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dark-tides-in-faerun · 5 months

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Boiling Point (1/2)

Astarion x You!

Your party stumble across a hot spring in the wilds and agree to take turns bathing. It turns out, Astarion isn’t very good at taking turns but is more than happy to share…

🌶️mature🌶️ (fair warning that this chapter is just a little steamy but the next one will be very nsfw!)

You lay on your back in the recently discovered hot spring, eyes closed, basking in the delicious warmth. If this wasn't heaven, you weren't sure what was. The moon lights up the little clearing you’re in, giving everything that it touches a lovely, silvery sheen, and you close your eyes and relax into it, feeling at ease for the first time in weeks.

“Well, hello.”

You almost jump out of your skin.

“Astarion.” You gasp, spluttering up a lungful of water as you quickly sink lower beneath the surface, arms crossing against your chest in a bid to protect your modesty as you twist toward him. The water’s cloudy enough that he wouldn’t be able to see anything, but that knowledge does very little to make you feel less exposed. “What in the nine hells is wrong with you?”

“Nothing that a little dip couldn’t fix.” He quips, lounging against a rock, his face the picture of innocence and your eyes narrow as you notice he’s clutching a crimson towel in one pale hand.

“It’s not your turn.” You warn, narrow eyes meeting his as his carefully blank face looks back at you. You’d all agreed on a schedule for hot spring use and given that he’d already talked you into letting him steal all of your allocated time, it definitely wasn’t his turn.

“Oh, I know that.” He replies, the picture of unaffected grace as he looks at his nails and then back at you. “I just think it’s a little selfish of you to be… indulging yourself with so little regard for other people’s feelings.”

“Is it?” You say, slowly, and his lips quirk up in response. “Or is it a ‘little selfish’ to interrupt someone during the only time they’ve had to themselves in days. Especially when that person in question has already given up every other opportunity to bathe in the hot spring for you.”

“Yes, yes, that was very generous of you darling, but try to look at it from my perspective. You generate your own heat, but what about me? Do you know what it feels like to spend night after night in this frozen and miserable, knowing that there’s something warm and wet that I could sink myself into just meters away?”

His voice is innocent, but as his eyes drop to where your skin disappears beneath the water, the smile he gives you is anything but. It's obvious he’s trying to use your physical response to him to manipulate you, because he's always trying to do that and you flush, desire flooding to your core just as he intends it. But you're not just flushing because of the obscene way he's looking at you. It's because that smile has reminded you of how he looked when he returned from the springs last night. All pink skin and delighted exuberance. He’d been light, playful, exhilarated... Happy. And you knew enough about his past to know that happiness wasn’t something he’d known much of in his long life.

“Why can't you just go and bother someone else for a change.” You grumble, but the delighted shine in his eyes shows you that he knows he's getting his way and you scowl at him. “Gods give me strength. Turn around.”

“Why?” he asks, mouth blooming into a full smile and you can’t help the extra little flip your stomach gives at the sight of it.

“Because I’m naked and I’m not getting out with you staring at me. Turn around.”

“Darling, I’m hurt. Are you really suggesting we can’t share? There’s more than enough room for two.” He pouts, eyes shining as he stares down at you, sparkling with mischief and butterflies flutter to life in your stomach at the suggestion. You know he’s only trying to get a rise out of you but damn it, if it isn’t working. "Besides, I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

You choke back a strangled laugh because it really wasn’t him you were worried about. The butterflies have gone into overdrive just from the suggestion, and you can feel the heat staining your cheeks a darker pink than the warmth of the hot spring. You stare up at him, eyes a little too wide, and he gives you a self-satisfied smile. You can see in his gaze that he expects you to balk. Expects you to surrender the hot spring and slink away with your pink cheeks and pounding heart.

Well fuck him.

You force a sweet smile, feeling a thrum of satisfaction at the slight widening of his eyes as instead of moving toward him you wade to the far edge and turn around. For a long moment there’s nothing and you wonder if he’s even still there.

“Well? Are you getting in or not?” You demand, proud that your voice is only a little shaky, and he lets out a laugh. You swallow, focusing on trying to keep your heart rate level as you hear the sound of rustling fabric and then the water ripples around you as he slips in behind you.

“You can look now, darling, I assure you I’m quite decent.”

You turn around and immediately regret not getting out when you had the chance.

There is nothing decent about the way he looks right now.

The moonlight floods the broad expanse of his naked chest, staining it an ethereal, shining white, and he looks like he was carved from marble. The steam from the water has already tightened the hair at the nape of his neck into little curls. He’s stark and beautiful in the silver moonlight, but it’s not even that, that’s most striking.

It’s his expression.

His eyes are closed, head resting against the grassy bank behind him and the little smile that plays at the edges of his lips is a million miles away from his usual shit-eating grin. It’s small and soft and decidedly content and you swallow. It’s the full force of the little smile you’d seen at camp. It’s true happiness, you realize and it makes your heart pound and ache in equal measure to acknowledge that you’ve never seen that particular smile before.

He shifts, lifting his arms from the water and resting them against the rocky edge of the pool, blinking up at you and that little smile dissolves into something darker. Water streams from his skin, running between the dips and crevices of his muscular biceps and you shrink into yourself a little, sinking into the water until just your chin hovers above it. There’s nothing you can do about your heart now, it’s pounding against your ribs like it wants to escape from your chest and his crimson eyes are fixed on you as you try your best to keep yourself in check.

“Happy now?” you ask, and though your voice is a little breathy you feel like the fact that you’ve even gotten the words out is a feat of heroic proportions.

“Very.” He replies closing his eyes, and you can’t help but smile at that. He looks more content than you’ve ever seen him and that thought triggers a reaction in you that’s so strong that you suddenly realize that you can’t stay here. He doesn’t deserve to be ogled like this, when he’s just trying to relax. From the little snippets he’s given you from his past he’s had enough of that to last several lifetimes.

You clear your throat and he opens his eyes again, one eyebrow raised questioningly you swallow, gesturing at him to swap places with you. He sits up at that, a surprised smile on his lips and you shake your head, not wanting him to get the wrong idea about your intentions.

“I’m going to leave you to it.” You say, your words only catching a little in your throat as he cocks his head to the side, looking at you thoughtfully.

“Leave me to what, exactly?” He asks, voice low and teasing, and heat rises beneath your cheeks as steam curls up in silvery tendrils around his chest.

“This. Warming up.” You manage, trying not to look at him as you edge your way around the to the other side of the spring, nearer to the grassy knoll, but you really need him to move out of the way if you want to make a graceful exit. “I’ll see you back at camp.”

“I can think of better ways to warm up.” He says, voice a little too innocent, and your gaze flicks to him before you can stop yourself. His eyes are fixed on you and the look in them is dark and predatory and you falter, heart in your throat. You’ve seen that look before, and you swallow as his gaze slips to your neck, the hunger in it apparent.

“I-I-“ you start, but your words die in your throat. The way he’s looking at you has melted your insides into a puddle of lust and your really, really need to get yourself under control. You take a breath. Blood. He means blood. You try to distract your pounding heart by thinking through the implications of what he’s asking. You’re no cleric, but surely bloodletting in hot water wasn’t the best of ideas... “Is it safe?”

He frowns at that, cocking his head to the side as if trying to work out your meaning and you swallow and touch your neck.

“Is it safe to feed in the water?” You say, again. He freezes for a second, and then some unreadable expression passes over his face before he quickly looks away. If you didn’t know him better, you’d have said it was disappointment.

“Of course.” He says, seemingly to himself, and when he looks up the expression has been swallowed up by his usual confidence. “Don’t worry, my sweet. I’ll take very good care of you.”

He holds out his hand and you bite your lip, hesitating for a moment. It’s not that you don’t trust him. If he says it’s safe you believe him, but you’re just suddenly very aware of your lack of clothes. You shift uncertainly, edging a tiny bit closer to him and a slow smile spread over his lips.

“I think you’ll find you need to be a little closer than that.” He says in a voice that spreads beneath your skin like treacle, and for the second time in one night you regret not leaving when you had the chance.

You shiver despite the heat as you place your hand in his and he wraps his pale fingers around yours, tugging you gently towards him. For one panicked second you think he's going to pull you onto his lap, but he stops when you're a few inches apart. You put your free hand on the grassy bank to steady yourself as he lifts your hand to his mouth, rotating it so that the soft skin of your wrist presses gently against his lips. He's fed from you before but, other than the very first time when he almost lost himself, he’s been almost clinical in his approach. Careful to only touch as much as he needs to.

This is not that.

You watch, dumbstruck, as his pink tongue slips out from between his lips to swipe a cool stripe across the overheated plane of your wrist. Your breath catches, a small hitch at the back of your throat, but he catches it and drowning crimson orbs flick up to meet your startled gaze. He does it again, staring at you darkly from beneath his eyelashes and licks another tortuously slow line across your aching skin.

You try not to, but you can't help but gasp, hand gripping tightly into the grass, and his pupils dilate with bloodlust as his fingers tighten against your skin. Gods.

“A-Astarion.” Your voice is breathy and tight, barely audible and you feel almost drunk from just this small amount of contact. He closes his eyes at the sound, a pained expression passing over his face as a shudder runs through his body, and then, before you can say anything else, his fangs sink into your wrist.

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c0mbatchameleon · 2 months

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Snippet / microfic / something idk

Aka where Regulus wakes up half drunk on the floor of his brother’s apartment and forgets that the spare bedroom is no longer a spare bedroom

The moonlight has carved out a hollowness into the room when Regulus opens his eyes. There’s music playing, still, for an audience of empty cups and a few toppled chairs and the snoring bodies of his friends on the couch.

Barty is splayed out over Evan, face buried into his neck like he doesn’t need air, but rather, he lives and breathes the boy beneath him. Evan’s hand has planted roots in his skull, twisted into matted hair. Flecks of glitter sprinkle every inch of the boys, a sparkle here and there in their hair, embedded in their skin, their eyelashes and parted lips. They’re a grimy sort of angelic in their blacked-out state, sleep blanketing them in an innocence you’d never find otherwise.

It’s not the first time he’s waken here, stiff back and sour taste in his mouth. He stumbles to the kitchen sink and sticks his head in, letting the water run rivers down his face and neck as he drinks it in gulps. It’s about a full minute of that, and then running his hands over his face for good measure, before he continues his trek to the bathroom, scouring the cabinet for mouthwash and taking a swig straight from the bottle and then swishing it and spitting into the sink, hands gripping the porcelain to hold up his own weight. It’s a wonder he’s been able to stand for this long with exhaustion dragging him down like an anchor tied to his limbs.

He trails behind himself into the hall and then his usual room, hands held out in front of him in the absence of sight. It takes a minute to find the bed. Once he does, he’s unceremoniously tugging back the covers and collapsing onto the mattress, sleep already overtaking him.

He sighs, half in relief and half in pain, pulling up the covers and-

“Well this is new.”

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.”

Regulus’s skull collides with the headboard before he can form a cohesive thought.

Sleep has made a hasty retreat, driven out by adrenaline and pure fear. The man in his bed—James, to be specific—instinctively shoots a hand out, clasping onto his arm.

“Shit, are you okay?”

“What the fuck are you doing here!?” Regulus whisper-yells, propped halfway up on his arm with the other hand clutching his head.

“What am I doing in my bed?”

Regulus blinks. Fuck. He forgot this bed actually belonged to someone. Not just someone. Of course, never just someone.

“I… forgot you lived here.”

His eyes have adjusted to the darkness, now. He watches James stare at him, dumbfounded, for a few beats. And then he bursts into a fit of laughter.

Of course the fucker is laughing. It blooms on his face like Spring itself; even here, dimly lit and squinting, it’s blinding. Rays of sunlight cutting through his teeth as he gasps for breath inbetween. Flower and leaf and fruit sprouting from his throat, and Regulus is just too tipsy to avoid the vines coiling around him, his arms and legs and chest, taking root in his own throat, planting seeds in his lungs.

He’s too tired to fight the branches stretching out like hands and pulling at the corners of his own lips, coercing a smaller laugh. He doesn’t even think it’s that funny, maybe James is just delirious. Maybe he’s still a little drunk, too.

“You forgot I lived here. In my room. In my apartment.” James relays, his hysterics reigned in to a splitting grin. Blinding, blinding, still blinding. He’s on his side, head resting in his hand—the other hand is still on Regulus, a light touch burning holes through his clothes, the skin on his shoulder, the muscle and bone marrow, planting more seeds, sprouting more life. He’s staring up at Regulus with sparkling eyes. Who gave him this much joy? Who gave him the idea to direct any of it his way?

Even here, in the middle of the night, waking him up just to shed glitter on his clean sheets and yell at him for existing in his own home.

Regulus doesn’t deserve it. But he can’t find it in himself to deny it right now.

“I may have, uh, passed out in here drunk a few times when you weren’t here last year.”

“A few times?” James asked, eyebrows raised, hand still there.

“Ok. Maybe a lot. Forgot it wasn’t actually mine,” Regulus admits, trying not to shortcircuit from the contact. Trying to relocate the mask of indifference he misplaced after the 3rd or 4th shot. He can just barely feel he’s still smiling, stupidly. He can’t find the right muscles to make it go away.

The analog clock on the dresser across the room reads 3:27 AM in a blue glow. Regulus knows the sensible thing to do now is get up, but the soft arms of sleep are extending from somewhere below, furling around his body and pulling down. The mattress, James’s mattress, might be the softest thing he’s ever laid rest on and it’s enveloping him like quicksand. He lets his head drop forward like dead weight as he musters the strength to move.

“Well don’t let me stop you, then,” James says, amusement and something strangely resembling adoration painted on his face. “I can sleep on the couch, if you want.”

It’s all way too casual for the absolutely absurd offer.

Regulus stares at him in disbelief. “You’re just gonna let me kick you out of your own bed.”

James shrugs, “You look comfy.”

There’s the distant hum of a car engine passing outside, an intermittent clicking sound from the run down heater in the room. The window shade is somewhat transparent, which defeats the whole fucking purpose of the thing, much to Regulus’s annoyance—he’s awoken, against his will to many a sunrise in this room—and a nearby streetlight gently pollutes the darkness, illuminating James from behind in a halo of muted yellow light.

“That’s fucking ridiculous,” Regulus replies, still not moving. James laughs softly. A few daisies sprout in the garden growing between them. “Barty and Evan are on the couch, anyway.”

“I’ll take the floor then.”

“You’re not sleeping on the fucking floor for me.”

“Well I’m more than happy to share, then.”

“You’re not- what?” His bemusement distracts him momentarily from the growing effort of keeping his eyes open. James squeezes his shoulder lightly, the bastard, drawing a small breath from him that he hopes to god goes unheard, before finally drawing back his hand.

“I sleep on the floor or we both sleep here. Your choice.”

“And if I sleep on the floor?”

“I’ll still sleep on the floor out of spite. I don’t think you could get up if you tried, right now, anyway.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Regulus groans. He fully collapses in defeat onto the pillow as he says it, which might take some of the edge out of the remark.

“I really don’t mind the floor, love. Good for the back and all. I’ve got tons of extra pillows and blankets, anyway,” James says, gesturing to the floor next to his bed.

“Just sleep in the god damn bed,” Regulus sighs. He shuffles so he’s on his back, one arm bent over his head rather dramatically, and closes his eyes. He’s fully relented in his battle with his own exhaustion now, and it’s closing in fast.

James doesn’t move for a moment. Regulus can feel his gaze like a beam of sunlight through a magnifying glass. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to smell his own clothes begin to smoke in the wake of it. “Are you sure?” he finally asks, playful tone receding. “I just- I should warn you I’m a bit of an.. active sleeper. And I know you don’t always like people touching you-“

“It’s alright when it’s you.”

It comes out nearly a whisper now as he sinks. He’ll blame it on alcohol or delirium, tomorrow, if he’s not outright denying having said it. He doesn’t actually know why he said it out loud. Regulus usually keeps the truth to himself, as a general rule.

The last thing he hears before falling asleep is James’s small intake of breath, followed by a faint “Oh. Yeah?” and then reality rescinds entirely.

#this is my first time writing fanfiction since I was 13 #it’s also a random scene from a bigger story that’s been in my head the past couple months #but yeah #idk what I’m doing #jegulus microfic #jegulus fic #jegulus #james x regulus #regulus black #james potter #starchaser #sunseeker #unnamed physics fic #writing stuff and things

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darlingdekarios · 1 year

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hibernate.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 6,152 content: Arthur Morgan x f!reader, animal hunting mentions, cannon-accurate outlaw behavior, cowboy meet cute, Arthur Morgan is a simp, snowed in, fluff, smut [v fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cockwarming], kink(s) [spit as lube]

it was like fate insisted on the two of you colliding.

The first time you’d met Arthur Morgan was a lovely March night in New Hanover, opportunities abound as the hustle and bustle of life was at its highest point of the year, the weather the most tolerable for moving about. Returning from an evening of fishing now that the water wasn’t frozen in some areas and sketching birds by the river when he stumbled across a lone figure boarding train – well after midnight. He followed on horseback under the cover of trees in anticipation, joined by your own horse shortly after. He followed alongside with a hold of the strange horse’s reins until the train came to a stop.

He'd strained to hear you, considered boarding after you to clean up any straggling guards – it wasn’t his business, so he didn’t – but curiosity held him close. When the sound of police approaching quickly began you emerged to the top of the train, looking around desperately for your horse. Temporarily frozen when the moonlight caught your face and confirmed to the man that you were a woman, he recovered just in time to spring into action.

It had been Arthur who had led your horse to you and instructed you to follow. It was Arthur’s path that led you away from the law and eventually far enough away to be free of their hunting.

“Are you some kinda lunatic, lady?” he questioned when the two of you slowed side-by-side under the cover of thick trees, his face hard-set and stern. “You coulda gotten yourself tossed away for a long time back there.”

“I didn’t, though,” you laughed, and despite the feeling that burned in him that he couldn’t quite place as anger or worry Arthur’s stomach flipped at the sound and the way your laugh reached your eyes. You adjusted your hat with a playful smile on your lips, keeping the reins to your horse in one hand.

“Thanks to me,” he asserted, the stress causing him to light up a cigarette and adjust his hat. His eyes caught your gaze and you held it, appreciating his handsome features for a moment as your smile twisted wider.

“I would’ve figured it out, cowboy – you can be sure of that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ve seen your face on ‘wanted’ posters, Mr. Morgan,” you proclaimed, tone proud as you called him on his identity. He took another drag from his cigarette before leaning forward comfortably in his saddle, outstretching a hand toward you.

“Arthur,” he offered, amusement flashing across his features when you shook his hand firmly. “And I’ve seen yours, too. What is it they call you…?”

“The Panther,” you replied, that proud tone ever-present in your voice. “A nice tribute to my best hunt.”

His poker face was too well-trained to reveal that he was impressed – that he was intrigued.

“Well next time you go thinkin’ of doing something so goddamn stupid like rob a train at midnight alone,” he began, gruff voice filled with frustration as he attempted to present his unamused façade. “You could invoke that particular nickname and be a little more subtle.”

The second time was just as circumstantial. It was July – the heat sweltering, the air sticky, the fireflies sparkling in fields at night. You’d been riding for days, hunting gators in the swamps for weeks and now headed back to a more familiar area where you felt more at home. Just past Emerald Ranch you’d spotted him on the road ahead – his hat unmistakable and burned into your mind, his horse giving away his identity to anyone who knew it.

There was no questioning if he’d want your company – you didn’t even give it a thought. Instead, you’d hastened your own horse to catch up with him.

“Where ya headed, cowboy?” you questioned as you approached from behind, adjusting your hat back on your head to offer more of your face to him. Your voice immediately sent a shiver down his spine, the barely-there smile crossing his features unmissed by you.

Four months trying to remember your face and voice hadn’t done it any justice.

“Valentine,” he replied, slowing his horse’s stride to match yours. The two of you set a lazy pace, in no real hurry to get anywhere. “You following me now, cat?”

“Like I ain’t got better things to do, Mr. Morgan?” you joked, nose scrunching as you smiled. The Summer sun had done beautiful things for your color, he noted. “Give you $50 and shine your guns if you can beat me there.”

“Are you tryin’ to race me?” he questioned with a subtle laugh, raising an eyebrow in your direction.

“Won’t be much of a race, cowboy.”

He let out a real, genuine, albeit short laugh at that. The sound filled the air around you, made birds vacate trees. Your heart soared away alongside them.

“And what is it you want if you win?”

“A nice bottle of whisky,” you replied after a brief moment of thought, reaching your hand to rub your horse’s neck gently. Arthur had forgotten how gentle your hands were with everything they touched – the rediscovery lighting up his mind. “And a hot meal at your camp.”

“Can’t promise the gang’ll let you eat at camp without drinking, too.”

“Which is why I asked for a bottle of whisky,” you remarked, that shit-eating grin he was starting to love spreading on your face again. “Do we have a deal?”

“Hope your horse is fast enough to back up that mouth of yours,” he quipped back, intentionally antagonizing you as he started to pick up the speed slightly. “Or that you’ve got plenty of gun oil.”

You shot forward then, the dust of the road kicking up behind you as you left Arthur behind on a road you both knew well. In reality he could’ve caught you – could’ve even won if he’d pushed his horse hard enough – but the sound of your laughter in the cool evening air was reason enough to lose.

It wasn’t a surprise when you crossed over into the town first.

“You cheated,” he argued as he approached, allowing his horse to slow to a reasonable speed for being around other people. “Got a head start. Doesn’t count.”

“You’re just a sore loser.”

“Maybe I am,” he replied, reaching up to remove his hat to resituate his wind-blown hair. You were momentarily transfixed on his fingers running through the strands that looked soft – maybe in need of a wash but soft nonetheless – but quickly wished he’d left it messy. “Weren’t mean you didn’t get a head start, cat.”

“Oh, like a couple steps mattered,” you entered an easy banter with him, just like the two of you had done in the Spring. He’d missed it – hadn’t realized how much he had until then. “Coulda given you a five-minute head start and still would’ve beat you and that slowpoke horse you ride.”

“Anybody ever tell you you’re difficult?”

“Heard it a couple times,” there was that smile again – the nose crinkling one. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep his thoughts to himself with you smiling that way – at him. You jumped down from your stallion and hitched him with ease, feeding the massive animal a small snack in appreciation of his efforts. “I can compromise. I buy the whisky, but I still get a hot meal at your camp.”

He pondered your proposal only briefly before nodding, letting out an affirmative huff in agreeance. “I’ll meet you at the butcher when you’re done.”

You gave your horse a gentle pat and nodded, turning back to meet his gaze. “Sell that fox pelt I have up on Scratch, will ya?”

Easy. Simple. Honest. Sensible. Arthur loved having you around camp that night – and the night after when you’d been convinced to stay again by the women – though it was hardly just them that enjoyed your company. You’d made easy companions in the camp with your sharp tongue and ability to hold your alcohol. You had plenty of stories to share with Arthur’s chosen family – each one of them genuinely interesting to the gang.

Everyone knew the fact Arthur had brought you around meant you were a good person. The beauty was a bonus, he’d been informed in privacy. He’d only told Sean to shut his mouth in response. Arthur slept by the fire that night so you could sleep in his cot, and if anyone else in the gang saw the way he’d sat up for at least an hour with his eyes transfixed on your sleeping figure in his bed.

It was Fall, October to be exact, the next time he heard from you – this time you had taken fate into your own hands to seek out his company. He was certain he’d never be able to dispose the letter you’d penned and sent to his camp.

Dear Arthur, Kinda strange to call you “dear”, huh? Anyway, I have a job comin’ up in Saint Denis that involves me boarding a train quite late at night and remembering our conversation earlier this year I thought I may ask you to join. Job is planned for the night of October 18, the Saturday after next. I’ll meet you the Friday before at the saloon in Van Horn if you plan on joining me. I do hope you join me. Hope that gang of yours isn’t being too rough on you.

He arrived in Van Horn a day early and rented himself a room – and a bath – so he was prepared for the meeting. He was in the saloon before you, his chest clenching as you walked in through the swinging doors.

You’d taken a page from his book and clearly bathed recently as well, and you were dressed for the first time in front of him in feminine attire. The sight of you in a skirt shouldn’t have affected him the way it did – it was embarrassing for a man his age. It didn’t prevent the pressure building at his waist, nor did it stop him from speaking his mind.

“You had to wear that damn skirt, didn’t ya?” he questioned when you joined him, a smile spreading across your face. It was hardly a gentlemanly way to greet you, but then again, he was hardly a gentleman. “Knew what you were doin’ puttin’ that on with me coming in today…”

“You complained so much about the pants last time I figured I’d save myself the headache,” you replied, sliding into a chair next to him and crossing your legs for emphasis. “You don’t like it?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, kitten,” he’d practically purred – a new tone between the two of you. There was no denying that you wanted to hear it more, and you nearly chose to forget the real reason you were now sitting beside him.

“I need to look the part tomorrow for the job,” you replied quickly, eager to squash the tension now building between the two of you, unwilling to allow the job to go forgotten. There was too much money at stake. “Have to board a real nice train when it leaves out of Saint Denis tomorrow night. There’s a safe onboard I’d like to get my hands into.”

“Can’t just rob it the old-fashioned way?”

“Someone didn’t like the last time I did that,” you teased, feeling pleased with the smile it earned. “Figured I’d board and crack the safe.”

“Why you need me then?”

“Need someone to play my husband and keep watch while I’m workin’ on the safe.”

“Your husband,” he huffed out with another laugh, a brief shake to his head. The term had always been silly to him, just as silly as the idea of marriage was to you as a whole, really – and yet, there was no denying the clench in both of your chests at the mere thought. The imaginary suggestion manifested in brief images of domesticity, the vision of you sleeping in his cot in July flashing in his mind.

You didn’t miss the slight redness to his cheeks, he didn’t miss how your smile fluttered into something laced with affection. For all your joking demeanor, it was still clear that there was some secretive sincerity beneath the surface – that you cared for Arthur. And on Arthur’s part, well…he wouldn’t ride across the country to work for just anyone.

“Yes,” you replied when you’d pulled yourself from the depths of his eyes. “A woman travelling with her husband is far less likely to draw attention than if I were alone.”

You thought there would be some protest, though if you’d seen even a fraction of the thoughts Arthur had conjured up in the preceding months you’d never have to question it. To you what seemed to be him conceding was actually the outlaw taking a step he’d long considered taking with you the next chance he got.

Arthur just wanted to spend time with you – there were probably very few things he’d say no to right now in regard to you. He wouldn’t go admitting that out loud anytime soon either.

“Fine, I’ll go along with your little plan. Only so you don’t go gettin’ yourself arrested.”

“Great!” you exclaimed, the brightness that covered your face blinding but serving as confirmation that he was making the right choice. The money he was sure to get would be a bonus, too. “I got you a wedding ring. Looks like it’ll fit. You can sell it when the job’s done, as a thank you.”

“You get it off a dead body?”

“He didn’t need it anymore.”

There was that goddamn feeling in his chest again.

This was the fourth time destiny had crossed your path with Arthur Morgan’s.

Now, the ring still lay in the outside pouch of his satchel, the cool metal brushing against the tips of his calloused fingers often daily in a physical reminder of you. Today, feeling the pull of being apart from you for four months now and into the new year, he’d been clutching the metal in his gloved hands as he led his horse through the far North. Seeking the solitary bliss of being alone in the mountains for the winter, he had opted to simply ride and camp, sketching in his journal and enjoying the snow dusted scenery. Arthur’s plan was soon thwarted as a snowstorm began to roll in.

He'd been riding along the same worn path to make his way down the mountain when he noticed horse tracks leading into the thick forest – a horse, by the look of it, with no reemergence to be seen. Opting to do the honorable thing, Arthur pursued the trail, weaving through trees atop his own horse until he came to a small clearing where you were setting predator bait.

He didn’t know the kind of words to describe the way he felt seeing you right in front of him.

“Are you some kinda lunatic, cat?”

If he had a way with words, he’d tell you that your smile was brighter than the sun itself – fleeting shooting stars, the North Star when he’s lost.

“That’s not the first time you’ve asked me that question, Mister Morgan,” you replied, standing up and patting your horse as your gaze remained transfixed on him now. Even at this distance you could see the blue in his coat had electrified his eyes, the tone a perfect match for the world around you. You found it hard to form any further rebuttal.

“Won’t be the last either, given you’re doing something fucking crazy every time I see you,” he teased, finally giving into the natural ease he felt with you. The light air between the two of you had finally lulled him into a sense of comfort around you – he was willing to admit he was concerned, in his own way. “There’s a storm rollin’ in. You trying to freeze to death?”

“Trying to hunt a white wolf,” you replied, glancing back at the bait you’d just set and adjusting the bow you held in your hands, an arrow already grasped between two fingers.

Fuckin’ hell, Arthur thought. ‘Course that’s what you’re out here doing.

“You ain’t gonna be hunting much of anything when you turn into an icicle,” he replied, hopeful that you would understand his taunting was coming from a place of concern – not control. “You got Scratch nearby?”

“I suppose you’re right,” you smiled, slipping the arrow back into the quiver on your back and whistling to call your horse back to you. You mounted up on the animal easily, Arthur taking the moment to appreciate how languid your movements were – how graceful. His eyes lingered at your waist for a moment longer than was decent.

“If I remember right there’s a cabin just up the road. Been empty the last few times I rode by,” he explained, his words offering more than just a place to shield from the freeze.

Arthur wanted to spend time with you. You’d truly have to be a lunatic to think otherwise.

“Lead the way, cowboy.”

The snow picked up as the two of you rode side-by-side, both of your horses slowing as the powder piled up, creating heavier footsteps. While Arthur spoke to his horse beside you to soothe her through the storm, you could feel his eyes consistently on you despite the painful whip of flakes against his unshielded cheeks.

What could have been a short ride in the summer extended in the weather, and by the time the cabin approached view you had begun to shiver – something Arthur took note of. When he climbed from his horse he unrolled the blanket on the back of his saddle, passing it up to you before grabbing his shotgun.

“I’ll check inside, you try not to shiver s’much you fall off your horse.”

He disappeared into the cabin, your mind focusing on the sounds of him moving about rather the piling snow that was sure to trap you for days. Keeping yourself wrapped in his blanket provided the additional comfort of his lingering scent, and you found yourself clutching the fabric tighter and tighter as the moments passed.

“This’ll be fine ‘til the storm’s passed,” he announced as he exited through the doors, voice raised so you could hear him over the wind. “You go on in while I get some firewood and hitch the horses.”

“I can help, you know,” you offered, eyebrows pulling together to communicate your frustration.

“Would you stop your arguing for once and go inside out of this shit?”

By the time Arthur made his way in from the storm you’d used what wood remained in the cabin to start a fire, the flames warming the air around it quickly. The mattress was considerably dirty and out of the question, so you were validated in the decision to carry in your bedrolls and blankets, having set them up comfortably in front of the fire.

His heavy boots sounded on the floor as he approached where you sat on the floor from behind, and while you couldn’t see him, you could feel his eyes on you.

“Already got a fire going?”

“Uh huh,” you replied, noting the subtle shake to his voice. Arthur was strong, but he was human, and he was cold. The fact that he not only was willing to but insisted on suffering for you caused a knot to form in your stomach. “Got some whisky if you need help warming up.”

He simply grunted affirmatively in reply, setting the stack of wood carefully to the side and picking out the driest pieces to tend the fire with now. You tempted to hand the bottle out to him, the liquid going ignored as he began to peel off layer by layer, tossing the soaked clothing to the side lazily with little regard for how they ended up. Normally you’d have stood to hang the clothes, but you found yourself spellbound by the way Arthur’s muscles flexed with each movement under the simple wet damp button up shirt – the last remaining layer.

When he was somewhat comfortable, he turned to face you, eyes flashing with amusement as he took the bottle from your fingers. You were certain your mouth was hanging open and he’d caught you. At the moment, you could hardly bring yourself to care.

Hours passed as the two of you got warm and caught up over the last few weeks. You sat opposite one another, both wrapped in your own blankets and full of enough whisky to ignore the storm outside – to ignore everything but one another. Arthur hadn’t missed that most of your clothes lie neatly folded atop the countertop. The thought was repeating in his mind – the heavy question of what exactly remained under the blanket haunting him.

He couldn’t be blamed for not being a good listener.

“Arthur, are you even listenin’ to me?”

“Not a fuckin’ word,” he replied with one more small swig of whisky from the bottle, setting it well out of the way to the side. “Stop fuckin’ doin’ that if you want me to listen.”

“Doing what?”

You knew damn well what.

“Lookin’ at me like you want me to come crawl on top of you.”

Why on Earth would you ever stop doing that?

“No.”

Your mouth was going to drive him to insanity one day. He wasn’t going to do a single thing about it.

“Did you just tell me ‘No’?”

“Yeah, Arthur, I surely did,” you replied, quick and agile as you were on your feet. He was beginning to think you may only talk to hm this way, and that thought alone was enough to make him want to reach out to you. “Hoping you take the hint.”

The blanket he’d been using for himself was discarded to the side, your words finally snapping the thin thread of control that remained in him. He extended one arm outward toward the floor to support himself, outstretching his legs to be situated in a more comfortable position before his eyes found yours again.

“Come on over here,” his invitation came thick as molasses and dripping just as sweet, his free hand patting his right thigh to give his words deeper meaning. “Bring the blanket.”

Arthur had finally figured out how to get you to stop arguing and basked in the glory of the moment as you crawled to him carefully, finding a comfortable seat in his lap as you straddled his thighs. He savored the view as you wrapped your arms around his neck, encompassing you both with the blanket, your face illuminated by the golden glow of the well-tended fire – beautiful, warm, inviting.

He was more than happy to finally accept.

“Are you gonna kiss me, Arthur?”

He knew you were trying to sound resolute as you always did – firm and demanding and impossible to deny. While those things lingered – he doubted they could ever truly be gone from you – what really laced your words was the quietest of whines. He sat up fully, bringing his torso closer to yours and grasping your hips in both hands, all the while your heart beating faster and faster in anticipation.

When you opened your mouth to let your protest be known again, he took his opportunity to claim your lips in a long-awaited kiss, the feeling of his lips caressing yours sucking the air from your chest immediately. He opted to slide his hands to your lower back to bring you in closer, pressing your chests together as he kissed you hungrily. Touch starved and overwhelmed by the feeling of you returning his kiss with soft lips he sought more of your skin, sliding his hands up the back of the loose blouse you remained in.

“Clothes are still wet,” he grumbled against your lips, displeased by the cool touch to your skin that remained. You scrambled to reinitiate the kiss, your lips catching his bottom lip as a whine slipped through your lips. A quiet chuckle rumbled through his chest as he nuzzled your cheek with his nose.

“Take them off, then,” you breathed out, bowing your head to press a delicate kiss to his neck. His own breath caught, arms wrapping tighter around you – almost too tight, almost too crushing. You made no move to stop him as you began to test the best places to leave your kisses, spurring him to release his hold on you to start peeling the last layers from both of you.

Your lips brushed against the shell of his ear when all that remained were intimate coverings, a shaky groan rolling through his chest. His hands engulfed you, sliding up your torso until he cupped your breasts, dipping his head to claim your lips again.

That kiss was hungry – starved – clumsy in ways that screamed of desperation. His thumbs rubbed over your nipples lightly, a smile evident on his lips despite the fact he continued to kiss you as a moan slipped from your throat. It spiraled from there, both of your hands exploring, your fingers the best thing he’d felt against his skin in a long time. As the pressure built heavier at your waist his hands trailed lower, one stopping to grasp your waist, the other slipping into the waistband of your underwear.

He'd never heard music that sounded as good as the sound of the moan that left you as his thick fingers swiped through your wet folds, an appreciative hum shaking in his throat as you burrowed your face in his neck.

“You’re already soaked for me, darlin’,” he rasped, his voice getting lower and lower with each word. He began to sink his index finger into you, grasping your hip tighter in his other hand. “Fuckin’ tight, too. Hell.”

“Arthur…”

“Aw, hush,” he cooed, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple as he curled his finger inside you, pulling a quiet whimper from you. “No point tryin’ to talk right now, darlin’ – just lemme take care of ya.”

He could take his sweet time, Arthur Morgan. He was a patient man, especially when it came to you, and never more-so than now as he began to work his finger in and out of your clenching heat. He added a second finger soon, pressing the heel of his hand to your clit to give you more pressure, which you gladly accepted by rocking your hips into it.

As he pumped his fingers into you he began to trail kisses lower, the kisses growing heavier and wetter the further down he went. By the time he nipped at your hip with his teeth lightly you were breathless, eyes squeezed shut as you lost yourself to pleasure. He kissed across your waistline as he pulled your underwear down, smiling against your skin lightly when you kicked them free with frustrated fervor.

Nothing up to this point compared to the feeling of Arthur sliding his tongue from his fingers to your clit, giving the sensitive bundle of nerves a soft suck. He repeated the motion as you struggled to even moan, your hands grasping at the blankets now on the floor beneath you as you tried to rock your hips into his face desperately.

“Easy, now,” Arthur reprimanded with quiet reverence behind his words, turning his head to press a kiss to your inner thigh softly. “I’m takin’ my time with you, don’t rush me.”

You finally opened your eyes, ready to give him an earful about being a tease, only to be frozen once again faced with the sight of Arthur, golden illuminated by the fire and somehow still wearing his hat tipped back on his head. You maintained eye contact with him as you reached forward with your hands, removing the hat with one hand and placing it on your own head as your fingers ran through his hair, giving a soft tug at the end.

The growl vibrated through him and you as he connected his lips to your clit, pumping his fingers into you and connecting the tips, curling them skillfully to rub against the sensitive patch deep within you as he sucked your clit. All the while he maintained eye contact, even when he removed his mouth from you with one final flick of his tongue, just as he removed his fingers from you.

“Arthur…” you whimpered in protest, tugging his hair again to try to bring him back to your needy core.

“Hush,” he instructed tenderly, slipping his hands under your ass and grasping firmly to lift your waist from the floor. He soaked in the view of your glistening folds at this angle and tested how it looked to watch one of his fingers slip into you before removing it, licking his lips again. “You are a pretty little thing, ain’t ya?”

Your reply was sucked from your chest and altered into a cry of pleasure as he spit on your folds, smearing the liquid around before connecting his thumb to your clit, rubbing a figure eight. Supporting your raised hips still with one hand he continued to rub your clit, now using his tongue to fuck into you rather than his fingers, tasting you how he’d wanted to for nearly a year now.

The pressure continued to build and boil, eventually reaching a point of eruption – all the usual signs there with your shaking thighs, shorter and desperate breaths, your nails scratching against his temple as you gripped whatever you could. Arthur figured it was a previously unknown bonus to him keeping his hair a little on the longer side. He groaned to encourage you, switching his movements to pump his fingers into you again, circling your clit with his tongue until you became incendiary, your first orgasm washing through you with white hot heat.

He continued to lap at your folds as you came, removing his tongue from you occasionally only to kiss your thighs and mutter tender praises as you came back down to your body. When you had some sense about yourself, he was crawling back up you, pressing kisses to your stomach and breasts before he reached your lips, offering you a taste of your own honey sweet pleasure on his tongue.

When the adoration filled amorous kiss ended so Arthur could breathe you began to trail kisses down his neck again, following a trail to his chest before his index finger caught under your chin, lifting you back up to him, cerulean eyes questioning.

“Your turn,” you offered, slipping one of your hands into the waistband of his underwear and wrapping your fingers around his throbbing cock slowly. Running your finger over the velvet head you smeared the pre-spend leaking already, biting at your swollen bottom lip when he moaned.

“Not tonight, sweet thing,” he declined, his hesitation clear in his voice. You began to rub him gently – slowly – too damn slow – causing his eyes to roll back briefly. “You wrap these lips around me, and I won’t last long enough t’ fuck you.”

“Please.”

You didn’t truly know what you were begging for – for him to test himself and allow you to take his already throbbing cock into your mouth or for him to follow through on that promise to fuck you. Luckily, Arthur seemed to know exactly what your words were asking for – what you needed.

He reached to remove your hand from his cock gently, freeing himself of his underwear before he gently moved you to your side, lying beside you with his back to the fire to shield you from getting too much heat, to ensure you didn’t get hurt. One arm wrapped around your waist while the other slid to cup your cheek in his hand, bringing you in closer to him as he kissed you again.

As much fun as he’d been having teasing, he was done with the games now, and could no longer find the patience. He reached to lift your leg around his waist before grasping his cock, rubbing against your still-soaked entrance for a moment to gather some lubrication before he sank into you. Inch by inch disappeared into your velvet channel, the kiss practically halting as you gasped. He leaned his forehead against yours instead, grasping your waist gently as he continued to slip into you.

“Atta fuckin’ girl,” he breathed out. The large hand that still cupped your cheek slipped downward to rest against your neck instead, his fingertips digging into your skin in attempt to steady himself, to savor your pulse beneath his touch. “Takin’ me so good. You doin’ okay?”

You nodded as you stared into his eyes, pupils blown wide and mouth hanging open already at the feeling of him stretching you, almost too full but not something you’d be willing to give up anytime soon. When he’d fully seated himself within you, his cock buried to the hilt he released a shaky groan of his own, his eyes briefly closing as he savored the feeling of being wrapped up in you.

“Goddamn you’re tight,” he groaned out, pressing several light kisses to your lips before grinding his hips into yours slightly. “Shoulda crawled ‘tween your legs months ago.”

“Would…ah…woulda let you,” you managed to reply, pressing your lips to his in an unabashedly salacious kiss, already perfecting how to slot your lips against his in a way that left him craving more. He couldn’t hold back his movements any longer and began to pump into you repeatedly, setting a wanton and quick pace that somehow managed to remain tender and reverent.

He could only be tender for so long, desperation and months of waiting and yearning building in him. His movements began to get sloppy sooner than he’d have liked, though he felt better when your walls began to flutter and clench around him, your thigh shaking around his hip slightly. He picked up his pace to a much more relentless one, driving his cock into you and into your spongy cervix repeatedly as his grunts became more frequent, pressing kisses to your neck now.

“Want you to finish while I’m inside you,” he instructed, though there was something so subtly desperate behind his words – a quiet beg that only someone who knew him would recognize. “Think you can do that for me, darlin’?”

You nodded before leaning your head back again, quiet cries leaving your lips as he connected his thumb to your clit again, immediately choosing a relentless pace to rub in circles. You were almost certain you’d do anything he asked and soon enough you were pushed over the edge again, your walls clenching him so tight he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to remove himself. He did his best to continue pumping into you roughly now as he sought his own release, certain you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. Like you’d need to, anyway.

“F-fill me up, Arthur,” you begged unexpectedly through your euphoria, and he didn’t need anything else to convince him. With only a few more bruising thrusts he stilled inside you as he emptied his seed in hot ropes into you, groaning loudly as he lazily leaned his forehead to yours again, his own eyes screwed shut.

He didn’t remove himself from you when you’d both ridden your orgasms, instead holding you close and reaching to cover the two of you in one of the blankets that was on the floor. He wrapped his arms around you tightly to hold you closer to him, slipping one of his legs between yours for additional comfort and warmth. Still semi-hard with plenty of stamina to offer you couldn’t ignore the feeling of him seated in you still, buried as deep as possible as he brushed his nose against yours.

“Be a whole lot warmer this way,” he offered, giving a subtle move of his hips to emphasize the meaning behind his words. He pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose before reaching upward to kiss your forehead, leaving his lips resting there. He was right – you did finally feel warm.

“Mm,” was all you could reply, laying your head against his shoulders and closing your eyes, burrowing your face into his neck. He smiled as you managed to press lazy kisses into his neck before wrapping your arms around him as well.

“Think I’ll keep you here all winter,” he offered after several blissful moments, his head leaning to rest on the top of yours as his own eyes closed. He pressed one final kiss to your temple before succumbing to the comfort of you fully.

“Always knew you were a big teddy bear, Arthur,” you teased. How you managed to run your mouth still after he’d fucked you right was beyond him – but it was also probably a reason he’d want to keep fucking you.

“We’ll call it hibernation, then.”

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