#photography fic

[astralnymphh]

random, but I feel like ellie always loves having you on top of her. in any situation. chatting? straddling. makeout? straddling. taking photos of you? straddling. drawing you? straddling. intense lesbian strap sex? straddling. she loves the weight of you squeezing her thighs into the mattress, and gazing up at you. blehhh ellie ellie ellie I want ellie williams

I need her so bad it's mentally rotting 𖤐

[zae-heeyyy]

Erudition

Summary: Arthur teaches you how to read. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 2,790 Tags: smut, high honor Arthur Warnings: 18+ MDNI

a/n: I spent an unnecessary amount of time perfecting this one. Tried my hand at sketching/tracing/cut and pasting pieces of Arthur's original journal to make this one (don't look at it too close lol). Hope you enjoy!

Edit: If you didn’t know, it was common for adults to be illiterate in 1899 due to the lack of widespread public education.

erudition: the quality of having or showing great knowledge or learning; scholarship.

Poor Hosea had tried everything in an effort to teach you how to read: encouraging you with kind words first, then employing tough love tactics when your stubbornness hindered your progress. On one particular day, you had enough of each other. In a rare moment of weakness, he slammed his hand on the table when you refused to try.

"Wanna be an illiterate ninny your whole life, do ya?" A scowl etched deep lines on his face, and you stormed off, not saying a word. A cough riddled him, and he bowed his head in part frustration and part regret for letting himself lose his temper with you. He only wanted the best for you, even if you didn't want it for yourself.

A particular contemplative cowboy had been watching a short distance away, a pattern Hosea had noticed lately. Still coughing, he waved him over.

"Ah, Arthur. I know you're smarter than you look. Maybe you can reach that girl. I've done all I can, I fear." He pressed the book into Arthur's hand in more of a silent demand than a request. Arthur nodded in understanding, sighing, wondering how he'd been demoted from gang enforcer to teacher.

Cursing under your breath, you prayed that Arthur would just walk away, not because you didn't like him, but because you liked him too much. You and the other women got a kick out of watching him do chores around camp, his shirt nowhere to be found. He was damn gorgeous and didn't have a clue. Nobody else had a clue, either, that you wanted him. You wanted him in many ways and cared about what he thought of you.

The hope that he'd refuse Hosea's request or come another time fell short when his figure towered over you, shading you from the high noon sun. You kept your head bowed, refusing to meet his gaze until he tapped the book's hardback cover, bidding for your attention. Your eyes met his sheepishly. Reading him did not come easy either, especially in your interactions. Something about the way he carried himself around you left you feeling unsettled. There was a perpetual tension that he seemed to shed in the company of anyone but you. You didn't quite get it, though, because he always remained gentlemanly despite it all.

"C'mon." A sculpted, outstretched arm reached down to you, and you took it reluctantly, letting him lift you up from your spot. Following close behind, you let him lead you to the outskirts of camp near a boulder and a broken wagon. The cacophony of camp faded away as you joined him on the ground, your backs against the rock. You sat expectantly, concentrating on your fidgeting hands and fighting off the urge to cry.

"You just gotta focus," he said, opening the book to where you last left off and putting it back in your hands. Shaking your head, you tried to blink away hot tears building up behind your eyes.

"Don't want you to think less of me, Arthur. Don't wanna do it." Keeping your voice steady and suppressing the lump in your throat proved increasingly futile.

"Hush and focus." His tone only made the mystery of him hazier. How could he so easily switch between evil debt collector, out for blood, to nothing short of a gentle giant, so comforting and protective? The thought only made your vision cloud up more.

Blinking rapidly, you took a deep breath to calm yourself before reading the words on the page aloud. You could only get through the first sentence before your voice betrayed you, shaking unevenly, accompanied by a saline drop rolling down your face and onto the page.

"Hey..." Arthur clutched your chin and turned it to face him, forcing your eyes to heed his. "You gotta stick at things. I know it's hard, but that ain't no reason to cry about it." A rough thumb wiped away your tears. He scooted closer to you, wrapped one arm around your shoulders, and held the book with the other hand. "Just relax. It's just me and you out here. I ain't gonna think less of you or let anybody else, for that matter. Forget about all that." You held one side of the book with your left hand, and he had the other with his right, " Here, start again, slow now."

Goosebumps prickled your skin as a wave of calm washed over you. Arthur stayed patient while you composed yourself and read through twice, the second time outshining the first. He nudged you with his elbow, flashing a toothy grin. "See? Not so bad," he remarked. With another breath, not as shaky as your other ones, you closed the book and returned it to him, feeling more accomplished than you had in a while.

Now that your attention wasn't being spent so much, the pounding in your ears grew louder, the source of the sound leading to none other than the relentless beating of your heart. The musk of tobacco and leather infiltrated your nose, making you suddenly aware of how close you were to him. He removed this arm from your shoulders, the missing weight of it making you feel unexpectedly empty. Before he could scoot away some more, you turned to kiss his cheek.

"Thank you, Arthur, for helping me. I know I'm not easy to work with." He smiled shyly and dipped his head, avoiding eye contact. A silence fell between you, and you spoke again, dismissing yourself. "I should probably get back to it." You gathered your skirts to stand, and he wrapped his fingers around your wrist before you could walk away. Even though crimson had crept up in his ears and neck, he kept his face impassive as always.

"When Ms. Grimshaw can spare you, come find me, and we'll keep at it."

So you did. You'd meet in the clearing behind the rock on the rare moments of shared free time, continuing the routine, and you were getting better every day. Then, Arthur brought you a mystery book that he'd found or stolen, and it was nothing like a Penny Dreadful, too complex and challenging for you to decode. You felt like you'd taken one step forward and two steps back.

And just like you'd done with Hosea a few days ago, you tried to storm away from Arthur. You didn't get far before his hands were on your hips, dragging you down into his lap. Faces inches apart, his hot breath warmed your face as he spoke, eyes stern.

"You can't just throw a tantrum whenever life gets hard, woman." Huffing in defiance, you opened your mouth to argue, but you closed it promptly, keenly aware of the change in his demeanor. Your eyes were on his, but his were on your lips. He licked his own, face set with resolve. Letting his forehead press against yours, he kissed you. Without a thought, you kissed him back, melting into his arms. Gaze intense, he tore away from you, talking low and firm. "You're gonna sit your pretty self down and do this, alright?"

Your hand went absentmindedly to your lips, drawing them in as you tasted him. Who knew a kiss was all you needed? With a gentle shove, he settled you back on the ground beside him, retrieved the book, and opened it once more.

When you finished, you looked at Arthur, and he was staring back at you with a cocky grin. It was the first time you'd read with no mistakes. You threw yourself back into his arms, climbing into his lap, a knee on either side of him. Holding you firm by the waist, Arthur didn't hesitate to kiss you again this time, letting desire he didn't even know he had guide him to you. He could have you like that for hours, and he did, only easing his grip on you when you heard pans banging, alerting you to dinner.

Arthur had discovered the key to motivating you, and since then, you discovered a newfound love for reading. You eagerly awaited your lessons, knowing the handsome outlaw's lips would be there for you when you finished.

Arthur was happy to help, but it wasn't just about the makeout sessions for him. Of course, he could die a happy man with you on top of him, but he loved how your eyes lit up when you made progress. He loved seeing you feel confident. He loved making you happy.

Though he wouldn't dare complain, he couldn't help the nagging feeling that Hosea had knowingly arranged this? Arthur tried to go unnoticed in his subtle observations of you, attempting to conceal the fact that he was sweet on you and had been for a while.

"Can't con a conman, Arthur," his surrogate father once told him. Maybe that wasn't just about robbing. The gunslinger wanted you so bad after all this time, needed you, and hoped you needed him just as much. He'd made himself free today, waiting patiently for you to finish your chores, keeping himself occupied with minor tasks. Just as you finished, you watched him disappear behind the grass and head to your spot.

You joined him; the book rested in his lap while he smoked a cigarette. You took the cigarette from him, having a drag yourself and giggling at your own mischief. He snatched it back from you, pretending to be annoyed but smiling nonetheless. Taking one more puff, he snuffed it in the grass. Before he could make another move, you took the book from his lap, replacing it with yourself. Your hands went to the nape of his neck, drawing his lips into yours. He kissed you back, entertaining you momentarily, but withdrew with his hands still resting on your backside.

"Read first, then I'll take care of ya', sweetheart." His eyes were half-lidded, and his voice lowered a few octaves, both weighed down with desire. You huffed and unmounted the cowboy, opening the book and reading, anything to feel his touch again. As you finished the last paragraph, your attention shifted to his hand kneading circles into your thigh. Breath thickening, his other hand fell to the hem of your dress, making it ride up as his hand traveled slowly up your leg.

The reading grew choppier now, your attention too consumed by his touch. You stopped reading altogether when his hand snaked over your thigh, and three of his fingers pressed against a warm, damp spot in the center of your bloomers. Flushing, a faint gasp escaped you.

"Gonna need to get these off, darlin'," he huffed into your ear. Wasting no time, you tossed the book aside and lifted your hips to slide the garment down around your ankles. Desire almost overpowered him; he wanted to devour you, to have his fingers and face buried between you, but he had a job to do, and he always finished the job.

Stopping, he moved his hand from your heat to your thigh and reached across you to grab the discarded book. Clearing his throat, he thumped the book, "Another page." Incredulous, you blinked a few times, gawking at him.

"Arthur, how do you expect me to focus when—"

He cut you off with a curt whistle and a stony glance, "Shut it, woman, and read." His grip tightened on your thigh. Those pools of blue and stern tone sent another jolt through you; god, if only he knew what he did to you. Like you were hypnotized, you opened the book, still very aware of your aching womanhood. He kissed your neck, his chest vibrating with amusement.

"Good girl," he murmured in your ear.

You were wrapped around his finger figuratively, and you craved to be literally, too. As you began to read aloud again, his hand smoothed over your thigh and landed right where you wanted it. He glided a finger up and down that sacred site, stopping on your clit and rubbing tiny circles there. Involuntarily, you arched up into his hand, and his name fell off your lips in a moan, your focus tearing away from the printed words at your hands. Then he stopped, taking away that sweet attention you loved so much.

"Shhh...Keep going;" his voice was low and deep, and he kissed down your neck to your shoulder. He moved his hand back when you started again; it was the most fluent you'd ever read. You don't know how you managed. As soon as you finished the last word on the page, you tossed the book and grabbed Arthur by the hairs on the back of his head, tugging him towards you and tasting him. He groaned and let a finger slip inside of you.

You gasped at the invasion, raising your hips off the ground and tilting into him. Pressing his lips to your ear, he kissed it and whispered mischievously, "You tryin' to get us caught?" You could feel him smile against your ear, and you pulled him to you once more, letting his mouth muffle your sounds of ecstasy.

He loved the way you felt, so velvety, slick, and tight. He teased you, pumping you with just one finger, then lightly circling your clit just to stop and caress you all over. You knew, and he knew, that he could bring you to that peak at any moment, but he didn't want it to be over just yet. He'd dreamed what you felt like for so long, how you'd respond to him, and now that it was reality, he wanted to savor every minute.

You were rocking your hips now, trying to feel any semblance of friction, trying desperately to reach the climax that Arthur kept you right on the edge of.

Then he sank two more large digits inside, making you press your head on his shoulder and squeeze your eyes shut. He waited for you to adjust, kissing your ear and talking you through the girthy new additions. His thumb back on your clit caused a shiver to run down you as you relaxed.

"There you go," he mumbled in your ear, and you knew it wouldn't be long then. His thumb never left, keeping a constant speed and pattern as he worked you. Your stomach burned as that sweet, sweet tension built inside of you. Arthur buried his face in your neck, focusing on bringing you bliss. "That's it, sweet girl. Give it to me."

He groaned along with you as your embrace on his fingers tightened, and your body shuddered. He kept his hand there as you came down, relishing in the way your insides squeezed and released him over and over again. His head spun when he removed his fingers from you; you were so wet, all for him. He'd been so focused on you that the bulge in his pants went unnoticed until now.

Meanwhile, you had replaced your bloomers and smoothed out your skirt, trying to reset after the fireworks behind your eyes had exploded. You giggled, seeing Arthur give attention to his own building arousal. You beamed at him, all cheeky and coy.

"I think I hear Ms. Grimashaw looking for me," you teased, standing and dusting your skirt. His face fell bewildered, and you couldn't look at him in fear that your innocent act would falter. "Gonna have to bed me properly if you want more, Mr. Morgan."

With that, you winked at him and walked away, leaving Arthur with just his hand and imagination to satisfy him. You'd decided to join Hosea at a table, taking a piece of discarded newspaper and reading it yourself. He watched, a proud smile growing on his face. It only took Arthur five minutes to calm himself, reappearing from the treeline with eagle eyes that focused only on you.

Crazed, he approached you, placing a heavy hand on the small of your back before removing it hastily, remembering he was out in the open now. Hosea's eyes shifted between you discerningly. He coughed and gestured to the paper in your hand. "Well, Arthur, it seems you're a better teacher than me, after all." Neither of you caught the hint of amusement in his voice. You patted Hosea's shoulder and stood.

"Thanks, old man. I love reading now. In fact, me and Arthur are gonna go to town right now for some more Penny Dreadfuls. We'll bring you another paper, too."

Arthur perked up at this new suggestion and followed after you, practically tripping over himself as you headed towards his hitched horse. Hosea returned to his newspaper, kicking his feet up and chuckling to himself knowingly. His hunch had been right about you two, after all.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

࣪ ˖✧ Sweet Coffee

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: The morning after Sean's return party, a sheepish Arthur faces the consequences of his drinking excess. ✦ Warnings: None, this is as fluffy as the first part. ✦ Words: 3,9k ✦ a/n: This is a sequel of this one shot! Please, read it before this one :) Also, I've taken the liberty to write this as if Arthur still had Boadicea, to me it was the best way to make him have a canon horse. Gonna think about a better solution in the future.

You opened your eyes, slowly. The ceiling of your tent was turning a bit, your heart feeling like it was on the verge of leaking out of your chest. It was as if your bed was a boat, pitching with the winds and the waves; you had to prevent yourself from throwing up, a spinning sensation making your guts feel rancid.

Water. Coffee. Breakfast.

You thought to yourself while stretching in your cot, every fiber of muscles in your body feeling worn. Your brain was mushy, unable to form any complex reflection, your forehead hurting, your mouth dry. The consequence of every party; the goddamn hangover.

Water. Coffee. Breakfast.

You slowly sat at the edge of your bed, taking the time to move your tired members, realizing your throat was extremely sore. You probably sang a little too much last night. You get up and walk to the little cleaning area of your tent which consisted of only a simple table topped with a little mirror, a bucket of water, and a solitary towel. Nothing fancy, but at least you had your own tent, which was already a grand luxury at camp.

Water. Coffee. Breakfast.

You take long sips of water from the bucket before cleaning up your face, looking at it in the mirror. Of course, under your eyes, big shady circles, sickles of violet darkness under the sharp radiance of your pupils. It was part of the whole hangover package. You quickly fixed your hair and put on some fresh clothes, mindlessly.

Coffee, breakfast, Arthur.

Wait, what? You thought you were going on with your morning routine thoughtlessly, but here he was. Always following you, a shadow in the back of your mind; his stupid smile like imprinted on the obscure abyss of your psyche, shining, blazing, magnificent. Haunting.

You were thinking about him very often lately, maybe too often, you noted to yourself. John's word had sealed your opinion's fate on the matter: Arthur could have behaved that way with any other girl at camp.

And yet. Yet you longed for it, for last night to mean something, anything. For you to be more than just any girl to him. For the drunken honest words he had spoken before drifting away in the sweet caress of sleep to be true. You sighed. Too much false hope would lead your heart to be even more broken, you knew it.

And yet. The shadow of his smile. The sound of his deep, powerful laugh. Following you everywhere as you got out of your tent, eyes narrowing at the bright light of the day, almost as bright and vibrant as the subject of your thoughts; almost.

Your path led you more by habits than by an actual decision of yours to the campfire next to Pearson's wagon, and you were delighted to see one of your obsessive needs was already there: a hot coffee pot, releasing a small puff of smoke had been prepared. Blessed was the divine human being who made it. You took a cup and poured some of the holy providential liquid into it, the mere smell of it already waking you up a little bit. The taste was strong, bitter; rough like your life was as an outlaw in a gang, but at least it would help you clear your head and maybe get a certain someone out of it.

As you sipped on the warm beverage, you took a look around at your surroundings. The camp offered you a pitiful but quite amusing sight. It was a real mess, as if a tornado had passed by and turned everything upside down. The Ocean of empty bottles was still present, spilling everywhere between the different people's tents. People who were slowly emerging from them, with tired eyes and ruffled hair, some of them speaking more quietly than usual, rubbing their temples, navigating through shattered glass and chaos of debris, remnants of the agitation that had taken place the night before. You chuckled to yourself. One of the more feared gangs in the West? Certainly not after a party.

Abigail was already starting to clean the pieces of glass, getting angry about how this wasn't a proper place to raise her kid. Honestly, she was right, and you wanted to help her. Ms Grimshaw would probably force you to anyway, and this idea was reinforced when you noticed her from afar, already yelling at Karen to get up and start the cleaning.

Before getting attention from the strict woman, you took a step to go and do your part but stopped in your tracks. A familiar rugged face had appeared from his tent and was heading up in your direction.

Arthur was feeling too much. Too much sensations, too much feelings, just way too much of everything. His thoughts were trying to work as fast as he could considering his slowed brain, the aftermath of his excess from last night preventing him from being as efficient as normal.

The main focus of his reflection was you. He was obsessed to know what had happened, to understand why he had so many memories about you from last night, and quite intimate ones. He was praying he didn't do anything stupid with you; were you two even okay? Had he offended you? Had he been respectful? He needed to know, he needed to make sure he hadn't screwed everything up between you two. And at the same time, he was ashamed. So ashamed of having drunk so much he wasn't even able to remember what had happened. He was so anxious to confront you about it. To hear the truth, hear you say he had been a pig, and you'd never want to see him again, because that was probably what had happened. He was convinced of it.

As he saw you drinking your morning coffee by the fire from his cot, he quickly had changed, tried to clean up a bit, and made sure he had nothing stuck between his teeth or anything else of that type that could make him pass for an even bigger fool than he already was. He had chosen one of the less damaged shirts he had, a simple green but at least not holey flannel, all his clothes being more or less in a bad state anyway. Two leathered suspenders on, keeping black basic pants from falling. Damn, his reflection in the mirror looked even uglier than usual with his lack of sleep and post-party face. He sighed deeply, screw it. He needed to talk to you, at all costs, he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything else properly otherwise. He tried to actually brush his hair, a thing he never bothered to do normally; he even tried to use some hair pomade, combed them in all directions possible, anything to make them look less messy. Nothing was working. He sighed again, getting angry, and just decided to put his hat on to hide this disaster.

This was already too complicated and he hadn't spoken any words yet.

Now walking straight to you, every step he took was followed by a worried thought, his heart tightening more and more as he was getting closer to the campfire you were standing next to. What had he done? Were you mad at him? Would you even agree to speak to him? Did he look good enough? Shit, he probably still must reeks of whiskey, he should have gone to town and taken a bath, stupid moron! But it was too late. Your eyes had crossed his, you had seen him approaching. There was no going back.

Finally arriving at the campfire, the poor nervous man stood at a respectful distance from you and cleared his throat. He didn't even had taken the time to think about what to say. Moron.

"G'd mornin', Y/N." He greeted you, his tone almost a bit too formal, a trace of his troubled state. His voice sounded huskier and harsher than what he wanted to, you were the first person he actually talked to since waking up and you could hear it with how hoarse his vocal cords were.

Besides it, you couldn't have guessed how much was going on inside his head; his expression was as neutral as usual, his own way of defending himself against the flurry of feelings that was taking place inside of him. You smiled at him, a mischievous, playful smile. You had so much to tease him about. Before the party, you two would already messed with each other a lot, and now you had a whole night of details you could use for it.

"Good morning, Mister Morgan... Guess someone was a little thirsty last night, mmh?" You answered, looking at him. His eyes crossed yours, he cracked up a smile too. His shoulders seemed to go down a bit, less tensed. In reality, he was so relieved to hear you tease him and to see your smile. You weren't mad. He silently thanked the Lord for that.

"I, erm... Maybe I drank a little t'much..." He replied with an embarrassed grin, his eyes looking at his feet before planting them back right into yours. He decided to ask you right away. Arthur never beat around the bush, this time was no exception. "L'sten, I don't... I don't remember much 'bout last night and... I hope I didn't bother ya."

His bright blue pupils were looking intensely into yours as he waited for your answer. He always looked at people like this, always keeping eye contact, as if it was a quiet duel and he would lose it if he stopped; but God, it made your heart melt a little.

"Oh, Arthur." You started, smiling some more realizing he was actually worried about you. "Don't worry, you didn't do anything wrong. To me at least. I remember you losing your nerves and punching Micah in the face." You answered his question, chuckling in the end.

"Why, this bastard had it comin'..." Arthur replied, scratching the side of his jaw, the slight grin still present on his lips, telling himself that it was definitely something he was capable of.

"You sing pretty good when you're drunk..." You added, tone playful.

Arthur sighed, he was enjoying more and more of this conversation he had feared in the beginning.

"Oh stop it, I don't." He retorted, his fingers scratching one last time before falling to his belt, both his hands gripping it, a standing position he often had when talking and didn't know what to do with his arms. Honestly, you were quite fond of it.

"You want some coffee, songbird ?" You questioned with a teasing tone, already grabbing a new cup and the pot. You knew he would say yes.

"Yeah, thank you." He replied at first, before frowning. "Don't ya start calling me that!" He added with a firmer tone, but his small smile was still stuck on his face while grabbing the hot cup you were handing to him.

"You're also quite a dancer..." You teased him once more with your mischievous voice, knowing you were pushing his limits with your remarks.

"Damn it, woman! Can't believe I was worried 'bout ya, while ya're teasin' me like this..."

"Yeah, I'm such a nasty woman..."

"Nah, you're the sweetest." He corrected you, a bit too quickly for it to be innocent. A quick, subtle flicker in his eyes showed you he was surprised with himself; the words had come out on their own.

You smiled widely, cheeks turning a bit red. You were praying it wasn't too obvious to him. Arthur was still looking at you, two indigo miniature seas fixated on you, even while drinking his beverage. The more he was, the more those vivid memories he had were making their way back to his mind. While looking at your waist, he remembered having held it at some point during the party, which explained how he learned how your clothes felt underneath his fingers. His breath quietly hitched when he realized how he knew about the softness of your leg: he recalled having an arm curled up around it at the end of the night. Shit... He really had been unruly. After a short silence, Arthur spoke again. He wanted to make sure, he needed to make sure.

"Erm... Can I ask ya if we... Did anythin' happen b'tween us while I was drunk ?"

"No, you've just been a bit... Tactile. But nothing happened." You answered his question honestly, wanting him to know the truth. After all, Arthur was your friend, and there was a whole step between gently teasing and actually tormenting him. "Oh and, you said you loved me."

Arthur almost choked on his coffee, a short strangled sound escaping from his throat, some drops of the hot liquid falling on his shirt. The only decent shirt he had was ruined. But it was the least of his problems. What the actual Hell had gotten into him? He was an even worse fool than he thought, and the bar was already low.

"I... What ?" Were the only words he was able to form, one of his hands wiping the coffee from his chin.

"Don't worry, John told me you've made it a habit to tell women that when you're drunk, apparently. We don't have to make a bit deal out of this." You reassured him. He really looked ashamed of his behavior, and you didn't wanted to make him feel even worse.

But Oh Lord, if only you knew. If only you could have understood how much he wanted to make a big deal out of it; how much he had wanted to properly say those three words to you. He was almost disappointed in a way, that you were so quick to forget about it, as if it had been a simple joke to you, something amusing a drunkard had said in a moment of alcoholic eccentricity.

"Ah, alright. Well, I'm happy ya not mad at me." He simply added, honestly not knowing what to say or how to act anymore.

Tell her. Tell her she means the World to you. Tell her you have spoken the truth. This was the best chance you would have.

But the words were stuck, and as fast as a breeze would have swept away petals of flowers, Ms. Grimshaw asked for you with her usual severe call, and off you were gone, wishing him a good day and telling him he didn't have to worry about last night, even adding your typical teasing comments, advising him to join a choir were he could flourish his singing talent.

Looking at you walking off, he sighed again, calling himself a moron for at least the twentieth time since he had gotten up. Looking down at his cup of coffee, almost empty, just like the hurtful sensation he was experiencing right now inside his heart, he got angry again. This was enough. He threw the rest of the coffee on the ground, put the cup in his satchel out of habit, and walked straight to his horse.

The afternoon passed slowly and quietly. You basically spent it tidying up the camp, the number of dishes almost twice as big as usual, and the endless amount of bottles and garbage looking like it was only getting larger the more you were cleaning them up. Thankfully, Ms Grimshaw had put every girl in camp to work too, and you weren't alone on your impossible task while the men were back on their usual activities, whether it was lazying around for Uncle and the Reverand, guarding camp for Bill and Charles, or going back on jobs for the others. You hadn't seen Arthur since your morning discussion with him, and you had concluded he probably had gone somewhere to do his own work. As the sun was getting down, the camp had ultimately taken back its usual appearance, and you were finally free from your chores.

You decided to go to the edge of the camp, behind the wagons, where the cliff was starting and was offering a breathtaking view of the mountains in front of you. At this time of day, in the dusky sun, the landscape was painted with beautiful golden and bronze colors, dazzling blend of warm tones, ephemeral treasure from the last sunrays of the day before the settlement of the night's darkness.

Lost in your contemplation, you didn't hear footsteps approaching. The shrill and recognizable sound of spurs along with the heavy stomping of a horse's hooves made you turn your head from the literal work of art you had under your nose, and your gaze fell on another one from a different nature; Arthur was walking up to you, holding Boadicea's reins into his hands, his blue gaze already fixated on you, slight frown on his forehead, looking as determined as if he was going in for a fight.

He looked different from earlier, you swore he was wearing a brand new shirt you had never seen, a fresh white one, and a black jacket which must have gone with a fancy suit. As he was heading towards you, you noticed and could smell he had taken a bath, and trimmed his beard more than usual. He looked neat, refreshed, it was quite unusual for him. You could feel how your blood was rushing at the simple sight of all this: he was undoubtedly handsome, as breath-taking as the landscape around you.

"Y/N." He greeted you with a determined voice, once he had come close to you. He let go of the reigns, letting his mare free, but she stayed right where she was and started to graze happily. He took his hat off and held it in his hands, probably out of politeness. Such a gentleman, as always around women. You had always found it quite endearing how rough he was but at the same time how respectful towards girls, complying with conventions just like an honest man would. However you were a bit confused, he had never bothered to do that with you before, only with the women he didn't knew.

"Arthur, are you alright? Did Trelawny force you to get clean up ?" You joked a bit, genuinely surprised by his appearance and sudden polite behavior.

"What? N-no..." He stuttered. He never stuttered. You could feel it flowing into you like last night: this terrible, powerful feeling of hope. Your whole being was filled with it as your eyes were glued to him, like a moth to a flame, like a moon to its celestial body.

"I erm... I got somthin' for ya." He said almost shyly. Shyly. You couldn't believe what you were witnessing. It was nearly too good to be true.

Maybe... Maybe the words he had spoken to you... Maybe his tactile behavior... Your thoughts were going entirely crazy, spiraling around the deep feeling that something really important was on the verge of happening. You watched, in awe, as Arthur turned his back to you in order to pull off from Boadiccea's saddle a gorgeous flower bouquet.

"I know it ain't much but... I've picked 'em for you..." He said quietly, his voice slow and deep as usual, but also a bit more vulnerable. You could see just how flustered he was, how unusual it was for him to put himself in such a situation. And it made you more happy than anything for such a long time. Your eyes, traveling from his insanely cute bashful face to the flowers, were now stuck on it. The colors were vibrant and surprisingly well-matched, almost like a painting, the petals going from deep red to a warm golden yellow. You couldn't prevent a deep blush from flushing your cheeks; it really was warming your heart.

"They're beautiful! Thank you so much..." You marveled, vision attached to his gift, admiring every detail about it. After a short moment, as you realized he had felt silent, you spoke again, a wave of boldness crashing onto you. He had made a step towards you, now it was your turn.

"Arthur... The words you said to me last night..." You began, your eyes slowly ascending to look at his again. To your surprise, you found him looking away.

Another hint, another glimmer of the internal storm of emotions Arthur was feeling right now. Your own heart started to beat faster; the blood flooding so fast in your veins at this point you're wondering how the hell your body is keeping it all up together without collapsing under the pressure.

Arthur doesn't answer. Instead, he simply looks back at you, a flash of apprehension in his turquoise diamonds. He stays silent, unable to say anything more. His own heart must be on the verge of bursting cause you recognize the faintest of red on his own cheeks and a little vein on his temple. What a sight, to have this grown man, one of the stronger men in the gang, probably the fastest gunslinger of the State, blushing because of you.

"Those words were true, right?" You finish your sentence with an encouraging expression and the softest smile you had.

Arthur exhaled, closing his eyes for just a few seconds before planting them back into yours and nodding. Still silent, still stoic, still nervous. The slight blush was unhurriedly spreading on his face just like a flaming stain of watercolor on a canvas. Your very own art piece.

"I love you too, Arthur." You finally confided to him, voice soft and low, as if it was a confession you would have told him in the middle of the night, intimate as secrets you'd both tell each other in the ear while lying together in the same bed, arms interlaced, heart intertwined, as everything around you both would disappear. And in the moment, for Arthur, everything did.

He carefully brought a hand on the side of your face, never breaking his deep starring until the last second, and slowly bent over to put his lips on yours. Every move he was making was measured, contained; the exact opposite of his unleashed behavior at the party. You could feel just how cautious he was in that moment, as if he was scared to hurt you, or make you flee.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, never letting go of the bouquet that was now hanging behind his back in your thankful right hand. His own was still on your head, fingers gently caressing your skin as the kiss was dragging on. His lips, although chapped, felt good against yours, taking their rightful place there.

After what felt like an eternity of sweetness, he pulled back. If you thought he was blushing before, it was nothing compared to his cheeks right now, the deep crimson shade having completely recovered the canvas. Finally, his body's muscles relaxing, his features softening, a big, wide smile appeared on his face; the same that had been haunting you since the night before. The stupid smile. Just for you.

"I love you too, for real I mean." He let out in a soft drawling voice, once you had never heard coming from him. He brought his forehead to rest against yours, closing his eyes, not even processing this was really happening.

"I hope you'll sing again for me, Arthur." You couldn't help but add, a playful tone and a slight smirk on your lips.

"For ya, maybe, sweetheart. But don't ya come complainin' about the rainin' after."

[clarisse-doodles]

bat watching

[masterofiodine]

capvers doodles yay

[heavenlyraindrops]

“ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ.” | ᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴀᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ { ɪɪ }

☆ Warnings: profanity, sports!photographer!reader, fem!reader, afab!reader, social media au/smau, texting, profanity, pretty unserious tbh

☆ 1.3k words | Available on: Tumblr, AO3

Seeing the notification pop up in your dms was certainly a strange, albeit pleasant surprised.

It was from his account. Your fingers shook as you tapped the screen, opening the chat.

Hey, is this [name]? I just wanted to apologize again for breaking your camera.

You stared at it, unsure how to respond. 

For one, you had no social skills, and, secondly, this was the guy who was not only a massively famous and successful athlete but also a rando you’d been taking pictures of since school. You wondered if he’d scrolled down on your account to see the numerous images of him posted from your college days. 

Its fine, you replied nonchalantly.

On the other side of the screen, Kenji was going feral. “Fuck, Mina, she seems pissed.”

Mina simply stared at him (well, not stared but you know.) and he rolled his eyes at her lack of response, turning back to his phone.

Well, I’m more than willing to replace the stuff for you, he typed out quickly.

Your phone pinged. You frowned at the text. 

If you want ig. 

Oh? My god? Who the fuck replies like that?

While you were stressing out over your disgustingly dry, and even rude reply, Kenji was falling off his couch at seeing your message on screen. He cursed, elbow twisting awkwardly as he hit the floor, but he ignored it, holding the phone up. “She hates me, Mina.”

Mina glided through the air to hover over his face. “You’ll be fine, Ken,” she said. “Perhaps you could even befriend her. You said she went to your college.”

“Are you even listening to a word I said?! She hates me.”

His phone pinged and he stared at your second message. 

Sorry, I meant only if it’s not a hassle for you. 

Relief surged through him. it’s definitely not a hassle!

Well then in that case I don’t mind.

Within a couple of days you found new equipment waiting on your doorstep. You weren’t complaining- and it was an expensive model, too. Higher quality than the one you’d had before. 

Taika nudged you knowingly. “The Ken Sato got you that?”

“The Ken Sato was the one who broke it in the first place,” you grumbled in retribution, and she rolled her eyes but didn’t retort any further. 

“Text him to tell him you got it.”

“What?”

“Come on!” She shoved your phone into your hands, and your face burned. “Look, stop trying to deny you have the hots for him and just-“

“Okay!” exasperated, you lifted a hand. “I’ll do it.”

Hey just texting to let you know the stuff arrived btw, you sent.

You certainly hadn’t expected a reply only moments later.

cool! There’s nothing wrong with it, right?

“Isn’t he, like, a famous baseball star?” You muttered as you typed out a reply. “Isn’t he supposed to be busy?”

Taika wiggled her eyebrows. “Well, I wonder what that means for you if he’s replying so quickly then!” She squealed, and you smacked her away by the shoulder. 

Nope it’s great. It’s even better than the equipment I used before actually

Three dots appeared on your screen to indicate he was typing. And then:

Yeah haha now you can take even better pictures of me, right? Judging by your earlier posts you seem to be a pretty big fan.

You froze.

Taika froze.

On the other side of the screen, on his couch, Kenji froze.

“Was that too forward?” He muttered to himself. “Oh dammit, I was trying to make a joke.”

“Oh my god, I’m so fucked,” you said to Taika, pacing the room. “He saw the pictures.”

She clicked her tongue. “They were kinda sorta public for anyone to see. You’d basically showcased your entire crush on that account.”

“He’s gonna think I’m a psycho, or a stalker or something!”

“I bet he thinks you’re adorable.”

You stopped and turned and glared at her. She flicked her head at the device clutched in your hands. 

“Text him back, [name].”

With shaking hands, you did.

Is it obvious lmao? In that case I guess so.

Typing…

His reply lit up your screen.

Can’t wait to see what picture of me you post next ;)

-

You were feeling bold. You were feeling frisky. Perhaps a little… daring.

The next day, you decided to upload the final pictures the online magazine you were photographing for had chosen onto your instagram account.

And, of course, you picked the one of Kenji as the first one.

Not long after your conversation the other day, you’d seen that he’d decided to follow you back. You wondered what that meant, its implications, but brushed it off for fear of overthinking. 

You captioned the post “These were the chosen pictures for XY Sports Magazine! Glad to have played a role in blah blah blah blah blah blah Kenji please text me again blah blah.” 

And then you threw your phone down onto the couch, and waited. 

-

Kenji almost spat his drink out when he saw your very next post, the day after your conversation, and also to see that he was the first picture. 

What even is this? Flirting? Banter? What the fuck? I’m into it?

He debated between leaving a comment or a direct message, but settled for comment. It was flashier that way. According to him. 

“Glad to see I’m your muse,” he typed, and waited for you to see it. His heart was in his throat. 

-

Of course you saw it.

And you had no idea what to reply to it.

So you simply liked it, pinned it, and hoped that it spoke enough words that you were too flustered to type. 

-

This turned into a regular thing. He’d text you, you’d post him every time you were hired at a game he played at, he’d comment, people in the replies would go feral at his appearance in your comment sections, and then you’d text him. If he ever saw you at a game, on the sidelines of the pitch- not in the stands- he’d wink at you, and fuck that bastard knows my camera’s gonna end up pointed at him for most of the game, doesn’t he? 

You wouldn’t call it a friendship that you two had- you genuinely had no idea what the fuck it was, but you sure as hell weren’t complaining. 

You were lazing around in your bed- it was barely even morning, and you had an off day yet your son of a bitch that you called an internal clock had woken you up at six, when your phone pinged. You picked it up.

Kenji: hey can I have your actual number this time?

Kenji: beats dming you here 

You: sure it’s (xxx-xxx-xxx)

Kenji: thanks.

You stared into space.

Okay, maybe this… relationship between your two needed a label put onto it. You stared back at the screen.

It probably wasn’t going to happen any time soon. 

[mercymaker]

“Don’t stop talking, please.” It was almost a whimper, how sudden and desperate the sentence sounded as it spilled out between her lips.

And all it did was made the spawn smirk. He knew just how much she loved hearing him spew absolute filth, pulling her into his most depraved fantasies with ease, and what sort of lover would Astarion be if he did not occasionally indulge her?

“My, my, you want me to confess all of my depravities just like that?”

▬ 𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍

[shadowdaddies]

Reunited - Part III

Fenrys x Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: After years of working as a spy in Adarlan, you are finally reunited with your cousin, Aelin, as you join the war to reclaim Terrasen and bring peace to Erilea. What you don't expect is to meet your mate in the middle of a war.

A/N: for those whom I told the next parts would be less angsty... that doesn't refer to this one I'm so sorry

Warnings: canon-typical violence, KOA spoilers

Your muscles were heavy from peaceful sleep, a satisfied smile gracing your lips as eyes fluttered open to see Aedion and Gavriel standing at the opposite side of the room from where you lay.

Forcing yourself to sit up, you looked around to find yourself in a tent, piles of blankets and furs draped over where you had been sleeping on the ground.

“She’ll be furious with you,” Aedion whispered, seemingly unaware that you had awoken. “But I thank you,” he ground out, the resistance clear in his tone as he looked to your father. 

Gavriel’s tawny eyes flicked to you, lined with sorrow as memories came rushing back. Your entire body heated with pure rage and fear, nails clawing into the covers of your makeshift bed as you tossed the covers away. 

“You,” you seethed, eyes wide and teeth bared as you stood to face Gavriel. It was Aedion who stepped between you, his eyes showing a vulnerability you had yet to see him reveal in front of your father. 

“I know you are upset. But for once,” he glanced pointedly at Gavriel, “he did the right thing. No good could have come from Maeve knowing that you are Fenrys’s mate.”

Hearing his name unleashed a wave of emotion, a lump catching in your throat as the bond screamed inside of you, longing for your other half. “He’s gone,” you whispered, voice breaking as painful, hopeless thoughts eddied in a whirlpool, threatening to drown you. “I may never truly know my mate, because of you,” you growled the last word, tone piercing Gavriel enough to make him flinch.

Aedion fully stepped in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks, covering your father from your view. “Listen to me. Maeve would have used you to torture him. She would have used you to torture Aelin. Saving him was not an option when he is so close to Maeve. Their blood oath is too strong.”

Your eyes shuttered as the hopeless realization crashed over you like an ocean wave knocking you below the surface. You stepped back, willing your thoughts to calm enough to look at Gavriel’s face, his expression full of guilt and worry. “I swear to you, we will find him. We will free him, if it is the last thing that I do.” He spoke with such conviction, you felt your heart soften, suddenly feeling guilty for how you had spoken to Gavriel.

Before you could find the words to apologize, Gavriel continued. “That is why we are headed north. Aedion leaves for Orynth shortly, but we will be joining Rowan along with Lorcan and Elide. So long as you feel that bond in your chest, we can use it to find Fenrys and Aelin.”

You nodded, shifting into the familiar mindset of a spy as you had lived for so long. “When do we leave?” 

A soft, proud smile graced Aedion’s lips, your brother pulling you in for a hug as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I leave now. I had just come to say goodbye,” he murmured. It was an all too familiar sentiment in your family - the sacrifice of leaving your loved ones in the name of duty. 

“Stay safe. I will see you soon,” you responded, not an encouragement, but an oath - one that you clung to, your chest tight as your brother disappeared out the tent. Gaze flicking to Gavriel, you raised your eyebrows in silent question.

“We leave as soon as Rowan returns from the neighboring town. He and Elide are there looking for information from the locals, and we will decide where to travel from there.” All you could manage was a nod, your emotions still roiling deep within underneath your calm facade. 

You packed in silence, Gavriel’s stare burning into your side as you avoided interaction. You had just finished packing and dismantling your tent when Rowan and Elide returned, their eyes lit with a similar wired determination as your own. 

Pine green eyes locked with yours, an unspoken understanding passing between you and Rowan - that the two of you would allow the world to burn to ash before you would allow it to take your mates.

“We’re leaving for Doranelle,” Rowan announced, brooking no room for questions before he helped load your and Elide’s bags onto horses. Giving Rowan a sharp nod, you followed suit, gathering necessities for the journey. 

The dying embers of the campfire the only trace of your existence in the forest, your group headed for Doranelle, Rowan letting out a cry as he shifted into hawk form, soaring above as you journeyed below. The day passed mostly in silence, tensions thick between you and your father, and Elide and Lorcan. 

At your request, Elide explained in brief detail why you were headed towards one of Maeve’s strongholds. She and Rowan had come across one of Maeve’s soldiers at an inn, but the shudder that passed through her when you asked for more told you all that you needed to know about how Rowan acquired that information, and you let the conversation drop.

The sun had long since set when fatigue weighed heavy on your bones, head aching from lack of food and rest. Gavriel sensed it, his too-knowing eyes scanning your sluggish movements, the limp that Elide was trying to hide. 

“We will stop here for the night,” he spoke, low voice not allowing any arguments, not that you could form any. You practically crashed into the ground where you stood at his words, Elide settling next to you as Lorcan gathered kindling. 

There remained little talk among the group. You couldn’t speak for others, but you knew that if you tried to speak, emotions would burst forth like water through a broken dam, the carefully maintained mask of strength you were wearing to be shattered into pieces. Gavriel, Lorcan, and Elide mumbled their good nights, while you and Rowan sat by the fire. 

The twisting, flickering flames held your attention in a captivating dance, the only distraction you could find from the constant agony you felt throughout your body, the unbearable weight of your mate’s pain echoing in each fiber of your soul.

You dared a glance at Rowan, his sharp eyes moving from the fire towards you. You supposed the fire meant something different to him - a reminder of his other half, the closest thing he had to her in this moment. It was a different kind of pain, but one that you could understand as the others did not.

“Do you feel her, too?” you managed, voice cracking through the strained whisper. Rowan’s brow dipped, confusion flickering across his features before understanding settled. 

“No,” he choked, and you worried that you had said the wrong thing. “No, I cannot feel her through the bond. I think whatever  But I know she is there, she is alive. That much I can feel.” A shaky breath escaped you, eyes lining with silver as you curled into your body, gaze focused back on the flames in front of you.

“Can you? Feel him?” Rowan pressed, voice soft as the night breeze. Your eyes squeezed shut, the only hope you had to keep those tears from falling, but one escaped, cold warm against your chilled skin as it traced your cheek.

“Yes,” you breathed, a sob building in your lungs as you gasped for air. “Yes, I feel everything. I feel his pain, I feel his loneliness, I-“

Words were stolen from your lungs as your chest seized, inexplicable pain, grief, bringing you to your knees. You were vaguely aware of Rowan’s presence, a warm hand on your back as sobs wracked your body. Wave after wave of grief and shame barreled into you, body shaking with the force of emotions being thrust upon you.

“Breathe,” Rowan murmured, his hand on your back a grounding comfort as the emotions faded, a distinct numbness filling your senses. Emptiness consumed your being, the only reminder that you were still alive the flames in front of you. 

Silver hair illuminated in the firelight, moving into your vision as Rowan kneeled in front of you. “Can you say... what happened?” he breathed, fear in his eyes as he dared the question.

“He’s not... he isn’t dead,” you managed, the knot in your chest loosening slightly as Rowan visibly relaxed. “Something terrible happened, Rowan. If what I felt was only a small part of what Fenrys is feeling...” Whatever hold you had on your own emotions was lost in that moment, tears falling freely as you cried.

Another hand landed on your shoulder, and you looked up through blurry eyes to see your father watching you, heartbreak written on his features. On instinct, you crashed into him, throwing your arms around Gavriel’s neck, breathing in his comforting scent. 

Conversations were happening in the background - Lorcan and Elide apparently also wakened by your cries - but you held onto your father, finding a small piece of solace in having him here.

Gavriel’s hand lifted, a canteen handed to him which he brought to your hands. “Here, drink this,” he murmured, tawny eyes observing carefully as your shaky hands gripped the vessel. Forcing small sips of water down your throat, breathing came easier, and you noticed Rowan, Lorcan, and Elide all standing nearby. 

“I’m not going to stay the night,” Rowan said, moving back towards where you sat. “If you want to rest, Gavriel will stay with you and Elide. But if you-“

“I’m going with you,” you interrupted. Rowan merely nodded, as thought your response was exactly what he expected. Lorcan was already moving, packing and loading supplies as Rowan’s power suffocated the fire.

You walked in line with Gavriel, leaves and sticks crunching under your boots as owls hooted against the still-darkened sky. “I can feel him, still,” you murmured, eyes downcast at your scuffed, muddied shoes. “I feel him, but it’s different than before. He’s... hollow. It’s like this numbness, and I can’t reach his end of the bond, so I don’t know if he can feel me.” 

Your eyes burned with tears you were too drained to shed when Gavriel grabbed your hand, turning you to stop and look up at him. “Do not give up. I know it hurts, I know what Maeve is capable of. But please, be better than me. Fight for Fenrys. He deserves that. You deserve that. And we will find him, and Aelin.”

Pushing up on your toes, you placed a kiss to your father’s cheek, your eyes never leaving his as you spoke. “You did the right thing. I have already mourned a childhood without you, but I’ve been allowed to know you now, and I am so thankful for a father as selfless as you, who was willing to sacrifice seeing his children grow to keep us safe. You didn’t give up, and I will not either.”

You both turned, heads snapping forward towards the road ahead as Gavriel cleared his throat, eyes shining with emotion as you continued the rest of your walk in silence.

By the time you arrived in Doranelle, your feet hurt like never before, entire body sore from long travels and lack of sleep. Your group hid in the trees just outside the main road through town. Elide turned to you, a fire in her eyes that lit one in your chest. 

“The males are too recognizable, so you will all stay out here and keep a low profile while I go into town. I’m going to see if anyone has information about Cairn’s location, because we know he’s with Aelin and Fenrys.”

You shook your head. “I’m coming with you. You’re not going alone into town, and it would be suspicious if you were by yourself.” You looked around, Lorcan giving you a grateful smile while Gavriel opened his mouth as if to argue. Before he could say anything, you took Elide’s hand and set off towards town.

Doranelle was bustling, people shopping and selling throughout the streets, men calling for your attention as the two of you walked at a brisk pace, eyes and ears open for any sign of danger.

Multiple groups of people shuffled in the same direction, your gaze following their movements towards a pub that appeared to be full of travelers and locals alike. “That’s where we should go,” you murmured to Elide, her dark eyes joining yours as she studied the tavern’s entrance.

Releasing your hand, Elide led the way into the building, instructing you to take a seat wherever you could find one as she took the lead. You found a small booth, thankful for the weight off your feet and even the rancid beer a barmaid slid your way.

It was pure entertainment, a respite from the hellish reality you had been living lately, as you watched Elide put on a show of the helpless maiden. Batting her long lashes, giving shy smiles, she wrung any information she could from the tavern’s patrons while you kept watch.

Everyone seemed taken by her story, the heartbroken lover of Maeve’s general, except for one female. She lounged at one of the tables, chestnut brown eyes watching Elide with a keen, quiet interest. And then Elide mentioned Cairn.

A hush fell over the room, the mood instantly sobering at the mention of the newest member of Maeve’s cadre. Expressions turned cold, even sour as people closed themselves off to Elide’s charm. They definitely knew something, and as you watched Elide excuse herself to the washroom, you caught the striking female with chestnut eyes from before stand up quickly, dark brown hair flowing around her as she turned and followed Elide down the hall.

You were quick behind her, dagger sheathed discreetly at your side. Using your blade, you wedged open the door to the washroom to find Elide wide-eyed, tension thick in the air as she and the female stared at each other. 

Your blade quickly found the female’s neck, your foot kicking the door shut behind you. “Who are you, and what do you know?” you questioned, voice lethally calm.

The female didn’t struggle, her demeanor relaxed as she spoke. “My name is Essar. I mean no harm - I simply wanted to warn your friend to stay away from Cairn. But it appears she is better protected than I believed.” 

Her voice remained calm as she dared to turn towards you, unbothered at how your blade dug further into her skin. “Why do you look for Cairn, truly?”

Your gaze hardened on Essar, assessing the trustworthiness of this new character. “That would depend. What is he to you?” you asked, releasing her so slightly from your hold.

A scoff escaped her lips, nearly a slight laugh as though your question was absurd. “He is nothing to me. And Maeve is less than nothing,” she ground out, venom lacing her tone. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips at her spite. 

“We have business to attend to regarding Cairn,” you murmured, gaze flicking towards the door to check it was closed. 

A knowing gleam shone in Essar’s eyes. “You have Gavriel’s eyes,” she whispered, clearing her throat as she studied you and Elide. “Cairn is at the camp just north of town. He was seen there this morning.”

It was an effort to not let your surprise show, but somehow you knew that you could trust Essar. Hope sprang in your chest, as though the bond was confirming Fenrys was close. “Thank you,” you murmured, to Essar, hand reaching for the doorknob as you gestured for Elide to follow.

“Give them Hell,” Essar said, chin raised proudly. You gave her a final nod of thanks before slipping out the door. Elide could barely keep up with your pace as you raced through town, back to the edge of the woods where the males waited. Now that you knew where Fenrys was, nothing could hold you back from finding him.

You were both short of breath, struggling to explain all that Essar had shared with you at the tavern. “I believe her,” you said, looking to Rowan and Gavriel for validation. But it was Lorcan whose eyes grew soft as you spoke of the female you had met, the other males looking to Lorcan for only a brief moment before Rowan cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him.

“We can trust her,” he said. “I’ll take to the skies. You follow my lead - we’ll walk around town to avoid running into Maeve’s soldiers for now.”

Heart pounding in your chest, you watched as Rowan launched into the air, your group quietly following the path of the hawk as it led you around the edge of town. Sounds of soldiers running drills, sparring, blacksmiths at work all filled your ears as rows and rows of tents came into view. 

Breath caught in your lungs, the twist of hope and fear electric as it shot through your body. A warm hand wrapped around yours, and you looked down as Gavriel gave it a comforting squeeze. “I am with you,” he whispered.

Words evaded you, but you managed to nod to your father - a silent acknowledgment: "I am with you, too."

Scanning the grounds of the camp, you searched for a way in. There were too many tents, too many places Fenrys and Aelin could be. But your thoughts were interrupted by the bloody cry of a hawk, and before your mind could catch up to your body, you found yourself running, sword drawn, towards the center of camp where Rowan flew.

Soldiers charged you, your adrenaline pumping as you cut them down one by one. Red flooded your gaze as you saw a shell of a female, weighed in familiar iron shackles as she stumbled out of a tent on thin legs. 

Blood pounded in your ears, the faint sound of Lorcan yelling at your side all that you could register as Aelin ran towards you. You couldn’t stop the flow of tears as you locked eyes with your cousin through the iron mask she wore, heart somehow shattered and whole at the sight of her, alive yet broken.

“Fenrys,” she choked. “Fenrys!” Aelin’s voice cried. She whipped around like a wild animal caught in a trap, yelling at Rowan and Lorcan, pleading for them to find your mate. 

You rose to chase after him, but Rowan’s pleading look settled that rage within you - he would find your mate while you protected his. And so you watched him run through the camp with Lorcan, a beautiful storm of chaos as the warriors partnered seamlessly in battle. 

The clanking of chains pulled you from your daze, Aelin scratching at her binds. “Take it off take it off take it OFF,” she screamed, voice hoarse as she chanted violently. Rowan appeared by her side, his hands working as they tried to find an opening on the mask. Rowan.

Your eyes went wild, an unexplainable ache carving itself into your chest as you stood, spinning clumsily while you searched for any sign of Fenrys. The sight of white fur on the ground, Gavriel leaning over the wolf who lay, covered in blood and barely breathing snapped something within you. 

As your father gave you a helpless look, the world cleaved in two, as though half of your soul was ripped from your chest. Collapsing to the ground, your hand wove in Fenrys’s fur as onyx eyes gazed at you, unblinking. 

There was no room in your heart for more tears at this point. Everything had been taken from you - so you lay there, watching the last hope you had for a future, for love, as he faded away.

You didn’t head the commotion behind you as Rowan managed to break the Wyrd marks locking Aelin’s chains, how she crawled weakly to Fenrys’s side across from you. The words, “live, Fenrys. Live,” echoed through your head, Aelin’s voice like a helpless prayer.

And then he blinked. Gold flecks shone in his eyes, chest rising slowly as your mate released a soft whine. Your heart burst with joy, love pouring from your end of the bond as you were finally able to reach Fenrys.

Your hand reached out to him just as he shifted into his human form, long blonde curls fallen across his beautiful face as he stared at you. “Is this real?” he rasped, and you nodded, a broken laugh escaping as you sat up, pulling Fenrys’s head into your lap as his hands found yours, holding onto them like a lifeline.

“He’s gone,” Fenrys whispered, his gaze distant. You felt it then - the hollow feeling, the numbness you had felt through the bond. “Connall,” he murmured, eyes finding yours as a tear rolled down his cheek, and you understood. Fenrys had lost a part of himself - Maeve had taken so much from your mate.

“I will kill her,” you vowed. 

Fenrys’s hand lifted to brush your cheek. “You were my hope. The only strength I found to keep going.” 

Taking his hand from your cheek, you pressed a kiss to his palm. Flames danced in your eyes. “For what she did to you, to Connall, to Aelin. She will burn.”

Author’s Note: I took a break from this series and don’t know if a part 4 will happen. Sorry to disappoint anyone, but there are no immediate plans for this series to continue.

tag list: @hellodarling1357 @sassyslytherinshai

[nana-mizu-shiki]

Oh No, the thing that I just said is apparently one of the things that other people Don’t Think Is Okay that I didn’t realize, and Now I’ve Made People Sad And They’re Wasting Emotions On Me, but it’s FINE, really, it is.

Tim is so me here

This is in a later chapter, but I loved the fic, especially the way it ended and the way the characters developed. This fic really went into stalker and photographer Tim btw, so if you like that, 👍 👌

[twosides--samecoin]

far from skid row I dream we'll go somewhere that's green

[astralnymphh]

thought about painslut!ellie x vampire!reader, who goes into a pleasuring daze when you set your teeth deep in her neck, drawing strings of the delicious blood while she fucks her strap in you hard, thrusts only deepening with each new bite you latch. later on, too reward her, you position yourself between her dispersed legs, hooking your fangs in the lean plush of her inner thigh while your fingers curl and harass her g–spot and thumb her throbbing clit, crooning, "mhm, suck harder baby–nghh, god, yeah. that bloods' for you, all fr'you, wann' you to make me pass out– fuck, please?" while nicking and rolling her nipples around, aching for it to hurt just right. gets so turned on seeing her beady blood dripping when you sheathe your fangs away from the fresh wound, splotching your lip like crimson oil. bonus pointers, loves when you nip her tongue or lip in a heated makeout, then and there leading to what's been divulged above 💗 "fuck me– right now, bite right here, yeah, ooouufuck, good girl~"

and now I wanna turn that into a fic.. 🍓

(img from wh0slivia on pinterest)

EDIT: I WANBA WRITE IT SO BAD NOW GUYS PLEASE TELL ME IM DOING THUS

[zae-heeyyy]

Seraphic

Summary: You are Arthur's angel. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 2,222 Tags: smut, high honor Arthur Warnings: 18+ MDNI

a/n: Whew 😅 I'm a little nervous to post this one. 🫣 Been sitting on it for a while (no pun intended) I've read and reread it a million times, and I'm ready to share. Also, we're pretending like Arthur's tent actually closes. Anyway thanks for reading!

Seraphic: something angelic or celestial in nature, often suggesting purity, beauty, or holiness.

By 1 a.m., the sounds of camp had reduced to the songs of crickets and the crackle of the fire. While everybody else slept, you waited up for Arthur, reading a book under lantern light in his tent. He arrived eventually, keeping his greeting short and joining you on his cot with slouched shoulders, seemingly exhausted. When he took his hat off, the grimace on his face became all the more apparent. His expression and tense body language told you all you needed to know; whatever happened out there wasn't good.

You handed him a match and a cigarette from his nightstand, and he thanked you with a nod. Using the heel of his boot, he struck the match and lit the cigarette, holding it with his thumb and index fingers. Flickering lantern light and the burning ember tip illuminated his bruised knuckles.

"Should I ask?" You traced a gentle finger over the bruises, and he shook his head.

"Best not," he replied, exhaling a ribbon of smoke.

"Well, I'm glad you're still in one piece," you said, looking him over. His shirt had seen cleaner, less wrinkled days, and sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. "Well, mostly in one piece."

He let out a gust of air, a failed attempt at a laugh, before pinching the bridge of his nose and groaning.

"Headache?" you asked, and he confirmed. The discomfort came with the life he lived. Loud gunfire, the rush of adrenaline, and focusing on his shots all combined to leave him in pain afterward. You exited the tent momentarily and returned with a bowl of warm water, a cloth, and a bottle of miracle tonic.

"Here—for your head." He took the medicine and snuffed his cigarette. Rejoining him, you sat on the cot and dabbed his face with the wet cloth, wiping away dirt and sweat. A soft kiss on his temple prompted him to lean into you, the tension finally dissipating. You wrapped your arms around his big frame and held him close. Obviously, he was your safe space, but oh—were you his. Eyes shut, he rested his head on your bosom.

Arthur found comfort in his typical role as protector and provider. But in these moments, when roles faded, he could feel the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders—a crushing weight he didn't even realize he was carrying. Being with you like this made him wonder if heaven was real because you were godsent.

To Arthur's dismay, you unraveled yourself from him to tie the tent flap closed, sealing the two of you away in the dark. Walking between his legs, you untied his neckerchief and dusted his soiled shirt.

"—Needs a wash. Your blood or someone else's?" you questioned, fingers undoing the top button.

"Not mine," he answered. Peeling the shirt off and tossing it aside, you studied him for a second time tonight. He'd seemed more relaxed than when he arrived, but his brow stayed brooding. Still positioned with his legs on either side of you, you caressed his face, one of your thumbs stroking the hairless scar on his chin.

"What else can I do?"

"You done enough; I'm fine." He gave your hand on his face a reassuring squeeze.

Leaning forward, you kissed him tenderly. His arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you nearer until your foreheads touched. You spoke low against his mouth, a playful grin forming on yours.

"You gotta stop getting yourself into so much trouble, Arthur Morgan."

Your demand was met with a chuckle, and he replied, "I'll do my best, darlin'." You peppered his lips with loving, tender kisses, making him smile against them and squeeze you tighter in a hug. You would do just about anything to see that man smile at you the way he did, all soft and endearing.

Your kisses subsided, but Arthur's affectionate gaze stayed fixed on you. The slight smile on his face had straightened, his expression mirroring the intensity of the one he wore when he first confessed his love for you.

"Got that look on your face," you told him, and he just blinked slowly, awestruck. Though he often swore he was a man of few words, he could fill volumes with his devotion for you. You loved it when he got like that, entranced and overwhelmed with love.

The way he watched you set a fire within you that warmed the most intimate parts of your being. He was surprised when you let yourself fall heavily into him, trying to get as close as possible. Maybe he was going to say something or make a noise, but he didn't have the time before your mouth was on his again, your tongue pushing through his lips to tangle with his. You only pulled away when you needed to breathe.

Instead of pressing your lips to his once more, you dropped to your knees in front of him. Eyes widening, he tried to bring you back up to your feet, shaking his head, once again astounded by you.

"Sweetheart—"

Still on your knees, you patted his cheek and looked up at him with doe eyes. "Shhh, let me take care of you, Arthur." His hand found yours on his face, and he turned to kiss it, nodding placidly. Both of you managed to keep your volume low as you helped him strip down to his union suit. You began working at the buttons of his neckline, doing more ripping than unbuttoning, shoving the fabric down his shoulders.

As more clothing fell away, you trailed sweet kisses down his abdomen. At the same time, his hands roamed wherever they could. The rough pads of his fingers lightly tracing your skin mirrored a faint electric charge. Despite being a brute of an outlaw, he was overly careful with his hands when it came to you; your body was fine china and deserved to be treated as such. Goosebumps formed in a wake left by his touch.

As you kissed down the trail of hair under his belly button, his rapid breathing hitched, and the bulge between his legs strained against the flannel fabric, begging to be unleashed. You tried to find his eyes as you groped him through the underwear, but his head was tipped back, his mouth agape.

"Look at me." You whispered, and he snapped to attention like a soldier following commands. Eyes locked on his, you unclasped the last button, and his length sprung free, the pink head of his cock primed with anticipation. A teasing laugh crept up within you as you trailed soft kisses from the base of his shaft and left one long lingering peck on the tip. The loud, rhythmic thumping of his heart was music to your ears. Not wanting to keep him waiting any longer, you took his entire length in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down, taking him deeper until your nose touched the curly hairs at the base.

Then he couldn't hold it in anymore; a deep, guttural groan escaped him.

Your mouth was the warmest, most intoxicating blanket he'd ever been wrapped in, and he never wanted to leave. He gaped at you, seeing your mouth full of him, his pupils dilated with pure lust. The blunt tip of his cock pressed to the back of your throat, making it constrict around him. His whole body shuddered.

"Look whatchu' do to me, woman," he rattled, tangling his hands in your hair. Despite his eagerness, you withdrew from his aching sex, a string of saliva joining your lips to him. Something reminiscent of a whine exited him when you stepped away, but his open mouth fell shut at the sight of your bloomers slipping down your legs. You kissed him, savoring the salty, bitter taste of his arousal mixed with the tobacco and herbs of his mouth.

"Lay back," you murmured in his ear. Obeying your command once again, he let out a grunt as he felt your weight on top of him. You straddled him, and he held you up, his fingers digging firmly into your sides. Bending at the waist, you kissed longingly, your hips undulating against his. He pulled your nightgown up around your midriff, one of his hands gripping the flesh of your ass while the other one went between your legs. His index finger sank painstakingly into your weeping cunt, then brushed over your clit, making you shiver. He raised himself on his elbows, reaching for the hem of your sleep dress.

"Take this off; let me see you." You raised your arms and let him yank the garment away, leaving you completely exposed on top of him. "Beautiful," he breathed, using the back of his hand to graze your skin. Breathy sighs escaped you as he traced delicate circles around your nipples. His eyes bored into you, absorbing every detail like you were the most captivating thing that ever lived. Hyperfocused on your body, he fondled your breasts before gliding his hands down your torso, ogling, taking all of you in.

Freezing, his stare intensified as you massaged the tip of his cock up and down your glistening slit. Touching his lips to yours, you pushed him into your wet folds. Neither of you could contain the sounds building with you. He split you open, stretching you, making room for him, filling you. You held yourself up with your hands braced on his chest, but you went weak as he bottomed out within you, brushing against that deep, tender spot. You would've fallen if he wasn't there to hold you up, a thought mirroring one he had about you so often.

"I got you," he whispered into your ear. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to snap his hips up into you, the warm embrace of your center clearing his mind and driving him mad all the same. Finally, you started to ride, surging and sinking into him. He was a simple, agnostic man, but being with you like this made him believe in all the theocracy of angels, soulmates, and divine intervention. This was his bliss. This was his heaven, and you were his seraph. He'd go through hell every day if it meant coming home to this—to you. Hypnotized in the rhythm of you, a new thought crossed his mind every time you bounced.

Up.

She's so goddamn beautiful.

Down.

So perfect.

Up.

My girl.

Down.

My girl, my girl, my girl, my girl.

Up.

My angel.

Down.

I love her so much.

Up.

So wet.

Down

So warm.

Up.

So danm tight.

Down.

Shit.

And before you could come back up again, he squeezed his eyes shut, halting your hips with all the strength he could muster, fighting the damn-near irresistible urge to cum inside of you. Sweat had built up on his brow, and his stomach rose and fell quickly with each panting breath. You folded to kiss him, your hard nipples grazing against his chest.

"It's okay," you whispered, patting his face and grinding antagonizingly slow against him. You wanted him—needed him— to come undone for you. With that goal in mind, you picked up the pace and rolled your hips relentlessly, moaning your every thought into his ear.

"You feel so good inside of me."

"I need you."

"I love you."

Your climax was building fast, and you reached to give relief to that sensitive bundle of nerves atop your center. Arthur pushed your hand away swiftly, replacing it with his own. Always a giver, he'd do anything to feel useful while you were treating him like royalty.

While one hand worked your clit, his other gripped the meat of your hip, rocking you in time with his upward thrusts. His head tipped and hit the pillow, and you could feel his thighs tensing and shaking beneath you. Lips parted, he stared up at you. You felt him twitch inside you, and his brow finally relaxed.

That did it for you.

You were wordless as your orgasm ripped through you, your head swirling, and your veins on fire. Arthur's guiding hand on your hip didn't stop, and he fucked you through your climax. Hugging your body close and nuzzling his face into your neck, he growled as he painted your inner core with his own release. You stayed like that, glued to each other as you came down from your highs.

"You're too good for me," he finally said. You clasped a hand into his, kissing the long-forgotten bruises on his knuckles.

"Shut up." You responded, and he didn't say another self-deprecating word. It was the least he could do.

You cleaned up and redressed, nestling into the small, one-man cot. Finally settled for the night, you resorted to your regular bedtime positions: your head on his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you, your legs tangled in one another's.

He rose before you in the morning, perching himself on the cot's edge while you slept behind him. He wrote in his journal, his thumb leaving a smudge on the page:

"For a long time, I believed I could not live a bad life and expect good things to happen to me. Yet somehow, this woman of pure goodness entered my life, and it is clear now that I have been a fool."

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

One of my favourite shot of Arthur ever for Morgan monday! -🌱

[abbysthighs]

Ok but imagine her riding you and doing this periodically...

[starry-eyes-love]

"Baby, look at me, I got you."

Those simple words are the ones that silence the voices. You know, the ones that say you're never enough.

We all want to feel desire, to feel passion once again. We carry the weight of this God's forsaken world on our shoulders, and you know what, it fucking hurts. It creates a deep void inside your chest, one where you feel like you can't breathe. You're drowning, you know this, and you can't swim.

"I said, Baby, look at me."

(See Starry's Thoughts for more. 18+ Adult writer, minors DNI)

[acrid-wondrland]

Never letting go of the fact that two of Hanma's confirmed hobbies are gaming and photography, and how they should definitely be incorporated into fics more.