The Viking’s Princess - A Ragnar Lothbrok/Reader One Shot Story.
Word count - 3,006
Warnings - Virgin!Reader, 18+ for the smut, obvs, because it’s me who wrote it and we all know that’s the name of my game!
If you enjoyed it, I’d love for you to comment/reblog and let me know! <3
Whenever he is there, within the royal villa, you are almost beside yourself with longing. He, Ragnar Lothbrok, is simply the most exquisite man you have ever beheld. He has somewhat of a tumultuous alliance with your father, King Ecbert, one which seems to shatter or forge stronger at any moment. Right now, it is forged, Ragnar and his men staying upon royal land as your father’s guests.
They eat at his table, hunt upon his land, but are not, under strict forbidding, to lay a hand upon you, his precious daughter. The men comply, all except for the one who leads them, of course. Whenever Ecbert isn’t watching, Ragnar’s eyes roam all over you. You are yet to even utter a word to one another, yet the connection between you is powerful.
Desire. It is a force that should never, not even for the briefest of moments, be taken lightly.
Equally, it should never be underestimated, the lengths one shall go to in order to sate what pure, unfiltered desire stirs. Especially if that someone is Ragnar Lothbrok.
You’re quietly sitting doing needlepoint under the watchful eye of your governess when something attracts your attention from outside the room. Looking up, you see nothing and no one there to begin with, just about to continue looking back at the fabric in your lap when the Viking whom you desire reveals himself discreetly, making a motion with his hand that he wishes for you to follow him.
Excusing yourself, you leave, gathering your dress and exiting to see him rounding a corner at the other end of the corridor. You take each step with excitement, partially the thrill of being sought out by the object of your fantasies and part from the fact you know your father would be furious to discover you fraternising with him.
Turning, you find him waiting for you, leaning against the opposite wall as you come to a stop in front of a chest of drawers with heavy brass ornaments sat atop it. Neither of you speak to begin with, both standing there studying one another with what begins as approval, slowly boiling up to something not quite so innocent.
Someone once told you that the northmen smelled pungent, not particularly fond of bathing, but as Ragnar begins to move closer, all you can detect is traces of horse, leather and fresh water. He smells rich and earthy, like the moss which grows along the riverbanks and something else you cannot place. Maybe he carries the scent of his faraway homeland with him, perhaps not, but whatever it is, the scent of him is nothing short of intoxicating.
“Can I help you?”
“I think the bigger question here is whether I can help you or not.”
“Oh,” you say, smiling ruefully, not shy of him at all. Your father has raised you to greet nobles and those of high standing with confidence and grace since you were young. Your conviction shall not falter now. Pressing your palms against the dark oak chest of drawers behind you, you hoist yourself to sit atop them, still smiling at the Viking before you. “And what do I require assistance with, Ragnar?”
“All that your father has forbade me from. But he knows, princess. He knows that I shall have my way. Because you want me to, don’t you? A woman’s desire is perhaps the greatest force upon earth, even within a young woman, such as yourself. Few truly ever realise this.”
“And what about you?”
He bites his lower lip, letting the flesh slide out from between surprisingly white teeth before delivering his slightly cryptic answer. “I want what I want.”
“Are you in the habit of simply taking what you want, Ragnar?” He tilts his head slightly at your question, hands reaching, gently resting to your thighs as he continues to stare, magmatic blue eyes boring into you. You never have, nor ever will, see blue as azure as that of his irises.
It is as if your insides are melting, the silence starting to make you feel uncomfortable as the large Viking continues to stare unblinkingly at you, your attention held so fast you scarcely notice him pushing your knees apart, rough hands hooking behind them, pulling you closer to the edge of the chest. He’s now so close that you can feel each short, steady breath flutter your cheek, your heart escalating rapidly, every little hair over your body standing on end. The effect he has upon you is more potent than you could ever imagine.
“Sometimes,” he begins, his hand moving to stroke your silky hair. “Or I bargain for them.”
“And what would you have to offer me?”
His lips curl into a grin, eyes flitting away from you as he looks himself up and down, raising his eyebrows suggestively, his smile widening. “I think you know exactly what I have to offer, princess.” Your dry mouth begins to salivate at imagining everything he has insinuated is on offer to you, how his body looks beneath the mud flecked leather and especially, what it is like to behold a cock, since you never have before. It causes your womanhood to ache at just the thought.
He has stirred it, your first longings of sexual want, and for a man, a northman, a Viking, no less. His potent, rugged masculinity is unlike anything you have ever experienced, and you want it unleashed upon you, so you may be swept up in him, transported into realms you are yet to experience, but likely, with him, would never wish to return from.
You want him, but just as you are about to give him the permission you sense he seeks to claim you, footsteps become audible down at the other end of the corridor. Fearing your father’s wrath, you slide down from the chest, the drawers clattering slightly as your feet hit the floor and you put the necessary distance between yourself and Ragnar.
“Some other time, Y/N.”
Hearing your name upon his lips, those words leave you burning, feeling his stare at your back as you rush away, your heart beating so quickly you fear it might crack a rib. You think of him, long for him, dream of him all day, all alone in your quarters, wishing there was some way you could go and seek him out. Little do you know, but he will be the one to seek you.
Later that evening as you bathe, the bath house guarded by one of your father’s gargantuan guards, you soak in the hot water, steam rising and swirling into the perfumed air, rose petals and lavender burning in the censer hanging from the wall, as you always require while taking a bath.
The room is littered with candles, the doorway shrouded in darkness, but not so dark that you cannot make out the shape of Ragnar as he appears through the gloom, closing the heavy door behind him. You want to ask how on earth he managed such a feat, to secretly enter the villa in the first place, more so, sneak past a guard right there at the door, yet you are transfixed entirely on the display that present itself; the handsome Viking beginning to undress.
The cream, woollen tunic he wears is shed first, your eyes feasting upon him. “Do you like what you see, princess?” The way you lick your lips and smile with delight is all the answer he needs, Ragnar chuckling quietly at your appreciation before he proceeds to remove everything else.
Oh, he’s a sight. Not one ounce of anything less than chiselled muscles, a generous smattering of blonde hair flecking his chest and ridged abdominals, and heavens, that cock. So, that is what a phallus looks like, then. You feel your stomach roll over pleasantly, if not with a tinge of nervousness, to think that it will be inside you before the night is out.
You feel denied when he steps into the water, taking a bar of soap and making a show of lathering the body which has you so transfixed, rather than immediately making his way to you. How you keen to touch him, to feel him against you, but at the other side is where you steadfastly remain. The anticipation bubbles exponentially, watching as he rinses, ducking beneath the water. Your heart leaps in your chest as you see him moving closer to you from the depths, his locked hair breaking the surface, the rest of him emerging right in front of you.
He may have just washed, the usually earthy smelling Viking lathered and fresh, but that scent on him, the one you couldn’t quite place still remains.
“I do not understand how you got in here without being noticed. The guard...you didn’t, did you?”
He silences you with a thick thumb against your soft lips, shaking his head at your insinuation. “No, but I did render him useless. There is a flower which grows upon your lands, one when added to a drink sends those who imbibe it to sleep.”
“And my handmaidens?” He closes his eyes, cocks his head to the side and snores loudly, prompting your little chuckles. “It is just you and I, princess.” He nears you, hands reaching for your arms, your heart by now thundering so loudly, you are sure he can hear it.
“Yes, it would appear so, Ragnar.”
“I like that, the way my name sounds upon your lips.”
“What else would you like upon my lips?” The way he looks at you, you know he appreciates your tease.
“Little vixen,” he mutters, cupping your face as he stares at you with ferocious intensity. “Me. I would like me upon your lips.” So close, your noses touch, his beard tickling you, your hands resting against his thick chest as finally, your mouths meet. It is a much softer kiss than you were expecting to begin with, the swipe of his tongue over your cupids bow a silent ask for greater access, which you duly grant him immediately, mirroring his motions as your tongues push together.
Reaching beneath the water, his hands snake around your upper thighs, gripping and lifting you with ease, seating you on the side of the bath, your face now level with his as your kisses deepen, both consumed by the rampant desire you hold for one another. Parting your thighs with his big hands, he slots himself between them, and it feels good, so good, the bushy thatch of his pubic hair skimming your sex, making you quiver.
His mouth moves exploratively to your neck, the brand-new sensations overpowering and heady, the very feel of him pressing himself against you more sublimely erotic than your naïve little imagination could ever conjure. A man, a huge, rugged man there between your thighs, shifting slightly, the press of his erection hard at your apex.
Your breath hitches, Ragnar’s hand moving between you, skimming your hip before stroking your curls, pulling away from your kiss. His eyes ask the permission you did not expect before he touches you more intimately, your nod all the confirmation he needs. He watches intently, his fingertips teasing your slit before roaming within, stroking at the soft petals of your cunt, smiling when he watches your cheeks flush and your head tip back at that, the first touch you’ve ever experienced.
You feel hot and tingly at your centre, his touch lowering, a single finger teasing at your dewy opening before sliding slowly within. To feel someone touch you on your inside is beyond anything you could imagine, your inner walls quivering around his touch, his finger slowly sliding in and out while flexing back and forth at the knuckle, his mouth upon yours once more, kissing you with greed.
Sparks skitter through you, his middle digit trawling your silky walls so thoroughly, Ragnar adding another finger, your little cry of bliss making a jolt of pure fire run through him, excited beyond measure that he’s the one to deflower such beauty. The exploration of you deepens, his fingers sliding, circling and nudging, opening you, the heel of his palm pressing against your sensitive little bundle, dragging back and forth.
It’s this action that has you breaking apart from his mouth and wailing, Ragnar tipping your body back, his ravenous mouth moving to your chest, licking and sucking your nipples in turn. You keen against him, your body awaked to him by the sheer flow of lust, knowing you need more but in your inexperience, not quite certain what. Ragnar knows, though. He knows exactly what your nubile body craves.
It calls out to him like a siren only he can hear, your need for him, his fingers slipping from within you. Taking his cock, he pushes it against your sodden folds, smearing himself with your aqueous arousal before aligning with your opening and slowly starting to push. You gasp when the head of his hardness pops in, a little dagger of pain as he begins to slowly spread you, a tiny whimper spilling from your mouth as he kisses you wantonly.
“Shhhhh, it shan’t hurt for long. I promise.” He whispers, showing staggering gentleness for such a huge, overpowering Viking. “Give me a few moments, princess, and I shall make you purr.” You don’t doubt that at all, your nails digging into his thick shoulders as you try not to tense, relaxing yourself with a slow exhale as steadily, his thick cock fills you, bottoming out and dragging back once more.
It hurts for a while, but Ragnar is never rough or hurried, his thrusts languid, watching you intently between kisses, gauging your reactions, wanting to see you truly begin to enjoy it, him inside of you.
“Ahhhhhhh!” You exhale sweetly, when the pain subsides and leaves you with nothing but glowing pleasure.
“That’s better. See, look how much you are enjoying it now, me making you a woman.”
He offers his mouth hungrily once more, hands clasped upon your thighs as he keeps your legs spread, his hips rolling against yours gently making the water lap around him as he steers into your centre with a slow, deep rhythm. His mouth glides to your neck, tongue teasing the column of your throat as the languid drag speeds up a little, your soft moans escalating.
His lips graze your slick skin, teeth prickling just a touch as he feels your nails rake down his back, your hands flattening, enjoying the muscular play, the way they undulate beneath your touch. He feels so brawny and big, his cock heavy inside you as he spreads you around him, the air thick with the carnality of the moment, of you being shown a world of pleasure unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.
“Faster. Please, Ragnar,” you sigh, your blue-eyed lover moving to look at you with desire unmatched.
“The princess enjoys my cock,” he asserts, a short rumble of laughter vibrating his chest.
“She does.” Your confirmation is gratified by him arrowing into you with the quickness you sought, control beginning to slip, your moans escalating, the wet slap of his hips against you echoing off the bath house walls as he fights against the tight clutch of the hot velvet that sheathes him, his cock hitting every sweet spot first ignited by his fingers as he groans ceaselessly against your throat.
His arms slide around you like two powerful serpents, grasping you to him, hands running down your back, one hand moving back to your thigh and pushing your wider apart for him as he rails you with voracious need. Your cries reach crescendo, not caring at all if anyone else within earshot is to hear you. All you are focused upon in that moment is how incredible the Viking between your legs feels as he fucks you, and fucks you...and fucks you.
“That’s it, my sweet little dove. Come apart for me.” He pants, a deep, barbarous groan arrowing right to your cunt, the first flickers of the lightning evoked by him, skittering up your spine with all the voracity of a summer storm as you tighten on him, the push, the heat, the thick of him sending you there. You grasp him tightly, his hips stuttering against you as he gasps, moaning something in his native tongue as your flutters milk his release, his jerking cock bathing your trembling walls with hot trails of seed.
His mouth locks to yours, arms tightening as he takes you back with him, crashing into the water, submerged within the silence, his shaft still twitching within you, warmth surrounding you like an aura. When you finally emerge, he stares down at you, smiling, his thumb stroking the corner of your lip.
“Don’t leave just yet,” you blurt, hating that it could have come across as needy when you truly did not mean for it to. “I want you again before you do.” You’re quick to add.
You smile with relief when he begins to grin at you. “Show me the way to your bed chamber then, princess.” Once you’re both out of the bath, dry and dressed, this is exactly what you do.