Ivar the Boneless Imagines

Take a Nip (TW: Anorexia)

The occurrence was new as of the last two years.

His wife would push the food around her plate, side to side, occasionally taking a bite like Ivar wouldn't notice. Other times when he wasn't looking, you would sneak off bits of food to the cat. Today would be different. He sat beside you, drifting his fingers behind your thin neck. His fingers squeezed around your neck like a torc necklace.

"Eat, (Y/N)." He whispers in her ear.

You glance up from your full plate to Ivar, dropping the utensil in favour of ringing your fingers around her wrist middle finger to thumb. He noticed you would do it when something didn't sit quite well with you. More so when it was related to food.

"I'm not so hungry." You lie.

He pauses. "I know you haven't eaten all day. So how can you not be hungry?" Ivar asks curtly.

Sure you hadn't. You pushed away the fruit and bread of the morning, ignored a soup of chunky rabbit and now you were looking at your dinner in nothing short of disgust. You look away from his eyes to look about the empty room littered by toys.

"If you're looking for Svan and Lefsi, I sent them with the thralls." He says.

You push your plate away to pick wooden figurines up from the floor. You're stalling, he knows. Ivar watched as you set the toys away in a box carved by Floki himself.

"You've gotten too skinny." Ivar says, spinning your plate of food about the table. With a clack, his knuckles rap against the table.

"I'm not too skinny... I'm not even skinny." You murmur.

"From where I'm sitting," He knocks on the wood. "Most people call those collarbones skinny."

Your hands slap your long gown that covered your thin thighs as if exasperated. After all, you had skated along two whole years without his constant supervision over what you were eating. Unfortunately, that luck seemed to have drowned out.

"What is it that you want Ivar?" You ask flickering your eyes over to the plate you laid out for him. He picks at his food too.

"I think I have been patient." He says between bites. The left side of his lips quirks into a frown, offering out a piece of chicken. "Tell me why you don't eat."

You pull away a stray strand of hair from your face, curling it around your finger. "Because I'm not hungry." You slink over to the adjoining room.

To your horror– he followed you too. He reclines back on his crutch when you work half of the dress down your shoulders. You chew on your cheek furiously, glancing over your shoulder. His vibrant eyes course along your thin frame knowing how bitterly angry just looking at your body could make you.

"Ivar, please." You say.

"Go on." He motions for you to undress with his fingers. It didn't matter that he saw your body before. It didn't matter that he was your husband. The fear set in your brain with a shout of "fat" over and over again. At times you could find something you liked.

You liked how Ivar's hands could encompass the bones of your hips. You liked the gap between your legs and the lack of obnoxious chaffing that burned your inner thighs. You liked how slight you looked. Somehow when Ivar was there. It all went to shit. Your thighs were fat chunky things and only rivaled by your hate for the jagged stripes reminiscent of cat scratches across your lower belly.

Gods, you thought that you were dying. Your stomach clenched tight. "Ivar you can't just..." Your words fell dully. It would be weird if you wouldn't strip in front of him. A man could divorce a woman over sex, just as you could divorce him. Your lack of sex life as of recently was all due to you. You were somewhat surprised that he had yet to divorce you for that pretty blonde slave.

"Do you need more convincing?" Ivar says, coming closer. He moved within feet of you, boots cracking on aged planks of wood. Your eyes knit shut, holding the dress that cloaked over your body like a giant blanket. You felt hot anxiety filling your stomach when his lips made contact with your neck. He'd want you more if you were thinner. The little voice said in your ear, despite the obvious fact that... well, he was ghosting butterfly like kisses down your neck.

"I'm fat." You said, jerking back away from him.

His smile gapes slightly, falling into a chalked out laugh. "How are you fat?" Ivar steps forward.

You turned to face him, quaking in your place as you worked the laces of your dress down, sliding out of your dress. Ivar's eyes followed the offending little fabric as it fell to the place where it belonged: on the ground. He reached out, drawing his hand along your thin legs that joined at slender hips.

"How am I not fat?" was all that you could say. You sob. "I eat and eat like I'm still pregnant with the twins."

That was over two years ago. Silence arrested the moment and while Ivar didn't know how much weight you lost, he knew you looked a shadow of what you had in the past. His leather clad hands urged you back until the back of your calves hit the bed. You were all too willing to drop back onto it and successively, you climb into the middle. The furs were a warm distraction from the shivers that took you over.

"What is so fat about your body? Hm?" He says, lurching over the bed to drag your sealed tight legs over, tucked over one of his broad arms.

Its more work to fight him. It didn't seem fair that he could just waltz in, command you around and get what he wants at the end of it all. But that's your Ivar. Your slender fingers run over the apex of your thighs, tickling down to the lower part of your thighs.

"My thighs."

In an instant, Ivar drops between the space of your thighs. He brings your minute frame up to meet his face, running his lips across the space of your thighs. He leaves soft kisses in his wake, drifting higher and higher up until pain exploded at the uppermost region of your legs. A fat welt gathers as Ivar repeats the treatment to the other.

"Ow!" You bop him atop his head. "Why would you do that!" You exclaim.

He plants a kiss atop of the welt. "Where else?" He asks, not at all disguising the husk in his voice.

Begrudgingly, you lead his attention from your legs up towards your soft stomach. The skin is loose. Enough so that he knows that it must be the leading cause of your discomfort. He kisses his way up from your pubic mound to your belly button, drawing a wet line with his angular tongue up to dip into your belly button. There he placed another mean nip followed by a lazy kiss.

"Why is it..." He murmurs with hot breath. He blinked slowly and deliberately, easing his fingers to outline each and every mark on your skin. Again he disappeared from his place at your stomach to soft tufts of your hair. His tongue slipped within your wet folds, keeping contact with your eyes in a long deliberate stroke of his tongue. Blood rushed to your core as if your cunt wasn't swollen with an ache before.

"That you hate," He groans vibrations up against your entrance. His tongue dips up against wet walls, unused in some time. A soft groan slips from your lips encouraging him on further– and his fingers find the small bead of your clit. His thumb rubs up against the button in a roll of his finger, gliding it against his finger. His dark hair tickles your bruised thighs, rocking you closer to that peak when one of Ivar's thick fingers disappears into your moist sex.

A build up of pressure in your stomach quaked your legs. Ivar's mouth clasps over your clitoris, drawing yourself closer and closer to your orgasm with his wonderful tongue until– there's nothing. "That I made you a mother?" He kisses the top of your pubic mound.

"Ivaaarrr." You complain when he draws his face back. Ivar's hand slides its way inside his pants, clearly fondling his cock. You want to fight him– kick him or push him and ride him– but he smiles almost knowingly. Incentive. He was using himself as incentive.

"You're beautiful." Ivar says, spanking the side of your hip. "But not tonight."

He was using himself as incentive because he wanted nothing else but to tie you down and make you eat– but it wouldn't be 'ethical' to do that to a free woman. Because he wanted to see a warm, genuine smile again. Because he was worried– but he just couldn't say it.