Vikings One Shots and Imagines

North of the wall - Part 4 - Ivar x Hvitserk x Reader

Ivar looked down at himself, his eyes widening. Up until this point he had been smiling, as the Celt had continued to allow him to wash her. He had persuaded her to sit down in the wooden tub, before he dropped himself on the floor next to it; Ivar happily brushing the damp cloth over her flesh. He had no idea how long that he had been sat there, and in all honesty, he didn't care. The way that she was looking at him, those blue and green eyes, seeming to be able to peer into his very soul. And now, it would appear that everything about her, was having an effect on him that he didn't think could happen; his manhood pushing firmly against it clothing confines. It like a wild animal that desperately wanted to escape from its cage, just as (Y/n) had been when they had found her.

"Ivar...........?" The Celt suddenly said. The dark prince's eyes shooting back up to meet hers. A smile creeping onto her lips, as she placed her hand on his cheek. The youngest son of Ragnar, for the first time in his life, not sure what to say as the beautiful woman slowly got out of the bath and stood over him. The breath catching in his throat, as she placed her legs on either side of his, and slowly lowered herself down onto his lap. Ivar licking his lips, as her womanhood passed in front of him, as her stomach and then her breasts filled is vision. The prince's fingers digging into her hips, as the Celt began to move her body against him. Moans leaving both of them, as Ivar's hands moved to cup her backside; his hands squeezing and groping at the supple rounded flesh. His eyes closing and his head dropping back, as (Y/n) let her lips move to his neck; her hands drifting down his chest. Inching down until her fingers found the fastening of his trousers.

"Ivar.....what........?" A voice suddenly came. (Y/n) and Ivar turning to see a wide eyed Hvitserk stood in the opening of the tent. The Celt and the dark prince both making it very clear that his presence was neither wanted nor needed at that moment. The older son of Ragnar continuing to stand there for a moment in disbelief, despite the looks that he was getting from the two on the floor. Hvitserk finally shaking the scene from his mind, before leaving the tent and closing the flap behind him.

"Ivar............." (Y/n) said softly, bringing his attention back to her. A loud groan coming from deep inside of him, as her hand moved up and down his still hard cock that she had revealed before they had been interrupted. The groan turning into a growl, as she brushed it against her wet womanhood; soaking him in her juices, before she positioned him and pushed herself down onto his body. Ivar's mind racing, as he felt her draw him deeper inside her. As her felt her sheath him, tightening around him; mold herself to him, as if she had been made just for him. As if this, her body, was where he belonged; what he had been waiting his whole life for. He no longer caring that he had not been able to prove himself with other women, with Margareth; for now, he knew that the gods only wanted him to be able to love this woman. This witch. This Celt. That she had been made just for him, and he for her. The tent filling with their lewd and needy moans and groans, as Ivar tightened his grip on her backside, and helped her move up and down on him. Her hands holding firmly to his shoulders as her pace quickened. The teeth that she had sunk into his brother's hand, now being used to lustfully nip and nibble at his heated flesh. And Ivar could help but find himself begging her not to stop. It obvious that she didn't need to speak his tongue, to understand what he wanted from her; for she wanted it too.

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Hvitserk made his way back outside of the tent. It was not what he had expected to see when he had entered his brother's temporary home, to find out whether Ivar still needed the old man to talk to the strange woman; his younger brother sat on the floor with the Celt atop of him, and Ivar's obvious arousal firmly in her grip; yet there it had been. Hvitserk not sure whether he would ever lose the image from his mind. A part of him, he must admit, felt happy for his sibling; it was one of the things that Sigurd had gleefully used against Ivar after what had happened with Margarethe. And another part was strangely proud, knowing that Ivar would finally feel like he could satisfy a woman, just like any other could. That he had now completely proved himself as a Viking. Yet still, finding his brother about to fuck a woman that the old man had called a witch, had been the last thing on his mind. Though thinking about it now, as moans came from behind him. As his brother's voice began to say the woman's name over and over again as if he were in some kind of trance; as if he were praying to one of the gods, he knew that he probably shouldn't have been surprised; for from what he had seen, this Celt was as dark as his brother, and that was why they had found one another. Darkness and death speaking to its own; drawing the like minded to it.

"Prince Hvitserk.....?" A voice came. Hvitserk shaking the thoughts from his mind, as one of the large Vikings holding the old man looked at him. All of them looking at one another, as the sounds from inside the tent got louder. It more than obvious what was going on, and that Ivar wasn't as boneless as everyone had previously thought.

"Take him back to where you were holding him. I am sure that my brother will still want to speak to him later, when he's.........less preoccupied." Hvitserk informed the men. The two Vikings nodding before dragging the elderly man away. The pale haired male shouting out as he was pulled along the street.

"Beware the demons that come with pretty faces. They will see the whole world burn............" Hvitserk taken aback by the words the Saxon had spoken in his language; not sure whether he was referring to the Celt or to Ivar; but whatever the case, he had a terrible feeling that his words were right.