King Ragnar Imagines

A Bad Husband

The cracking of his fist upon the hard iron wrought door hammers against the door. You knew who it was as you opened the door to your home, leaning all of your weight on one hip. As the door swung open you came face to face with piercing blue eyes dark with bags of tired skin underneath. Immediately, you knew what had happened.

"Did you tire of her?" Were your first words.

"You haven't changed a bit." He fiddles with his keyring with just one key less then there was before.

"It's only been a few years, Ragnar." You step aside. Ragnar bounces up the stairs into the home. "Eirik is asleep."

As you move to shut the door, Ragnar moved upon you in a succession of quick steps. The heat of his body radiates against your own, haunting the skin to stand on edge. Any move you could make would entice him like a wolf to its meal. He takes any decision out of your hands when his hands encircle your stomach. Your knuckles tighten white on the handle of the door.

"Don't." You warn.

Ragnar huffs hot air on your neck with his words. "Why not?"

"You make a bad husband."

He drags you down onto a nearby couch with him, dragging one of his large calloused hands over his face. Lust was always his weakness and he knows as much.

"You're telling me."