King Ragnar Imagines

The Boatbuilder's Daughter II

You knew Aslaug found out.

The gods allowed her to see things that normal women could not. Over the ruckus of your people laughing in jovial nature or dancing in drunken lust, you felt her gaze. The heat of her glare glowered holes into your back with the intensity of the hot sun any given moment that Ragnar so much as looked in your direction. Hot remorse cut you like a steaming blade, reliving every deep plunging thrust of his hips deep within your body pinned up against the mast of his boat. The boat that your father made.

"Father."

Mmm? Floki hums.

Your lips spread apart, words deftly on your lips when you catch sight of Bjorn. Sweet Bjorn who made his way when he reciprocated the look you shot him. In a split second, though, your eyes snapped to the throne where his father sat. Ragnar's sharp eyes seemed more like daggers as Bjorn came closer and closer, swirling his cup between his hands like a pendant, slow like the beats of Bjorn's steps closer.

"I... am going to the cave." You thrust your cup down beside his hips on a sloppy mead moist table, feeling waves of disgust taking you into a slurry of bitter nausea. Floki watches as you zip off as Bjorn calls out to you.

What did you do? What could you do?

You slept with Ragnar Lothbrok, a son of Odin. A slight shiver leads to kisses of goosebumps up and down your arms. You hurry out of the meat of Kattegat's square back toward the only place you felt at peace. Away from the town of judgemental people and toward the wilderness where branches crackled and animals roamed free of the worries of humans. It was a meager cave lined with wood looking out toward Kattegat's still waters. But it was your little space.

You slide your way into the cave, treading with light footsteps as you creep inside. The air felt as if you were choking on muggy air. The moonlight of a full moon illuminates the normally dark skies, but within your cave, it was different. The pit around the middle had turned the cave to darkness by its cold coals. You would need to light it. The cave allowed for air, you supposed, as you hadn't smothered yet. Your shaking fingers snap a scrap of flint over and over, progressively becoming more furious until there was a great pop and a hot fire. The flames burst in your fingers, biting your skin while you took care after it with wood. Dusty black painted your irritated skin.

"Stars!" You exclaim, running back to the water's edge to wash off the charring on your fingers.

You shouldn't have done that. A voice chitters in your head. Deep like swells of the waves on a good day but as rich as deep, unadulterated honey. You slept with the King.

"I know, I know. I... I messed up," You say, smoothing water that gathered into beads across your skin. You swipe your hands over your auburn dress and gather your skirts, hiking them up and walking to an altar at the innermost crevices of the cave. You told yourself that you wouldn't sleep with Ragnar... for obvious reasons: Aslaug's rage, your father's jealousy and Bjorn's sweet, sweet love. You turn to set out an offering of mead and drop to your knees.

"What did you do this time?"

Behind you, your father's sing song voice. You glance over your shoulder, ringing your ring anxiously around your finger as you set your head down against the altar. The voices ringing in your head almost feel as if your head is compressed tightly and the pressure– could probably splatter your brains across the ground.

"I don't know how I'm going to tell Bjorn." You inhale, exhaling a shuddering breath. Steps pitter patter behind you as he comes closer, your hands knit tightly together into an intertwined fist. You rock back and forth, debating what you did.

"So you slept with Ragnar?" He trills.

"I slept with Ragnar." You admit. What confused you more— was how much you loved bouncing on his cock. You shake your head to force the memories away, bringing your hood over the top of your head. Floki is all too silent behind you, and you know if you turn, his dark eyes would be bulging from the white of his eyes. He twists around you, extending his hand out to to stroke your own as he leans in.

"The gods have peculiar ways (Y/N). Perhaps... it was meant to be. A son of Odin and a daughter of Loki... think of it." He inches forward to console you. Fate or not, meant to be or not, that didn't mean it wasn't still frightening. You pondered whether you were placed in this position for a purpose before your thoughts came to Bjorn again.

"Father I know you love Ragnar. But I think this is far less to do with the gods and more to do with my lack of restraint." You say shyly. You turn on your knees to face him, having pondered long enough on your own.

"Or perhaps," You look back to your altar, swiping a blaring red idol chipped away by your fingers. "Perhaps Loki is being mischievous too."

"(Y/N)!"

As weeks turned to months, Bjorn had been relentless. Anywhere you went, he was there to follow. Helga watches as you stormed side to side inside the home you shared with your parents, uncomfortably sinking close to the hearth within the room. You rub hand against hand, sparking warmth between your palms at the knocking at your door.

Bang! Bang!

Floki ate lackadaisically, his head on top of the space of Helga's thighs. Your eyes settle back onto the trembling door. Helga, being the sweet thing she was, spoke up first.

"(Y/N), it... it is cold for him outside." She says uncomfortably. It was true. The heavy snow settled like a thick far coat over Midgard's naked body. Of all people, you knew that it could become cold. But the man outside? He wasn't just any man.

"It is Bjorn Ironside. If anyone could take it, he could. He should... go home!" You turn to snarl out at the door.

After a pause, you hear Bjorn's voice plead. "I can't, not until you tell me what... I did wrong."

What he did wrong? Your stomach curls in on itself. He did nothing wrong but be a good man and doting lover. Yet you betrayed him in the worst of ways. Your feet carry you to the door, forehead against the wood door fashioned by your father. Inch by inch you pull apart the door and find it easier to inhale a breathe then exhale the icy words that tighten your chest.

"You didn't do anything wrong." You say, furrowing your brows with a frown. It begins to feel hot all of a sudden when presented with Bjorn's confused, ocean blue eyes. The eyes of his father– you curse the sight of them.

"I want you. I want you so... so much. But I can't look at you without seeing him." You say, when Bjorn's gaze becomes askance.

"Who is he?" He steps forward, shedding the hood of his cloak as he bucks you back into the cabin. Your steps falter with Bjorn's hand caressing the underside of your cheek. A gentle, but firm touch keeps your attention on his. Your eyes rush to a close.

"Bjorn... no." You stammer, head shaking.

Bjorn lowers himself into your face, firmly imploring you to tell him. "I need to know." He lets out a huff of air, hot against your lips.

You let out a stuttering breath, cold like a great drink of Kattegat's waters. You wish that you could lie to Bjorn. But as your eyes spread apart to reveal the prince, you can't will yourself to keep the secrets to yourself any longer. The tears slide down your cheeks, smearing the long daggerlike black kohl down your cheeks. With a snake-like hand around his thick wrist, you concede.

"You have your father's eyes."