King Ragnar Imagines

Defy the King

You were so pretty when you were out of breath.

Every moment of your life you were talking about something, guiding him into a strange rage with every decadent flirt thrown towards Ecbert. Despite his thought that perhaps! Perhaps you could contain yourself, you had not. His palm around your throat was a pretty reminder of whom was in control. Him. He was in control, not you– who threatened to overtake him with every word you took. A wily wife unlike Aslaug who knew to mind herself.

"You talk far too much." Ragnar's hand snatches your thin neck, leaning in to speak against your ear with soft but anxiety-bitten lips. "It would be good for you if you would just... shut up. Look pretty for a change."

You scratch at his grip, small little marks in comparison to the scars of his youth. "You can't make me shut up. I am a free woman to warm anybody's bed." A daring assertion given that Ragnar's other hand has thrown up your skirts, guiding his fingers down to your shaved mound. It's soft against his fingers, slick even as you defy him. He watches you with wild eyes, spreading you open around his calloused fingers.

"I'll do it myself if I have to." Ragnar hums, low and deep.

By the defiant look in your eye, knowing all night you had your hand on Ecbert's lap, he was certainly free to try.