#xbellaxcarolinax masterlist

[campingwiththecharmings]

Rendezvous

AN: This blurb was inspired by this fanart and enabled by @whatthefishh and @xbellaxcarolinax 🤭❤️

(Un-beta’d) 

PWP in which you and Miguel get each other off in a storage closet.

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 611 Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader Warnings: frottage, kissing, semi-public sex, soft!Miguel, cursing AO3

——————

You fall through the door into the storage room, fingers gripping the lapels of Miguel’s lab coat, his lips fused to yours. His hands are on your hips, guiding you back, back, back until you run into a metal shelving unit and stop, the edges digging into your shoulders. 

Your grunt of discomfort is smothered by his lips as he presses himself against you, his hard, lean body flush with yours. He devours your mouth, kissing you so hard his glasses are askew, the frames digging into your cheek. Without breaking the kiss, he bends slightly, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. He turns with you in his arms, pushing you against the back of the door and plunging the small space into semi-darkness. 

You hum, digging your fingers into his hair, nails scratching against his scalp, making him hiss. He pushes his clothed cock against your core, grinding lazily as he licks into your mouth, his tongue hot and wet. You moan softly at the friction, canting your hips, breaking the kiss with a gasp when he catches your clit.  

His face hovers before yours, his warm breath puffing against your cheek. 

“Good?” he pants, licking his lips as he continues rutting against you. 

“Better than good," you breathe, smiling as you pull his mouth back to yours. 

Miguel chuckles against your lips, kissing you a little softer this time. He keeps grinding against you, rolling his hips into yours, taking you higher and higher. You gasp, lips parting from his again as he mouths over your cheek toward your ear. You hold onto him, the warmth pooling in your belly as a delicious heat coils there.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, throwing your head back against the door with a dull thud. 

He growls, pushing his face into your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin, the movement of his hips never ceasing as he chases both his own release and yours. You’re close already, so close, can feel that the levee inside you is about to burst, the pressure building and building until finally— 

You come with a gasp, your cunt spasming around nothing as you shake slightly in his arms, the waves of pleasure rippling through you. Miguel follows a moment later, hips stuttering to a halt, his groan muffled by your shirt. You hold each other as you come down, your fingers combing through his hair, his thumbs brushing soothingly against your thighs through the fabric of your pants. The tension in his shoulders eases as his breathing returns to normal, his grip on you loosening. 

Voices in the hall just outside the door make you both freeze, reminding you that you’re not alone. You pull your lip between your teeth, holding your breath as the people in the hall move away. Miguel sighs in relief as their voices dissipate, sagging against the door, still holding you in his arms. He buries his laugh in your neck, his body shaking slightly as he tries to limit the amount of noise he’s making. His reaction makes you snort, your hand clapping over your mouth and nose to stifle the sound.

“We really need to stop doing this at work,” he whispers, an amused smile on his lips when he pulls back enough to see your face.

You bite your lip, reach out to smooth your hands over the lapels of his coat. “I can't help it, seeing you like this just…does something to me.”

With a smirk, he leans in, nuzzling you with his nose as his fingers curl into the fabric of your lab coat. “I know exactly what you mean, cariño.”

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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[melodygatesauthor]

The Dark Side of the Moon - Chapter 1: Intoxicating

Vampire Marc Spector X f!Reader

Beta Read by @xbellaxcarolinax - Masterlist - AO3

Chapter Summary

Marc sees you for the first time and can't understand why you smell the way you do. The aroma is intoxicating, and he's determined to get closer to you, despite Khonshu's rules.

Tags/Warnings (for entire fic)

Major Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death - Non-con - Dub-con - Violence Minor Tags/Warnings NSFW, smut, Khonshu is human turned vampire, Ammit is human turned vampire, sex with characters other than the main pairing (Marc X f!Unnamed Character - Khonshu X f!Reader), p in v creampie, furniture grinding, scent kink, blood kink, vampire/human relationship, blood drinking, rough sex, oral sex, coming untouched, coming in pants, panty sniffing, angst, fluff, smut, forbidden relationship, secret relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, Marc does NOT have DID Dead Dove Do Not Eat - This means that what you see in the tags is what you get in the fic. If you read the tags and see "non-con" and then see non-con in the fic, don't be surprised!

Word Count: 3.2k

When Marc first saw you, he was overwhelmed by your scent.

The blood coursing through your veins held an aroma so sickly sweet that he found himself dizzy from the smell. He stepped into the lofty, spacious room where an oversized, and over-embellished, chair sat at the back. The enormous windows behind the chair faced out to the ocean, stretching on for what felt like forever. Khonshu liked to call this his ‘throne room’; a pretentious name fit only for someone who thought all too highly of himself.

“Marc, isn’t she wonderfully fragrant?” Khonshu asked from where he sat in his chair, touching the small of your back. His deep voice broke Marc from his thoughts.

Marc cleared his throat, scowling at the display in front of him. You were there, standing timidly with your wrists and ankles bound by enchanted gold chains, and Khonshu was next to you, seated like a king, legs spread wide as though he didn’t have a care in the world. You were dressed like the other cattle: ivory-white, flowing dress covering your body, though leaving your neck well exposed in case Khonshu felt hungry on a whim.

“Yes sir,” Marc agreed, body stiffening as he tried to fight his primal urges against your intoxicating smell.

“Found this pretty thing walking home from some dead end job, sobbing, living a meaningless life, isn’t that right little dove?” He started rubbing your back, and Marc saw your body tense in response. He hated when Khonshu got new servants. He hated to see how nervous they all were in the beginning.

“Y-yes,” you said, voice sounding small compared to the bass of Khonshu’s tone.

“Not so meaningless now. You have such an important job here.” He looked up at you with such adoration it made Marc’s stomach turn. “Harrow,” he said loudly, looking at the man on Marc’s left. “I need a report, did you succeed in delivering my justice tonight?”

Arthur Harrow looked over at Marc, long face twisted into an expression of disdain that he reserved only for the right hand of Khonshu. When Harrow looked back at their master’s face, his expression changed to one of admiration, but Marc knew the man’s hatred for him still festered just under the surface.

Marc listened to Harrow’s recollection of the evening’s events. It was a brief retelling of their struggles and successes, structured in a way to make Arthur sound like the heroic protagonist of the story, leaving Marc to look like his inept sidekick. Marc chuckled under his breath when Harrow mentioned rescuing a woman from a mugger. What he failed to add, was that the man doing the mugging was in his late sixties, frail, and nearly starving to death in an alleyway, just trying to get enough money to eat for the night. In other words, Marc wouldn’t have needed a suit or vampiric abilities to deal with him.

“Is something funny, Marc Spector?” Arthur asked, turning to look at his counterpart.

Marc shook his head, “not at all, continue with your very accurate and completely true story.”

Marc looked at you, heartbeat racing at the sight of your pretty face. A smirk threatened the corner of your mouth, you must’ve noticed him, but you kept your eyes on the ground. Marc’s lips turned up for only a split second knowing he’d entertained you. He hated Khonshu for always making the servants of the house avert their gaze, as though the undead were a superior race to the living. He hated Khonshu for many other things as well, but not being able to see the sparkle of amusement in your eyes at that moment was one of them.

Marc shared his own account of the uneventful evening. They’d saved some other ‘travelers of the night’, as Khonshu called them, and made sure to deliver justice to those who hurt them. He didn’t always see eye to eye with Harrow, but both he and Marc served one man, bound to him forever in an unfortunate blood pact, and for that they were very alike. He wondered sometimes if Arthur hated their master as much as he did, but Marc didn’t dare ask such a question out loud.

Khonshu looked up at you, smiling contentedly as he did before letting out a sigh, broad shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Very good,” he said, finally addressing both Marc and Arthur. “I’m hungry, so I’ll be taking my leave.” He looked over at Marc as he stood, running a hand through his thick black hair. “Marc, please attend to any queries as I would.”

Marc nodded, watching Khonshu rise, putting his hand on your upper back as he led you out of the room. Your scent left with you, not fully, but enough to allow the fog that weighed heavy in Marc’s mind dissipate. He was certain that if you smelled that good, you must taste equally as delicious…right?

~~~~

Why the fuck did you smell like that? Marc wondered moments later, sitting in Khonshu’s lavish chair in his absence. There was no reason for you to smell like that. So sweet, so delicious. Marc found himself salivating, quickly wiping his lips. It was embarrassing, the way you had made such a mess out of him after only moments of him being in your presence.

“Are you hungry sir? I can get your cattle for you,” one of the servants nearby asked, noticing that he’d wiped his mouth.

“No, no I’m…” he wasn’t fine, “I’m fine.”

He’d lived a hundred twenty-six years, and not once had he come across a scent like that. It didn’t make sense, and yet, it was permeating the air around him, making him feel mildly intoxicated once again. Harrow chuckled on Marc’s left, taking the man out of his daze. He scowled and looked over at him.

“What?” Marc questioned, tone laced in frustration.

Arthur shrugged, “hm? Oh, nothing. It’s just interesting to me, how much your age shows when you're faced with something unique, like the new cattle girl.”

“She just has a strong smell, it’s nothing,” Marc said firmly, bouncing his leg as he became more anxious.

“Right, of course,” Arthur’s expression was smug, condescending toward Marc in an attempt to rattle him.

“Why don’t you go find something to keep yourself busy, Harrow. I’m sure Khonshu wouldn’t want to think you were bothering me while I conduct his business.”

That struck a nerve, and Marc knew it would. Harrow had served Khonshu for many, many, years longer than Marc had. Hundreds longer to be more precise. Arthur was an arguably better servant as well. He would kill without question, spending no time on nuance and weighing the gray area brought on by guilt. Harrow would kill if he simply felt that someone was deserving. Marc didn’t like to fight that way, it felt wrong, and morally corrupt at its core. Marc would only kill if he thought it was a just punishment.

Despite Harrow being Khonshu’s loyal and unquestioning knight, always doing their master’s bidding without question, Marc was the one Khonshu favored most. Neither of them understood it, and both of them wished it were Harrow in that position rather than Marc. He never wanted to be Khonshu’s right hand, and when he was turned he didn’t know that’s what he was signing up for. Khonshu was good at keeping information from his servants. In fact, that’s how he managed to recruit so many. If he’d been upfront with them all, no one would have joined him.

“Khonshu is preoccupied at the moment, I’m sure–”

“Ooh,” Marc taunted, “then it would be really awkward if I had to go knocking on his door to tell him that you were being a pain in my ass, wouldn’t it?” Marc looked at Harrow, both eyebrows raised in anticipation for the rebuttal that never came.

Once Harrow left, frustrated and grumbling to himself, Marc tried to find other ways to occupy his mind, and to get his thoughts off of you. He spoke with the servants, making small talk about the weather, as though he gave a shit about whether it was raining or the skies were painted in blue. He just needed to take his mind off of you, because the more he thought about you, the more he felt his body aching with hunger.

There were so few rules that Marc needed to abide by that he’d be labeled a moron if he couldn’t manage to follow them. He could come and go as he pleased, so long as he did the work Khonshu required of him. Marc wasn’t allowed to turn someone, unless of course his master bid him to do so. And there was one rule, a big one that was upheld above all else…

Touching Khonshu’s cattle was absolutely forbidden.

That was how Marc got there, replacing the last Moon Knight that was dumb enough to try and pull one over on Khonshu. When his master claimed someone, by auction, coercion or otherwise, they were his. Marc had heard that Khonshu was kind to his servants, only taking what he needed, never drinking more than his fill. If one of his designated meals were tired or still recovering from a feeding, he would allow them time to rest before he used them again.

Marc also knew that they ate well. He saw the meals sometimes in passing being brought by the cooks to the rooms of the cattle. That’s how Marc learned that you liked strawberries, especially the large ripe ones. He would see the way the cooks made a point to pick through the smaller sour ones and toss them aside before bringing them to your door.

Were you spoiled, or did you figure that if you were going to be stuck there for the rest of your life, that you might as well enjoy yourself? Either way, a week after your arrival, Marc still wasn’t used to your scent, and it called to him both day and night. It was faint, unless he was in the same room as you, but he couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to figure out why you smelled like that, even if it killed him.

Marc didn’t need the enchanted armor Khonshu had blessed him with to climb the wall outside to your bedroom, his jeans and dark t-shirt would do just fine. The armor only afforded him protection at will, and the crescent darts he used to deliver Khonshu’s justice. As a vampire, there was no mountain too high for Marc to climb, and no distance too far for him to run. His strength couldn’t be surpassed by even ten men, but everything came with a price.

He needed blood to live.

Without that iron flavored liquid, Marc would die. Not much could kill him, but the thirst for blood certainly would if he didn’t satisfy it. And the smell of yours was making him fucking feral.

Marc didn’t know what he was thinking, standing there in your room, watching you while you slept soundly. He had all he could to stop himself from draining your body of every drop of your blood in front of Khonshu, so what was stopping him now? Your master wasn’t around to save you, but Marc knew he could never forgive himself if he hurt you.

He knelt down by your bedside, touching your warm cheek softly with the backs of his fingers. Your breathtaking eyes fluttered open, meeting his in a gaze with a look that was as frightened as it was confused. He put a finger to his lips, shushing you, hoping like hell that you wouldn’t alert the household to his presence in your quarters; something that would surely land him in the thirst room for a minimum of half a century.

You nodded as you slowly sat up, rubbing your eyes and pulling away from Marc. It was a smart decision, he had no noble reason for being there. He just wanted to smell you. He wanted to feel you. You were doing well in your attempt to hide your fear, though he could tell you were petrified. Your breathing was ragged, and your pupils blown wide.

“Why do you smell like that?” He said in a low growl, leaning forward on your bed, nuzzling your neck and inhaling deeply, “so fuckin’ sweet I…fuck.”

“W-what are you do–”

“Shh, I’m not going to hurt you, I just…” he inhaled again, breath ragged and harsh in your ear. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He repeated, not sure who he was trying to convince more, you…or himself.

“O-okay,” you said in the softest, and shakiest, voice he’d ever heard.

Marc really wasn’t going to harm you, though it took every ounce of his strength not to. He wanted to devour you, drink you dry, absorb your warmth into every cell of his cold body. He leaned in more, pushing you back against the mattress, feeling every neuron in his brain firing with desire. He felt your hands, pushing gently against his chest in protest, but you clearly weren’t brave enough to try and fight back.

Marc felt his cock aching as it sprung to life against his jeans. Your legs were around him, though he could feel your knees digging into his waist in an attempt to close them. The heat from your cunt was maddening, radiating off of you through his clothing and making his dick leak profusely.

“Why the fuck do you smell like that?” He asked again, throat vibrating with a primal rumble. He breathed in your fragrant aroma some more, feeling his fangs extending in preparation to bite. “Never smelled someone so…hmmmm.”

“L-like…like w-what?”

That’s when he realized just how much you were shaking. As if he were awoken from a trance, Marc shook the delirium from his mind and slid off of you quickly, backing up to the wall, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. He gulped, looking you up and down. You looked terrified, eyes wide with fear. Your bottom lip was trembling while you sat up and stared widely at him, like prey coming face to face with a predator. 

“I’m sorry,” Marc said, still panting heavily. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt so breathless.

“You’re M-Marc, right?” You asked, looking him up and down, “I’m…” your name rolled off your tongue beautifully.

Cattle didn’t have names. Once someone was branded as livestock, a human whose job was to provide blood to their master, they were stripped of their previous life, including their name. Marc had been to other households. Some masters replaced their servant’s old names with new ones. Others had a numeric system, the numbers getting higher and higher the longer a vampire had been alive and using servants.

Khonshu preferred to keep his nameless. It made it less personal when it was time to dispose of old or sickly livestock, or when he got too carried away while feeding, leading to the unfortunate demise of a perfectly good food source. Marc knew you were privy to the rules. You knew damn well that you weren’t supposed to ever utter your birth name, and yet you were speaking it freely to him.

You trusted him.

“Look…I was never here, alright?” Marc swallowed hard, looking out at the moonlit sky. “I…I didn’t mean to scare you, I just…I couldn’t help myself. I’m so sorry.”

Without another word, and without looking at you again, Marc climbed through the window and dropped back to the ground, moving quickly around the side of the manor and back to where his quarters were. The pain of his cock pressing against his zipper ached like never before. He could still fucking smell you, and now your scent was on his damn clothes. It was a mistake going there, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t glad he did.

~~~~

He got into bed that night, stripped down fully, planting his feet firmly against his mattress, cock in hand and jerking himself off to the thoughts running through his mind. He balled up his shirt, holding it against his face and smelling your aroma still saturated in every fiber. His grip was firm around his girth, gliding over his length at a slow pace, imagining what it would be like to feel you on top of him.

Marc ran his thumb over the precum leaking out of the slit on his fat tip, using that to keep his palm slick while he worked. A pathetic whine left his lips, throat closing as he gripped the sheets and arched his back upward. You’d take him so well, he could tell just by the way you looked underneath him earlier. You’d cry and whimper but you’d love every second, begging him to fuck you until you couldn’t walk right.

He rolled over onto his stomach, pressing his cock between his abdomen and the mattress, grabbing the sides of the bed and rutting his hips forward. The grind along the smooth sheets was enough to electrify his entire body. Marc choked on the groan that threatened to leave his lips. He put the shirt on his pillow, burying his face in it, fucking the bed faster. If you had been under him, he would’ve broken you in half…or shredded you to pieces.

He bit into the shirt, growling lowly and continuing to roll his erection over the soft mattress  in an attempt to curb the growing need to have you. Your voice was so small, so sweet, so pretty. Fuck, fuck… The way you looked at him, afraid, timid, like he was going to hurt you. He wished he could say with confidence that he would never hurt you, like he had promised you earlier in your room, but he knew that was a white lie. He would always try never to hurt you.

He shuddered on his next snap forward, the friction becoming more slick as his leaking head left a mess in its wake. His grip on the sides of the mattress was tight enough to make his knuckles ache, aiding in his speed. He didn’t even care that the bed scraped against the floor with a loud shriek on every pass. He kept his nose deep in the fabric of his shirt, inhaling deeply, intoxicated with your smell combined with his. It smelled right, like your fragrances belonged together.

You belonged with him.

“Why does she…why does she smell so…so-fucking-good-ohgodohgodohgod…!”

Marc’s hips finally came to a stammering halt, warm sticky ropes of cum shooting out from his throbbing cock, making a mess of his bedding that he knew the servants would mumble about amongst each other when they thought he wasn’t listening. He huffed through his nose, hips still sliding his dick over the glob of slippery white that he created while thinking of you. 

He wasn’t a fool, but Marc hoped desperately that masturbating his nights away would be enough to satisfy his needs. Deep down though, he knew that was bullshit, and he knew that as long as you were around, his life was at risk.

Moon Knight Masterlist

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[ivystoryweaver]

Which Moon Boy Gets the most worried, the fastest, if you're not home on time?

from Moon Knight Asks

Based on this ask by @xbellaxcarolinax I NEED to know your thoughts on 3! Which one of them gets the most worried?? I feel like it's Marc, but I dunno!

Content: It went straight to angst, sorry babes

Word count: 567

Steven the sweetest boy starts to have doubts if you don't come home. Before Marc, he begins to wonder if you're...real.

How could someone so wonderful really be his? Maybe he conjured you. He can't tell his waking life from his dreams.

After Marc, he gains understanding and surety in his life. When you don't arrive home on time, he always starts calmly with a text. "You alright, love?"

If he doesn't hear from you, he will try to talk himself down. After all, he's been a mess all this time - surely, he must have missed something you said?

He calls you, but if you don't answer, he does NOT trust voice mail anymore.

Steven is reasonable. He will contact a few friends and your work. If he gets overly worried, one of his alters will likely take over.

When you arrive home, he's attentive, affectionate, grateful. He wants to touch and feel you - his real life love.

Marc feels a spike of cold fear right through the center of him.

When you're late, he punishes himself. He has to be the reason you don't want to come home.

Everyone leaves. Everyone. If he doesn't leave them first.

By the time you're significantly late, he's filled with so much self-loathing, having convinced himself you won't be coming back.

He sees your picture hanging on the fridge. One of the few printed images of you together. The light in your eyes soothes his soul. Suddenly he's afraid of that light in you going out.

His focus shifts to you instead of himself.

Marc knows and understands the world. He knows how to hide, and every reason a person would want to. He can find you.

He's told himself every terrible thing he believes about himself and planned an entire rescue mission by the time you walk in the door. (It only takes him 20 minutes to plan it)

His concern will come out as anger. You'll try to explain - he won't be mean to you, it will be directed inward. This can explode into passion or do a 180 and put some distance between you.

"I can't lose you," he finally admits, in a defeated whisper.

If it’s your mistake, you will spend some time apologizing and reassuring him. It will get physical. In the best way.

If someone has hurt you, well…

Jake is independent. He respects that you are too. He can take care of himself - you can take care of yourself. He trusts you. He gives you time to be late, to need space, to explain.

If he gets too worried, he will find you, pretty quickly. He has all the same skills as Marc but hasn't used them as often - not in the same ways. He usually steps in when Marc is at his maximum.

It's simple with Jake. He'll let you know he's waiting for you and wants to hear from you. If you're stuck at work, he's waiting outside with his car to give you a ride and glare at your boss.

If your phone is dead, you'll have an extra charger bought for you the next day.

If someone else is the reason you're late, he'll have a very short conversation with them and it won't happen again.

If someone has hurt you, they will have breathed their last.

So the answer is.... ??

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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[nathanbatemanfucker]

navigation | masterlist

ON HIATUS, 10/07/23-11/06/23.

the most heartfelt, biggest thanks to each and every one of you. every comment, reblog, ask and like means so much to me. i don’t take a single one of you for granted. 🤍

2023 KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

submissions run from nov 1st-nov 31st. disclaimer: if you are not 18+ do not send/interact with any 18+/NSFW content on this list.

🎥: pick a 500 word passage from any of my works and ill give you DVD commentary (what i was thinking when i wrote it, why i wrote, why i chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the fic, etc.)

🎶: give me a song & character and i’ll give you a kinky situation

🔥: send me a letter from this list & a character, and i’ll give you a kinky headcanon

🍁: give me a character and ill give you a spooky/fall activity

🤔: send me two kinks or tropes to choose from!

🔪: FMK or One Night Stand/Bestie/Spouse

💭: send me YOUR kinky headcanons and let’s discuss

🖊 wip: ask for a sentence from a wip i’m working on.

📚: give me a kink or trope and i’ll rec my favorite fic

🎨: send me a work that you want circulated and i’ll reblog it. fics, gifs, icons, fanart are all welcome!

❓: ask me anything!

MOOTS ONLY:

🕯️: i’ll tell you my favorite thing about you!

👀 : cast my mutuals as….kinks, blorbos, etc.

🎧: i’ll pick a song that makes me think of you!

tagging some moots for boost: @honeybrowne @juneknight @marc-spectorr @greg-montgomery @doctorstethoscope @hotchs-bitch @h0tch-r0cket @flightlessangelwings @astroboots @campingwiththecharmings @xbellaxcarolinax @stargazingcarol @eyelessfaces @lavendertales @softlyspector @haylzcyon @pedrito-friskito @inklore @psychedelic-ink @missdictatorme @mccn-bcys @toracainz @jaspxr @fightingdragonswithwho @lesbianhotch @hotch-girl @cr1minalskies @sadgirlml @lefthandedhotch @pinkheartem0ji @dudeitiskarev @ssamorganhotchner @masterwords @ivyheliotrope @ivystoryweaver @shurisbraids @wakandas-vibranium @chimneysrebarscar @whatthefishh @my-secret-shame @melodygatesauthor

[m4zapan]

masterlist 3 for fics i have not made but enjoy with my heart. (in progress)

masterlist 1

masterlist 2

fandoms included:

jujutsu kaisen

attack on titan

boku no hero academia

spiderverse

atwow

cod

disclaimer: this masterlist is for fanfiction that i’ve read and not written, i just want to keep them organized for when i want to go back to them. all links in the masterlists lead to original artist’s post.

disclaimer 2: if not all, most of the fics listed below are character-x-reader or ship-x-reader. if you don’t like this, this masterlist is not for you.

disclaimer 3: please let me know if any of the links aren’t working, even tho these mlists are mostly for myself.

disclaimer 4: most of the posts here are fem!reader or gn!reader x character but i’m trying to find good fics for male!reader x character for certain of them. i’ll be putting a certain emojis for them since they are minority.

disclaimer 5: all fics have gender or pronouns listed, some are afab but no pronouns.

disclaimer 6: i don’t take requests for characters not listed, sorry😭

disclaimer 7: i’m tagging all authors in comments:)

❤️‍🔥-personal favorites

🍋- smut

🍓- fluff

🫒- angst

🥝- suggestive

fandoms

jujutsu kaisen

nanami kento

house husband nanami 🍓 by curlyheadaphrodite (mention of using heels but can be read as any gender)

❤️‍🔥 proposal hc 🍓 by peachsayshi (can be read as any gender)

driving instructor!nanami 🍋 by lemmetreatya (afab!reader)

moving into your first apartment with nanami 🍓🍋 by kentosbabes (she/her)

all the time in the world 🫒🍓 by gojonanami (she/her)

choso kamo

biting kink 🍋 by n-agiz (can be read as any gender)

sub!choso 🍋 by sensitive-neuvi-enthusiast (she/her)

full masterlists

❤️‍🔥 masterlist @kentosbabes

attack on titan

reiner braun

nfl player reiner 🍋 by blkcupid (she/her)

nasty (connie, porco, onyankapon, eren, zeke, jean, levi, armin and reiner) 🍋 by apollostears (she/her)

levi ackerman

after the war 🫒🍓 by whattheheckmidoriya (can be read as any gender)

full masterlists

❤️‍🔥 masterlist @kentosbabes

boku no hero academia

katsuki bakugo

my little wife 🍋 by atsushiskitten (she/her)

bakugo’s tiktok 🍓 by tteokdoroki (can be read as any gender)

bakugo when you get your nails done 🍓 by bkgml (she/her)

in the margins 🍓 by call-me-ko (she/her)

showering (no title) 🍓🥝 by katsukikitten (can be read as any gender)

❤️‍🔥 fuck buddies (no title) 🍋 by katsukikitten (afab!reader)

skirt 🥝🍋 by crybaby-bkg (can be read as any gender)

masterlists

masterlist @katsukikitten

spiderverse

miguel o’hara

❤️‍🔥 calentón 🍋 by zstrn (she/her) [literally a masterpiece, so good and spanish (being my first language) is spot on. love it]

love bites 🍋 by amhrosina (she/her)

sentimiento 🫒🍓 by knxv1lie (she/her) [spanish is SO good]

assistant | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 🥝 by devilfic (can be read as any gender)

❤️‍🔥 el trato | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | pt. 6 | pt. 7 | pt. 8 | final 🥝🍋 by messylustt (she/her)

snow spider 🍓 by ichorai (can be read as any gender)

❤️‍🔥 what’s in between | pt. 2 🍓 by ghost-with-a-teacup (she/her)

“te amo” 🫒 by kirbyskisses (she/her) [this is mostly fluff but given the plot, it was very intense for me, in an angsty way]

jealousy 🍓 by cosmosis (she/her)

annoying 🫒 by sillyblues (gn!reader)

you’re the sunflower | pt. 2 🫒🍓 by fxllfaiiry (she/her)

you? | enough for you | jealousy 🫒 by mcu-coworkers (can be read as any gender)

being miguel’s canon love interest | pt. 2 🫒 by hannya-comehome (gn!reader)

fwb 🍋 by moralesluvr (she/her)

college!au 🍋 by xbellaxcarolinax (afab!reader, can be read as any gender)

weed killer | pt. 2 | pt. 3 🍓🫒 by brotherblaze (gn!reader) [part 2 and 3 are on aot]

the other woman | final 🫒 by voidhope (she/her)

❤️‍🔥 open up 🍋 by xbellaxcarolinax (she/her)

❤️‍🔥 let me help you 🍋 by roguelov (afab!reader)

nightmare 🍋 by messylustt (afab!reader)

strawberry sweet 🍋 by clandestineloki (she/her)

❤️‍🔥 overstim with miguel 🍋 by beautysamour (she/her)

miguel smut 🍋 by coffeeandbookskeepmealive

❤️‍🔥 play with me | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 🍋 by miguelhugger2099 (she/her)

❤️‍🔥 i wish i was your girl 🍋 by angelsleepinggurl (she/her)

hobie brown

choker 🍋 by urdinosaurs (afab!reader)

arabella 🍓🥝 by firewalkzwit (she/her)

polaroids 🥝🍋 by cultrise

no title 🍋 by gobies-gf (she/her)

atwow

neteyam

h. e. r. 🍓 by livelaughloveloak (she/her)

being neteyam’s mate would include 🍓🥝 by witchthewriter (gn!reader)

cod

könig

hatred sex 🍋 by sweetiecutie (she/her)

ghost

got me snoring 🍋 by velvetures (she/her)

[jadelynlace]

True Warriors Rarely Go Quietly⎮Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader], Preview

synopsis: When you find the other person who was hurt by your ex-boyfriend’s cheating, you create an unlikely alliance. 

pairing: Modern Ivar x F!Reader

content warnings: Mentions of cheating and heartbreak, strong language / adult themes, sexual content, Ivar being a dick... 

author’s note: I know. Don’t say anything, I’m writing something new. Divider is by @firefly-graphics​

When the ringing finally halts, you hear a voice, silky and low, speak: “Hello?” 

“Is this Ivar?” You meekly ask.

“Not if I owe you money,” He snaps back.

“You don’t. But, uh—you’re with Freydis?” You say before here’s a silence. “Wait, don’t hang up! She cheated on you with my boyfriend.” You add quickly. “I want your help to get revenge,” And you swallow thickly while silence overtakes the line.

“I’m listening,” Ivar finally hums.

“Oh, um, that’s really all I have so far,” You confess. “I didn’t know if you’d agree to it,”

“You called because you wanted my help getting revenge?” Ivar clarifies. 

“I thought you might have an idea,” You sigh. “I was told to just...move on,”

“And where’s the fun in that?” Ivar snorts. “I…might have an idea,”

“….A legal one?”

“No,” Ivar deadpans. “Actually...” Ivar starts after another pause. “Freydis always did talk about how she wished she looked,” You hear him say. 

“Alright?” You reply before another pause.

“And you…fit that image,” Ivar then adds. “Oh, you fit that image well,”

“How the hell do you know what I look like?” You say suddenly.

“Well, you’re Y/N Y/L/N, you’re from the same city I’m from and you work at—” 

“Are you on my Facebook page?” You nearly shriek.

“Modern problems require modern solutions, sweetheart,” Ivar hums.

“Those pictures are terrible,” You mumble.

“I don’t think so,” Ivar says, kicking himself as soon as the sentence leaves his lips.

“Do you have an idea?” You ask again.

“Oh, I do,”

Writing Tags:

@smileysam13579​  @dreamtherapy​ @angelofthenightposts​ @unbetaedimagines​  @readsalot73​ @queen-sarang​   @anastasiaskarsgard​ @andmyannabellee​  @peachyboneless​ @heavenly1927​ @prettyinpayne​ @quantumlocked310​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @mighty-ragnarssons​ @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom​ @queen-of-upshur​ @nanahachikyuu​ @fandomlifeandeverythingelse​ @fatedwithmbc​  @hashimily​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @love-all-things-writing​  @theanxietyqueen17​ @trip2themoon​ @tgrrose​ @synnersaint​ @kataphine​ @prepare4trouble​ @abbiii72​ @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog​ @93xdiagonxalley​ @ivarisms​ @nordicshieldmadien @ironynoticony​  @ivarsgard​ @cosmicmerbabe​

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Masterlist 🤘🏽

Banner by @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​

Vikings ⚔

Ivar the Boneless

Forging A Heart  (Ivar x OFC) A Grecian girl is taken from her home in the Mediterranean during a raid in a Christian monastery. She is thrown into dangerous waters after she is gifted to Ivar, who believes she is nothing good but a pretty distraction, until he learns of her true talents, using her to his advantage for his growing army against the Christians of England, and the usurper, Lagertha.

Heartbreaker (Modern Ivar x Reader) Ivar warned her not to fall in love with him. Oh hiatus.

Naranja (Ivar x Reader) The discovery of a certain fruit leads to another discovery that Ivar wasn’t prepared for.

Family Business (Modern Ivar x Saxon Mob!Reader) Even the son of a mobster has his weaknesses.

Nothing But A Scratch (Ivar x Rus Princess!Reader) Ivar is wounded during battle.

Unnatural Force (Ivar x Frankish Princess!Reader) Part 1, Part 2 When Rollo’s nephews visit his duchy in Normandy, you, a Frankish princess, are immediately smitten with King Ivar. Feelings are mutual but duty must come before self-interest. Ivar has other Ideas.

Alfred 

Simple Pleasures (Alfred x Saxon Princess!Reader) In which Alfred feels he can‘t live up to the greatness expected of him. Maybe his immature bride can change that.

Hvitserk 

Knew Him Well (Hvitserk x Goddess!Reader) As a goddess, you knew everything about him.

Moon Knight 🌙

Steven Grant

Ravenous (Steven Grant x Avatar f!Reader) Steven finds himself attracted to your chaos when you stumbled into his life (and Marc's) as Sekhmet's avatar.

A Messy Escapade (Steven Grant x f!Reader) Steven wasn't usually like this. He's ever the patient man, rarely demanding and rarely so...needy. But something about tonight had been different. NSFW.

Flustered (Steven Grant x f!Reader) Libraries aren't only good for borrowing books. NSFW.

​Marc Spector

Need You (Marc Spector x f!reader) In the middle of the night, when Marc comes home, is when he needs you the most. NSFW.

The Orphan And The Mercenary (Marc Spector x Avatar f!reader) - Part of the Ravenous Universe

Miscellaneous Characters

Miguel O’Hara 🕷️

Cállate (Miguel O’Hara x f!reader) Miguel thinks you talk too much. NSFW

Scent (Miguel O’Hara x f!reader) It was an intoxicating scent. And he knew it was yours. (In which Miguel goes feral when you ovulate) NSFW

It’s Always Been You (Miguel O’Hara x f!reader) Jealous? Jealous? No, absolutely not. (Or the one where Miguel can’t admit he’s jealous) NSFW

Futile Devices (Miguel O'Hara x civilian f!reader) The deal was explicitly no strings attached. You were finding it harder to keep up your end of the bargain. NSFW

Hungry (Miguel O’Hara x f!reader) Miguel has a lactation kink. NSFW

Earth 703 (Miguel O’Hara x f!reader) You should’ve known better. You thought you did. Hadn’t you learned from the first time it happened to Miguel? (Sex pollen. Except it's you this time.) NSFW

Drabbles

T-shirt (Steven Grant)

Blueberry Muffins (Steven Grant)

Quiet (Din Djarin) NSFW

Much Better (Steven Grant) NSFW

Virgin (Miguel O’Hara) NSFW

Mirror (Miguel O’Hara) NSFW

Promise (Miguel O'Hara) NSFW

Video (Miguel O'Hara) NSFW

Hate You (Miguel O’Hara) NSFW

Sex Pollen (Miguel O'Hara) NSFW

Sick (Miguel O'Hara)

First Time (Miguel O'Hara) NSFW

Green Bra (Miguel O'Hara) NSFW

Sugar Daddy 1, 2, 3 (Miguel O’Hara) NSFW  

Shower Sex/ First time (Miguel O’Hara) NSFW

Challenges/ Celebrations

Caro's 2k (Closed)

[youbloodymadgenius]

Which modern!Ivar au would you recommend? Which is your fav stories?

Hello nonnie!

Let's be honest, Modern!Ivar is my guilty pleasure/favorite snack/weakness 😍 Therefore, the list could be endless. But I will try to be succint.

My two favorites of all time are:

Emboîté, by @inforapound

Two Strangers, by @oddsnendsfanfics

These two definitely are old but gold. I have read them countless times.

I can't be talking about Modern! Ivar without mentioning @peaceisadirtyword, right? Click here for her masterlist.

More recently, I fell in love with @istorkyou's Modern!Ivar. Here is her masterlist.

Finally, a special mention should be made to @geekandbooknerd, @xbellaxcarolinax, @punkrocknpearls, @mrsalwayswrite and @zuxiezendler. They all write Modern!Ivar in the most beautiful way.

I know I'm forgetting people, so don't be shy, add your own recommendations/preferences.

Thanks for asking, nonnie 💖

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Hríð (Vοσταλγία Winter Blurb)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Hríð: storm, especially a snowstorm (Old Norse)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: Winter Blurb #1. The first big snowstorm in Kattegat.

Word Count: 926

Warnings: nope, just fluff and my writing lol

A/N: Alternate title: Ivar melts when his wife is happy, that’s about it.

“I’d never seen so much sn-…oh!” You stumble forward when the sure step you took turned out to be a lie since there’s at least a foot of snow on the ground, but after a moment of hesitation you still walk forward.

Ivar watches you carefully, keeping a few feet behind you on the wooden floor where his crutch will keep him upright and his legs won’t be harder to move under heavy snow. He watches as you still walk forward, steps wobbly as you try making your way through the snow.

Slowly, almost as if you don’t realize it, as if you don’t allow it, a smile curves at your lips, eyes big with awe at something as simple as snowfall.

Starkly warm against the deserted landscape of nothing but white snow, Ivar loses whatever was left of his mind when you turn to him, eyes big and shining with excitement, and smile wide and carefree.

It is often that he thinks of you and thinks of spring, he won’t deny it. In between the countless plants and flowers you’ve slowly but stubbornly found a place for in your bedroom, and the tales and memories you share of your homeland of fields of flowers and warm summers; he finds himself looking at you and finding that in your own way you keep the spring of your homeland with you.

Kept with you through the lavender and flax flowers you braid into your hair on the slow days; through the way you breeze your way through conversations with him in Greek; through the way you remain, in your own way, unbearably warm, unbearably soft.

So it is no surprise to him that even now, surrounded by nothing but snow that covers it all -the ground, the distant buildings, the trees- you are somehow able to bring life to it all, to make even this desolate landscape look warm, inviting, familiar.

He notices too late that you’ve said something, asked something, while he was a little lost -not that he’d ever admit it- in all the times before this one that he has found you inadvertently made everything look unbearably alive even while surrounded by iron and death.

Bringing himself back to the question you asked, he takes a small step forward, already feeling the cold seeping into his bones.

“Hm?”

“Are all winters like this here?”

No, no winter was ever like this one.

But he doesn’t voice that, instead leaning against a pillar and shrugging the shoulder of the arm not holding the crutch.

“Snowstorms are common, yes.”

You accept his words with a nod, lifting one delicate hand to catch a few snowflakes on the back of your hand, seemingly enthralled by the way they melt against your skin.

After a while, though Ivar couldn’t for the life of him say how much time passes, noticing the wind becomes a tad more biting and yet you remain out in the open, he calls your name.

He frowns, “Aren’t you cold?”

Your smile is blinding as you turn to face him. Loud enough that he can hear you, you reply, nodding your head, “I am! I hate this!

Still you laugh, head tilted to the skies that let the snowflakes fall all around you.

He can’t help but think that your laugh sounds a little mad, and for some reason his mind ties it to the morning where you found out about Sparta was free from the Christian God.

You have told him in the time that has passed that it was the first time you felt you could step away from Greece, to know that without you they could still fight and overcome.

Maybe freedom leaves you a tad mad, maybe that is why for so long so many -even yourself- didn’t allow you such freedom. He can’t say that he minds, if this bubbling happiness is what freedom draws from you, if this warm joy is what madness sparks in you.

He can stand the cold that is already making his legs ache if that means you keep that blinding smile that makes him think of spring, he can accept the uncertainty of having to let you be free if that means you keep looking at him like that.

Meeting his gaze across the small distance that separates you, smile still wide you confess, “I am freezing!”

Ivar cannot hold the laugh that grows somewhere warm in his chest and makes it past his lips before he can stop it. Shaking his head, he extends a hand between you,

“Get back here then, you mad woman.”

“You are one to speak,” You fire back, petulant even if you do as he tells you and walk back to him, hand stretched long before you make it back to the porch of the longhouse so your cold fingers brush against his before you press your body against his. Burrowing close, you mumble your next words against his chest, “Can we go back to bed?”

“It’s the middle of the day.”

“Ivar,” You complain, drawling out the letters of his name, the accent that he hopes you never lose a little stronger as you do so. “I’m cold.”

Wrapping his free arm around you, he has to bite back words about how you don’t feel cold at all. Even now, with your trembling form in his arms and your freezing fingers reaching for his neck in retaliation when he takes too long in letting you both move back inside, all he can think of is warmth.

____ ____ ____

Hope you liked it! Thank you for requesting this!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @the-a-word-2214 @fae-sedai @crazybunnyladysworld   @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside @aprilivar @msrawog

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Ivar x Latina Masterlist

This is a series of one - shots of Ivar as he falls in love and eventually builds a life with his Latina girlfriend. Requests and ideas for more are always welcome since I became fond of them. 

                                   --------------------------

Me Gustas (Ivar x Latina Reader)

 - Ivar has his first taste of Latin cuisine and possibly likes the girl that shared it with him 

El De Ojos Azules (Ivar x Latina Reader) 

 - Invited to celebrate the holidays with his girlfriends large family, Ivar and his brothers are quickly brought into the mix

Mi Vida (Ivar x Latina Reader) 

 - Things are just a little bit better when you get to do them with someone that loves you

Chismoso (Ivar x Latina Reader) 

- Ivar learns a new word from his wife and is more conscious that he might like gossip  

Mi Cielo (Ivar x Latina Reader) 

- Time has flown by and now Ivar has one more girl that he holds dear in his heart.

Tag List: 

@pinkrockstar19​, @thenightperson​, @xbellaxcarolinax​, @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​

[we-are-only-halfway-home93]

Masterlist

I’ve been thinking about posting a masterlist for awhile now but didn’t feel like I had enough written work to do so. @xbellaxcarolinax encouraged me to make one so here I am. Posting a masterlist. Again, there’s not a whole lot here at the moment but, at some point, I hope to have more. At least now there’s a single place you can go to find all my stories.  

Vikings Fics

Come and Lay the Roses [Ivar x OC]- Complete

Prologue

Chapter 1: Am I Loud and Clear?

Chapter 2: The Price of Your Greed

Chapter 3: Where Do We Begin?

Chapter 4: Alone With All That’s On My Mind

Chapter 5: Sell My Soul

Chapter 6: My Tongue Is A Weapon

Chapter 7: Take A Good Think and Fuck It All Up

Chapter 8: Anyone Who’s Ever Been Lonely

Chapter 9: Comfort When It’s Cold

Chapter 10: Isn’t It Lovely, All Alone?

Chapter 11: Your Smile, As Rare As It Comes

Chapter 12: If I Had A Voice

Chapter 13: Love So Fragile

Chapter 14: The Thought of You

Chapter 15: Never Fallen From This High

Chapter 16: Need You Like I Do

Chapter 17: Bring Me Flowers

Chapter 18: Every Heart Is Built To Bend And Break

Chapter 19: The Taste That Your Lips Allow

Chapter 20: It’s Like The Sun Came Out

Chapter 21: Sweet Lips On My Lips

Chapter 22: Before I Lose Faith

Chapter 23: Make The Whole World Wait

Chapter 24: Widow’s Walk

Chapter 25: Shadow Of The Evening Sun

Chapter 26: Under Those Same Stars

Chapter 27: Somebody You Can Blame

Chapter 28: Stars Are the Only Things We Share

Chapter 29: No Room For Innocence

Chapter 30: Heavy Choice to Make

Chapter 31: It’s Thunder and It’s Lightning

Chapter 32: Tell Me, I’m Your Baby

Chapter 33: Blood On My Hands

Chapter 34: Lots to Answer For

Chapter 35: Armies Couldn't Keep Me Out

Chapter 36: Angel of Mercy

Stranger Things Fics

Beautiful Trauma [Billy x OC]- WIP

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chrissy the Vampire Slayer [Eddie x Chrissy]- Series

Beauty and the Beast

Outer Banks Fics

Wild Salt Air [JJ x OC]- WIP

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

[jadelynlace]

Ink Drinker Travel HC's ⎮Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader]

find more of the series here!

author's note: I got ambitious with this, while my Ink Ivar and I were on vacation, and now that we're back, inspiration has since...simmered down. (To say the least). Also, I really hate this new Tumblr update? I'm sure I'll come up with more, and add them as I see fit, but here is the beginning:

For Aslaug’s birthday, I think the whole family would take a trip to Norway (or maybe a place in Scandinavia of her choosing; Copenhagen is really lovely right now).

Ivar totally gets a kick out of translating things for you, and for some reason they all seem to say “Give your husband a kiss.”

Floki smacks Ivar on the back of the head one too many times after catching him taking photos of your ass. (And he hits him espeically hard when Ivar is caught red handed taking yet another photo—with his Canon—of your ass walking up museum steps.)

I do think you visit one of Ivar’s childhood friends (maybe their mother is an old friend of Aslaug’s, or Floki’s) and Ivar is beyond grateful that you two hit it off.

You both get tattoos to commemorate the trip; Ivar nearly gets hard putting lotion on your healing ink.

Little cafe dates; him drawing, you reading and stealing glances at one another.

This is one of the first few vacations where you're together with the whole crew, and you two can be out with your relationship. And Ivar can kiss you as much as he wants. (Or have you threaten his brothers.)

Walks in the park. Walks in the park. Walks in the park.

Watching Ivar heal his inner child with Floki's boys, and Ubbe's boys. Only to watch him and Hvitserk act like they've never owned brain cells in their lives.

Biking through the city together; or him biking and you riding in the front box.

Getting dressed up, going out on the town.

Sitting and sipping wine with Aslaug as you two watch the brothers (and Floki) play foot ball. And inevitably try to hurt one another.

Tags:

@smileysam13579  @dreamtherapy @angelofthenightposts @unbetaedimagines  @readsalot73 @queen-sarang   @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee  @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @prettyinpayne @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax x @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @fatedwithmbc @hashimily @youbloodymadgenius s @love-all-things-writing @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @tgrrose @synnersaint @kataphine @prepare4trouble @abbiii72 @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @93xdiagonxalley @ivarisms @nordicshieldmadien @ironynoticony  @ivarsgard @cosmicmerbabe @smears-and-spots @kaybee87 @t4medicroe @noway4u @southernbe @anakindoesntlikesand @mymindfuckery @noonespecial90 @hypocrtic-trash-baby

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

[leilabeaux]

@xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff 💚💚💚 thank you so much for the tags, my dears!

Honestly, I have been a bit (okay, a lot!) absent from the fandom and tumblr in general due to real life stuff taking up most of my attention. But when I do come back on, I see a fair amount of Vikings posts. Is it as much as it used to be when I first joined the fandom months ago? Probably not but I assume it will pick up when the second half of the final season is released.

I do agree with what’s been said above that there’s a lot of talented writers being overlooked because they’re not the most popular blogs. Just because their posts don’t have a lot of kudos doesn’t mean it’s not good. Try to give them a chance!

Also if you have a favorite writer or fan account, pay attention to who they follow or who they reblog because it could lead you to some good stuff! That’s how I found a lot of the people who’ve been previously tagged!

And going back to reblogs. There is a lack of them. Don’t get me wrong I appreciate the hell out of all the likes I get but, with the way tumblr works, reblogging is the only way to boost your posts. So be kind and rewind reblog when you can.

And to add to the list of people to look for:

@abonelessgod | A Nun’s Tale! If you haven’t read it, you need to!

@castielsangelsx | Check out their Masterlist, they has some good Ivar fics!

is it just me or is the Viking fandom slowly dying? 🥺😖 plsss don’t let it go!!!

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Nothing But A Scratch

Ivar x Princess reader

Word Count: 3155

Warnings: Tiny mention of violence, a bit of angst, a bit of fluff, Ivar may be out of character (Shrugs).

Summary: Ivar is wounded during battle.

My entry for @maggiescarborough’s 400 Followers Writing Challenge! Congratulations Sophie! 😊❤️For some reason, I always write more than 2k for your challenges 😂

I’m not exactly sure what to say about this. I struggled quite a bit writing it. I’m really hard on myself 😅Hope ya’ll enjoy!

Prompt: The character gets seriously hurt.

According to google translate (An unreliable source, I know), moron in Russian is Debil.

Thanks to @shannygoatgruff​ for beta reading

...

It was nothing but a scratch, he told himself.

The enemy sword was swift, the blade slicing through his armor and deep into the flesh of his belly.

It was nothing but a scratch, he told himself, when blood began to pour from his wound and past his lips, the adrenaline pushing him forward.

It was nothing but a scratch, he told himself, when he swayed on his feet, his crutch no longer of use to him.

It was nothing but a scratch, he told himself, when his legs twisted, and his body collided with the muddy ground, completely vulnerable and surrounded by his enemies.

…

Ivar dreamed.

He dreamed of Kattegat in the days of his youth, back when he trailed behind his older brothers through the dirt with his hands, only to come to the painful realization that he would never be like them. He dreamed of his mother and her tears, his pride separating them despite how much she pleaded for him not to go.

He dreamed of the salty waters of the Northern Sea and the unforgiving winds that destroyed their ship, splintering it to pieces. He dreamed of Ràn dragging him into the depths of her dark abyss, collecting another prize for her realm of the drowned.

He dreamed of England’s sandy shores, of land ready for the taking, and of the weak-minded men who ruled over it. He dreamed of little Prince Alfred, now a King, holding out his hand to offer him friendship in the form of a chess piece.

He dreamed of Ragnar in the way he remembered best, tired, and decrepit in his final days, a hermit, and yet, in his eyes, he was still the greatest man who ever lived.

It is not your time yet, Ragnar told him, the world is at your feet. Be ruthless.

He dreamed of Kiev and its massive wooden gates, golden palace walls, and luxurious Byzantine silks. He dreamed of the ambitious Prince Oleg, and of sweet, sweet, Igor. He dreamed of emotionless puppets made to stand with perfect posture while he still struggled to keep up with his own.

He dreamed of the Rus princess with the mysterious umber eyes, always seeking him out in a room. He dreamed of her dark hair hidden under white and gold silks, and of the jewels that adorned her neck and wrists, as befitting a princess.

He dreamed of her smile, never fully reaching her eyes, and of the way her fingers stroked his cheek at night when the fires burned bright against the darkness when her maids kept close watch outside her door.

He dreamed of the smooth expanse of her skin, of her gasps of delight, and her moans of pleasure. He dreamed of her mouth on his, the urgency they both felt as she left crescent moon shapes over his shoulders, clinging on to the precious time that seemed to slip away.

He dreamed of the day he stole her away from her brother, away from the shelter of the Kievan court, and into the safety of his arms. She watched her brother die that day, by the hands of her own nephew, her dark eyes glossing over, but never daring to let the tears fall.

He dreamed of making her his wife, of her in a crown of wildflowers and the sun illuminating the different shades of her hair.

He dreamed of her smile, finally reaching her eyes.

He could hear her calling out to him, begging for him to come to her.

Ivar, please, she cried, Wake up.

He tried searching for her, arm outstretched and fingers reaching in futile attempts. It was impossible, his body fighting through what felt like tar. He sunk deeper into the darkness, away from her soothing voice, and into Ràn’s abyss where Ivar the Boneless was forgotten.

…

It had been a week before he had shown any signs of consciousness.

7 days of fever, chills, and silence that had him teetering between Midgard and Valhalla.

For 7 days his army laid low after their truce with the Saxon king. For all the attacks Wessex had endured from the Northmen, he valued peace over war, forgiveness over vengeance. A true Christian king.

Alfred was not ruthless.

For 7 days the heathen army waited impatiently, wondering whether the youngest son of Ragnar was to survive, or whether a funeral was to be organized. Some believed he would die. Of course, the wound he received at the hands of a Saxon warrior was a deadly one. A deep gash across his stomach had been opened to infection, causing the fever to take hold of him the first few nights. His legs, more shattered than ever, would make surviving seemingly impossible.

But still, they waited.

The former princess of Kiev waited by his side, as still as a statue of a saint. She kept watch over him at night when the rest of the army was asleep, feeling more lost than she ever did in her brother’s court. She prayed for his soul rigorously, cross clutched tightly in her hand, hard enough to leave an imprint in its wake.

7 days of uncertainty, of prayer and fasting, of fear and loneliness. 7 days of hope and hopelessness, surrounded by untrustworthy men.

But still, she waited.

…

It was the dead of night when Ivar broke from his delirium.

He wasn’t on the battlefield anymore. He couldn’t hear the screams of his fellow warriors, the clashing of sword against sword, nor could he smell the scent of iron spewing from the blood of both enemy and ally. It was just...darkness.

Perhaps he was in Valhalla, he thought, though if that were true, then the stories were wrong. It was rather underwhelming.

But no, he was not in Valhalla either, not by the scent at least. It smelled of dried herbs, and of that revolting root the Rus princess often drank as a tea. What was it again? Ginseng?—

And then he forced his eyes to open, lashes ripping apart after spending days glued together.

Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and he felt as if he were suffocating under the pile of furs thrown over him. His heart was beating erratically, nearly bursting from the confines of his chest as his body fought to stabilize itself.

He wheezed, his throat feeling dryer than the deserts of the Silk Road. His tongue darted out in an attempt to wet his cracked lips with little success.

Moving was an issue. He couldn’t. It hurt.

His attempt to sit up failed as a yelp ripped free from his lips, croaky and in pure agony. He fell back against the makeshift cot with a grunt.

The pain was excruciating, hot, and vicious in his lower abdomen, like a raven fighting to claw its way in. His legs, though always in a fragile state, felt worse than they had in the years since adopting the use of his braces and crutch.

He struggled to crane his neck, quick to map out his surroundings as best he could. He was in his own tent, that much was evident, as he always had it specifically set to his liking. His weapons were laid out in a corner, along with his ruined armor, crutch, and leg braces. The useless things landed him in a cot, fighting for survival.

“My love?” Her voice was enough to calm his wild heart, his neck snapping in the direction of her voice.

The princess’s eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from what he could only assume had been days of weeping. Beside her was a steaming cup of tea, producing that horrible smell of Ginseng that made him want to gag. When had she the time to steal the root before they left Novgorod?

Wrapped around her wrist was her gold beaded rosary, bright and shining in the candlelight. She held the cross tightly in her small fist, knuckles white from the pressure. He wondered how long she had sat by his side, praying, waiting for him to recover.

Her fingers dropped the cross, her soft hands reaching for him. Ivar could feel her hot tears drip over his bare chest as she leaned over him.

“Ivar—” She choked his name, sobs already taking hold of her body as she cupped his warm face, “You’re awake! Thank God!” More tears poured from her eyes as her mouth quivered. She lowered herself to her knees, grabbing his hand and placing kisses on the surface.

Ivar wanted to wrap her in his arms, to tell her he was fine, that the gods have not taken him yet, but his arms felt as fragile as his legs, weak from days of disuse. Instead, he brings his fingertips to her flushed cheeks, forcing her to look up at him.

“Hey,” He croaked out, using his thumb to catch another falling tear before running his fingers through her hair, “Stop crying, please, love.” His voice was not much more than a whisper. He sounded more like an old toad than a human, but it was enough to bring her weeping down to mere whimpering.

“It has been days, I thought perhaps…” She trailed off, sniffling before continuing, “I feared the worst.”

The princess was far more worried for his well-being than he ever was.

Ivar was quite content with the idea of falling in battle and ascending to Valhalla. She had not agreed with such sentiments.

It is not your time yet, his father had said to him, the world is at your feet. Be ruthless.

“It is not my time yet,” He repeated Ragnar’s words, his hand continuing gentle motions through her soft hair, “Valhalla will have to wait a little longer, hmm?”

“Valhalla,” She hiccups, shaking her head, not fully understanding the Viking fascination with death, “Not with the way you throw yourself in battle.” She mutters, wiping her eyes.

She stood, going to the far side of the tent to fetch a bucket with a wooden ladle. She brings a hefty scoop of water to his lips, holding his head up carefully to aid him.

He drank like a mad man, the water running past his chin and down his neck.

“Debil,” She chastised him lovingly in her native tongue, eyes still moist, “Idiot. Where were your warriors?”

“Fighting for themselves,” He gasps, the cold water soothing the dryness of his throat, “Or have you forgotten the ways of war?” He croaks, his lips curling into a smile.

“What would I know of war, my love?” She offers, setting the bucket and the ladle aside once he had his fill, “Or have you forgotten I was but a sheltered princess.” She tried to make a joke of it, but she only sounded miserable saying such words. She brings a hand to smooth down his wild hair, braids unraveling into a long-twisted mess.

“In war,” Ivar begins, eyes fluttering as her nails scratched at his scalp, “You either survive or die.”

“And I suppose you wanted to die then?” A bitter tone was followed by a bitter smile. He cleared his throat, his tired eyes watching how her expression shifted through so many emotions.

His reply was honest. “If that is what the gods intended for me, then so be it. It would have been an honor.”

“What honor is there in taking me from my home, and leaving me to live out my life away from my own family and amongst men I do not know?” She snapped, though the anger was short-lived, and she lowered her eyes.

She was intrigued by Ivar from the moment she had set eyes on him, like a moth to a flame. She was happy to have left with him, happy to have relinquished her title and to have left such a sour life behind. Ivar offered her freedom, adventure, and love, things she never understood the meaning of in Kiev, but she was a fool to believe he was invincible. She had seen him rally crowds to chant his name, had seen his strengths despite his weaknesses, and yet, he bleeds red as every other man does. War takes the lives of men, and Ivar was not immune to such a fate. He welcomed it.

“You are all I have in this world, Ivar.” She spoke gently, as she did when he dreamed of her. Her fingers shifted to trace over the dark lines inked upon his heated skin. The fever had barely broken, but at least he was conscious now. “Please, my love, all I ask is that you stay alive.” Her lips quivered, “I do not think my heart could bear to see you like this again.”

Ivar felt his heart sink.

He knew she wasn’t made to live in a war camp amongst warriors. She was born into a life of gold and silver, into luxury that so many others could only dream of, and yet, she chose to go with him, a fallen king with worthless legs and a heart as dark as coal. He once had the world at his feet. He would do it all again, for her. He had to.

“Do you regret it?” He finally asked though something within him feared her answer.

“Regret what?”

“Regret leaving Kiev with me?” He reiterated, observing her features for any hint of disappointment.

“No,” The response was immediate and without hesitation, “I have been happier with you than I have been all my years in that palace.” She sighs, her hair creating a barrier between them when she lowered her head, “Oleg was not a good man.” Her words were laced in sorrow. Her brother's death still weighed heavy on her heart.

“You deserve more than this,” He said, eyes closing for a moment before bringing them back to her. Her dark brows curved up in a worrisome expression he’d seen on her many times before. “You have given up so much for me, a lonely cripple,” He chuckles when she made noises of protest, “Only the gods know why.” She considers him in silence, noting how unreal the blue of his irises were.

“Ivar?” She questioned, setting her palm on his warm chest and over his heart, silently thankful it was finally beating at a normal pace.

“You’re a princess, my love. The battlefield is no place for you.” He places his hand over hers, giving it a light squeeze.

“All I ask of you is to stay alive.” She spoke softly, her lips curving into a smile, though it wasn’t enough to reach her eyes. “I will not ask you for anything else.” She feared being alone, and rightfully so. She’d been alone all her life in the Kievan court, as expressionless and empty as those Byzantine puppets Oleg was so fond of, donning smiles that never reached her eyes.

“My sweet girl,” He chuckles with a shake of his head, “Come, I wish to embrace you.” Planting both hands firmly on the sides of the cot, he forces himself into a seated position, groaning all the while, feeling the fire burn in the pit of his belly. He grunts, eyes screwed tight as he forced himself upright.

“Ivar!” She scolds, more worried than anything else, “Stop moving! You’ll fester your wound.” She peels off the furs to reveal the gauze wrapped tightly around his mind section, the once white cloth now stained red. “Christ. I must call the healer.”

“Don’t,” Ivar pants, tugging her wrist and quickly bringing her to his side, “Please. I wish for a few minutes to ourselves before I must face the world in this weak state. Grant me this one thing, hm?”

“But your wound—”

“What, this?” He jerks his chin down toward his abdomen with a tired smile, “It is nothing but a scratch.”

“Ivar.” She warned him.

“Princess.” The amusement was clear in his tone, artfully masking his pain. He gripped her waist, tugging her forward and into his arms with a grunt. She smelled of the English forest and of summer blossoms. “I will never leave you.” He mutters the promise into her waist, still ignoring the pain, “I will give you everything you deserve, my love.”

“What of your army?” She questions quietly, fingers dancing over his bicep, “And the Saxon king? Your brother tells me he seeks peace.” Ivar scoffs.

“And he shall get it...for now.” He concludes with an angry twitch of his brow.

“What do you intend to do?” She laid her cheek over the messy strands of his chestnut brown hair.

“Recover, and take you away from this miserable land I should have never brought you to in the first place.”

“Oh, Ivar,” He felt her plant a kiss upon his hair, “I belong wherever you are.” He grunts, gripping her tightly as if she would slip right through his fingers like sand.

“Marry me.” He mutters into her soft linen dress, suddenly feeling as shy as he did when he was a boy.

“Hmm?”

“Marry me.” He said, louder this time, needier, a plea falling from his lips as he tightened his hold on her. He shifts his head to look at her, imagining her with a crown of wildflowers nestled in her soft tresses. Her eyes grew round at his statement, lips parted as if to speak.

“Truly?” She asks, “Or has the fever gone to your head?” Ivar rolled his eyes fondly.

“Why would I bother asking you if I did not mean it, hmm?” His chin lightly grazed her abdomen as he peeked up at her through his lashes. “I will make you a queen, lay the world at your feet if you allow me.”

How many tears could this woman produce? He thought though he was more than satisfied knowing they were tears of joy when she erupted in giggles.

“I accept,” She wiped her eyes before arching down to place a kiss on his lips, “But, under one condition.”

“Oh?” Ivar pulls away from her, brows raised, “Go on, what is it?”

“You must drink the ginseng tea,” She offers, taking the lukewarm tea and offering it to him, “The healers would prescribe it to Oleg whenever he came back wounded from battle. It will revive your strength and clear your body of infection.” Ivar eyes the cup wearily, nose flaring at the abhorrent smell. He didn’t like it.

“It smells horrid.” He complained.

“You fight battles against fearsome enemies, and yet, are too afraid to drink an herbal tonic?” She scoffs. Ivar narrows his eyes, considers her words before muttering under his breath.

“...Very well.” He takes the cup from her, face pinched after taking a sip, “Are you satisfied now? Will you marry me?” She nods fervently, her hands laced together in her joy. A blinding smile settled on her lips like never before.

It finally reached her eyes.

...

@heavenly1927​ @didiintheblog​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @leilabeaux​ @shannygoatgruff​ @inforapound​ @walkxthexmoon​ @hecohansen31​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @peachyboneless​ @fuchsiagrasshopper​ @pomegranates-and-blood​

[youbloodymadgenius]

fave vikings writers in the fandom? i need more blogs to follow

That’s a tough question, anon, our fandom is blessed with so many talented writers 🤩

And I already know that I will forget people. So if you're reading this, feel free to add to it!

My absolute fave is probably @pomegranates-and-blood . I’m in love with her writing, her stories and her sub!Ivar 😉 And let me tell you this: @mrsalwayswrite isn’t far behind. Her take on modern!Ivar is close to perfect.

I wouldn't miss for anything in the world the updates of @nukyster-blog , @jadelynlace , @zuxiezendler , @punkrocknpearls , @artemiseamoon , @pieces-by-me , @waiting4inspiration , @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie , @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom , @maggiescarborough , @we-are-only-halfway-home93

@inforapound , @shannygoatgruff , @tephi101 , @lol-haha-joke , @geekandbooknerd , @katfett , @xbellaxcarolinax , @whenimaunicorn , @rosepetals-flyingbirds , @conaionaru , @oddsnendsfanfics , @hecohansen31 , @simsadventures , @fuchsiagrasshopper , @lordoffiction , @fandomfic-galore are writing less these days - or aren’t writing anymore 😢, at least for Vikings - but their works are amazing.

@quantumlocked310 rarely writes for Ivar, but their Vikings masterlist is worth a look.

@ivarthebadbitch doesn’t write very often, but when they do, it’s amazing !

They’re some blogs that deserve more love: @the-girl-in-the-box and @niishiki for instance.

Obviously, the Vikings works of @therealcalicali , @lisinfleur , @honestsycrets , @laketaj24 , @peaceisadirtyword , @dreamwritesimagines can’t be missed.

And last but not least, we’ve been joined recently by many new skilled writers: @vikingstrash , @jackson--t , @vaire-gwir , @fandomficsnstuff , @grimeundglow , @dini73 , @ivarisms and I must say, I couldn’t be happier. Our fandom is still alive 🤩

Phew! I made it 😅

Hope you’re satisfied, dear anon, and once again I’d like to apologize to those I may have forgotten 😕

♥️

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Arinn (Vοσταλγία Winter Blurb)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Arinn: fireplace, hearth (Old Norse)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: Winter Blurb #4. Pillowtalk and annoying priestess soft Ivar, that’s about it.

Word Count: 1312

Warnings: nope, just fluff and my writing lol. Teeny tiny bit of suggestive whatevers towards the end.

A/N: Yeah, idk what this is, but I’m Marie Kondo-ing the shit out of Nostalgia atm, so, since it sparked joy, I wrote it, and now imma share it cause why not, hopefully it sparks joy in you!

“Ivar?”

There’s few things Ivar likes more than his name on your lips, the way your voice forms around the short word, the still notable accent present even then. But, right now, it is not something he wants to hear.

But you are nothing if not insufferably stubborn. Determined, you’d call it, but Ivar prefers to call it by what it is.

“Ivar?” You move closer, and though he keeps his eyes closed you pay no mind. Your hand on the side of his face is soft and slightly cold. Again, waking up to your soft touches and your body pressed against his is something he’d kill for…but on the morning, not the middle of the night. You insist, voice breathy by his ear, “My love?”

“What.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“I can,” He retorts, still refusing to open his eyes. “Let me.”

“Do you still believe it?” You ask him, and Ivar bites back words of how it is the middle of the night and you both should really be sleeping, and instead turns to lay on his side with a sigh. He opens his eyes to find you wide awake, a slight furrow in your lips that tries and fails at hiding a smug smile. By all the Gods, the things he puts up with for you.

“Believe what?” He questions, not caring about stopping himself from reaching for you, trailing up and down your arm with the back of his fingers. You are always slightly cold to the touch, and at his weakest he thinks it fitting that you feel like relief from burning flames under his touch.

“That it was Fated, that…that the Gods somehow intervened for us to meet.”

“Do you?” He asks instead of giving an answer. You notice, of course you do, that he is deliberately choosing not to answer your question, but past a look that tells him he hasn’t fooled anyone, you don’t mention it.

He wants it to be true, if he is honest. On nights like these, especially now that these nights are not promised to one day be remembered as a relic of the past that has long since left him amongst those flames your cold skin saves him from; he almost believes it to be true. It seems impossible otherwise, that you are here now, that you love him and you chose him, if it wasn’t somehow mandated by the Gods that heard him too many times curse his weakness while pleading for reprieve.

If somehow the Gods sent you to him, as a reward or something else -a punishment, his sleep-addled mind complains-; then it is easier to accept it is something he can keep. The idea that it was something he did that made you stay, that made you choose him, is strangely terrifying, even if the alternative leaves him powerless, because it means there is something he can do to make you leave, to make you choose a life without him in it.

You reach with your hand for the amulet of Thor that hangs from your neck, a habit you haven’t let go of even if it is no longer your Gods that are represented in your pendant, as you consider his question.

“I don’t know,” You muse, voice quiet. Ivar lets his eyes fall closed as he offers a quiet hm of his own, a prompt for you to continue. Your voice, warm and comforting, washes over him as you say, “I was taught that the Gods may choose what happens to us, but we decide if or how we let it change us. That is something the Fates cannot decide for us.”

“Your Fates…Moirai?”

“You remember.” You whisper, almost to yourself. He hears the smile in your voice, and it fills him with pride to be the reason behind that softness in your tone, behind that openness in your smile.

“Mhm. The three women.”

“They are three women for you too, aren’t they?” He replies with another sound, something that he thinks sounds vaguely affirmative, and lets you continue talking. “Bend to the Fates, but don’t let them break you. My mother and father told me that, one of the only lessons I remember from them.”

“What is it supposed to mean?”

“I have no idea.” You reply honestly. Ivar chuckles tiredly, and you offer a breathed laugh to accompany it.

“Since there aren’t lessons to answer it…what do you believe, hm?”

He almost wants to ask himself at which point he decided he was the one after answers instead of you, but he doesn’t much care for it. He does care for your answer, though.

“If the Gods, if…if Freyja or Despoina are the reason I am here…it doesn’t matter,” You find your resolve halfway through your words, and Ivar can feel his lips pulling into a faint smile. You adjust in your place, quickly regretting it when you let a cold breeze under the warm furs, and so move closer to him. He likes it when you do that, when you burrow close to him and seek his warmth. It makes him feel…powerful, in some roundabout way. Like you need him as much as he needs you, like you can trust him to take care of you. You pull back slightly to look at him, and he blinks past the lure of sleep and forces his eyes to focus on you. You offer a small smile, “They are not the reason I stay.”

He finds himself smiling back, like the lovesick fool that you’ve made out of him; but after a breath narrows his eyes and points out,

“We could talk about this come morning.”

“We are already talking about it,” You retort, shrugging one shoulder. “We ought to finish the things we start, my love.”

He takes a deep breath. He knows that just by retorting with something he will be doing exactly what you want him to, which is staying awake and keeping you company, but he is too tired to think of a strategy around it now.

So, he insists, “Not really.”

“You were the one telling me to finish what I start a couple of nights ago, if I remember correctly.”

Ivar knows what you are talking about, mostly because he can identify that smug little tone in your voice. In the dim light of the morning, he had your legs wrapped around him and you were moaning quietly against his lips as you tasted yourself on his tongue, but you were interrupted and you just…left. Ivar grew increasingly frustrated during the rest of the day, and he is certain -even if you deny it- that at some point near the afternoon you noticed, and you started making it worse by lingering more than usual on your touches, putting a bit more force in your kisses. He knows at some point during the night, when he finally had you to himself, half-mad with lust he grunted by your ear how you better finish what you start. He still remembers the way the dark and hoarse laugh you let out made a shiver run down his spine.

He grits his teeth, and insists, “Not the same.”

You remain silent for a couple of breaths, and it is enough to intrigue him into opening his eyes again. He finds you smiling a little wickedly, and can’t help the thrill that look sends down his spine.

Another little shrug, and you offer, “It could be.”

Ivar rolls his eyes, “Go to sleep.”

“Sex would help me sleep.”

“Would it help you stay quiet?”

“I don’t know if you want that. You always say you want to hear me m-…”

Ivar interrupts you, leaning forward to capture your mouth in his, cupping the back of your head and bringing you closer to him. He pretends not to feel you smiling smugly against his lips.

____ ____ ____

Thank you for reading, hope you liked it!

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