An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Finan/Sihtric (The Last Kingdom)
Characters: Finan (The Last Kingdom), Sihtric (The Last Kingdom), Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Additional Tags: Read on AO3
Summary:
Finan wakes with a dry mouth and a persistent ache in his shoulders. His head is throbbing, and the bone around his eye pulses in time with the beat of his heart. He recalls the alehouse brawl the night before with a groan. He’d started it, naturally, in his infinite quest to outdo himself in rash, drunken decisions...rather, they had started it: Sihtric had also been in a mood all his own.
It was all in good fun, of course, it always is. Plus, as he remembers with a flicker of heat in his belly, the night had ended on a rather high note. So high that he would not mind picking up right where they left off this morning.
When he tries to reach for the man who has been driving him towards madness for years now, he finds that his arms are pinned overhead, tied to the bed posts with firm leather straps. “What in God’s name—”
“Going somewhere?”
Sihtric is standing at the top of the stairs, naked save for his breeches. His skin is scrubbed pink, curls still dark and wet from the river, and he’s got a half-eaten apple in his hand and a wicked gleam in his mismatched eyes.
A/N: Written as part of the @tlkfanficfest bingo for the bondage prompt!
Oh hi, I wrote an Aethelflaed x Skade, Pirate / Witch AU for @tlkfanficfest bingo. It is unhingedly kinky, spectacularly cracky, and very possibly a crime against The Children. If you like D/S kink, piracy, witches, ballads, or simply agree with the (objectively true and righteous) opinion that Skade just needs a good railing from a hot Dom mommy, then this might be the fic for you.
Read on AO3
It is inspired by this traditional ballad
CWs: Self-Mutilation, Suicidal Ideation, Drowning Mention, Dom/Sub, Bondage, Imprisonment, Hostage Kink, Power Imbalance, Mind Control, Blood Kink, Blood Drinking, Biting, Hair Pulling, Oral Kink, Hand Kink
Known only as “The Maiden,” Skade is a siren, a sea witch — as feared as she is desired for her power to control the minds of men. She has watched ships break themselves on the cold floor of the North Atlantic, she has seen the life drain from men’s eyes like blood on the sand, and she has liked it. Now, she is on the run, trying to sing her way into a new story.
But when she is taken captive by the notorious pirate, Captain Aethelflaed, she finds her skills faltering, her tongue empty, and her throat dry. Will Aethelflaed finally put an end to “The Maiden”? Or has Skade simply found someone who can give her what she truly wants?
Written for @tlkfanficfest round three - trope: stuck in a siege - read on ao3 here
No warnings, just some softness for these two, speculating on what may have happened during the siege at Winchester - feat. reading aloud, fresh bread, and hair braiding. Enjoy! (gif made by @jennasmarbles)
Twenty-nine days.
That's how long the siege at Winchester had lasted so far.
Twenty-nine days she'd spent inside the walls of the palace of the dead king Alfred, reading his chronicle aloud.
Twenty-nine days spent not keeping score, twenty-nine days eating the same crust of bread.
Twenty-nine days with Sigtryggr.
Stiorra felt a rush of heat to her cheeks as she caught herself thinking those words, laying on the floor of the room they’d been sitting in. Twenty-nine days with Sigtryggr. The number was not what caused the blush.
“I’ll be back,” Sigtryggr had said. That was hours ago, and no one had been in since.
Not that she expected visitors. The only other people who ever came in the room besides Sigtryggr and herself were messengers - Danes who would try to lean over Sigtryggyr’s broad shoulders while they played the game she’d taught him or while she read to him. And Eardwulf, that one time, but he’d never be back now.
“You do not need to lean,” she’d heard him say to the first messenger on day one. Sigtryggr had risen from the spot he was sitting and met Dane messenger eye to eye. “Say what you came to say.”
He did this with every person who came to speak to him - told them not to lean over him, not to speak in a whisper. He only had to say it once for them to obey. Sigtryggyr had a commanding presence like that.
It was not lost on her that Sigtryggr did not speak in secret tones with those who came to deliver news or ask advice. Everything related to the siege - how much food they had, where the defenses were being fortified, who was being held and where within the palace walls - he discussed all of these things openly in front of her at a regular volume. No hushes, no whispers. She heard every word.
After two days, she knew it was on purpose. He was showing her who he was.
He wanted her to know.
On day three, he asked her to read from Alfred’s chronicle to him.
“Why?” She kicked at the table leg, pretending not to notice the book he’d brought in.
Sigtryggr scooted toward her on the bench, placing his folded hands on top of the table they sat at, side by side. She felt his gaze on the side of her face as she pretended to look out the window. “Because I want to know about him. I want to understand.” He unfolded his hands and pushed the book toward her. “And because I can’t read English. You can.”
Stiorra quirked an eyebrow at him. She’d abhorred all those hours Hild and the other nuns had drilled at her to learn her words when she’d been a child, but now, she saw that perhaps this skill had a purpose. Made her valuable.
She reached for the book, opened it to the first page, and stole a quick look at Sigtryggr. He was smiling, and she mirrored a small smile back at him before clearing her throat. “Bring me water, and I’ll read all day.”
He’d done just that. Brought her water, and sat and listened to her quietly, attentively. She’d read to him until the sun dipped beneath the horizon and the candles burned their wicks down to their pans. She’d gone to bed that night smiling.
Sigtryggr’s attentiveness was the most disarming thing.
On day four, she read to him some more. He’d crossed to the other side of the room and found a more comfortable place to put his feet up. Stiorra wondered if he was really listening to her, to each and every single word she was reading, or if his mind was wandering elsewhere. She glanced up from the page and saw him looking out a window.
“And in the year 842, a great turd fell from the sky.” She deadpanned, using in the same tone she’d been reading in, making no show of the silly words she was choosing.
Immediately, Sigtryggr’s eyes snapped to meet hers, brows knitting together as he narrowed his gaze at her. She ducked her back head down, making as if she’d not looked up from the page at all, but it was too late. He’d caught her.
“A great turd from the sky?” She could hear the grin in his voice again, could picture what it looked like on his handsome face as he took a step from the window. Stiorra kept her eyes on the page but couldn’t help but snicker - as she’d often done when making an off-color joke to the other young women at the abbey.
She felt his eyes again, but hadn’t looked up to greet them. The bench shifted as he took a seat next to her and leaned back against the table. Hiding her face behind her hair, she heard the smile in Sigtryggr’s voice once again. He leaned toward her, close enough his breath caused her hair to move, but not so close as to touch her. “Tell me, Stiorra Uhtredsdottir. Tell me about this great turd from the sky.”
Stiorra couldn’t stop herself from giggling onto the page then, unable to contain herself. He really was listening to what she was saying.
The bench creaked as he reached across the table for the water jug.
“You have great wit,” Sigtryggr said, refilling her glass of water.
“I do,” she responded, lifting her eyes to meet his. When she took the cup from his hands, their fingers brushed. A spark. “Thank you.”
“Keep reading.” He stood back up and resumed his stance by the window. “I am listening.”
Days four through ten had passed much the same. She read. Sigtryggr listened.
She taught him to play a favorite game from her childhood and beat him so many times they stopped keeping score. They shared meals. He asked her questions about her father, her mother, her home. “What home?” she’d answered. It wasn’t Coccham, it wasn’t the abbey, it wasn’t Saltwic, and it certainly wasn’t Winchester. She had places she’d lived, but none of those places really felt like home.
She explained it all. And still, Sigtryggr listened.
Sigtryggr watched.
Sigtryggr learned.
On day eleven, they walked around the halls of the palace together. She’d told him she was tired of sitting, and he said he’d walk with her. Stiorra liked the way their elbows grazed each other when they rounded the first corner.
She wanted to go outside but did not ask. She was a hostage, but hadn’t thought of herself that way for a little while. Sigtryggr never called her that, never referred to her as one when he talked with other people who came into the room. No, the hostages were the nobles, Lord Aethelhelm and his daughter Aelfled, Alfred’s wife - the pious Lady Aelswith, and two children. The one she knew, Aethelstan - who she almost missed - and some other boy, who she did not give a rat’s arse about. Sigtryggr called them the hostages, his men called them the hostages. But not her. Sigtryggr just called her Stiorra.
She didn’t remember she was a hostage until day eighteen, when she caught Brida’s pointed glare when they passed by her on a walk in the hall. The harshness of the other woman’s stare was powerful, her ire tangible, like tiny knives poking into Stiorra’s face. No, she could not ask to go outside. Not yet.
More reading.
More games.
More walks inside.
More days.
More time with Sigtryggr.
That was days one through twenty-eight. Today was day twenty-nine, and he’d been gone for hours.
She’d dozed off in the room without meaning to. She was woken by voices in the hallway, some Dane saying that Sigtryggr had gone to the ramparts as another silly volley of Saxons were attempting to rush the gate. It happened so frequently, Stiorra had stopped caring or keeping count of how many times this made. She’d woken up with tangles in her hair, and decided to work new braids atop her head.
She thought about how she and Sigtryggr spent hours of each day together now. They’d fallen into a rhythm. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they played, sometimes she read from the chronicle and he asked her questions. Sometimes they just sat in the room, together but not. He’d puzzle over maps while she watched the Dane warriors sparring in the courtyard, idly carving runes into a piece of wood he’d brought her from outside.
But right now she was alone.
She wondered when he’d be back. She took her hair down and brushed it out, marking the silence. There weren’t even birds singing outside.
After tying a new knot on top of her head, she pulled up a smaller section of hair and began passing one section over another, steadily bringing each piece to find its place with the next. The braid began to take shape, and with each new pass, each minute that went by, she began to understand that she missed Sigtryggr.
The shade shifted across the window, marking the passage of time. Stiorra pulled another section of hair to the opposite side of her head and began to work it into a second small plait to match the first.
She thought for a fleeting moment, somewhere near the midpoint of the second braid, that perhaps she shouldn’t care about him or what he was doing, but the truth was that she did. By the end of the second braid, she resolved to feel no shame in that.
Too much time had gone by. He’d been gone for many hours now, she was sure. She needed something to do with her hands, couldn’t bear to sit and wonder any longer what was delaying him. Stiorra backtracked and began redoing the first braid she’d made after her nap.
Sigtryggr returned to the room while she worked on a third braid, a plate of apples and fresh bread in hand. She hadn’t heard him, her back to the door as she sat by the window, fingers flitting in and out of the new braid she was making.
He sat the plate on the table as quietly as he could. He didn’t want to interrupt her at her work. Sigtryggr knew how to remain quiet, how to wait until the right moment.
Stiorra felt a breeze pass through the room, and with it came the scent of fresh bread. She turned to see where the scent came from and was both surprised and relieved to see Sigtryggr there, one hand on his face, his head cocked to one side as he studied her.
“Sigtryggr.” She dropped her hands from her hair and made to stand, pausing her work. Startled. Happy to see him. “You brought bread.”
A small shake of his head. “Do not stop.”
Her eyes locked onto him, and he held her gaze as he crossed the room. How he could be so deft, so quiet, so graceful and so powerful at the same time - she wondered if she’d ever know. She swore her insides were melting with every step he took in her direction.
Stiorra sank back into the chair, disarmed by him as he moved toward her, catlike. She pieced together the remaining sections of her braid, her breath slow, not breaking his eye contact as he stepped to her. She searched for something to say, but no words came. Nothing but a lump in her throat and the slow cadence of her own breath, rising and falling.
He knelt to her eye level and held himself in a squat next to her. Sigtryggr faced her, but did not crowd her. He never crowded her. Not that first day, when she’d tried to cut herself and he’d disarmed her, both with his words and also with his hands - not when he’d stepped in to to protected her from Eardwulf, not when he sat next to her on the bench, and not now.
She felt the blood rush to her cheeks as he placed his left hand flat on the chair next to her leg, gentle but solid. She knew her ears would be turning crimson, knew he’d be able to see the effect he had on her from this close. She briefly thought to turn away from him, to move her hair to cover the flush, but the way the air had collapsed around them kept her from doing so. Too locked into him and his brown eyes and his handsome face, she met him with her own studied look.
Sigtryggr reached his right hand up, keeping the left flat on the chair to the side of her leg, chaste but firm. His fingers ghosted over the side of her face, his thumb lightly brushed over her cheekbone. She felt him reach up and take hold of the braid she’d just finished. Her breath caught in her throat.
Sigtryggr took the braid in his hand, running it between his thumb and forefinger, handling it like it was holy, the way she’d seen him touch Thor’s hammer around his neck. She could hear his own breathing, so close to her she thought she might burst into flame. She couldn’t stop from thinking about what it might be like to feel his even breath closer to her, over her cheek, on her neck, in the hollow of her collarbone, in her ear as he whispered her name.
She gulped, feeling a new rush of heat to her cheeks and a warm tingle deep inside her chest. He was so close. So close she could see the fan of his eyelashes, the ridges of the scar on his face, proud and regal, the scent of fresh bread still in the air.
“You must show me.”
“Show you?” she gulped.
“You must show me how you do this.”
Stiorra blinked. Without warning, she scooted back in the chair, which caused Sigtryggr to lose his balance a little and force him to brace his hand on the ground as he caught himself.
“Turn around, then,” she directed, her voice higher in pitch than usual but unwavering. “Sit.”
He laughed, eyes only briefly dropping to the floor with a sigh as he did as she asked.
Sigtryggr listened.
He sat on the ground in front of her, between her knees. He crossed his legs and straightened his spine.
“Can you see?” she asked as she reached for her brush.
“Yes,” he nodded, and his reflection in the window nodded back.
“Good. Now, this is called a braid,” Stiorra said, taking his hair into her hand, brushing it the way she’d done for herself, for Aelfwynn sometimes when she’d lived at Saltwic. She was surprised by the texture of his hair, of how much of it there was. It was softer than it looked like it would be, and it smelled like wood and wheat and outside.
“I know what a braid is.”
“This is not just any braid.” She began to thread her fingers through Sigtryggr’s hair, taking a small section from his temple into her hands. “This is the braid my mother would make for my father when he returned home from a long absence.”
Sigtryggr didn’t say anything. He sat still, but not stiff. She saw the rise and fall of his shoulders in the reflection of the window in front of them, marked the way his lips were parted while she separated the section of hair into three smaller pieces.
“Well, that’s what she told me it was when she taught me to do it.”
She began to move one piece over another, and saw Sigtryggyr’s shoulders sag just a little, to relax as she began.
“He’d come home after fighting some battle or settling some dispute somewhere, and she’d make him wash, and while his hair dried, she’d put this braid in his hair.” She worked steadily as she crossed the first few passes. A flock of birds passed by the window.
Sigtryggr said nothing. His breathing had fallen into an easy cadence, and she found herself mirroring it.
“To keep it out of his face,” she continued. “My mother couldn’t stand when his hair was in his face...”
She trailed off briefly, remembering Gisela telling her this very thing time and time again as she’d worked a braid into Stiorra’s hair. And do you know, Stiorra, with every pass I made in your father’s hair, I weaved in my care for him? My hope for his continued safety? My joy for his return?
Stiorra felt a lump of pride in her throat, a quick sting rising in her eyes. She didn’t want Sigtryggr to see that, though. It wasn’t for him - it was for Gisela, the mother she missed so much - for the life Stiorra and her family didn’t get to have, for the fear she secretly carried - the fear that she, too, would die young like her mother.
He was looking at her reflection in the window, eyes open and eager. Not wanting to pull him into her sadness, Stiorra made another pass of Sigtryggr’s hair and quietly quipped, “I can’t stand when your hair is in your face, either. It always is.”
At that, Sigtryggr laughed, shattering the unspoken tension, bright and warm and alive.
Stiorra smiled back at him into their reflections in the window. The warmth from the late afternoon sun shone on their faces, clear and bright in the window glass. She blinked back the sting at her eyes, happy to have made him laugh. She wanted to make him laugh like that more.
With every pass, every placement, every strand, Stiorra weaved her own hopes into the braid she made for Sigtryggr that twenty-ninth day. Hopes that he’d stay safe. Hopes that her father was still alive out there, hopes that one day, there would be a world where it didn’t matter - being a Saxon or a Dane - hopes that she could be both, that she could be more. Hopes that perhaps, she and Sigtryggr could be more, together.
Stiorra continued working, sweeping the plait to one side of his handsome brow. She checked her work in the reflection and rested her hands on his shoulders, relished the sight of his peaceful face.
“I am pleased,” he said.
“Good,” Stiorra replied, fastening the end with a silver bead from her own hair. “It suits you.”
“But you did not show me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You did this for me, but you did not show me how to do this for you.”
The sun began to slip behind the wall of the courtyard. It wasn’t night yet, but it would be shortly. Stiorra beamed.
“You want to braid my hair?”
“Yes,” Sigtryggr answered. He rose from the floor and stood before her. He lifted her chin with his finger. “Yes, I do.”
So passed the twenty-ninth day.
This work is largely inspired by a conversation I had with @jeynepoole about how much I can't stand Sigtryggr's wig in season four. I've started calling it his Hermione hair. It's poofy and ridiculous, and I can't be super sure, but I'm fairly certain he doesn't have a braid on the one side before the siege at Winchester begins, but I think he's got one by episode ten. I don't think it's out of the question that Stiorra could have braided his hair for him in that time.
So this was a request for the very talented @lauwrite1225 Lau I hope you enjoy it.
A/N: I’m sorry it’s so long. I ad fun writing this so I hope it doesn’t suck.
Pairings: Finan x Reader
Warnings: smut
Prompt: Friends to Lovers from @tlkfanficfest
You had been travelling for 5 days and nights to reach Cookham. You had all wanted to stop and rest but your Lord, Uhtred, had wanted to get there as soon as possible to see his family. His wife, Gisela, who was a good friend of yours had recently given birth and Uhtred was desperate to see them.
You had been travelling with Uhtred and his companions for several years now after they had rescued you from Danes raiding the village in Mercia where you had lived. You had been with them ever since.
To begin with you hadn’t trust his men, always fearing the worst could happen, but you soon grew to trust them and you were now all great friends.
Uhtred was like a protective older brother, always looking out for you. Sihtric was your partner in crime, you two were always causing trouble. Osferth was your greatest friend and you loved him to bits. And lastly Finan. The man of your dreams. The love of your life. The man with the foulest mouth in Cookham that you couldn’t live without. You were besotted with him even with his constant flirting and sexual innuendos and yet you blew him off.
Hild, the abbess and a great friend of the Coccham Crew had told you that playing hard to get only lasted so long and eventually Finan would loose interest. Of course you didn’t want that, you wanted to be with him, and yet you couldn’t commit yourself to him. You didn’t have a fear of commitment as such but you were afraid. Afraid of rejection, of having your heart broken, Finan was known for being a womaniser so would you just another game to him? Another women for the night and that would be it. Your heart couldn’t take it and so you acted uninterested despite his to woo you endeavour.
However, your feelings for Finan were not a secret, Osferth being your closest friend soon found out but swore not to tell anyone and you knew he wouldn’t, you trusted the baby monk with your life. Uhtred and Sihtric on the other hand were a different story, they constantly pestered you about Finan, trying to get you to confess but you never would. You couldn’t. Could you?
You could see Cookham in the distance and smiled. “We’re nearly home Osferth.”
“Oh thank the Lord.” Osferth sighed. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to walk again.” I giggled helplessly, watching as he leaned from side to side trying to relieve some discomfort.
“Its because you haven’t humped enough women Osferth!” And there it was, the loud, foul mouthed Irish accent you loved so much. “I’ve humped so many women I could ride a horse for miles no trouble. You be got no stamina Baby Monk.”
Sihtric snorted from the back of the group and Uhtred smirked. Osferth had gone bright red, as his eyes shifted uncomfortably. I glared at Finan as he gave me a shit-eating grin.
“It’s alright Osferth just because you have standards, Finan would hump anything that moved.” This bought more sniggering amongst the group.
“Now hang on a minute.” Finan cried.
But before he could continue you changed the subject. “Last one home has to muck out the horses for a month.” You shouted, kicking your horse forward and galloping off down the hill, the wind blowing through you hair. You could hear shouts from the men behind you but you didn’t turn round, you were going to win this race.
You were waiting for what seemed like forever for the others to join you by the stables. First there was Sihtric, then Uhtred and Osferth came in neck and neck, barley stopping in time to not run you over. Lastly there was Finan, you could tell before he even made it to you that he was pissed. The others had already put their horses in the stables and had headed off to the Ale House, while Uhtred went to Gisela.
You waited for Finan.
“Well I think it’s easy to tell who lost that one.” You laughed.
Finan didn’t say anything. He dismounted and lead his horse towards an empty stall.
Now Finan was always the loudest person in Cookham and to have him silent was a shock.
You stepped forward slightly. “Are we a bit of a sore loser Finan.” Still nothing. “Finan?” You went to touch his arm gently but he pulled away glaring.
“Finan what’s wrong?”
You we’re now face to face with him and you could see the hurt in his eyes. What had happened.
“Finan please talk to me.” You rubbed both his arms, looking into his deep, brown, soulful eyes.
Finan took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Go join the others at the Ale House I’ll join you shortly.” He turned his attention to his horse and left you stood there stunned.
Whatever was wrong with Finan it was serious you retreated reluctantly and headed straight to the Ale House.
As soon as you entered the Ale House you spotted Sihtric and Osferth sat at your usual table. Slamming your hands onto the table, you startled the two men.
“What’s wrong with Finan.” You demanded, looking them dead in the eye. Osferth fiddled awkwardly with his hands while Sihtric avoided eye contact. “Seriously guys what’s wrong.”
Still nothing. “Fine then I’ll find out myself.” You turned to leave but Uhtred was stood behind you blocking your exit. “Lord.” You greeted him, “ I hope Gisela is well. Please tell her I will visit her and the baby soon.” You smiled before moving passed him to leave. Before you reached the door of the Ale House Uhtred grabbed your arm and pulled you back towards the table.
“He loves you (y/n).”
You stood there stunned, starring at him like he had just said something stupid.
“What!”
“Finan’s in love with you (y/n). He has been for a long time.” Uhtred stated, looking you in the eye.
You froze. “Are you drunk already Lord?” You asked laughing nervously.
“(Y/n) this is serious.”
But... but what about all those other women, you know of his reputation. I... I love him but I can’t have my heart broken with some one night stand. I can’t do that Uhtred.”
You were close to tears at this point and Uhtred pulled you into a hug.
“Finan is a good man (y/n) and he loves you more than anything else. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, I know how he feels. I feel the same way about Gisela.”
“You mean everything to him (y/n).” Osferth chimes in and Sihtirc nodded in agreement.
You looked helplessly between the men. “I’ve hurt him haven’t I? What I said early I was so cruel. I didn’t think. I need to tell him I’m sorry. I need to tell him the truth we can’t continue like this.”
Uhtred sighed, “he doesn’t like the thought that you view him as a womaniser (y/n) that’s all. Between you and me Finan has never had to work to get a woman before, normally they fall at his feet. But that’s why he loves you because your different. Now go out there.” He said pushing you towards the door, “and go get your man.”
Laughing you turned to face them. “Thank you. All of you.” You turned to leave the Ale House but stopped. “Where will Finan be?” You asked worried.
“I’m sure he’s still sulking in the stable after losing to a women.” Sihtric laughed.
“Right.” You grinned, “thank you.”
You sprinted out into the street. By now the rain has started to pour down and you were soaked within minuets but you didn’t care, you were finally going to tell him.
You were finally going to admit your feelings to him.
You reached the stables and looked around aimlessly. Where was he?
“FINAN! FINAN!” You shouted. The stables were empty except from the horses and there was no sign of him.
You became frantic shouting his name. Where was he? Had he left? Had you hurt him so badly with your comment that he left Cookham? Had you stayed level headed like you normally were you would have realised that Finan had just gone to grab his cloak and was now stood behind you, looking dumbfounded with his cloak still in his hand.
“(Y/n)?”
You turned round. “Finan!” You cried running into him, sobbing.
“God (y/n) what’s wrong. Hey... hey talked to me. What’s wrong? What happened? What did they do to you, I’ll kill them!” Finan growled thinking the worst, his hands became fists as he went ridged. “(Y/n) please talked to me what’s wrong?”
You sniffed, mumbling incoherently. “I... I ... I’m ... so...sorry...F..F...Finan. I’m sorry for what I said I never realised how you felt. With your constant flirting and teasing I didn’t realise. I’m sorry.”
“(Y/n) what are you talking about.” He asked looking awkwardly at you.
You took a deep breath. “I love you Finan. I’ve always loved you but I couldn’t stand to have my heart broken. I didn’t want to be just another women who spent a night with you. I want to be with you forever.”
“Oh (y/n). God I didn’t know. I never wanted to have this sort of reputation. All those women they could never compare to you. No one could compare to you (y/n).” He stroked his hand down you wet face and you smiled looking down at your feet.
“I’m so sorry (y/n). Your the only women I ever want to be with.”
“I love you Finan. I want you. I’ve always wanted you. I...” before you could continue Finan had crashed his lips into yours. The kiss was heated and full of love. You had wanted this since you had met each other and finally it was happening. And you couldn’t get enough of each other. Your arms were around his neck, hands running through his wet hair. His hands roamed your body and his tongue fought for dominance.
You both pulled away breathless. “I want you Finan. I really want you.” I whispered, pulling at his shirt.
“Don’t. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it (y/n).” Finan said, averting his eyes from your gaze.
“Finan.” You pulled his face towards you again and kissed him softly. “I want you.”
Within seconds, Finan had picked you up. You wrapped your legs around him as he backed you towards the stable. As your back hit the wall you began to remove each other’s clothes as fast as possible. You were breathing rapidly as Finan began to kiss along your jawline and down your neck. Sucking and biting at the sweet spot he had discovered. You moaned uncontrollably, mumbling his name. This only encourage Finan’s attack on your body. Hands roaming down your sides, he pulled at the bottom of your undershirt. He looked at you then, as if he was begging for your answer. Before he could open his mouth you grabbed the bottom of your shirt and pulled it over your head.
“I have been waiting for years for you to take me like this Finan. I’m not waiting any longer. “
He gave you his signature devilish grin.
“Your wish is my command, Lady.”
Finan dipped his head down, taking your nipple between his teeth and tugging at it gently. You groaned, leaning your head back against the stable wall. His tongue circled your right nipple repeatedly, while he pinch the other between his finger and thumb, pulling at it roughly.
“Finan please.” You cried but he continued teasing your nipples. “Finan.” You all but sobbed. “Please!”
“Please what my Lady, I need to hear you say it.”
“Please. Please Finan... I need... I need you.” You cried.
At that Finan began to kiss jaw again, then your neck, then your breasts... then lower.
He kissed down your stomach as his hands ran up and down the outside of your thighs. He pushed your thighs open a little, stroking the smooth flesh gently.
“Touch me Finan. Please touch me.” You begged, becoming agitated by his teasing.
“You’ve teased me so much over the years (y/n)”. Finan grinned up at you. “Now it’s time for a little payback.”
And with that his head was between you legs, kissing you, tasting you, loving you. You gasped at the contact and your hips jerked a little, causing Finan to smile. His teasing continued as he began to suck vigorously on the bundle of nerves between your legs. Your hand shot into his hair, tugging at it, causing Finan to groan against you. Vibrations went through your body, nearly brining you to the edge.
At that Finan rose from between your legs, you whimpered helplessly. He pulled you close to his bare chest, kissing you deeply. Finan lifted you slowly before slowing lowering you too the bed of hay beneath you. Finan was above you then kissing you passionately, his hands caressing the side of your body. You opened your mouth slightly and he slipped his tongue in. Within minutes you were both moaning uncontrollably into each other’s mouths. You could feel Finan’s hard length brush against you through his trousers. You reach down, your hand brushing against it. Finan pulled away from the kiss groaning. You took this opportunity to slip your hand into his trousers palming him lightly. Finan buried his head into your neck breathing heavily. “God women if you carry on like this I’ll come before we’ve even began.” He groaned.
You laughed, squeezing his length gently.
Finan growled, sitting up and unlacing his trousers at lightening speed. He pulled his length free and you gasped. His size was impressive and you began to wonder how he would fit.
Finan noticed your apprehension and smiled softly at you, leaning down and brushing a strand of hair away from your face.
“I promise I’ll be gentle. I want to make love to you. I want this to be enjoyable for both of us. I never want to cause you pain (y/n). Never.” Finan kissed your cheek softly.
“I love you too Finan. I’m ready. I want you.”
Finan kissed you again, as he moved his hand down your body. His fingers teased your entrance before pushing one finger inside you. God did that feel good, his finger moving back, hitting places you didn’t even know existed. You mumbled aimlessly as his finger bought you to a new high. Finan added another finger, stretching you wider, sending waves of pleasure through you.
“Finan.” You breathed and that smile was on his face again, that damn cocky smile.
“Does that feel good my love?”
“Yes... God yes Finan.” You cried. The coil in your stomach was becoming tighter and tighter as you reached new heights. You couldn’t hold on much longer. “Please...please... Oh Finan.”
“That’s it (y/n) come for me. Come for me (y/n).”
And with that you came undone, panting heavily. His name a prayer on your lips.
Finan kissed you lovingly but there was a hunger in his lust blown eyes. He needed release.
You hooked your legs around him and rolled the two of you over so you were on top, straddling him. You lifted yourself up before sliding down on him. You say there for a moment, adjusting to his size, before beginning to move, slowly at first but soon picking up the pace. Your hips circled his as he thrust into you. Finan’s hands gripped your hips like a vice and the sound of love making filled the empty stable.
After a while Finan slowed turning the pair of you so you were on your back, as he set a erratic pace. You gripped his shoulders tightly as his hips slapped against yours. His fingers dug into your hips as you scrapped your nails violently down his back, both of you engulfed in pleasure.
“I... can’t... hold on... much longer.” You panted between each thrusts.
At that Finan became a mad man slamming into you over and over until you cried out his name as you reached your peak. He followed soon after spilling his seed inside you. You were both left panting and slick with sweat but utterly satisfied.
Once you had both come down from your high Finan pulled out of you, resting his forehead against yours.
“I love you (y/n). I love you so much.” He kissed you lovingly.
“I love you too Finan.” You smiled, running your fingers through his dark hair.
He lay down next to you, pulling you close to his chest and throwing his cloak over the pair of you.
“This is just how I imagined it.” He wisphered into your hair.
“What spending a night in a stable in the rain, you have a strange imagination.” You laughed and Finan grumbled.
“You know what I mean woman.” He sighed.
“I do Finan.” You said turning to face him. “I’ve thought of this moment since we first met.”
Finan smiled at that and kissed you again. “This was meant to be, it’s like fate. I’ve always felt a connection to you.”
“What’s that thing that Uhtred always says.” You laughed. “Destiny is all.”
Finan laughed too, running his hand through his hair.
“You are definitely my destiny (y/n)”
You both lay there gazing at each other, sharing the comfort from the others embrace, until you both fell asleep.
The next morning Osferth went to tend to the horses and found you both wrapped in each other’s embrace led under a blanket in the hay. He sprinted out of the stable to the great hall where Uhtred and Sihtric were talking.
“Hey guys. You owe me some money!”
He exclaimed.
“What?!” The two men looked confused.
“Finan and (y/n) in the stables. I told you they would. Now pay up I never win a bet.”
The two men grumbled as they handed the money over to Osferth. For a week whenever they say Osferth he had a smug grin on his face. After that no one ever bet against Osferth.
