King Ragnar Imagines

A Familiar Scent

You went to the Great Hall, licking your wounds of the day. The night sky holds a great white moon, full with greyish holes that leads your way to the cracked door. Warm orange light spills out into the street. You use the warmth and turn into the home.

It smells thickly of alpha males. If these men had a scent– it was the thick, undeniable musk that appeals differently to every sub-omega girl. Some men were repulsive by scent, others irresistible. On your most sensitive night, almost every man smelled disgusting. A Viking man moves away when you walk in, whistling as you yank your hair out of that fine updo you once had it in– a symbolism that yes, you were married. You didn't have to keep it up either, but of respect for Bjorn, you had. Not anymore. You rustle your hair unabashedly, streams falling over your fingers down your waist. Fuck, you needed a drink.

"Somebody looks like she's been let loose–" Slurs an aged man as you make your way through the hall, ignoring the prattle about how disheveled you looked. Approaching the beginning of your heat, you knew how you smelled. No self-respecting woman would be caught out at night. Especially not here.

"What's she doing here?" Says a man with heavy blond braids. You wave down a thrall for your ale with a sole finger, holding out your horn to the man. As the ale spills into your cup, you overhear the men talking about you.

"Heard Bjorn divorced 'er for Horik's son's girl."

Ugh. You couldn't escape it. The sweet smelling Omega girl who stole your mate away. The mark on your neck had turned black in evidence that yes, Bjorn took back his bite.

"Yeah? Bjorn ain't here, right?" He scratches the beginnings of a salt and pepper beard, looking one way before another. "She's smellin' like she's starting a heat." The other alpha drew his tongue across the corner of his slender lips. You knew it was a mistake to come here. But maybe that's why you did. Let some random men wreck your cunt with their knots, swipe away the pain from being dumped. A princess had turned a peasant today.

"Smelling like easy pussy." Then a faint whispering. You can barely make the words out.

Hold her down, the brunet says. You throw your ale, immediately knowing that maybe you shouldn't bother with these men– maybe somewhere else. Leave it to alpha males to ruin a good night. When you go to stand on your feet, you find that either man is already on either side of you.

"Where you going, pretty princess?" One says. The blond man has his hand upon your shoulder. He encompasses your shoulders entirely, thick digits digging into your arm. You should have been able to jerk out of his arms easy.

"Home." You say, but the dark haired boy turns his clouded brown eyes to you. His eyes turn upon you, capturing your eyes and seeking out your submission. All Omegas would submit to their alphas. If you looked away...

"What for?" He asks. "Not like you have a husband waiting."

Your eyes were burning hot with the need to look away. When so suddenly, there's a waft of something so mouth watering your eyes almost roll back. It smells– like him. The man you could never escape from. "M-My King." You shudder.

The pressure from the blond man's hand against your shoulders is broken with a loud crack. You spin around, catching the trim of a thick fur coat shifting when the other salt and peppered man is chucked like a dish. He whizzes over the table and off the side, pulling down cups and plates along with him. The joviality of the moment is broken, when he calls you by your name– flashing your teeth. Your response is not to move an inch.

Then boredly, the newcomer says in a soft trill. "Come, (Y/N)."

The men sputter, shouting 'what the fuck!' before a still comes over them. "King Ragnar." They stutter out. Swiftly, they make themselves scarce. Ragnar slides his hand around the bend in your waist and edges you away from the ruckus to the back rooms he shared with his family. He sweeps around to shed his fur coat off his shoulders onto a chair.

"What were you doing there? They would have raped you." Ragnar nips his thumb between sharp canines, a strained by the fight he had gotten into. His wild eyes glaze across your gown, snatched tight against all the spots that Bjorn told him about.

"I was looking for a fuck." You quickly admit, not knowing if it was the alcohol or just the exhilaration of his scent that has you so honest. You one time father-in-law always smelled better than Bjorn. King Ragnar ambles around you, raising his hand to stroke over your chin only once he comes to stand in front of you.

"You're almost in heat." He says.

You nod, knowing the meaning of such words. A woman wasn't meant to sleep with just anyone on her heats. It was risky– dangerous business. Ragnar scoffs deeply.

"You think that you'd find what need from them?" He turns his head up to you as he leans in, the fibers of his beard ticklish against your skin. Gods help you, Frigg not smite you. You lean against his chapped, bitten lips.

"Where else would I find it?" You whisper, grazing his lips just so with yours. He makes a small grunt as if he's mulling over his next words very carefully. You take away any thoughts when your hands come over the shoulders of your dress, easing one side down before another.

"Could you point me in the right direction?" Your voice is low, teasing.

It's as good as an invitation to Ragnar, bending down to work the bodice down from your pert breasts. He works the gown lower, tugging at the screaming seems when they find difficulty moving over your round hips. They ripple and pop with his frantic tugging, arms tensing beautifully with every pull.

It makes your knees weak to be in front of a king, naked. Not just any king. King Ragnar Lothbrok. Ragnar slides up, his hands coursing beyond your legs to your hips. There his hands hold you tight, walking you back step by step until your knees hit the rim of the bed.

"I might have a man in mind. Besides." He begins. "My son is still a little boy. He doesn't know how to treat real women."

Like he needed to tell you that much. "I didn't know." You say almost sarcastically.

"It is my fault, I should have shown him how to be a man." Ragnar's palm slides up, taking the soft buds of your nipple between thumb and forefinger to roll it around. He repeats the treatment to the other side of your body, dipping down to catch your eyes with his storming blue hues. Again, you find yourself looking straight into the eyes of an alpha, and utterly unable to look away. Not out of fear, but a brewing excitement that builds into your stomach.

"You should have." You reaffirm. The King pulls himself onto the bed, knees around your naked hips. A small pressure builds on your walls. He applies a soft pressure between your lips, stroking your cunt smoothly. He didn't need to work you at all, you can feel the call of your heat edging forward. Ragnar drags in a long breath of air into his nostrils, lips pulling into a shit eating grin. He rolls your lips between his fingers and with a deep glide of his meaty fingers, breaches your willing hole with his middle and index finger.

"I can show you instead." Ragnar's ears are lightened with your small gasp, lips puffing out into a small gasp of pleasure. He guides his calloused fingers out of your body, guiding himself back in with a fluid push. "Do you want to spend a night with your king?"

The bed creaks and rumbles, rivaling the excitement of your breast beating harshly. In the scheme of things, this would be one night. One night of pleasure under the older male. But that one night– made up for days of missed opportunities with Bjorn. You hook your hands under your legs just as Ragnar's lips purse along your lips. His nose bumps against your firm clit, a puff of air against your unloved cunt.

"I do, gods, I do."