King Ragnar Imagines

Not You

On occasion, you forgot to control your feminine wiles. It was hard being around such powerful men. Not just your Ragnar but strong Ecbert who never failed to muse you with his lies and deceit. The way his tongue said one thing and actions did another left you guessing what might come next. As he came back from fighting for Ecbert, you knew you were in trouble when he found you in Ecbert's warm bath beside Ecbert and his ex-wife Lagertha. It was less a concern for him that you were in bed with Lagertha— you knew he had a kink for that. He desired to see you between their bodies, coming undone under their fingers.

But Ecbert? Now that was entirely different. He still swore that Ecbert unpeeled him with his eyes the first time they met. You almost could see that– the two were in a battle of sorts. That considered, he was another dominant male. As Ragnar's prize away from home, there were very strict limits on what he expected you to do, even if he didn't say them out loud.

"Are you still mad?" You slide between the sheets where he lay, holding his pillow stubbornly as he attempts to sleep. He manhandles the pillow stubbornly, shimmying to the edge of your shared bed with him. You would inch up as he moved away.

"I'm going to sleep." He grumbles, drunken by the taste of ale. Your naked embrace wills him to look over at you, clearly still irritated with a starkly annoyed glimmer in his sea bright blue eyes. He shows little other emotion across his face. You paw at his shoulder, rubbing his slender hips with your own.

"Don't be mad at me, it was a game." You plead– and he shifts suddenly to look at you, your eyes meet as he looks two shakes away from the greatest of annoyed sighs from his lips. He gives you a smile, serrated as if he's ready to hear your newest of excuses. Why oh why were you naked in Ecbert's bath? He doesn't even need to say anything.

"I wanted to see if he would invite me to his bed. If he was interested in me." Ragnar drops his head back against his pillow, snuggling harder when he hears your next words. It's enough to prop himself up on his forearms– and you aren't sure if he's angry or jealous. You know one thing is certain: he's curious.

"But he didn't invite me– Lagertha did." You say.

Ragnar moistens his cracked lips, drawing his hand over his beard. "She didn't invite me?"

A shake of your head. Ragnar grinds his jaw together, glaring off to the walls behind your head. His thick fingers twiddles the sheets of his bed, throwing up his hand as if oh so offended. You seize the opportunity to slide against him, cheek against his firm chest while he laments bitterly on how Lagertha denied him sex. His hand comes behind your neck, holding you in place as he drops back onto the bedsheets.

"Then she won't have you either." Ragnar says, stroking your hair down bit by bit as you began to feel sleepy– sleepier still with his petting. It's almost cute how quick his jealousy becomes bitterness for his ex-wife. You almost want to snap back but you can't blame him, you might be offended too if you were in his position. Because she had the power in this area as a free, confident woman. The power to say: not you.