
My lord studied him for a long beat before giving a firm, cautious nod.
Me and a few women carried the horses to the stables. The one with the beard—Finan, that was his name—chuckled and started a charming assault on my friends with his strange accent.
"Lord, I need to tell you one thing," Finan called out with a wink. "You have the most pretty women here!"
Without a word, I came up to Uhtred's other warrior, the one with the shaved hair on the side, and grabbed his horse's reins. I felt his intense look burning right through me, and I swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise in my chest.
He didn't hand over the reins right away. Instead, he leaned down slightly from his saddle, his two different tint eyes locking onto mine, sizing me up just as sharply as I was sizing him up.
"Careful, little bird," Sihtric said, his voice a low, gravelly hum that sent a shiver straight down my spine. "This horse bites strangers."
"Then it will fit right in here," I answered, keeping my chin up, refusing to look away from those dangerous eyes.
A slow, crooked smirk touched the corner of his mouth—just on the side where his hair was shaved close to the skin. He finally let go of the leather, his knuckles brushing lightly against my fingertips, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. As I led the beast away toward the stables, I knew my heart was already pounding too fast for just a simple meeting of travelers.
- And your woman have a sharp tongue - the man added, and Finan and my lord laughed.
You brought the horse, and after this, everybody prepared to feast. The bread was warm, the meat was hearty by the gods, and our wine melted the travelers' tongues. The hot fire brought everybody in the mood; we were with the gods. Me and the other girls wore linen tunics and colorful wreaths to celebrate Midsummer night, the one hot and spiritual thing.
-I wanted Dobromir to be my man - one of my friends said when she prepared to toss her wreath on the water.
I stood by her side and looked over to the three of our guests. They were sitting and drinking wine, and I saw his mismatched look and cocky smirk. I shyly tossed my gaze away and stepped back to my friends.
- I want him - I said.
- I heard he was a Dane, but came to Uhtred's pack - one gossiping woman said
- And he’s a bastard, but he’s strong and can fight - the other whispered.
-Did you know his name? - I asked.
They giggled and looked at me.
- Ask him something smart, maybe you don't shit yourself.
The girls mocked me, and I walked away to the fireplace where they sat with my lord. I grabbed a gallon of wine and politely asked:
- Lord, more wine?
My lord nodded, and then the man with the mismatched eyes tossed a cup to my side.
Finan laughed, and then I heard his name: - Oh, Sihtric, don't scare the poor girl.
Sihtric. That's what I need.
I nodded politely, stepped back from the hearth, and slipped away into the shadows of the encroaching timberline. I needed something different from the predictable, familiar men of your village, and the foreign warrior with the mismatched eyes and wild dark curls was absolute perfection for this.
I hurried through the winding dirt paths until you reached the secluded hovel of the local witch. Baba sat hunched on a low wooden stool, her withered hands deftly sorting through piles of dried mugwort, valerian, and St. John's wort by the faint, flickering glow of a tallow candle. She didn't even look up as I burst through the heavy leather flap of the doorway; she already knew the pulsing, desperate rhythm of your heart.
I rushed forward, dropping to your knees beside her stool, and rushed out the words: - I need something to... -To have the Dane tonight, - Baba finished for me, her rasping voice cutting smoothly through the air.
She knew everything. She could speak with our gods and ancestors like no one else in the settlement, her mind tethered to the unseen world. With a slow, toothless smile, she reached into a stained leather pouch and pulled out a small, roughly woven sachet filled with dark, crushed leaves and pungent roots. She thrust it into mine trembling palms and barked her instructions: - Burn these when the fire is roaring highest, let the smoke wrap around him, and whisper his name to the night wind. Hurry up, the Midsummer rites have started, and the veil is thin. Do this right, and he will be yours before the embers die.
I thanked her, clutching the sacred bundle tightly against my chest, and sprinted back through the dark, fragrant woods toward the blazing warmth of the main celebration.
The heavy, hypnotic beating of drums and the trill of wooden flutes filled my ears, vibrating straight down into my bones. The roaring bonfire seemed to speak directly through me, its rising sparks carrying my deepest desires into the starry sky. Everything around me melted into a sweet, dizzying blur. Laughter echoed through the clearing, and shadowy figures spun wildly in chaotic, intoxicating dances around the flames.
Stepping close to the edge of the crackling fire, I closed my eyes, untied the sachet, and tossed the potent herbs straight into the heart of the golden blaze. A thick, sweet-scented plume of smoke billowed up into the night air, and right through the haze, I whispered his name into the roaring heat, following the witch's instructions down to the very last word.
I felt like time itself had slowed to a crawl, the chaotic music and roaring laughter of the feast fading into a distant, muffled hum. I closed my eyes tightly against the thick plume of herbal smoke, letting the magic of the Midsummer night settle deep into my bones. But the moment I blinked open my eyes, the air shifted violently.
Before I could even catch a full breath, I felt my back press firmly against the rough, cold bark of a towering pine tree, safely swallowed by the shadows just outside the ring of firelight.
A heavy, muscular warmth pinned me there, and a pair of hot, hungry lips grazed lazily against the sensitive skin of my neck, sending a sharp, electric jolt straight down to my toes.
I gasped, my breath hitching in my throat, and my eyes flew wide open.
There he was.
Sihtric.
His dark, mismatched eyes burned with a wild, possessive intensity that looked less like a man and more like the very forest spirits we had been invoking all evening. Before I could even utter a sound, his strong, calloused hands—rough from sword hilts and reins—gripped firmly onto my chin, tilting my face upward with an undeniable demand. He didn't hesitate. He crushed his lips against mine in a deep, rough, and fiercely hungry kiss that completely stole the air right out of my lungs.
I looked up at him with pure, ravenous hunger, my breath coming in hot, shallow gasps. A dark, vibrating laugh tore from his throat, a sound rich with wicked satisfaction. Without a second thought, his hands moved with rough urgency, tearing the thin linen of my tunic apart at the seams. My bare breasts spilled out into the cool night air, instantly sensitive and aching under his gaze.
-I need to taste you - he rasped, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly growl.
Before I could process the words, he leaned down and took my nipple and the fullness of my breast straight into his warm mouth. I gasped, a loud, wanton moan tumbling past my lips as a jolt of liquid heat shot straight down to my core. Overwhelmed by the exquisite friction, I instinctively arched my back, pushing myself deeper into his mouth to offer him more of me.
Suddenly, he pulled back just an inch, a wicked glint in his mismatched eyes. Reaching for his wooden cup, he poured the thick, golden, amber liquid honey straight onto my chest. The sticky sweetness spilled over my skin in the firelight. I was entirely lost in a sensory trance, whimpering as I pressed my chest further toward him, offering the feast. He didn't hesitate; he began lapping the sweetness from my collarbones and breasts like a possessed man, his tongue hot, fast, and insatiable.
Then, moving with sudden, aggressive energy, he grabbed my hips and spun me around, pressing my body flat against the cool, dew-kissed grass in the shadows. The distant crackle of the fire and the muffled sounds of the feast faded away, leaving only the sound of our heavy breathing.
With rough, impatient movements, he tore the remainder of my dress away, stripping it off and tossing it aside into the dark. I spread my legs wide for him, an instinctive, sweet invitation born of the pagan night and the burning magic in my veins. A dark, approving laugh rumbled in his chest as he tore his own tunic over his head, shedding his clothes to bare his muscular, sweat-sheened body to the moonlight.
-Let's see if your tongue is still sharp - he murmured, his voice thick with lust.
Instantly, I felt two long, calloused fingers slide deep inside my labia and push hard into my pussy. A loud, shameless moan broke from my throat as he began pumping his fingers inside me in a steady, building rhythm. Right as my head spun, I felt the wet, heavy heat of his tongue pressing against my sensitive flesh. He sucked, licked, and swallowed every drop of my slickness, taking everything I had to give with a greedy, relentless devotion. I moaned loud and wild, sounding like I was possessed by our lake demons, completely unable and unwilling to stop.
- Gods! You're perfect - Sihtric praised, his voice rough and breathless.
He spread my pussy lips further apart with one hand, pressing his thumb firmly down against my most desperate, aching spot. I cried out, my voice hitching in agony and pleasure as I violently arched my back off the grass. He began massaging the spot with a cruelly fast, punishing rhythm, while his tongue continued to lap my juices with terrifying precision. -Give it to me! Right now! - he commaned, I losing the last shreds of my mind to the fire in my blood. My first orgasm came and he lick every sweet drop from my pulsing womb.
Sihtric grabbed my hips, flipping my body without a second of hesitation. I dropped onto my knees, bending low, and let out a fierce roar into the dark as his hard, thick length pushed deep inside me.
The entry was hard, sharp, and utterly breathtaking. I felt him filling every muscle, pressing against every sensitive wall of my body. He gripped my hips tighter, a deep groan vibrating in his throat, and his movements turned instantly fast and aggressive.
- I was thinking about this cunt when the gates were open! - he confessed, his voice thick and gravelly with lust.
To emphasize his words, his heavy palm came down in a sharp, stinging slap against my bare ass cheek. I moan loudly, very loudly, the sudden shock and friction sending a fresh wave of heat straight to my core.
He pounded into me with relentless force. Desperate for a glimpse of him, I twisted my head around to watch his face. His chest was bare and slick with sweat, his mismatched eyes blown wide and wild in the dim moonlight, his breath hissing harshly through his clenched teeth as he reveled in my absolute tightness and wetness.
The frantic, punishing rhythm of his hips pushed me closer and closer to the absolute edge of my sanity. Every merciless thrust dragged high, ragged whimpers from my throat, my fingers digging desperately into the cool, damp earth until my nails scraped the dirt. The roaring fire, the distant music, and the murmurs of the Midsummer feast vanished entirely, swallowed by the wet, heavy sounds of our bodies colliding in the dark.
- Stay still, whore, and take it, - he growled, his voice thick, authoritative, and dripping with raw, unapologetic dominance.
He didn't wait for my answer. One of his large, calloused hands slid up my spine to fist painfully into my hair, yanking my head back so I had no choice but to arch my neck and bare my throat to the night air. With his other hand, he clamped down hard on my hip, holding me completely captive beneath his weight.
He slammed into me again, deeper and harder, stretching me to my absolute limit, filling every desperate inch of my aching walls until I couldn't tell where my body ended and his began. - Mine, - he hissed against my ear, the command vibrating straight down to my core.
With a final, brutal, earth-shattering surge, Sihtric let out a savage, guttural roar as he came, burying himself to the hilt and flooding me with thick, scalding waves of his heat.
At that exact, blinding second, the dam inside me shattered completely. I threw my head back as far as his grip would allow and screamed—a long, wanton shriek of pure, broken ecstasy that tore straight from my lungs and echoed through the silent woods.
As his seed pulsed hot and heavy inside my core, a violent wave of white-hot pleasure ripped through my entire nervous system, making my toes curl and my vision star-burst. I felt our souls, our sweat, and our heavy, ragged breaths violently shatter and collide, lifting us right off the damp ground. In that wild, breathless moment, as the ancient, primal spirits of the Midsummer night watched down upon us, we weren't just two mortals in the dirt. I felt our bodies, our blood, and our very souls completely, irrevocably intertwined with the gods.
