Ivar would be very into the origins and more occult traditions of Halloween. He’d go out into the woods and perform rituals. He only halfway believed in them, he just enjoyed feeling like maybe there was still magic in the world. Until he landed on something he should not have attempted so casually, and his annual solo night in the woods became everything he thought he wanted but now knows he should never have asked for. Tl;dr Ivar bites off more than he can chew and summons actual darkness.
Ohhhh man, I love this! This is the kind of dark and spooky that really gets me going!
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Ivar shut the book and blew out the candle. Fog curled in from all sides, blotting out the path leading back home after another unsuccessful night witnessed only by him and the full moon looming above the trees. He tucked the book inside a leather satchel along with his other instruments of failed incantation.
Before he set his crutch in the soft earth to make for home, a breeze, colder than any he'd ever felt, tickled him from head to toe, seeping beneath his thick layers to freeze him in place. A voice slithered out from the darkness.
"Just what do you think you're doing in my forest, mortal?"
Ivar whipped glances in each direction, the voice seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Suddenly, a large black shadow emerged from between the rustling oaks. Smoke poured from on high, the dark being seething as it approached.
"I am not a mortal. I am a god!" Ivar defended.
The creature laughed a slow laugh that rolled into a maniacal howling, frightening a swarm of resting birds into flight above.
"Foolish boy. You think yourself a God?"
"I summoned you, did I not? Surely a man of no power couldn't do such a thing."
"Do you have any idea what you've done? What door you've opened with your senseless dabbling?"
"Have you come here to kill me? If so, be done with it. Odin will welcome me into his hall!"
An icy hand snatched out of the darkness, catching the lacing of Ivar's tunic between long, white fingers and drawing him close. Frost touched his cheek, chilling him until he realized the creature goaded its slippery glass tongue against his skin. Ivar fought to move, but the creature budged not to any flail of limb. It clinched the Viking in a hold so strong it cracked Ivar's joints and robbed his lungs.
"Pretty thing... Stupid thing. Oh, you've known blood and cruelty. But you've never felt the torture in your own useless bones, have you?"
If Ivar could have spoken, he would have fired back, but the stingers enclosing his torso, pinning his arms to his sides, lifted the man off the ground as though he were but a trampled leaf on the ground.
"Yes, I will take you home. My pretty thrall. Fresh servant to my thousand-year appetite. You're mine now, Ivar the Boneless."
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Did someone say modern!Ivar with lots of tattoos and how he isn’t used to someone being all sweet after sex, tracing over his skin, interested in the artwork, and he gets his first ever love boner but he can’t just SAY that, and also it’s still a BONER so now he HAS to have a second round? I thought I heard someone say that somewhere.
Ahhhhh I’m living for Ivar covered in tattoos right now.
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The ink wove trails over his broad chest that her fingertip followed. With the lights down low, wrapped up in a blanket, she admired the artful filigree, runes, the curves of Mjolnir and beyond. He liked the feeling of her ghosting her touch all over his skin while he settled from a recent orgasm. Ivar had his arm wrapped tightly around her as they laid in comfortable quiet.
She touched his nipple, and it caused a fluttering smirk on his face. “Easy, I’m sensitive.”
There was no argument, only a small sigh when she rested her temple on the meat of his pectoral. His heartbeat thumped against the side of her face, and she splayed her hand over his abdomen where it stayed until she noticed the agitated sheet covering his groin.
“You... You’re not hard again, are you?”
Ivar reached down, palming his erection in disbelief. He couldn’t help it. Nothing ever felt this natural before—her staying close to him in bed, making his skin crawl with gentle attention. How could he hide his feelings when her hair smelled like spring and her skin adhered to his with mutual sweat?
“It’s not my fault you get me all worked up,” he claimed, flipping onto his stomach so he could cover her again. Ivar worked her legs apart with his own, anchoring his chin to his collarbone to watch her spread for him.
“One more time. I need it once more. Then we can go to sleep.”
She licked her dry lips and nodded. “How could I ever deny my Viking prince?”
He pressed his head up against her opening. She winced, as she was still sore from the long session of love-making before this one. It hurt good, and she whimpered as he entered with a low groan.
“Mm, oh, I love that. That face you make when I... Slip it right back inside where it belongs.”
Hello my love, I just saw you said you hadn't gotten any requests for Mateo. I feel like I'm being unethical by sending you a request but do you have any thoughts on an AU where the soulmate test matched him with Jonah but here he's waylaid by Adrian or a Modern Ivar? I'm sorry I was compelled to share the thought. Feel free to ignore me.
Hello, dear, sweet love of mine! I would never ignore thee. Send all the requests you want! Anything for you <3
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It was hard to miss the tall white man in a Hawaiian shirt glancing at his phone every five seconds, the enormous grin that split the concentration on his face into one part giddiness, one part lust, his sharp bone-structure absorbing the smile shortly after. Ivar sat across the bar watching him teeter from excitable to neutral over and over until his curiosity got the better of him. Ivar had to know what the man was waiting for. Since the tower of a tourist had come into his sightline, he’d thrown back two shots of rum and two beers—a safe amount of alcohol for someone his height. Ivar wondered if he could make him go three for three.
He pressed his palms on the table and pushed himself up, notching his arms into his crutches and turning once he had them firmly planted in the sand. The tall man with the innocent eyes noticed him immediately and cracked another one of his lopsided grins. It was hard for anyone to gloss Ivar over. At his full height, he stood almost at odds with the lanky tourist, though his chest and shoulders were bulkier and his tanned skin shone in the setting sun. Ivar caught eyes from around the bar, including the green ones for which he aimed.
Ivar sidled up to the bar and purchased two beers corked with lime wedges. He breathed in deeply and turned around before setting his crutches off to the side. He could stand upright when he had something solid to lean on. The man in his sights turned to him and flashed a customary tourist smile, all courtesy and trying not to notice the condition that set him apart from every other person dancing in the bar that day.
“How’s it going? Enjoying yourself?” Ivar asked.
The man glanced over to verify it was him the broad-chested man with the braided hair spoke to, and his smile grew. Ivar’s eyebrows hopped when he saw all the straight white teeth in his face, the twinkle in his peculiar eyes. He then took in all the other parts he’d missed while spying from across the room: the huge, veiny hands, the length of his thighs, his sandaled feet, his soft brown hair and the flecks of gold in the green irises.
He raised his near-empty beer. “Sure.”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to intrude. This is just the best place to stand when you want service.”
The lanky man realized how much of the bar’s real estate he took up and stepped away. Ivar raised one beer bottle. “No need to move. It’s safer for me to have someone to fall on if I tip over.”
“Oh,” the tourist giggled.
“I’m kidding. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t fall and break a hip then make you call me an ambulance. There’s plenty of sand to cushion me.”
The traveller met Ivar’s blue intensity, then pocketed the phone he’d been checking so adamantly for the last forty-five minutes. The look on his face told of amusement and impending small-talk. Ivar crooked his elbows against the bar and waited.
“Do you live here?” The man asked.
“Yeah. When it’s Winter in my home country.”
“Where’s your home country?”
“Very far North.”
“What like, Alaska?”
“Denmark.”
The traveller smiled ever wider. “We’re practically neighbours.”
“Ah, yes,” Ivar chose then to slide the second beer over to the tourist. “You have that Scandinavian look about you. Name’s Ivar, like the Viking.”
“Mateo,” he said, grabbing the beer by the neck. “Skol!”
Ivar raised his drink, and they clinked bottles. “Skol.”
After another half hour, Mateo had that third shot, courtesy of Ivar, his newfound friend and Viking descendant. The conversation progressed at a casual rate until Ivar grew bored with asking innocent questions. He waited until Mateo looked at his phone one last time before zeroing in for the hopeful kill.
“Are you waiting on somebody?” Ivar asked.
Mateo chuckled. “Oh, no. Not really. I’m on a layover. Going to Brazil to meet my soulmate.”
“Just to meet? You mean, you haven’t met them yet?”
Mateo clicked something on the clear screen and showed Ivar a photo of a handsome black man with kind eyes and a lively smile. Ivar sweated, not because of the competition, but because he’d pegged Mateo right.
“We haven’t met. But we don’t need to, right? That’s kind of the whole point of the test. Once we’re together, it will click.”
“Yeah, but... What if it doesn’t? Don’t get me wrong, I support everyone finding their true love, but that’s just one photo. What happens if you meet him and the lower half of him is horribly disfigured?”
Mateo scoffed. “That wouldn’t stop me. We’re matched. It means no matter what, we’re compatible. Plus, he’s gorgeous. Even if he was horribly disfigured from the waist down, it wouldn’t make a difference. Not to me.”
Ivar tasted his confidence rising from his stomach and piping, all the way to his mouth where it manifested as carefully plucked words.
“But you haven’t met yet, right? You’re not officially tied down?”
“No. Not officially.”
“How much time do you have until your flight to meet him?”
“I leave tomorrow.”
“That’s plenty of time,” Ivar said, moving his head to the rhythm of the live music.
Mateo leaned over. “Plenty of time for what?”
Ivar closed the space between them, touching Mateo’s jaw as he whispered in his ear. “Plenty of time to get one last fuck out of your system before you’re shacked up for life. What do you say?”
Mateo’s cheeks turned sunburn-red, his smile a new, shy version of the one Ivar had been studying. He laughed uneasily, scratched the back of his head and laughed again. Ivar didn’t let Mateo rest from the blazing blue-eyed stare. Not until they were in his apartment, undressing each other and kissing feverishly. Ivar grabbed Mateo by the collar of his bright floral shirt and bade him sit on the foot of his bed. Using his crutches to climb down, Ivar went to his knees and wrestled Mateo’s shorts down his thighs. When an erection sprung up between them, they both chuckled.
“Fuck. I knew it,” Ivar moaned.
“Knew what?” Asked Mateo.
“That you had a big dick.”
Mateo scooted forward, shoving his solid manhood closer to Ivar’s mouth. The Viking wrapped his lips around the head, eyes fluttering closed as his tongue besieged the slit already leaking pre-cum. Mateo spread his hands over the sheet and gaped his legs a little more, so Ivar had all the room he needed. The kneeling man took this as a further invitation, and propped Mateo’s legs up by his knees, spreading him and forcing him back for a more thorough licking.
“And what if I didn’t have one? What then?” Mateo asked, feeling cheeky from his unexpected score.
“Then I’d have to adjust my thinking. Reevaluate the statistics that men with big feet also have big cocks.”
“I feel so... Exploited,” Mateo snickered and then melted from the feeling of a hot, determined tongue igniting the nerve-heavy spots along his shaft.
“Oh, I’ll exploit you. I’ll exploit you all night long. Right until you hop on that plane to go meet your soulmate. And I guarantee you’ll keep thinking of my mouth long after you’ve gone.”
Mateo gasped as Ivar throated him, streams of slaver dribbling down his balls. Ivar withdrew to collect the escaped saliva, then deposited the glob over the tip again. He did this several more times until Mateo’s cock glistened in the golden sunset blazing through the dirty window next to the bed. He lost himself in the tightening sensations, letting the stranger treat him with all the experience of a well-learned enthusiast. After long, Mateo pressed his chin to his chest, grabbing the braids at the nape of Ivar’s neck to pull him off.
“I’m gonna come,” Mateo warned.
Ivar laughed. Mateo returned the merriment with slight discomfort.
“W-what? It’s true,” the gangly tourist admitted.
“Then come.”
“In your mouth?”
“If that’s where you want it, big boy.”
Mateo shivered, chills shooting down his legs into his feet, numbing his toes. “Oh, fuck.”
The next day, Mateo stood in line waiting to board his flight. His eyes locked onto his phone screen and the photo of Jonah that had made his heart twinge the last couple of weeks. He swiped over and looked at a photo of Ivar, shirtless and tan, a beer bottle in hand and stylish sunglasses perched on his nose. Mateo switched back to Jonah, then back to Ivar.
“Sir? Please keep the line moving,” the woman at the desk motioned him forward.
Mateo hesitated. He looked at the photo of Ivar one last time, then sent him a friend request, pocketed the device and put on his most charming smile as he approached the desk.
“Hello,” Mateo said, clearing his throat. “How much to reschedule my flight to Brazil?”
I leave the time period and reason up to you, but Ivar is covered in filth when he gets home. He has to strip down to nothing before he can even think about traipsing through the house to bathe. And even after he does, his hair is such a nest of tangles. He’s tired. He’s aching everywhere. He’s starving. The last thing he wants to do is comb out his wet, matted hair. But if someone else wanted to help, working out the tangles gently and easing some of his other ills, too, he’d be okay with that.
Ivar gets a new job that pays well, but he has to do some heavy labour all day long in the sweltering heat. The first day, he tries to bad-ass his way through it and ends up getting heatstroke. After a firm talking-to, he promises he won’t overdo it to compensate for being the new guy.
His work clothes come to you covered in grime. His heavy canvas pants are always so caked in dried mud, they’re nearly solid.
One day, his texts indicate you will have a grumpy Dane on your hands when he returns. You anticipate this and plan to have a hot bath ready for him to slip into right away.
Ivar gets home slathered with mud and dust. His boots and pants are so filthy, he strips right at the door. By the time he makes it to the washroom, he’s nude. He pulls his hair out of a messy ponytail and dunks himself in the hot water.
You go to him after getting dinner in the oven. He doesn’t say much, but he does smile a bit when you start to run your fingers through his tangled locks. The brush doesn’t quite get through the knots, but you’re patient and work out all the kinks after a few minutes. When his hair is brushed, you press your thumbs into his tense shoulders, rubbing the muscles until he breathes out the stress and relaxes into the water.
“Have I told you I love you?” Ivar asks.
“Yes,” you reply.
“I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes, you do. You work hard for us. You deserve everything, my gorgeous Viking.”
“One day, I’ll have enough saved up to marry you. Then all of this shit will be worth it.”
I've been thinking about AHA a lot! Is there anyway I can beg for a Drabble ? Like you visit Alex on set in his dressing room with his long Ivar hair and he knows how much you love it, so he teases the hell out of you and records the nasty stuff on his phone so he'll have something to watch on his down time because you know, you can't visit the set every day !
Oh, gosh, I miss that hair so much. It is an actual crime a man with hair like that prefers to hack it the quick! And the Viking braids make me so goddamn weak, I can’t stand it.
So, naturally, when you get to visit him while he’s in full hair and make-up, you cannot contain yourself. And he can’t either. There’s something about people fawning over his hair and face that gives him a little ego boost, and when you go to him needing to stroke and admire all the things that make him Ivar, he also loses control.
In the rarity of privacy, he takes out his phone and props it up to record the rushed session. He can’t get out of his costume, but he can make sure you’re well taken care of. First, by undressing you while his blue eyes drill into your very soul, then by kissing his way up and down your thighs. You can hear voices outside of the trailer, and business gets riskier, but he doesn’t care. Not when your panties are calling out for him to rip them aside with a barbaric growl.
He gives you a moment to shudder beneath his breath, then coaxes your wetness onto his fingers with one careful stroke down your slit.
“I love these naughty little panties, but they’re just in my way. You shouldn't have worn them.”
“I’m sorry,” you giggled as his breath tickled your skin.
“It’s okay. Nothing will stop me from getting what I want,” Alex pushed your thigh away, angling you to the camera.
“And what’s that?” You asked.
“If I had it my way, I’d fuck you right up against this table. But I can’t. So for now... I think I’ll just lick your pussy and suck on your clit until you come all over my tongue. How’s that sound?”
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Oh subby Ivar after he's just memorized by you after a self care day and he just wants to be everything you deserve?? maybe some restraint and edging?
After a day relaxing in the bath and lounging around the house, Ivar came home to find you draped over the bed in your robe. He approached, biting his lip. Something next to you caught his eye, and before he could ask, you held one finger to your lips, hushing him. He knew what to do.
Naked, blinded by the silk sash of your robe and affixed to the bed, Ivar awaited the tease. The soft buzz delighted his nerves before you touched him with the tip of a new toy. You’d trained his cock to respond to sounds and promises alone. He twitched to life fast, eager to feel you.
“Use me, my love. Tease me.”
“Don’t you worry, I plan to. I’ve been planning this since the moment I woke up thinking about you.”
Ivar didn’t reply, but he smirked and followed your voice as you circled the bed, vibrator in hand.
You first glided the tip over his thigh, earning a shiver. His skin prickled, and his cock pulsed with excitement.
“Oh, fuck,” he purred low in his throat.
The vibe slid down the shaft, rumbling between his balls until he pulled on his restraints.
“Is that a lot? You can handle a bit more, can’t you? It’s only on the first speed.”
“I’m yours to play with,” Ivar assured. “I’ll take it all, ma’am. I want to be yours.”
“Brave warrior. We’ll see if you can last the night.”
puppy Ivar loves when you pull his hair, and it’s a surefire way to get him whining for you
Ohhh,yepp. We’re doing this.
He likes to curl up after a long day, head in your lap, purring as your fingertips lightly scratch over his scalp. He buries his face a little more, nudging your legs apart eventually when the pleasant sensation morphs into something a little more palpable.
“Is my beautiful puppy feeling playful now?” You ask.
Blue eyes lock with yours and you know the answer. He bites his bottom lip and nuzzles into your hand.
You thread four fingers through long brown strands, gripping at the roots for a little tug. He whimpers for the first time all day. For somebody so thick with muscle and severe of brow, he knows how to sound positively helpless. You angle his face up by yanking his hair firmly.
“Who’s my good puppy?”
“I am,” he answered. “I wanna be your good boy.”
“You’re well on your way,” you nod.
Before you know it, Ivar knocks you over sideways on the couch, wedging your leg between his thighs so he can help you feel just how much it turns him on when you get rough with him. Ivar grinds his hardness into the meat of your thigh, sighing and letting little begging moans escape his lips.
“Stroke me. Please? Please touch me.”
“Not so fast, puppy. Don’t get too ahead of yourself, or else I’ll have to find your ropes and tie you up to keep you from humping. Naughty boy.”
So you know how they have surgeries now that can give people with ED/paralyzation/etc. a pump inside them that can help give them an erection? Please imagine a modern!Ivar, finally experiencing his first proper boner and, by proxy, his first time having penetrative sex.
It was a mess getting him there, but you promised to keep yourself turned away from him and even still after he was ready.
“Um, I think it’s working? Try coming down slowly.”
A probing sensation that was a long time in the making robbed you of your breath before you had much of a chance to move. You also knew that whatever you were feeling, Ivar was feeling twice as much.
“Yes, that’s it.”
You settled down on him but didn’t turn to look at him until you were sure it was okay. “Can I look at you now, Ivar?”
“Yes,” he said uneasily.
You turned around and glanced at his face, his tight chest and his arms out to hold you in place. The look on his face was unreadable. You couldn’t tell if he was in pain or about to cry.
“How’s that feel?” You asked gently.
Ivar melted forward, wrapping his arms around your waist. A roll of motion went through him but still no words. That was all right. You both knew the first time might not work as well as you hoped. Then Ivar sobbed, and you felt moisture running down your spine.
“Ivar? What’s wrong?” You asked, unsure if you should get off him or not. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” he paled.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” his voice was waifish. “It’s just... You feel perfect inside. I—”
His words were cut short by another shudder of emotion. You reached around and pressed him closer, wishing you didn’t choose this position to start off with. You wanted to be facing him, holding him in your arms as he experienced it all for the first time.
