Ivar the Boneless Imagines

Cold Feet

Everything had to be perfect.

You had made it abundantly clear to Ubbe to keep Ivar away from you. You knew that inviting the complete and total Lothbrok family to your wedding without Ivar would be awkward– and of course you didn't want to hurt Aslaug. But your ex was insane.

Or maybe he wasn't insane. Maybe it was the fact that when you found out about the awkward fuck with Margrethe, you dropped him quicker than a mafia man dropped someone with a lead weight strapped to their foot into the pacific blue. Sure, you had been harsh. Harsher still in marrying someone else a little under a year after breaking up with him, but he got what he got. No apologies necessary.

"I know he's upset Ubbe–" You prattled on the phone, fixing the nude lipstick that lent just a hint of colour to your lips. "But what am I to do about that?"

Across the other line, you heard Ubbe shuffling up the stairs towards the Victorian garden where your wedding was to take place. He mumbled something about talking to Ivar in which you scoffed. You? It wasn't happening. You were so enveloped in your talk– you didn't notice the door budging over as you set in the lace edged veil into against your hair, tweaking the elegant updo just slightly.

"So tell him not to come if he's so distraught. I'm not Aslaug. I'm not going to baby him just because the reality is I've moved on." You say with a pop of your lips.

"Have you?" Comes a voice behind. You turn in a tightly laced mermaid gown to find that it was sooo much easier to say words over a phone... rather than in person. The phone slips from your fingers, buzzing with life from your oldest friend. And boy, are you fucked.

"What... how are you in here?" You say, rushing past him to look at the door. Ivar flashes a bobby pin at you. Probably from Aslaug, you speculate. Always looking to do anything for her favourite.

"That... I... ugh!" You turn back away from the door. "You can't be in here!"

"I don't see why not. Did you think you could hide from me?" Ivar says, leaning on a black crutch as you sneer at him with a cute wrinkle of your nose. His free arm grasps your arm donned in glittering jewels, jerking you forth contrasting your white dress against his sleek, black suit. You curse him– knowing that he wore it on purpose. You always asked him to wear one– but your bad boy never would. Not until today.

"I was trying to keep you away!" You shout, finding that Ivar is only delighted as you yell at him, sliding his hand underneath the seam that separates bunched layers from the tight bodycon that cups your ass.

"Huh. Don't you know you're mine?" Ivar says, letting his hand drift underneath the skirts. You fluster with his hands stroking the inside of your thighs, shoving his chest. He still stands strong on his crutch, fingers gliding up across the white lace panties that tight against your ass. As two of his fingers massage against the underside of your panties, you feel your will wilting away like dark, melting chocolate.

"I'm getting married." Your hand wraps around the chunky watch on his wrist– lacking the will to pull his hands away. You lean into his touch, grinding up against him.

"Of course. You'll marry me. You think I would let you be this beautiful for anyone else?" Ivar chides, having pushed up the bunched fabric just over your hips– enough so that his hand could slip into the top of your panties.

"You certainly didn't have a problem doing so with Margrethe." You pout instantaneously. He knows immediately what this whole show-and-dance of a wedding was. You weren't actually genuinely interested in this guy. No, you wanted to make Ivar squirm with jealousy knowing that the man that was going to marry you... wasn't him.

Ivar's fingers glide across the midline of your panties, stroking down your soaked walls to your clit. You lost all semblance of fight when he gives the nub love, rolling it in his fingers just so. When a moan slips your lips, Ivar pulls his finger of the clit.

"Tell me you won't marry him." Ivar mumbled, rubbing the pesky wet excitement that you coated him in over your fingers. You had made a mistake– a grave one by letting him touch you. But one touch became another and another until your walls are aching for his fingers again. You lean up against him with a whine. Your fiance couldn't fill this need. He couldn't even get you off right. But you had gone with it– hoping that he could be a substitute for Ivar.

He couldn't.

"Fu... fuck you!" You snarled out. Ivar chuckled, snapping his fingers together and motioning to the ground. He wanted you on your knees before him. Like a fool you comply– if not for missing the orgasms that he gave you day in and out less than a year ago. Ivar drew the zipper of his pants down– slowly. As his cock hit the cool air, you could have drooled. His hard shaft stands pink and erect, the tip drooling such excitement from seeing you so dolled up.

"Please... please..." You whined, knowing how you must look as someone else's bride on the floor. Ivar chuckles, grasping the back of your head and leading you up towards his dick. You take his tip in at first, but Ivar's insistent, shoving you down his dick in a harsh swoop. You take him gladly, sputtering a little cough as you pull back, dragging your tongue across the underside of his dick to where his shaft met his head. He watched as you took him back down again, then came back up with a flat lick across the tip of your head. Your hands found the creamy white fabric of your wedding dress, gripping it tight between your fingertips.

"If he could see you now." Ivar chuckled, pulling back just enough to pull his cock out of your mouth. "You want it?"

You whined at the emptiness but Ivar– Ivar had another plan. He nudges his cock up against your cheek, teasing you with being so close as to have him where he belonged: inside of you. He wore an amazingly amused look, eyebrows tightening and eyes becoming slant. You knew better than that– he was close.

You whined at the emptiness– enough to sate him to shove his dick back into your mouth. This time your hands flew to his hips, almost jerking him off of his crutch. You hollow your cheeks, sucking him more forcefully. Ivar winced, his hands at your beautiful hair when he buckled forward with a hiss. His seed releases into your mouth, salty on your tongue but no matter– you suck him of the last bout of his seed while he breathily moans out your name.

Then just like that, you slide him from your painted lips, catching the last bit of his seed on your tongue. Your eyes peer up to him as he breathes– winded. "Tell me you won't marry him." Ivar rasps.

You contemplate it for a moment. "Then you had better marry me instead." Because well– you didn't arrange this wedding for nothing.