Vikings Drabbles

⤭ sweetest dreams

ragnar wakes, finding you lost in sweet dreams. rated 18+ for smut.

IT IS A good dream —he knows it must be for your lips to curve into a faint smile, his name a whisper on them in the early morning. Ragnar Lothbrok almost feels guilty he is the one privileged to look upon Freyja each morn, to see the cool sunlight illumine the curve of your shoulder and swell of your breast. He almost feels jealous too —that the sun is the first to kiss you and the moon the last at night.

Rolling onto his side, Ragnar reaches for you, the rough pads of his fingertip trailing across your cheek, a feather's touch lest he wakes you from this peaceful reverie. He pulls back his hand when your breath hitches —waiting— though you never wake, too enraptured by the thoughts dancing around in your mind. Then he hears it, the soft little moan that leaves your parted lips, the slight furrow in your brow. A good dream, indeed, he thinks, knowing just how to make it all the better.

He lifts the patchwork of wolf and deer pelts, watching gooseflesh spread across your arms, then slowly dissipate. Stifling a low groan in the back of his throat, he takes the sight of you lying bare before him. Ragnar's seen you like this before —hundreds of times over— but each time, a certain thrill overcomes him, especially as you lay in the golden sunlight with pebbled nipples and wetness glistening between your thighs.

Shifting, Ragnar moves down on the straw-and-rag mattress, trying his best not to wake you, even as he slides his hands up your thighs. The Christians pray to their God before each meal —Ragnar is half-tempted to do the same as he eases your thighs apart, settling between them like a starved man set down at an endless feast.

Ragnar's mouth is hot as it wanders up your thighs, suckling and biting with precision and purpose —like slow and steady brush strokes. You're always pretty. Gods forbid anyone ever makes you think otherwise, but he thinks you look the prettiest covered in his love —completely and undeniable his. He wants you, swearing silently he'll never ask for anything else in this life if he's able to wake next to you each morning. Ragnar closes his eyes, thanking the gods you found each other in this life.

You squirm, legs parting. Ragnar's gaze flits upward, following the curves of your body only to find you're still at rest —or at least feigning to be. He brushes his rough fingers against the soft, wet, warmth between your thighs, groaning softly before he dives forward and begins seeking your bliss. His tongue dips in and swipes over your clit in familiar motions —as though he's traveling the path back home. "Ragnar." His name is a breathy prayer leaving your lips as you rouse from the gentle sleep, hands fisting in the linen sheet below you.

Sighing, your back arches, hips rising to grind against his mouth —now fully awake and staring down into clear, bright blue eyes. His tongue laps and laves, and now that he has your attention, his eyes slip shut, and the pleasure he takes from you becomes audible in his soft hums and breathy groans as his beard scrapes against your thighs.

Releasing your hold on the sheet, you reach down, caressing his cheek and threading your fingers through his soft locks. Ragnar moans against you, pressing his tongue against your clit as he slips two fingers in your cunt —stroking and crooking. He's taking his time, enjoying the journey —slow and steady as the sun rises, waking the nerves in your body along with the rest of the world. He listens, to the sounds you make and to your body, having learned to speak its language over the years. When your breath hitches, he smiles, lips curving upward against you. Ragnar makes sure he does not relent, bringing you closer —ever closer.

It's not a fire this time, but the let go of a breath you didn't even realize you were holding —a content sigh filling the room as your body tenses then relaxes, coaxed down by the gentle hands of your lover whispering sweet nothings as he compares you to goddesses and fair shieldmaidens. Ragnar draws back, placing a kiss to the inside of each thigh 'fore crawling over you, stopping just above your navel. He's met with a gentle gaze and loving smile. "What did I do to deserve this morning gift?" You inquire, cupping his face.