Reader offering her body to viking!simon as an appreciation present for protecting her xx
yes yes absolutely yes everything about this is beautiful
c/w: pillaging, death, murder, blood, loss of virginity, p-in-v sex, you and simon have no game, simon is a blunt dickhead
perhaps the village gets raided in the middle of the night :( rival clan tearing through your lovely town and pillaging it. your husband is immediately storming out of bed, throwing on his armor and grabbing his axe. he’s silent when he picks you up, slings you over his shoulder and throws you into the wardrobe,
“stay.” he commands and you respond with a quick nod of your head, looking up at him with frightened eyes until he slams the doors closed
you’re there for a good hour until you hear movement in your home. you think for a moment it might be simon but you soon hear the sounds of wood splintering and crashing as this invader trashes your home
you keep a hand over your mouth, praying whoever this is decides not to check your hiding place. that was wishful thinking, you realise once the wardrobe door is ripped open and you’re met with the cold eyes of a rival warrior who wastes no time snatching you up and throwing you to the ground, desperate screams immediately leaving your throat
you pray that someone hears you but you’re not hopeful when all you can hear through the closed windows is the muffled sounds of screams, cries and burning buildings
you pick up whatever your trembling hands can reach and throw them at the warrior as you crawl back. but everything just seems to be bouncing off of him, causing no damage whatsoever
you close your eyes when you watch him raise his weapon, ready to bring it down on you. tears slip down your cheeks and you flinch, preparing for your short lived life to be over in such a brutal manner
but no such blow comes, instead you just hear the sounds of gargling. when you open your eyes, you see the soldier on his knees in front of you, your husbands axe hanging from the side of his neck as he chokes to death on his own blood
simon is stood above him, chest heaving and rage clouding his vision as he pulls the axe out, swinging it into the man’s neck one more time for good measure
he looks at you, the storm disappearing from his expression once he sees you trembling on the floor below him, frightened out of your mind. with one arm, he effortlessly scoops you up, holding you against him. with his other hand he retrieves his axe from the corpse at his feet
he carries you out of your destroyed home, not saying a word when you tuck your face into the crook of his neck and sniffle
“thank you…” you mumble, the delicate brush of your lips tickling his skin, filling him with a warm feeling that he’ll deny ever existed
he grunts in response, hoisting you up when you start to slip in his grip. he doesn’t speak much, is the first thing you figured out about him on your wedding night
you shield your eyes from the bloodshed and horror that now bestows your village, people of your clan lay dead in the once safe streets. simon says nothing as he carries you away from it all,
“is it over?” you ask, taking your face from his neck to look at him. he gives you a firm nod of his head. you don’t say anything about the dried blood he’s coated in, nor the fact that you can feel it staining your nightgown
after a while he carries you to a secluded part of the village, with survivors gathered around and setting up tents. being the second-in-command to the chief was clearly a perk as you and simon had been set up in a small, cozy cabin
“draw me a bath.” his rough voice cuts through the silence, shrugging off his armor and stripping down until he was bare in front of you. it never failed to bring a blush to your cheeks whenever he causally exposed his naked body to you
he hadn’t bedded you once since you had been married, you had shared once chaste kiss at your wedding ceremony and since then he had barely touched you. he didn’t seem particularly interested in having you perform traditional wifely duties, he never rejected it when you offered to bathe him after a long day or when you had dinner presented on the table for him
you both just kind of exist around each other. it hadn’t really dawned on you that he’s never even called you by your name, only speaking to you in blunt sentences
“oi. did you hear me?” he says, stopping to turn to you when he realised you hadn’t moved from your spot. you shake yourself from your thoughts and nod your head, scrambling over to the fire to begin boiling the water for his bath
he carries the heavy pots of boiling water for you, snatching them from your hands when he sees you nearly burn yourself. once his bath was finished, he climbed into the steaming water
you watch him from the bed, chewing on your lip and playing with your fingers as he scrubs his skin with the soap. his back is to you as your map out the scars littering the rippled muscle
you feel indebted to him. whilst he wasn’t the nicest man, he certainly wasn’t the cruelest. he was good to you in a strange way. he never forced himself on you, even on your wedding night. he had never uttered words with intent to hurt your feelings
you stand from your place on the bed and nervously stumble over to the tub, kneeling beside him. he doesn’t look at you when you take a cloth and begin cleaning his back
he lets his hands fall into the water, leaning forward ever so slightly. you notice how his eyes fall shut. he’s probably exhausted, you think to yourself
“would you like me to brush your hair, husband? I… I can-“ you question, looking at him as you run the soap through his hair and making an effort to detangle the mop on his head
“do what you want.” he grunts, shrugging his broad shoulders and dropping them down with enough weight to make the water splash
you nod your head even though he can’t see you. after a few minutes of, quite frankly, uncomfortable silence, you place the soap down as a silent signal that you were finished
he stands to all his glory, 6’4 with water dripping down from his hair all the way down his thigh defined thighs and back into the water. you immediately avert your eyes when you drag your eyes down to his cock, hanging heavy between his legs and pass him a towel
you gather a comb and place a pillow on the floor between your legs. still not bothering to get dressed, he just drops his tired body down leaving you no option but to spread your legs to accommodate his large frame
you spend a good 30 minutes trying to get the comb through his shaggy dirty blond hair but you eventually manage to tame it into a clean and detangled state. you use a tie from your wrist to tie it up into a messy bun so it will stay out of his face
“I-I’m finished…” you say, placing your hands on your lap to prevent yourself from reaching out and tracing the tattoos on his shoulder blades. as you expected, he just gives you a grunt, his way of saying thank you
you stand from the bed, watching as he moves around the room with his back to you
“simon?” you call out with hesitation, “would you… would you like to come to bed… with me?”
he turns to look at you, his brow furrowed with confusion, “I am… I’ll be there in a minute.”
you shake your head, taking your hand up to untie the front of your nightgown, “no… I mean… would you like to be intimate with me?”
you’re certain that your face must be bright red with embarrassment, but you power through as you slip your gown off. you’re stood naked in front of him, shifting on your feet as he stares you down with an unreadable expression
he shifts his whole body to you now, folding his arms over his chest as he looks you up and down
“say something, please.” you squeak out, your hands coming up to poorly cover your breasts. he lets out a small laugh in response and you think you’ve completely humiliated yourself
“you want me to fuck you?” he asks bluntly, taking one hand down to lightly fondle his flaccid cock. you nod your head eagerly, biting your lip
“you ever done tha’ before?” he smirks, cocking his head to the side. he’s quite enjoying this newfound confidence, if you can even call it that. you shake your head, fiddling with your fingers
“it’s gonna hurt.” he warns, raising his eyebrows and scanning your face for any form of hesitation
“will it feel good eventually?” you ask, a small glimmer of hope spreading in your eyes when you realise he’s actually considering your request. you expected him to shoot you down with a laugh
“maybe.” he shrugs, “you still want me to fuck you, little one?”
his hand is wrapped firmly around his cock now, stroking it until it was fully erect. you can’t take your eyes off it, not even to see the cocky smirk across his face
“yes.” you whisper out, “please.”
he cocks his head to the side, “get on the bed. spread your legs.”
you crawl onto the bed, laying on your back and folding your hands across your stomach. you chew on your lip, your eyes trained on the ceiling. you can’t bear to look at him as you spread your legs, giving him a clear view of your most intimate area
“want me to lick your cunt first?”
his words make your pussy ache. his blunt tone would be horrifying on anyone else but you know him now. it’s just who he is. it’s so amazingly him. the question is followed by the sound of spitting and the slick sounds of him stroking his cock
“I- yes- I just- I’m not sure i’ll like it.” you admit, sheepishly. you glance down when you feel the bed shift and his big hands wrap around your thighs. you see him knelt between your legs, lips inches away from your aching pussy
he grunts, and with no warning, he closes the gap and runs his tongue from your opening then all the way up to your clit. he wraps his lips around the bud, giving a harsh suck
you throw your head back, letting out a stuttered moan. your hands shift from their place to his hair, tugging on it and loosening a few strands which fall around his face
he spends a good bit of time trialling things out, learning what you like based on how much you yanked at his hair or bucked your hips
he slips a finger in your entrance once he’s sure you’re wet enough, groaning at the way your legs slam around his head. the feeling of your thighs clenching around his face makes his cock twitch against the mattress
your cunt takes his fingers greedily, sucking around his thick digits when he slips another one in. your hips buck up at his mouth when he flicks his tongue around your clit
you feel a tightening in your stomach after a fuck minutes of his fingers fucking in and out of you, scissoring them to stretch you wider for him. he waits until he can feel you right on edge and he hears your moans pick up to pull his fingers out
you let out a whine at the lack of contact, handing right on edge of your ruined orgasm
“quite yer whinin’. you can cum around my cock instead.” he groans, pumping his cock a few times before lining it up with your weeping pussy
he places one hand on the underside of your thigh and pushes it up as he pushes in slowly. you let out a gasp and grip his forearm, nails digging into his skin. he doesn’t stop, only slows his pace
“nearly there…” he groans just before he bottoms out, his pubic bone pressed against your clit. he grinds his hips slowly to help you adjust to the feeling of being stuffed full
“do that again…” you whine out, arching your back for him. he grinds his hips a few more times, waiting until there’s no resistance from you before actually beginning to fuck his cock in and out of you
you slam your hand over your mouth when you feel the tip of his cock brush against this spongy spot inside of your cunt
he shifts his position, moving so he’s kneeling on the bed. he wraps his arms around your thighs and tugs you so your ass rests on his thighs
he wraps a hand around his cock, gliding the tip through your folds one time before slipping back inside you. he uses his grip on your hips as leverage to fuck into you faster than before
the room is filled with a mixture of your moans and his grunts along with the sound of his balls slapping your ass
your hands move to rest on his shoulders to keep you straight as he rams his cock into your cunt. that familiar tight feeling creeps up on you soon again. you tap his shoulder lightly
“si- simon… ‘m gonna- fuck-“ you cry out, throwing your head back against the pillows
“me too, little one. come on… cum around your husbands cock…” he grunts, leaning forward to put you in a mating press. his permission was all you needed to let go, your cunt pulsing around his cock erratically
he gives you a few more sloppy thrusts before pulling his cock and out, desperately jerking it a few times before he paints his load all over your tummy. he rubs the tip against your clit to milk your orgasm, the final remnants of his cum dribbling out onto your pussy
he doesn’t enjoy the afterglow of his orgasm very long before he’s standing up and grabbing a cloth to clean you both up. he blows out the candles that light up your bedroom before wrapping you both up in blankets and furs
he lays on his back, tucking you under his arm so you can rest your head on his shoulder. you lay away from him, wrapping your arms around his bicep and pressing your face into the muscle
in tune with his usual character, he doesn’t say a word to you but this is progress, you think. a soft smile gracing your lips as you drift off into a peaceful slumber
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in middle school during my Intense Greek Mythology Phase, Artemis was, as you can likely guess, my best girl. Iphigenia was my OTHER best girl. Yes at the same time.
The story of Iphigenia always gets to me when it's not presented as a story of Artemis being capricious and having arbitrary rules about where you can and can't hunt, but instead, making a point about war.
Artemis was, among other things--patron of hunting, wild places, the moon, singlehood--the protector of young girls. That's a really important aspect she was worshipped as: she protected girls and young women. But she was the one who demanded Agamemnon sacrifice his daughter in order for his fleet to be able to sail on for Troy.
There's no contradiction, though, when it's framed as, Artemis making Agamemnon face what he’s doing to the women and children of Troy. His children are not in danger. His son will not be thrown off the ramparts, his daughters will not be taken captive as sex slaves and dragged off to foreign lands, his wife will not have to watch her husband and brothers and children killed. Yet this is what he’s sailing off to Troy to inevitably do. That’s what happens in war. He’s going to go kill other people’s daughters; can he stand to do that to his own? As long as the answer is no—he can kill other people’s children, but not his own—he can’t sail off to war.
Which casts Artemis is a fascinating light, compared to the other gods of the Trojan War. The Trojan War is really a squabble of pride and insults within the Olympian family; Eris decided to cause problems on purpose, leaving Aphrodite smug and Hera and Athena snubbed, and all of this was kinda Zeus’s fault in the first place for not being able to keep it in his pants. And out of this fight mortal men were their game pieces and mortal cities their prizes in restoring their pride. And if hundreds of people die and hundred more lives are ruined, well, that’s what happens when gods fight. Mortals pay the price for gods’ whims and the gods move on in time and the mortals don’t and that’s how it is.
And women especially—Zeus wanted Leda, so he took her. Paris wanted Helen, so he took her. There’s a reason “the Trojan women” even since ancient times were the emblems of victims of a war they never wanted, never asked for, and never had a say in choosing, but was brought down on their heads anyway.
Artemis, in the way of gods, is still acting through human proxies. But it seems notable to me to cast her as the one god to look at the destruction the war is about to wreak on people, and challenge Agamemnon: are you ready to kill innocents? Kill children? Destroy families, leave grieving wives and mothers? Are you? Prove it.
It reminds me of that idea about nuclear codes, the concept of implanting the key in the heart of one of the Oval Office staffers who holds the briefcase, so the president would have to stab a man with a knife to get the key to launch the nukes. “That’s horrible!,” it’s said the response was. “If he had to do that, he might never press the button!” And it’s interesting to see Artemis offering Agamemnon the same choice. You want to burn Troy? Kill your own daughter first. Show me you understand what it means that you’re about to do.
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