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cassiemaebarnes · 23 hours ago

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Grumpy & the New Girl: Part 10

Bucky x reader

Summary: She wasn’t supposed to meet him like that. He wasn’t supposed to let her in. But sometimes, things don’t go according to plan.

Word Count: 10,661

I was gonna break this into two parts because it's so long, but I couldn't do that to you guys...😏

Bucky’s alarm buzzed again the next morning, sharp in the silence of the dark room.

You stirred first, blinking slowly as you became aware of the warmth pressed against you – and under you.

Your head was tucked against Bucky’s chest, one arm draped behind his neck, the other resting on his chest. Your leg was tangled between his, and you realized, all at once, that you were practically laying on top of him.

You tilted your head up just slightly, meeting his tired but amused eyes.

“Morning Sleeping Beauty,” he said, voice raspy, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Comfortable?”

You groaned softly, burying your face against him. “Don’t judge me. You’re warm and stupid comfortable.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling under your cheek.

“I mean,” he said, “not that I’m complaining. But if anyone walks in, I’m gonna need you to explain why you’re on top of me right now.”

You laughed, pushing yourself up slightly.

But as you started to shift, his arm around your waist tightened, just for a second, like it was instinct. Like his body wasn’t quite ready to let you go yet.

You froze, eyes flicking to his. He was still looking at you, still half-asleep, and after a beat…he loosened his hold.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Didn’t mean to–”

“No,” you said quickly, giving him a small smile. “It’s okay.”

You moved just enough to sit up, still perched beside him. “How do you feel this morning?”

He ran a hand through his hair, glancing up at the ceiling. “Good. Like…actually good.”

“Really?” you asked, a little surprised.

“Yeah,” he said, shifting slightly to sit up more. “Weird, right? After how bad it gets…usually I wake up the next day like it never happened. Head’s clear. Energy’s back. It’s always a little disorienting.”

You nodded, watching him carefully. “But you really feel okay?”

He met your eyes again, warm and a little softer now.

“I do,” he said. “Thanks to you.”

He finally sat up, rubbing his eyes once before standing up and walking over to the window. He opened the curtains and pulled up the blinds, finally letting light into the room.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and went to stand up, but the second you put pressure on your ankle a sharp pain ripped through your leg. You winced and inhaled sharply, lowering yourself back down onto the bed.

Bucky turned at the sound of your breath catching, his eyes immediately locking on you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, already crossing the room.

You gave him a strained nod as you leaned forward, rubbing at your ankle. “Yeah. Steve said it’d hurt worse today after PT,” you explained, trying to wave him off.

He glanced down at your ankle before looking back at you. “Well, just sit here for a little bit and move it. I’m gonna get ready quick.”

“Okay,” you said, already moving your ankle in slow circles.

A few minutes later, you tried to stand up again, slower this time. The ache was sharp, but you managed to get fully upright, gripping the edge of the bed for support.

The bathroom door swung open just as you were steadying yourself.

Bucky froze in the doorway, clothes still in hand.

“Seriously?” he said, already striding over to you.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, lifting your chin even as your ankle throbbed.

“You should’ve waited for me to help,” he said, voice low with worry, reaching out to grab your waist and steady you. “You’re just asking to fall on your face.”

You smirked as you leaned into his side. “You’re really leaning into this Sergeant Softie title, huh?”

He gave you an exasperated look, but you didn’t miss the slight upward tug at the corner of his mouth.

“I swear, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbled, tightening his arm around your waist. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to your room.”

You didn’t protest this time.

You just let him guide you out, one careful step at a time, tucked into his side.

Because if this was your new normal – the soft mornings, the easy teasing, the way he always came running – you weren’t complaining. Not one bit.

When you got to your room, Bucky nudged the door open with his foot, guiding you inside.

“Alright,” he said, leading you straight toward the bed. “Sit.”

You gave him a look. “I need to get ready.”

He didn’t blink. “Sit.”

You huffed but sat down anyway. “I can get my clothes, you know.”

“Nope,” he said. “I’ve got it. Just tell me what you want to wear.”

You gave him a slightly amused look. “You’re really gonna dig through my stuff?”

“Yes,” he muttered with a smirk. “Now tell me what you want.”

You rolled your eyes but pointed toward your dresser. “Top drawer – the black biker shorts and the matching sports bra with the white trim.”

He went straight over, opening the drawer and carefully sorting through until he held up the right set.

“This?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yep.”

He grabbed the set, then paused. “Shirt?”

You thought for a second. “Uh…gray tank top in the closet, left side.”

He made his way over, grabbed the tank, and then opened the bathroom door, placing everything neatly on the counter.

“Okay, anything else?” he asked.

“No, that’s it.”

You pushed yourself up with his help, carefully hobbling toward the bathroom with his arm still around your waist.

As you reached the door, you glanced at him with a sly smile.

“What, you’re not gonna help me put it on too?”

He froze for just half a second, then turned his head with a grin.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“Bucky!” you yelled, smacking his chest with your hand as heat rushed to your face.

He laughed, backing out of the doorway with both hands raised. “Alright, alright – I’m going, I’m going.”

You glared at him as the door clicked shut behind you, but you were smiling too.

You emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, walking a little easier than you had earlier. It still hurt, but the stiffness had faded a bit, and you could at least put some weight on it without wincing.

You’d pulled Bucky’s sweatshirt back on over your workout set, the sleeves slightly too long and the hem falling past your hips – the same way it always did. It felt warm, familiar, like him.

Bucky was waiting right by the bed, arms crossed casually, but his eyes immediately dropped to your ankle as you stepped out.

“Better?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. Getting there.”

He didn’t say anything else – just stepped forward, took your clothes from you, and walked them over to your laundry basket in the corner. He tossed them in like it was routine.

You walked over to your dresser and grabbed a pair of socks while Bucky grabbed your shoes from the closet. You sat on the edge of the bed to put your socks on, and without saying a word, Bucky knelt down in front of you and started to put your shoes on for you.

“I’m capable of putting on my own shoes, y’know?” you said, looking down at him with an amused look on your face.

He finished tying one shoe before slipping the other one on. “I know,” he said, glancing up at you. “But you don’t have to if I’m here.”

You stared down at him for a second, your heart doing that soft, fluttery thing again.

It wasn’t just what he said – it was the way he said it. So casual. So certain. Like it wasn’t even a question to him anymore: if he could help you, he would.

Bucky finished tying your second shoe and patted your knee lightly before standing up.

You smiled up at him, warmth flooding your chest. “Thanks, Sergeant Softie.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. “Keep calling me that and I’m gonna start charging you for my services.”

You laughed, standing carefully as his arm hovered near your waist.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“Yeah,” you said, already walking to the door. He opened the door for you as you stepped into the hallway together.

You walked beside him down the hall, moving a little slower than usual, but mostly managing on your own. Still, Bucky kept his hand on the small of your back the whole way, just in case you needed him.

The second you walked into the kitchen, all conversation came to a halt.

“Well, look who’s finally attached at the hip again,” Sam called out.

Clint leaned on the counter with his eyebrows raised. “For a second, I thought you two broke up. I was gonna send flowers.”

“Please,” Nat added, sipping her coffee. “Like they’d survive more than a few hours apart.

“Must’ve been agonizing,” Tony muttered dramatically. “Do you guys get chest pain if you’re not touching for more than an hour?”

You just rolled your eyes and made your way to the island while Bucky reached into the cabinet for two mugs like he’d done it a thousand times before – which he kinda had.

But the jokes kept coming.

“So where were you guys yesterday, anyway?” Clint asked, squinting at both of you. “No one saw you. It was like you fell off the face of the earth.”

“Went full bunker mode,” Sam added. “I figured you were either in hiding or building IKEA furniture together.”

Nat raised a brow. “Definitely not in the gym. Or the lounge. Or literally anywhere else on this floor.”

Bucky set your coffee in front of you and said, without missing a beat, “We were just in my room.”

You turned and gave him a look, already biting back a laugh. “Like that’s gonna make this better.”

The group immediately let out another round of teasing noises – oohs and whistles echoing through the kitchen like a high school lunchroom.

“Just in your room?” Tony asked, raising his eyebrows.

Wanda smiled softly behind her mug. “Should’ve led with something less suspicious.”

You shook your head, laughing under your breath. “It wasn’t like that.”

Bucky smirked, then added more quietly, “I had a migraine. Bad one. She stayed with me.”

That brought the room to a brief pause.

Not dramatic, not awkward – just a beat of silence as the teasing tapered off and a few glances were exchanged.

“Oh,” Sam said, his tone shifting. “You good now?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded. “All good.”

“That was sweet,” Wanda said, her voice warm. “Really.”

There was a short, genuine moment of understanding. And then–

“So…you two are just gonna go ahead and get married now, right?” Clint said, grabbing a banana. “Skip the dating, skip the drama – straight to vows.”

“Already acting like an old married couple anyway,” Tony agreed. “Might as well make it official.”

You groaned into your coffee. “Unreal.”

After a little while, things had mostly settled again. The teasing had softened into casual conversation after everyone finished their food and were just nursing mugs of coffee.

You were still seated beside Bucky, his hand resting on the back of your chair now, thumb lightly brushing the fabric of your sweatshirt like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Then, Steve walked in and looked around before he started talking. “Alright,” he said, clapping his hands once. “Training starts soon. Finish up and start heading down.”

A few scattered groans answered him, but everyone started moving.

Steve stepped further into the room and gave a nod toward Bucky. “Hey, Buck. Didn’t see you around yesterday, where’d you disappear to?”

He opened his mouth to explain, but he was a second too slow.

“Oh, he was around,” Sam said, grinning as he stood. “Just locked away in his room all day with her.”

“Didn’t come out once,” Clint added, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Unbelievable behavior.”

“Truly scandalous,” Tony said, deadpan. “We’re lucky the walls are soundproof.”

Steve’s eyes went wide as he turned to Bucky, brows raised, mouth parting slightly like he didn’t know if he should be horrified or impressed. “Wait…what?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, waving them all off. “It wasn’t like that.”

He turned to Steve. “I had a migraine. She stayed with me.”

Steve blinked, his shoulders relaxing instantly as the tension dropped from his face. “Oh – okay. Got it.”

He glanced around the room at the others, clearly realizing he’d been set up.

Sam just gave him a smug look. “Come on, man. You really think he’d tell us if it was like that?”

Everyone burst out laughing as Steve groaned, shaking his head and walking toward the fridge.

“You guys are the worst.”

“And yet,” Tony said, raising his mug in salute, “you still hang out with us.”

Steve just muttered something under his breath and grabbed a bottle of water.

You leaned toward Bucky, smirking. “You think he’s blushing?”

Bucky glanced at Steve’s pink-tinted ears and smirked. “Definitely.”

As everyone started getting up from the table, Bucky stayed close beside you.

Without saying anything, he reached out and gently pulled your chair back for you, then held out his hand.

You smiled softly as you placed your hand in his, letting him help you to your feet.

He kept your hand in his for a second longer than he needed to before giving a small squeeze and letting go.

Then, without missing a beat, he grabbed both your mug and his, carrying them over to the sink and rinsing them out quickly.

You watched him for a second, warmth blooming quietly in your chest, before you started making your way toward the door.

Bucky caught up with you easily, falling into step at your side as you headed down the hall together toward the training room, his hand occasionally brushing against the small of your back as you walked.

When you reached the training room, the rest of the team was already in there, stretching and warming up.

But instead of doing the same, Bucky walked with you to the room off the training floor where your PT was set up.

Steve was already inside, checking a clipboard and making notes.

Bucky slowed as you stepped through the door, and you turned slightly to face him.

He didn’t say anything at first – just leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, his hand resting briefly on your waist.

“Good luck, doll,” he murmured.

You smiled up at him, feeling the butterflies immediately start up again.

Steve watched the whole thing happen with a slow, slightly amused shake of his head.

When Bucky disappeared out the door, Steve chuckled under his breath.

“I’ve known that guy for almost a century,” he said, glancing at you with a crooked smile. “And I’ve never seen him like this.”

You laughed softly, cheeks warming as you made your way over to the mat.

Steve walked you through a few new exercises before he left too, but they were mainly the same as yesterday. It didn’t take too long, so when you finished, you went out to find Steve.

You were moving surprisingly well, ankle feeling as good as it has since you hurt it.

Training was still in full swing when you stepped carefully back out into the main room.

It didn’t take long for Bucky to notice you.

You barely made it a few steps from the side room before he looked up – mid-combat drill with a punching bag – and immediately abandoned it without a second thought.

He was at your side in seconds, breathing heavily, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

You smiled, touched by how fast he dropped everything to come over. “Good. Feels the best it has in days.”

Before he could say anything else, the others noticed.

“Aww, look at this!” Sam called across the room, hands on his hips. “Mr. Badass Assassin dropping everything the second his girl shows up.”

Clint clapped mockingly from across the mat. “True love, folks. True love in the training room.”

“Someone grab a camera,” Tony added. “This has Hallmark movie energy.”

Bucky just rolled his eyes but didn’t move away from you.

You were about to say something, maybe tease him back, when Steve came over.

“How’d it go?” he asked, more seriously.

“Good,” you repeated, giving him a small nod.

“Perfect,” Steve said with a smile. “Let’s get you back into the med room for another ice bath, just to stay ahead of the swelling.”

Bucky glanced at Steve, clearly reluctant to leave you, but you gave him a small smile and touched his arm lightly.

“Go back to your training. I’m fine.”

He held your gaze for another beat, like he was making sure, before finally nodding and stepping back toward his punching bag.

Steve just chuckled under his breath, watching him go.

“Never thought I’d see the day when Barnes acted like that,” he said quietly as he turned back to you. “You’ve got him wrapped around your finger.”

You laughed softly, following Steve back across the floor toward the med room.

About 10 minutes later, you were leaned back in a chair with your ankle in the bucket, the cold water surrounding it making it feel even better.

You had your head resting on the wall behind you and your eyes closed when you heard the door open.

You lifted your head up and opened your eyes, but you knew exactly who it was going to be.

“How’s it feel?” Bucky said, walking over while running a towel through his sweaty hair.

“Good. Feels like I could run a mile,” you joked, grinning.

“Maybe don’t do that,” he replied, laughing.

“But seriously, I think I need to get out of the compound before I go insane,” you said, dramatically leaning your head back onto the wall. “I’ve been couped up since I got here basically.”

“Well then we should go do something,” he said, without hesitation. “What were you thinking?”

“Well, the one thing I actually have to do is go shopping for new clothes–” you started, but couldn’t finish before Bucky cut in.

“Okay. I can take you to the mall.”

You lifted your head off the wall just enough to glance at him.

You expected him to be joking, because what guy in their right mind would want to go to the mall. Even you didn’t enjoy it that much. But when you moved into the compound, you got rid of a lot of old clothes that didn’t fit anymore, and you were in desperate need of new clothes, so you had no choice.

But Bucky did. And he still offered to take you.

“You do realize what I just said, right?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah…” he replied, looking at you like he was confused.

“So…you’re telling me that you want to go to the mall?”

“What I want is to spend the day with you,” he answered, like it was obvious. “And if that means taking you to the mall then, okay.”

You just stared at him for a second, jaw dropping slightly and heart skipping a beat before you recovered.

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “Guys don’t just…do that, though. Voluntarily go to the mall.”

Bucky just shrugged casually, wiping the back of his neck with the towel. “Then they’re idiots.”

You snorted softly, feeling your cheeks warm. “You say that like it’s obvious.”

“‘Cause it is,” he said simply, stepping closer and tossing the towel onto a nearby chair. “If spending a couple hours at the mall means spending the day with you, I don’t see the problem.”

You smiled, feeling a little flutter in your chest, but then you started wondering if it didn’t have to do with something else.

“You’re not just…doing this because you feel bad, are you?” you asked, your voice a little softer now. “Because I stayed with you yesterday?”

Bucky blinked, genuinely thrown off. “What? No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m doing this because I want to. I like spending time with you.”

Your heart fluttered and you opened your mouth to say something – anything – but your brain couldn’t form any words.

So you just smiled instead, the kind of smile you couldn’t hold back even if you tried.

“Okay then,” you said finally, trying to sound casual even though you were pretty sure your heart was doing somersaults. “Mall date it is.”

Bucky just smirked. “Deal.”

You glanced up at the clock, realizing that the 10 minutes was up. You didn’t say anything, just slowly lifted your foot out of the water.

“Can you grab me a–”

You looked up, but Bucky was already holding a towel.

“Oh, never mind.”

You reached out to grab it from him, but he just knelt down in front of you and wrapped it around your ankle, slowly and softly patting it dry. Then, he set your foot on the ground, still wrapped in the towel, and grabbed the bucket, dumping it into the sink for you.

As he set the bucket down and turned back toward you, you just gave him a look.

“You know,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him playfully, “you’re getting kind of scary good at this.”

“At what?” he asked innocently, grabbing your water bottle off the counter and handing it to you without you even needing to ask.

You just raised your eyebrows. “At knowing exactly what I need before I even say anything.”

He shrugged, trying to look casual, but you didn’t miss the way the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile.

“Lucky guess,” he said, completely deadpan.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Right. You just guessed I needed a towel, guessed I needed help drying my ankle, guessed I was about to ask for my water.”

“What can I say, doll,” he said, smirking as he finally let that hidden smile slip through, “I’m a man of many talents.”

You just laughed, then unwrapped the towel from your ankle. You threw it off to the side with Bucky’s then stood up.

“If we’re gonna be walking all day, you might wanna try to stay off your ankle before we leave.”

You raised an eyebrow again. “What, you gonna carry me bridal-style back to my room after I just said my ankle felt good?”

“Nah,” he said, trying to fight a smile. “I was thinking piggy-back ride.”

You snorted, then started to walk toward the door. But Bucky stayed right in front of you so you couldn’t go far.

Then, he turned around and bent down, sticking his arms out behind him. “Hop up.”

You just laughed, then tried to step around him. “You’re not giving me a piggy-back ride.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun,” he fake-whined, standing up straight and glancing back at you. “I promise not to drop you.”

You just sighed and shook your head, but as he bent back down, you put your hands on his shoulders and jumped onto his back.

He hooked his arms behind your legs and his hands grabbed the bottom of your thighs, pushing you up higher on his back. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through your whole body.

“Giddy up,” you said, laughing.

He just laughed along with you as he grabbed your shoe, sock, and sweatshirt and walked out the door.

When you stepped out, most of the others were still there, either stretching or just talking, and they all looked over immediately.

Sam was the first to react, dramatically clutching his chest. “Look at them! True love in its purest form!”

Clint whistled low. “Damn, Barnes, didn’t know you were into carrying your girl around like a damn knight.”

“We need a picture of this,” Tony declared, already fishing his phone out of his pocket.

“Oh, definitely,” Nat agreed, grinning wide. “This is historic.”

You laughed, but before you could say anything, Tony was already aiming his phone at you.

“Come on, lovebirds, pose,” he said with a mischievous grin.

Without thinking too much about it, you leaned your head down so your cheek pressed gently against Bucky’s, the warmth of his skin making your heart skip a beat. You moved your hands from his shoulders to loosely wrap around his neck, holding onto him just a little tighter.

The closeness sent another jolt through your entire body – the kind that made your skin tingle and your stomach flip.

You felt Bucky freeze for just half a second, like he felt it too, before relaxing into it, his hands tightening slightly on your thighs to keep you steady.

“There it is,” Tony said smugly, looking at the photo. “Perfect. That one’s going in the compound’s hall of fame.”

Bucky just shook his head, still laughing under his breath, and adjusted you on his back as he started walking again.

“Thank you for that,” you muttered teasingly into his ear as he carried you down the hall toward your room.

“Hey, you’re the one who leaned in like we were doing a wedding photoshoot,” he teased back, glancing over his shoulder at you with a smirk.

“He told me to pose,” you argued, grinning.

“Yeah, I didn’t know you were gonna go full cuddly koala mode,” he said, adjusting you a little higher again on his back.

You just laughed, tightening your arms around his neck slightly. “Face it, Barnes. You love it.”

He huffed out a laugh but didn’t deny it – not even a little.

When he walked into your room, he turned around and bent down, gently setting you on your bed.

“So,” he said, turning around to face you. “What do you wanna wear to the mall.”

You just hummed, still a little distracted from the closeness you just had to him. “I don’t know, what’s the weather like?”

“I think it’s supposed to get pretty warm today.”

“Okay. Let’s go with…jeans. Bottom drawer. Then my plain white cropped tee, in like, the middle of my closet. And my black zip-up on the right side of my closet, in case I get cold.”

Bucky made his way around the room, grabbing everything you asked for then holding it all up. “This good?”

“Yeah,” you said, getting up off the bed and walking over to the dresser. You grabbed the bra and underwear you wanted, then walked into the bathroom. He followed behind you, setting your clothes on the counter.

“Alright, I’m gonna go shower and change. Meet you downstairs?”

“Sounds good,” you said, already peeling off your sweaty tank top.

He paused for a brief second, looking you up and down without you realizing. You turned away to start your shower, then he finally looked away as you turned back to him.

“Okay,” he mumbled, shutting the door behind him as he walked out.

You finished undressing, then took a quick shower. You changed into your clothes, dried your hair, then dropped your workout clothes into the laundry basket before slipping on your Birkenstock sandals. You gave yourself one last look-over in the mirror before grabbing your phone, purse, and jacket and heading downstairs.

When you got down there, Bucky was already sitting on the couch in the common room, scrolling on his phone. He was wearing jeans and a red henley, hair still damp from the shower.

And man, did he look good.

Before you could say anything, he looked up from his phone. “You ready?”

“Yep!”

He stood up and slid his phone into his pocket. “I figured we could just go out for lunch before we hit the mall, if that works?”

“Yeah, you can pick where we go.”

“You sure?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah. I mean, you are willingly offering to take me shopping, so.”

He just laughed before walking toward the kitchen. “Sounds good to me.”

You followed him in and waited as he grabbed a leather jacket and his keys. And, of course, Nat and Wanda walked in as you were making your way toward the elevator.

They both stopped mid-conversation when they saw you two heading for the elevator, Bucky’s jacket slung casually over his arm, keys dangling from his fingers.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Nat said, narrowing her eyes with a smirk. “Where are you two sneaking off to?”

You laughed, stepping into the elevator with Bucky right beside you. “The mall. I need new clothes.”

Nat blinked, clearly stunned. “And he’s going with you? Willingly?”

Wanda leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smiling wide. “Wait, Bucky Barnes offered to go to the mall?”

Bucky just shrugged, totally unbothered. “She needed to go. I’m just along for the ride.”

Nat snorted. “Along for the ride, my ass. You’re gonna be carrying shopping bags and telling her she looks good in every outfit.”

Wanda nodded with mock solemnity. “You know you’re officially whipped, right?”

You laughed, elbowing Bucky lightly. He just shook his head, trying – and failing – to hide the tiny grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“He likes it,” you teased under your breath.

“Damn right he does,” Nat said, exchanging a look with Wanda.

Before you could step fully into the elevator, Steve and Sam strolled into the kitchen, both dressed down in athletic gear.

“Where are you two headed?” Steve asked, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

“The mall,” Nat and Wanda said at the same time.

“No way.” Sam said, jaw dropping. “Don’t tell me you’re going shopping.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You got a problem with that?”

“No, no,” Sam said, holding up both hands, grinning like crazy. “I’m just shocked. Never thought I’d see the day. Barnes. At a mall. Voluntarily.”

Steve looked just as baffled, blinking between the two of you. “I’ve known him my whole life. I’ve never seen him like this.”

Nat leaned against the counter, smirking. “You should’ve seen them earlier. She jumps on his back, he carries her across the building, poses for a picture like it’s prom night...”

“Oh, I saw the picture,” Steve said. “It’s already in the group chat.”

Bucky groaned under his breath. “You’re all children.”

“But you love us,” Nat said sweetly, patting his arm as she walked past.

Steve just shook his head, smiling as he sipped his water. “Seriously, Buck. It’s good to see you like this.”

Bucky didn’t say anything – just gave a small shrug, casual and a little shy at the same time.

“Alright, alright,” Sam said, waving you toward the elevator. “Go have your little mall date. Don’t forget to pick out matching outfits.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed Bucky’s hand, tugging him into the elevator.

“See you guys later,” you called as the doors slid shut.

Bucky just chuckled and shook his head as the elevator hummed to life and started going down to the garage.

“What,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever hear the end of this,” he said.

“Oh, definitely not,” you said, laughing. “I mean, you really are whipped now.”

He just laughed and shook his head again as the elevator came to a stop. You walked into the garage and Bucky headed around to the passenger side in front of you, opening your door for you.

You thanked him before he closed the door for you and walked back around the car to get in.

On the ride there, you mostly sat in comfortable silence, so you pulled your phone out of your purse to check it. You still hadn’t looked at the group chat, so you opened it.

The first thing that popped up was the picture of you and Bucky. And you had to admit, it was one of the cutest things you’d ever seen.

You had your arms wrapped around him, heads pressed together, and you both had big, cheesy smiles on your faces. You knew you had been smiling like a fool, but you didn’t expect him to be also.

Without thinking, you saved the picture to your phone before tucking it back in your purse.

When you got to the mall, Bucky circled the parking lot a couple of times, trying to find the closest spot. He finally found one that someone had just backed out of and pulled in, turning off the car.

“I’ve never been here, but I’m assuming there’s a food court?” he asked, turning toward you.

“Yeah, it’s huge,” you said, unbuckling your seatbelt. “Good luck choosing, there’s a lot of good stuff.”

You both got out and made your way to the doors. When you walked in, it was busier than usual, so you looped your arm through Bucky’s metal one to stay close, hand resting in the crook of his arm. He glanced over at you, looking surprised for a split second, before continuing forward, stopping at a map of the mall.

“Here’s where we are,” you said, pointing, other arm still looped with his. “The food court is just over there.”

“Okay,” he said, looking in that direction. As you guys headed over that way, you reached up and grabbed his forearm with your other hand, trying to stay as close as possible.

He glanced down at you, once again, but didn’t say anything.

When you finally got to the food court, you made a lap, looking at all the options.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Hey, it’s not my job to decide,” you replied, laughing.

“I know, I just didn’t know if there was something that sounded good to you.”

“Nope, all up to you.”

He just hummed, looking around again. “I think I might go with that Chinese place, it sounds really good right now.”

“Mmm, good choice. I had it once and it was good.”

He smiled, seeming satisfied with your answer, and led you over to get in line.

It wasn’t long before they took your order, and Bucky let you go first before he ordered and paid.

You only waited a few minutes until you got your food, then found a little table in the corner to sit down.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked, opening his container of food. “Is there certain places you wanna go, or do you just wanna walk around and decide from there.”

You took a bite of your food, thinking about it before answering. “There are a few places I know I wanna stop, but we can just walk around, because there might be more.”

“Okay, sounds good,” he answered, digging into his own food.

You ate in silence and finished around the same time.

“Mmm, that was good,” he said, wiping his face with a napkin.

“Told you. It’s one of the best Chinese places I’ve been to.”

“I might have to come back just for this,” he said grinning.

“Well, count me in,” you replied, shutting your container. “You ready?”

“Yep,” he said, shutting his own container and grabbing them both, tossing them in a nearby trash can.

You stood up and found his arm again as you started weaving your way through the mall, the buzz of chatter and the smell of cinnamon rolls filling the air.

The first store you stopped at was American Eagle.

You barely stepped a few feet inside, reaching out to flip through a rack of jeans, when your purse slid off your shoulder, dropping down your arm.

Before you could even push it back up, Bucky just reached over, slipped it off your arm entirely, and tossed the strap over his own shoulder like it was nothing.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “You’re seriously gonna carry my purse?”

He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You need your hands free.”

You snorted. “You’re setting new boyfriend standards right now. Guys everywhere are about to hate you.”

He just smirked and kept pace with you, unbothered.

The second you grabbed a pair of jeans to try on, Bucky was right there, taking them gently from your hand.

“Hey,” you protested, half-laughing.

“I’ll hold it all,” he said casually. “You just focus on shopping.”

And he meant it.

Every time you picked up something new – a couple of shirts, another pair of jeans –Bucky automatically took them from you, juggling your growing pile effortlessly with his free hand, your purse still slung over his metal arm.

When you were ready to try things on, Bucky followed you to the fitting rooms, standing outside the door with his back leaned casually against the wall.

You peeked your head out. “You’re really gonna stay here?”

He gave you a look. “Course I am.”

You smiled and slipped inside, pulling on the first outfit.

One by one, you modeled for him – stepping out and spinning slowly in front of him.

You expected a few half-distracted nods or maybe a polite “looks good.”

Instead, he took it seriously – tilting his head, studying the fit, offering honest opinions.

“That one’s good, but the other jeans fit better,” he said after you spun in a dark wash pair.

“That color’s perfect on you,” he added when you tried on a dusty blue top, his voice so casual and certain it made your heart thud a little harder.

You grinned, feeling slightly flustered – in the best way – every time he nodded approvingly or smirked when you teased him with a little twirl.

Once you paid for your things, Bucky carried the shopping bag without a word, balancing it in the same arm holding your purse.

You moved on to a few other stores – a cute little athletic store where you found some new leggings and matching tops, a casual basics store where you grabbed a few staple tees and shorts, and even a little boutique where you picked out a sundress you hadn't planned on but couldn’t resist.

Each time, Bucky was the same – holding bags, carrying your purse, giving honest opinions, and standing outside dressing rooms without a single complaint.

In fact, he seemed to like it – being there, helping you.

You teased him about it once as he loaded yet another bag into his hand.

“You know, you’re making this dangerously easy for me. I’m gonna start expecting this treatment every time I shop.”

Bucky gave a mock-sigh and grinned. “Whatever you need, doll.”

You stepped out of another store, and it wasn’t long until you spotted the bright pink glow of the Victoria’s Secret sign just a few storefronts ahead.

You slowed down.

Then stopped.

Bucky took another step before realizing you weren’t beside him. He turned, confused, and followed your gaze to the store sign behind him.

“What’s up?” he asked.

You gave him a sheepish look, shifting your weight. “I, uh…need new bras. And underwear.”

Bucky blinked once, then looked over his shoulder to actually read the store sign – and immediately got it.

“I can just run in. You can wait out here.”

He looked back at you, expression unreadable for a second, then shrugged like it was nothing. “Nah. I’ll come with you.”

You tilted your head, surprised. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said, already heading toward the entrance like he wasn’t walking into a den of neon lace and very intense perfume.

You followed him in, biting your lip to stop from smiling too hard. You’d expected at least a little awkwardness, but he didn’t even blink.

Or at least…not until you stopped in front of a rack of lace bras and held one up against your chest.

You turned to him slowly, a smirk on your face. “Admit it – you just wanted to come in here so you could picture me in these.”

Bucky sputtered out a laugh, immediately turning red. “I – what – no –”

You doubled over laughing, the look on his face way too good.

He ran a hand down his face, trying to recover. “You’re unbelievable.”

But then he grinned and walked a few feet over, plucking a truly massive bra from a high shelf. “Alright, fine. You should get this one.”

You turned – and immediately burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“Bucky! That would cover my entire torso.”

He held it up proudly. “Built-in armor.”

You were laughing so hard you had to grip the rack to steady yourself. A few other shoppers shot you dirty looks, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You finally pulled it together and actually picked out a few bras – in your size – and handed them to Bucky, who accepted them like they were grocery items. No hesitation. Just casually standing there holding a bunch of lacy bras like it was his full-time job.

Then you made your way over to the underwear section.

And that’s when things really went off the rails.

Bucky immediately started pulling out the tiniest thongs he could find, holding them up between his fingers with exaggerated expressions.

“Oh yeah,” he said seriously. “This says ‘I’m dangerous.’”

You cackled. “You’re gonna get us kicked out!”

He held up another – black, sheer, with two tiny straps. “This one comes with a warning label, right?”

You were both doubled over laughing now, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. One woman gave you the dirtiest look yet as she walked by.

You wiped your eyes. “Okay, okay. I actually need to try the bras on. You behave.”

“No promises.”

You shot him a look as you took the bras from him and handed him the underwear you picked out, walking toward the fitting rooms laughing under your breath.

It didn’t take long until you came back out to find Bucky still waiting right where you left him, the underwear you picked out in one hand and bags still slung over one arm like the world’s most cooperative boyfriend.

You paid quickly, and as you stepped back out into the mall, you spotted an open bench nearby.

Before you could say anything, Bucky nodded toward it. “Sit. You’ve been on your feet long enough.”

You gave him a grateful look and walked over, easing down onto the bench while he sat beside you.

Your legs sighed in relief, and your ankle definitely thanked you.

You leaned your head back, stretching a little. “We’re definitely getting pretzels after this.”

Bucky leaned back beside you, letting his thigh rest against yours, his voice casual.

“Whatever you want, doll.”

And he meant it.

A few minutes later, you were standing in line for pretzels. When Bucky stepped up to order for the both of you, you couldn’t help but take in the sight of him. Purse slung over his shoulder, shopping bags hanging from his arm, wallet in hand to buy you a pretzel. You couldn’t help but smile as you pulled your phone out of your back pocket.

You held it up, snapping a quick picture.

Then, you created a group chat with Nat and Wanda, sending the picture along with a text, saying You were right…

They answered immediately.

Nat: THE PURSE IS CRAZY

Wanda: I’m actually crying. Look at his face, he’s so unbothered

Nat: He’s so serious about it too 😭

Wanda: He’s in his little “shopping husband” era

You bit your lip to keep from laughing out loud, still staring at the picture – Bucky in his red henley, completely unbothered, your purse hanging off his shoulder like it belonged there, shopping bags neatly stacked over his arm, scanning the menu like he hadn’t just casually walked around Victoria’s Secret with you.

Nat: If he doesn’t propose by the end of the week I’m staging an intervention

Wanda: This man is in love. And he doesn’t even know he’s being iconic rn

You smiled down at your phone, typing back:

You: He’s getting me a cinnamon sugar pretzel. With icing. I might have to propose to him first

Before either of them could respond, you felt someone step beside you.

You quickly locked your phone and looked up – and sure enough, Bucky was back, holding a pretzel in each hand, one of them already smelling like sugary heaven.

He handed the cinnamon one to you without a word, your fingers brushing as you took it, and you tried not to smile too hard.

“You okay?” he asked, nodding toward your ankle.

“Yeah,” you said, breaking off a piece of the pretzel. “This is the best recovery day I’ve ever had.”

He grinned, unwrapping his own pretzel and taking a bite. “Glad I could help.”

You leaned just a little closer as you walked away from the stand together, still warm pretzels in hand, and your purse still hanging off his shoulder.

You didn’t say anything.

But you were definitely saving that picture for the wedding slideshow.

After stopping at a few more stores, you decided you were all shopped out for the day.

“Alright,” you said, “I think that’s enough for today. Unless there’s somewhere you need to stop.”

“Nope, I’m ready whenever you are.”

You made your way back to the entrance, stepping outside and walking to the car.

Bucky opened the door for you once again, then shifted your shopping bags to his other arm before letting your purse slide down his arm, grabbing it, and handing it to you.

“Thanks, Buck!” you said, not even realizing how easily the nickname slid off your tongue.

He paused for a split second, like he didn’t expect it either, then softly shut the door before walking around to the other side, dumping your bags in the back seat, then hopping in the driver’s side.

He pulled the keys from his pocket, then looked over at you. “Anywhere else you wanna go?”

You hummed softly, tapping your fingers against your leg as you thought. “Mmm…I don’t think so.”

Bucky nodded and started the car, pulling out of the spot and heading toward the mall exit.

A few minutes passed, the soft rumble of the engine and low music playing between you.

Then, completely out of nowhere, you turned to him.

“I want tacos.”

He glanced over, one brow raised. “Tacos?”

“Yeah. Like, really want tacos.”

He chuckled under his breath, eyes still on the road. “Alright. I can swing by somewhere.”

But then you sat up straighter, a new idea sparking in your eyes. “Wait. What if we made tacos?”

Bucky glanced at you again. “Made them?”

“Yeah,” you said, already pulling your phone out. “Like, we pick up the ingredients, head back, and cook for everyone. Make a whole thing out of it.”

He gave you an amused side-eye. “You wanna make tacos for the entire compound?”

You grinned. “Why not? They deserve a good meal.”

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

You smirked and pulled up the group chat, typing quickly.

You: Bucky and I are handling dinner tonight. We’re making tacos 🌮

The replies came instantly.

Nat: You two are so domestic it’s killing me

Wanda: This is adorable. Let me know if I need to bring a fire extinguisher…

Sam: Can’t wait to watch y’all burn the compound down in real time 😎

Tony: If you’re using my kitchen, there better be extra guac

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “They have so much faith in us.”

“I’m touched, really,” Bucky said dryly.

You arrived at the grocery store, and as you climbed out of the car, you slipped your hand through Bucky’s arm again without even thinking. Your fingers rested lightly in the crook of his elbow.

He glanced down, that soft look in his eyes again – the one he didn’t try to hide anymore. Like he liked the feeling of you right there.

Which, of course, he did.

You walked side by side toward the store, the automatic doors parting as you stepped in. He grabbed a cart, and you finally let go of his arm, starting down the produce aisle.

“Alright,” you said, glancing at the signs overhead. “We’re gonna need tomatoes, lettuce, onions–”

“Ground beef?” Bucky offered, already heading in that direction.

“And shredded cheese. And sour cream. Ooh – can we get the good kind of salsa?”

He glanced back with a grin. “I’m guessing you mean not the kind in a jar?”

“Exactly.”

“Bossy,” he teased, nudging the cart toward the next aisle.

“Efficient,” you corrected with a wink, grabbing a pack of taco seasoning off the shelf.

And just like that, you were off – weaving through the store together like it was something you’d done a hundred times. Teasing, laughing, tossing ingredients into the cart, and drawing more than a few second glances from other shoppers.

You finally made your way to the checkout line, and after Bucky paid for everything, you started to reach for a few bags.

But Bucky just grabbed your arm, ushering you away from the bags. “I’ve got it.”

“There’s a lot of bags,” you said, giving him a look. “I think I can manage one.”

He didn’t say anything, just gathered up all the bags with ease and made his way to the door, you trailing right behind him.

Not too long after, you pulled into the compound garage. You unbuckled your seatbelt and moved to hop out, but instead of going straight for the front door, you walked around the car to the driver's side and opened the back door, reaching in to grab your shopping bags.

Or at least, you tried to.

Before you could get your hand on a single strap, Bucky stepped in front of you, blocking your way.

“I’ve got it,” he said easily, already reaching in.

You stared at him. “You’re not about to carry all the shopping bags and all the grocery bags.”

He just glanced over his shoulder and waved you off like it was nothing. “I’ve carried heavier.”

“That’s not the point.”

But he was already grabbing everything – stacking bags along one arm, looping others through his metal hand, moving like this was his normal routine and not like he was turning into a one-man department store.

You stood there, baffled, as he popped the trunk, gathered all the grocery bags into his other hand, and nodded toward the elevator like it was no big deal.

“Let’s go,” he said, grinning.

You sighed, grabbing your purse and jacket off the seat before following him.

When the elevator doors opened and you both stepped out into the kitchen, a few of the others were lounging on the couches in the common room, half-watching something on the TV.

They turned at the sound of the doors – and immediately took in the sight.

You: carrying a purse and your zip-up jacket.

Bucky: buried beneath a ridiculous mountain of shopping and grocery bags, still somehow walking like he wasn’t struggling at all.

Sam was the first to speak.

“Oh my god,” he said, already grinning. “Look at this poor man.”

Tony didn’t even flinch. “I’m honestly not even surprised anymore.”

Nat leaned over the back of the couch to get a better look. “Barnes, blink twice if you need help.”

“Shut up,” Bucky muttered, but you caught the smile tugging at his lips.

He walked straight into the kitchen, gently setting the grocery bags on the counter. Then, without missing a beat, he kept the shopping bags in hand and turned toward the hallway.

You followed him out of the kitchen, but as you passed the common room, the teasing picked right back up.

“So, Bucky,” Clint called. “How was the mall?”

“Tell us everything,” Wanda added sweetly. “Did you get matching bracelets?”

“Please tell me he didn’t enjoy it as much as I think he did,” Tony said, shaking his head.

“Oh, he definitely did,” you said, grinning at him.

But before he could say anything, Nat’s jaw dropped. “Shut up. Is that a Victoria’s Secret bag?!”

Everyone’s eyes dropped to the bags in his hands. Wanda gasped and brought her hand to her mouth, Sam’s jaw dropped, and Tony just shook his head.

You and Bucky glanced over at each other at the same time, locking eyes before busting out laughing.

“Oh, great,” Clint said. “Now they have inside jokes too.”

You grabbed his arm to steady yourself before looking back at everyone else.

“Isn’t that a lingerie store,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” you said, a little too quickly. “Well – I mean, yes. But I just got bras. And underwear.”

The guys shook their heads as Nat and Wanda giggled, covering their mouths.

“So, how’d they look on her Barnes?” Nat asked, almost in tears from laughing.

Bucky, without missing a beat, responded with a completely straight face.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll let you know tomorrow morning.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

You gasped – eyes wide as your jaw dropped – before immediately smacking him hard on the arm. “BUCKY!”

The entire room exploded.

Wanda leaned back, clutching her stomach. Nat was wiping tears from her eyes. Sam had thrown his head back with a wheeze. Clint looked like he was going to fall off the couch. Tony just shouted, “Oh my god!” like he was witnessing history.

And Bucky?

He just stood there with the smuggest smirk you’d ever seen in your life.

“You did not just say that,” you said through your laughter, face turning red.

“Hey,” he said, holding his hands up innocently, “they asked.”

“Oh my god,” Wanda managed between fits of laughter. “That was so fast. He didn’t even blink.”

“That man’s been waiting to say that all day,” Clint wheezed. “He had it locked and loaded.”

You shoved Bucky toward the hallway, still laughing. “Get out of here. Go. I can’t even look at you.”

He walked off smugly, the shopping bags swaying in his hands as he called back, “Don’t worry, I’ll give a full review.”

“BUCKY!”

That only made the laughter worse. You had to lean against the wall as Nat shouted something unintelligible and Sam choked out, “They’re already married, I swear!”

You turned and finally followed him down the hallway, biting your lip to stifle the grin still tugging at your mouth.

You walked into your room still shaking your head, your cheeks still warm from all the laughter.

Bucky was already inside, casually setting your shopping bags down on the desk like he hadn’t just made a suggestive joke in front of the entire team.

“I cannot believe you said that,” you said, laughing again as you shut the door behind you.

He glanced over his shoulder, that smug grin still glued to his face. “What? I just answered a question.”

You gave him a look, arms crossed. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

He turned to face you fully now, leaning back slightly against your desk, his arms crossing over his chest. “Well,” he started, clearly gearing up again, “I saw you in everything else you tried on. I think it’s only fair I see how you look in your new bras and underwear.”

Your jaw dropped for a second time as heat rushed to your cheeks. “James!”

He didn’t flinch at the name. Just grinned wider.

You couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling out of you again, hands flying to your face as you tried to hide how red you were.

But when you peeked at him between your fingers, that teasing look was still there…only now there was something else behind it.

A flicker of something deeper in his eyes. A little darker. More focused.

Like he’d actually pictured it.

Your laughter faltered just slightly as your heart thudded in your chest.

He didn’t say anything else – didn’t push it – but the way his gaze lingered for just a second longer told you enough.

You turned around quickly, walking over to your dresser. “I’m gonna get changed,” you said, hoping your voice sounded even slightly normal. “Then we can go down and start dinner.”

Bucky pushed off the desk behind you. “Sure, doll,” he said, still smug. “Let me know if you need help with anything.”

You just laughed again, then decided that two could play at that game.

You grabbed a pair of shorts out of your dresser, then walked back over to the desk. You reached into the Victoria’s Secret bag, grabbing a bra and pair of underwear, handing them to him.

“Can you take the tags off these for me,” you said with an innocent look on your face.

“Sure…” he said, looking at you, a little confused.

You reached past him and grabbed scissors out of your desk and handed them to him. He cut the tags off and handed them back to you. You took them and headed over to the bathroom.

“Can you start cutting the tags off everything else too?” you asked, flashing him a smile before disappearing behind the bathroom door.

Your heart was pounding, excited but also nervous for what you were planning. You quickly changed into your new underwear, bra, and pulled your shorts up. Then you walked back to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it.

“Just realized a forgot another shirt,” you said innocently, strutting over to your closet.

He just glanced over at you before doing a full double take.

His jaw didn’t drop, but it was close.

His eyes trailed from your legs up to your chest in a not-even-slightly-subtle sweep, and suddenly it was his turn to be flustered.

You smirked – smug, knowing, fully leaning into the fact that he’d just walked headfirst into his own game.

The very same smirk he’d been wearing minutes ago.

He blinked a few times, like he was trying to reset his brain. “That’s, uh…new.”

You raised your brows, pretending to be confused as you opened your closet door. “What is?”

His mouth opened, then shut again, like he couldn’t form an actual answer – and your grin only grew wider.

But then, he stepped forward, and just like that, he recovered.

That slow, hungry look returned to his eyes, darker now, more focused.

He walked over behind you, his hands brushing your shoulders lightly as he leaned in, eyes absolutely zeroed in on your chest.

“This one looks good,” he said lowly, voice a little rough, eyes not leaving your chest.

You froze for half a second.

Then he leaned just a touch closer – so his lips were near your ear.

“But I bet,” he murmured, “you’d look even better in the red one.”

Your breath hitched.

Heat spread across your cheeks and down your neck like fire.

Bucky just smirked against your cheek, knowing exactly what he was doing.

“Are you just gonna stand there,” he said softly, leaning back, “or are you gonna grab a shirt?”

You opened your mouth to say something – anything – but your brain couldn’t form a single coherent thought.

And then, he got even bolder.

His hands slid up your arms, slow and deliberate, fingertips brushing over the bare skin of your shoulders. You could feel your skin rise in goosebumps.

Then he hooked his fingers just under the strap of your bra like he was adjusting it…or testing the feel of it…or maybe just driving you completely out of your mind.

“There,” he said, voice a low murmur. “Perfect fit.”

He finally looked up at your face, meeting your eyes, still smirking. Your eyes were wide, cheeks were flushed, and you were still completely flustered.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you spoke.

Your heart was thudding in your ears as his hand came up slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. But instead of dropping it, his fingers lingered, curling lightly behind your ear as he tilted your chin ever so slightly up toward him.

Your eyes locked on his, your pulse pounding.

Then, he leaned in.

Not all the way. Just a few inches closer.

Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. Close enough that you could see the way his gaze flicked down to your mouth – lingering like he needed it, like it was taking everything in him not to close the gap.

And your mind was racing.

This day – everything about it – was perfect. The mall. The way he carried all your bags willingly. The teasing, the laughter, the way he looked at you. How effortlessly he made you feel like you mattered. Like you were his.

And suddenly, it hit you all at once.

You wanted this.

You wanted him.

Not just the flirting. Not just the banter.

Him.

Your chest tightened as the realization settled deep in your chest – overwhelming, terrifying, and blindingly clear.

Bucky must have felt you freeze, because slowly and gently, he started to pull back, not wanting to push you, not wanting to cross a line you weren’t ready for.

But before he could take even a full step away, your hand shot up.

You grabbed the back of his neck and yanked him back down to you, crashing your lips to his in one quick, breathless motion.

It caught him off guard – just for a second.

But then, he melted into you.

Like he’d been waiting forever for this exact moment.

His hands found your waist, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. He kissed you like he meant it – no hesitation, no teasing, just days of tension and unspoken feelings poured into every movement.

His nose bumped yours, your fingers tangled in his hair, and when you finally broke apart just a few inches, the look in his eyes was completely different.

Soft. Open. Real.

He was breathing hard, his forehead resting lightly against yours, voice barely more than a whisper.

“…Took you long enough.”

You laughed – breathless and completely undone.

You were still breathing hard, forehead resting against his, when his hands slid just a little more firmly to your waist. He didn’t move away, didn’t speak – just let the silence settle around the two of you like it was something sacred.

Then, slowly, he leaned in again.

This time, the kiss was softer. Slower.

It wasn’t rushed like the first kiss moments ago. It was gentle and sure, like he wanted to savor it now that he had it – like he needed to commit it to memory.

Your hand stayed at the back of his neck, fingers lightly curling through the hair at the nape of his neck. His metal hand slipped up your back, settling between your shoulder blades, anchoring you to him.

When you finally pulled apart again, he looked at you – really looked at you – eyes slightly wide, as if he couldn’t believe this was real.

You couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face.

Neither could he.

You let your hands fall to your sides slowly as you stepped back, cheeks flushed, heart still racing. “I, uh…I should probably put on a shirt.”

He huffed out a soft laugh, still smiling like an idiot. “Yeah, before I forget we’re supposed to be making tacos.”

You gave him a playful shove toward the door. “Go change.”

He shook his head, still looking stunned in the best way, and finally turned to head out of your room.

You watched him disappear down the hallway, then turned back toward your closet, pressing your hands to your face with a little squeal.

Your skin was still buzzing.

You grabbed the nearest t-shirt you could find and pulled it on over your new bra – your fingers still a little shaky, your lips tingling from the kiss.

And the smile?

It wouldn’t go away.

You tucked your hair behind your ears, took a deep breath, then finally stepped out of your room and made your way to the kitchen.

Still floating.

Still reeling.

And for the first time, letting yourself really wonder what it meant now that you’d kissed Bucky Barnes – and that he’d kissed you like that.

Masterlist

Tag list: @ordelixx @read-just-cant-stop @erinallene @crazycleo @magnoliamermaid @thewriters64 @nelachu2423 @kjah97 @awesompawsum @winchestert101 @buckyb-stan @crazyunsexycool @buckysmetalgoddamnarm @buckybarnesfic @ozwriterchick @multiversefanfics @blavikennbutcher @mysoggywaffle @nameless-ken @starfly-nicole @440mxs-wife @vicmc624 @lostinspace33 @prettylittlepluviophile @softpia @maryevm @glossy01 @ye-olde-trash-panda @bonnyclydecat @iyskgd @ohdrey89 @death-in-love @herejustforbuckybarnes @whitewolfluvr @violetpassionfruit

#bucky #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #avengers #marvel #grumpy #the new girl #cassiemaebarnes

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appalachiancowboy99 · 8 months ago

Text

After Dark

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Established relationship, high honor, grumpy Arthur in desperate need of release, 18+, MDNI (Minors DO NOT ENTER)

Arthur comes back to camp later than usual, with nothing but a bad disposition and a desperate need to release his pent-up frustrations.

Warnings: longer read, sexual content (oral, unprotected p in v, rough sex), mentions of violence, mentions of anger, and dabbles in sensual fluff.

Gif by: @sunwingsunset

A/N: Thank you so much to @photo1030 for not only being my sounding board in the never-ending chaos that is my writing process but also for being such a wonderful friend through it all. So grateful for you, don't know what I'd do without ya, C! <3 Thank you so much to @rivetingrosie4 for being an inspiration for my little works and being so supportive of my creative endeavors, not to mention the kind generosity of your friendship! Forever grateful for to have met you! @tortureddpoett I'm so excited to explore this budding friendship with you! Thank you so much for showing so much excitement for my work, IT MAKES ME EXCITED (EEP!). It means an absolute ton to me <3 @mr-inkslinger your friendship has been an absolute delight to explore! Thank you for posting that toe-curling smut that always has me giggling and kicking my feet! So happy to have met ya! And thank each and every single one of you for liking my first drabble and expressing interest in this next one. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to publish this post, but hopefully, the next ones won't take me as long. I'll forever be grateful for your patience and kindness <3 But now, enough of my babbling, y'all enjoy yourselves with this one- I know I did ;)

Fuck. From the second he opened his eyes, he knew that the day was going to be fucking awful; his neck had a crick in it, his head was pounding from what little sleep he’s received over the last few nights, and now he had to trudge back out into the goddamn muggy heat to work. One disaster after another had piled up; everything that could have gone wrong, went so terribly awry that he wound up farther away from camp than he originally intended and managed to add a solid fifteen-dollar bounty to the mounting collection resting atop his head. Dutch had sent him out on a wild goose chase, following a lead from Micah that, of course, ended up being a complete waste of time. And that meant he was coming back to camp empty-handed, which almost certainly meant he'd be on the receiving end of another one of Dutch's lectures on the endless responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. He dreaded it, wanted to avoid spiraling down another conversation that would end in Dutch questioning his faith in the ever-evolving plan he’s found himself working on these days.

As if he needed any of that horseshit tonight. All he wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, a chance to catch his breath after the disaster of a day he'd just had, but instead, he was headed back to camp with nothing but bruises, a bloody lip, and a bad disposition to show for his efforts. Trees and other bits of scenery whipped by in a blur as Arthur spurred his horse onward, his surroundings melting together into a muddy mess of shapes cast by moonlight. He passed through New Hanover, his furious pace leading him down the familiar roads of Lemoyne, reaching the clearing outside of camp. Lenny and John are the first to spot Arthur approaching the thicket of trees disguising Clemens Point's main entrance. “Hey, who goes there?” Lenny’s voice echoes through the forest, bouncing off the thicket until it reaches Arthur’s ears.

“‘S me.” Arthur grunts out through gritted teeth, clearly not in the mood for any chit-chat. Even underneath the shadow of leaves and limbs, the scowl etched upon his face is easily distinguishable, a clear sign for anyone with any common sense to give him a wide berth for the rest of the night. Lenny and John, both, had a pretty good idea of what might happen when Arthur steps foot into camp and they don't want any part of it. As a result, they give each other a little knowing glance and stay in the treeline, preferring to avoid the impending shitstorm and let Dutch or Hosea deal with it instead. He strides past them in a fit of frustration, dismounting his mare with a jerky movement before she's even come to a complete stop. Kieran spots him and hesitantly approaches. That poor fool. "H-Hey, Mr. Morgan. Would ya like me to unsaddle the 'ol gal here?" Kieran's question was nothing more than an innocent query, but his expression turned the young man into a nervous wreck. If looks could kill, Arthur’s certainly could; his steely eyes are set ablaze with annoyance and irritation as he casts a hateful glance in Kieran's direction. Even Kieran knew better than to talk to Arthur when he was in this state, knowing that it would only lead to suffering at the hands of his unbridled wrath. Kieran’s eyes immediately darted to his feet, desperate to avoid Arthur’s icy gaze as his fingers trembled with the frayed ends of rope in his hands. Quickly as to not start any trouble for himself, Kieran took hold of the mare's reigns and led her away to the field of horses, putting as much distance between himself and Arthur as he could. A slight pang of guilt runs through him when he sees the way that Kieran high-tailed it out of his line of sight. He doesn't want to be harsh to the boy, he's been a useful asset to the gang, but his temper is just too far gone for him to muster up an apology. As fast as the angering thoughts snapping through his mind, Arthur turns on his heels and storms into camp in search of Dutch. His boots furiously hit the grass and reddened Lemoyne dirt as he passes by a few of the wandering eyes from those still awake at this late hour. Charles casts him a wary glance, and so does Sadie, but neither of them cares to look long enough to entertain what's about to happen. He passes by his own wagon and heads straight to Dutch's tent. Dutch is nowhere to be seen, yet the lamp light inside casts its soft golden glow upon the closed canvas flaps of the tent, indicating that he might be inside. Not wasting any more time than he has to, Arthur approaches the tent, not bothering to stop and think until it's too late. His hand raises, readying to peel back the canvas flap, when all of a sudden he hears the sweet amorous sounds of lovemaking echo through the night air. Molly’s sweet voice gasps out between each movement of their squeaking cot, calling out for Dutch as the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin penetrates through the thin canvas walls, revealing exactly what’s occupying Dutch’s time tonight.

“Oh, Dutch. Don’t stop,” she encourages through strained, unabashed moans of pleasure. Dutch’s deep, husky voice murmurs back something unintelligible, but the increased squeaking of their bed and the filthy little noises coming from Molly are a clear indicator that Arthur should be stepping away to give them some privacy. Embarrassment washes over him, causing a faint rosy flush to heat his face and bloom across his cheeks. For once, he's grateful for the distraction from his current frustration. On most nights, he'd find comfort in your presence, seeking you out to vent his grievances as a distraction from the ever-present aggravation that seemingly follows him around these days. But tonight, he just wants to retreat to his tent, away from everything and everyone, to try to calm down before he says or does something he regrets.

He strides past the dying campfires and tables that are askew from daily camp activities, and his mind tirelessly races from thought to thought, stealing his attention away from his surroundings. If Arthur had even bothered to look, he would have spotted your sleeping form laid out upon his bed the moment he stepped inside. You had been waiting for him all evening. After working yourself to the bone doing laundry, dinner prep, and other camp chores for Ms. Grimshaw all day long, you wandered your way over to Arthur’s tent in search of a quiet place to sit. Part of you wished to find him seated right there on his cot, wanting to simply have a conversation with the man who has stolen your heart, but to your disappointment, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So, you waited for him.. And waited until the very idea of waiting became too tiresome and you unknowingly fell asleep.

Sneaking away from the gang for private talks with him has been one of your favorite things to do since you joined the gang so long ago. Y'all have always had a knack for avoiding the company of others. But somehow in the midst of squirreling yourselves away, both of you have come to find that you'd prefer being alone together. Eventually, this led to many nights where Arthur would seek you out just to speak his mind, allowing you to see the world through his eyes for a short while. You have not only embraced Arthur's thoughts, but in doing so, you have captured his heart all the same. If it weren't for you, he's certain he'd have lost his damn sanity long ago.

Arthur takes that dusty old gambler's hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to calm himself down. His eyes glance over the things laid out upon his bedside table before catching a glimpse of your figure awash by the pale moonlight in his periphery. Your hair is sprawled out over the small blanket you've rolled up into a makeshift pillow; curls flowing like a roaring waterfall, laying a mess, and finally free from the bun that was atop your head earlier in the day. His eyes rake over your voluptuous figure, noting every dip and curve from your plump waist and hips to the ample swell of your breast hidden by a layer of clothing. The moment his mind registers that your presence isn't a dream, his eyes soften and his mind no longer races with anger. You are his peace, the only thing in this world that he cherishes above all else.

Sighing softly, he finally discards his hat from his hand and places it onto his nightstand before working off his worn leather jacket and satchel, resting them on the back of the chair nearest his shaving mirror. And while he's on his feet, he takes the time to carefully roll down the canvas walls of his tent, unraveling them with the quiet precision of a mouse, and securing them in a few simple knots to hide you two away from the world.

It's quite dark by the time he wanders over to the cot, dark enough not to notice himself brush against your legs as he takes a seat on the edge of the old creaking bed. The familiar, welcomed-warmth of his body pressing against your shins rouses you from your restful slumber. Your eyes flutter open to find his figure perched next to you, shrouded in a darkness so thick that you are sure you're still dreaming. His head and broad shoulders are slumped over as he begins working off his dusty boots, caked with remnants of mud and manure.

"Hmm... Arthur?" Your voice floats through the quiet darkness, laden with fatigue and clearly carrying the lassitude of someone who could fall back asleep at the drop of a hat.

He quickly glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, his eyes already adjusted enough to the shadows to see your tired face staring back at him with confusion. He silently curses himself for waking you. "Shhh, Darlin'. Don't wake up on my account. I'll be done in just a minute," Arthur lightly grunts out the last word as he struggles to remove his right boot.

Even in your own weary state, the exhaustion in his tone isn't lost on you. Thinking it best to rouse yourself as quickly as possible to free up his bed for him, you sit yourself up and will yourself awake with a slight stretch. "'S okay. You need rest more 'n me."

"No. You was restin' 'fore I got here. Go 'head and lay back down." He isn't having any of your courtesy tonight. He's worn out, far too tired to argue with you about whether or not it's appropriate for you to share his bed for the night.

The rest of the gang, aside from John, Abigail, Susan, and Hosea know nothing about the true nature of y'all's relationship. Although, the rest of the girls have picked up on the changes you've brought about in Arthur since your arrival so long ago now. Seeing him get all soft and doey-eyed at you over these last few weeks has most definitely tipped them off about what y'all really get up to when you're out running errands together. But they catch wind of you sleeping in his tent tonight, it will all but confirm their suspicions. And yet, you just can't bring yourself to move from the comfort of Arthur's cot with him sitting so close to you.

"What time is it?" The question falls from your lips, carried on the soft currents of a gentle breeze pushing through the tent flaps. Fine sinewy muscles flex beneath his shirt as he leans over to work off his other boot and you are powerless to admire the shape of his body beneath.

A muffled grunt escapes his mouth the moment he finally frees his aching feet from the confines of his boots, "Late," he simply replies.

You take a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the tranquility of the night to settle around you like a soft, comforting blanket. Outside these walls, no sounds of chatter or lively activity can be heard, aside from the gentle hum of crickets by the riverbank and the faint sounds of a squeaking cot stopping abruptly. The gang is unusually quiet, the air filled with repose now that Arthur's returned safely to you. Only a few stragglers tend to the campfires, their focus solely on themselves, interested in anything beyond the flickering flames; not even the sounds of Dutch and Molly or Arthur's irritation can disrupt the peaceful bubble encompassing Clemen's Point tonight.

The plush heel of your palm rubs over one of your eyes as you flit them toward the tent entrance, watching how the wind slightly ruffles the bottom of the canvas. It's only then that you realize that Arthur has tied down the walls for privacy on your account. Normally, he wouldn't bother setting up the walls before collapsing on the cot for a few restless hours of sleep. But tonight, he's gone out of his way to ensure your comfort. Your heart couldn't feel any more full of love for this man by your side, a man who puts your well-being above all else, even above his own. Never did you think that love would have been like this for you: sitting in the comfortable silence of privacy for lovers when that luxury is rarely afforded for women like you. But despite your gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a pang of guilt gnaws at you knowing he made the extra effort while you took up residence in his bed, a cot that's barely big enough for the two of you given your plump frame.

In an attempt to make up for taking up so much space, you roll yourself forward along the thin mattress and quickly slide past him, crawling toward the foot of his bed where his trunk of clothing is kept. You've decided to give him his space for the night, even though in your heart, you'd prefer to stay. Before your foot even slides off the trunk to touch the soft grass below, you're reminded of John stopping by Arthur's tent earlier in the day.

Through a half yawn, you speak, not giving Arthur the chance to catch-on to where you're headed, "'Fore I forget: John stopped by while you was out."

Arthur slightly leans back as his fingertips mindlessly fumble with the buckle of his gun belt. The slight clicking of the metal rings out as he works to remove the clunky accessory from his body. His strong back brushes against you as he moves with the comfortable ease he's come to enjoy over these last few weeks of secretly being yours.

"What about it?" His concentration is split half between himself and the presence of your body behind him.

Your words don't register in his mind until he's completely removed the belt from his body. He figures it was that stagecoach job he reluctantly handed off to John; it had completely slipped from his mind until this very moment, much like yourself. The cool metal filigree atop his trunk moves under your feet as you rest them just shy of slipping off its edge, causing the hazy memory to play out behind your tired eyes.

You were just settling yourself in, resting your weary body on the edge of Arthur's cot, just as you're doing now. Little beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead from working out in the intensity of Lemoyne's miserably humid heat. Grimshaw had you and the rest of the women working on camp chores, which you hadn't complained of, since it usually occupies the time until Arthur's usual return. However, the day was far too hot for you to not complain about the harsh conditions she had y'all in. Eventually, evening came and you were finally finished with the laundry, allowing you a moment's rest to seek out the comfort of Arthur's cot.

In the midst of wiping your brow down with one of his neckerchiefs you'd secretly swiped, the hard thump of boots hitting grass caught your attention. You'd anticipated Arthur's arrival, but something didn't feel quite right. The boots didn't move with Arthur's measured stride; they scuffed the grass and dirt, signaling a different, but familiar presence. The moment you look up, you spot John standing at the entrance of the tent, not at all surprised to see you sitting upon his cot as if it were your own.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. It was as if he was caught between the two warring emotions, each pulling him equally. Clearly, he expected Arthur to be back already.

"He not back yet?" The gruffness of his voice has you believe the former, rather than the latter.

"Not yet," you say in kind, hoping to ease some of his burden. "Was you needin' him for somethin'?"

John did and the news certainly wasn't going to sit well with Arthur at all.

When the thoughts finally coalesce within your fatigued mind, you internally grimace knowing that Arthur isn't going to like the reality of the situation. Gentleness has always been your strong suit, especially when it came to dealing with half of the bull-headed men in camp. So, you lace your words with the softest tone you can manage, "Said it weren't as much as y'all had planned on: about fifty-dollars tied up in what little him 'n Charles found."

And you were right. The news doesn't sit well with him at all. All of the compiled frustration of working a nothing-lead and now knowing that the other job didn't pay well either boils beneath the surface of his skin until he explodes like a whistling kettle. Preventing himself from lashing out at you, Arthur kicks his boot toward the other side of the tent, knocking it into the chair. The loud thunk of its sole hitting wood claps harshly and causes you to flinch, startling you fully awake from the suddenness of noise and his movement.

"Every goddamn day it's some shit," he spits through his teeth.

Although you know he'd never intentionally hurt you, the anger in his voice sends a cold shiver down your spine and your stomach flips and churns in knots. Usually, you'd blame yourself, reprimanding your big mouth for even opening up to mention something that you knew wouldn't bode well for his weary mind. But you're in too much of a shock to even consider self-deprecation as an option. Your wide eyes search through the darkness, watching the shadowed outline of the man you love heave in a deep breath to steal his nerves. His shoulders slump forward and head hangs low as he rests his elbows on his knees, utterly defeated from the compiled anger and exhaustion coursing through him.

It's at this moment that you remember the job Dutch sent him on earlier in the day; Arthur didn't want to go and had very little sleep after working on yet another lead that barely got them anywhere. If it had been left up to you, you would've made Arthur stay right here in this bed to get some rest like he deserves. You would've taken care of him so tenderly, but, as usual, what Dutch wanted would have far outweighed any of your concerns. You've learned to recognize the pattern of these situations by now, and given Arthur's aggression, assuming that today's job didn't go quite as planned would be hitting the nail right on its head. You test the waters with a quiet question, "Lead didn't pan out today, did it?"

The soft shake of Arthur's head, coupled with the shadow of his palm running over his face tells you all that you need to know: no, it hadn't gotten him any farther than where he had started. Another useless effort. Your heart aches watching him struggle with so much weight on his shoulders. No matter how strong Arthur might be, he's just a man struggling to carry his own burdens, let alone everyone else's. Ever since settling down here, Dutch has placed so much responsibility on him that you've wanted to scold the man for even mentioning Arthur's name in passing. He's worked himself thin and thread-bare, barely having any time for himself outside of the time he spends on the road traveling from place to place at Dutch's convenience.

Empathy for the man that you've fallen in love with so long ago breaks your heart, aching in desperation to relieve some of his pain. Instead of walking away, keeping to yourself, and silently shouldering any of the blame for setting him off, you choose to stay the night. Despite knowing full well that the girls will have their gossip circulating by morning, Arthur's needs are far more important than any snickering comment or playful jest that'll inevitably come your way.

You scoot back where you were and lean toward him with less apprehension than what your words had suggested. Resting your delicate palm between the broad expanse of his shoulders, you feel him tense at the soft slip of your tender touch over his shirt. The tips of your fingers glide over his shoulder and silently take purchase on the taut muscle there. With a gentle, yet firm pull, you coax Arthur back toward you.

"C'mere. Lean back 'n talk to me..." Your dulcet tone pierces through his irritation, encouraging him to rest in your awaiting arms.

Arthur slowly reclines back, allowing himself to unwind in your embrace as his much larger body sits snugly against your plump bosom. Relaxing doesn't come easy for him. Hell, you'd be surprised if it had, given the high tensions between him and Micah these days or the tiresome back and forth between the two rival families in Rhodes. He has every right to be terse and tensed up like a snake ready to strike, but you aim to comfort him even if that means you risk getting bit. Silence hangs in the air between you, aside from the gentle breaths and the occasional strained grunt catching in the back of his throat while he struggles to get comfortable against you, due to the remaining stress insisting on clinging to his tired body. Your loving hands splay out over the firm expanse of his chest, feeling the steady and reassuring thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms as you try your best to soothe your brooding lover. It's as if your mere presence cracks away at the anger lingering in the stiff tendons and taut plains of muscle along his torso until he relents and finally lets go. His body relaxes back into you as if he were sinking into the plush, luxurious drapery and bedding found in the finest hotels of Saint Denis; much like the bedding of the room he'd paid for the very same night he had whisked you away to bed you properly for your very first time.

He's silent for a long while, almost reluctant to burden you with his troubles. So, you take it up on yourself to start the conversation by spilling what had happened to you earlier in the day, thinking it might earn a laugh or two, "Well, I'm sure my day weren't as rough as your'n," you hum. "But I did fall off the dock, landing my hind-end right in that water."

The image would usually cause a humorous snort to escape him, but the irritation still bristling at his nerves prevents him from reacting with anything else other than a huff of annoyance, "I told ya to watch your footin' out there. Ain't no use to nobody if you get yourself drowned."

Fortunately, as he chides you his words begin to lack much of the anger from moments ago. But you sigh softly anyways, relenting to his incessant need to protect you from life's dangers, despite being able to handle your own, "I know, I know..."

With a few buttons of that old blue work shirt popped open by your deft fingers, the smallest opening there is just big enough to slip your hand inside and rest it up on the soft but wiry hairs at the very center of his chest. "You shoulda seen me, though," you murmur as you lean down toward his ear, lowering your tone as you press your cheek to the side of his head. "Was drenched head to toe, clothes clingin' to me like feathers on a wet chicken."

He sulks, trying to stay mad at anything and everything he can to give into the bristling anger at the back of his mind, but he can't. No, not when he can clearly envision you all soaked and surprised from falling into that cold lake. A faint smile curls up the corners of his lips and then, just as he almost chuckles, he clears his throat, holding his laugh back. However, you catch on far too quickly for him to play it off so easily.

You gasp softly in mock surprise as if offended by the idea of him laughing at you, "Arthur Morgan. Are you laughin' at me?"

That's when his temperament breaks, giving way to the huff of laughter rumbling through his chest. "I ain't laughin' atchu, per say..." he counters. "Just maybe at the thought of what ya mighta looked like comin' up outta that water: madder 'n hell, hair clingin' to your head," and as if to illustrate his point, Arthur reaches his hand backward and turns his head to try and catch a glimpse of you in the thick shadows, barely making your face distinguishable to his eyes, as he brushes his fingertips over the bits of hair clinging to your forehead from the muggy heat.

Though you narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, you lean into his calloused fingertips, accepting the gentleness of his touch while a giggle of your own creeps up into your throat, "Oh? Is 'at so? Maybe next time I find you out on that dock, I'll think 'bout pushin' ya in 'n lettin' you see how it feels."

He huffs out a skeptical breath and raises an eyebrow at the very thought of you even trying something like that with him. It'd be a futile effort and one that you truly wouldn't consider without the clear consequence of him pulling you right down with him.

And just as soon as the laughter came, it was gone again, replaced instead with a comfortable silence that settles between you two once more, giving him some space to think about what's happened to himself today. Long before the days of your arrival, Arthur would keep to himself and dwell on the ever-present burdens troubling his mind, brooding for hours. But with you, he feels a safety that men like him are rarely afforded.

"Well, if ya think fallin' in Flat Iron's bad..." he continues, "Try goin' halfway 'cross the state lookin' for a man that don't exist. Then when ya find someplace to get a drink, ya end up catchin' a few stray hits from some drunken bastard."

A soft gasp enters your lungs at the revelation. Another fight? You lean over his shoulder, reaching to take his scarred chin into your hand. It's hard to see through the inky-black darkness of the night, but even in the haziness, your eyes can make out the bruising along his jaw, the harsh scrapes of knuckles cutting over his cheek, and the jagged cut on his upper lip. It isn't a rare sight to have him come back battered and bruised by some job from time to time, but that still doesn't quell the uneasiness in your heart at him going through such pain and aggravation.

Your eyebrows furrow in sympathy for your rugged cowboy, eyes softening to match as you breathe out, "Oh, Arthur."

He's quick to dismiss your concern with a soft sigh, pulling away from you to lean forward and distract himself from your sympathetic gaze, "Ah, don'tchu go 'n worry yourself over me none, Darlin'."

Being fussed over or thought of so tenderly still isn't something he's used to; he's shown you that time and time again. But it never deters you from trying to make things better, to make things easier on him however you can. Whatever turmoil Arthur's got rolling about in his mind is far from the usual and it takes patience to understand; a patience that he finds only you can give.

You reach your hand out toward him. The delicate ends of your fingertips reach up to brush over the nape of his sun-kissed neck, grazing over the ends of his slightly overgrown hair, silently making a note to yourself that you'll trim it for him tomorrow. His body shuffles slightly backward, leaning in to accept your touch while he slips off his suspenders: pulling them down his shoulders heavy with burden, before taking his time to unbutton that tattered old work shirt you're so used to seeing around his muscular frame.

"'Sides..." he starts. "I did have some good that came from today."

"What's 'at?" you hum softly with a lilt of dryness. "Hittin' that feller back?"

He can't help the chuckle rising in his throat at the dry sarcasm touching your words. Arthur shakes his head softly, "Nah, Darlin', " the last word strains from his lips as he rises to his feet with a groan, leaving the safe comfort of your touch as he stands to undo his pants.

He glances over his shoulder, peering down at you through the darkness with a smirk curling up at the right corner of his mouth. Watching as your sweet eyes follow his every movement, Arthur turns to face you, allowing you to gaze at him as he slowly pushes the brass button through the eyelet at the top of his riding pants. The fabric opens effortlessly, revealing the red cloth of his union suit underneath. The sight of him before you, suspenders hanging loosely on either side of his long legs and his pants aching to be peeled from his strong form has your lips parted in awe at the man standing mere inches away from you.

He continues from just seconds before, "Seein' you laid out on my bed, purdy as a dream."

After stepping out of his pants now crumpled around his ankles, Arthur lowers one knee upon the cot nearest your thighs. He leans over you, using his thick fingers to tilt your chin upward, meeting his crystalline eyes. "Was one helluva sight I could get used to seein'."

The low timbre of his voice sends a shockwave of desire straight through your heart and into the aching pit of your stomach. Your lips draw up into a shy smile, and a faint dusting of pink envelops your cheeks just like the moment you'd first professed your feelings for him under that canopy of trees he led you through so blindly. Although it hasn't been long since that fateful night, the closeness of your relationship has escalated so quickly that your head and heart dizzy at the mere mention of his name.

Arthur's calloused thumb brushes over the supple swell of your bottom lip, enticing you to part them just for him. You comply, of course, unable to resist how a ghost of his touch makes you so pliant beneath him. And when he leans down to meet your lips with his own, your heart swells with tender affection. Those warm, slightly chapped, but pleasantly plush lips are heady as they connect with a passion that stokes the burning coals of desire in the very base of your core.

"Been waitin' to use that one for a while, hmm?" You hum contently while blindly guiding your hands toward the flare of muscle encasing his ribs. God, how you could worship this man and never tire of feeling how warm, how strong he is beneath your palms.

"Depends. It workin'?" He murmurs, smirking cockily against your lips.

Your mind begins to spin as the calloused pad of his thumb dips from your chin and swipes over your jawline. His fingers splay out over the side of your neck, fingertips gripping you with tender passion to hold you in place. He could easily break you, bend you with his finger and thumb as if you were nothing more than a twig beneath his rough and weathered hands. Never have you felt so small and fragile, always knowing in your heart that you took up much more room than other women. But, when you're with Arthur, he makes you feel as delicate as the petals on a beautiful flower, something so precious and worth loving; it's so much more than you'd ever experienced in your whole life. He touches you so tenderly as if you were made from nothing more than ash, a veritable pile of matter waiting to slip through his fingers at any moment.

You want to hum your praises to your lover, to let him know exactly how much you've wanted this, how much you've missed him, how well he's kissing you, touching you... But you can't. There are no words. He's stolen them from you, drawing all the air out of your lungs with his lips, leaving you gasping for the air coated in his divine masculine scent: sweet tobacco, wood ash, and mossy earth. He encompasses you, wrapping one arm around your waist as he pulls you close to his body, all the while shuffling himself forward to join you on the small cot. Your back presses against the hard wooden frame of the wagon making up the other half of his tent. He presses against you, holding you close to his strong body as he slides his right hand from your jaw, trailing it down over the soft skin of your neck, and down to your chest, where he heatedly palms your breast hidden just beneath your blouse. To have him touch you like this, like a man frenzied and dying for a taste of intimacy, has your head spinning and your heart on the verge of exploding if it hadn't already; for all you know, you could've died the moment his lips crashed into yours, and all that's left is a heaven you'd only dreamt of.

A low growl of appreciation rumbles through his chest for the plumpness of your body. Most men do not know the fine pleasures that extra curves on a woman can bring. But Arthur sure does. And oh how he worships your full figure, despite your opinions about yourself. His large, calloused palm shifts his attention to your other breast, kneading you tenderly while his lips work from your mouth, and instead, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses over your jawline and supple neck.

His name is a breathless sigh across your trembling lips as you allow your hands to explore his body in return. Touching over the large expanse of his torso and gliding your fingertips over the worn fabric of his union suit, you desperately search for the button that would bare him wholly to you. In the time it takes you to undo one of his buttons, his skilled fingers undo two of yours. Button after button unthreads upon both of your bodies, though his hands are much quicker at ridding you of your layers, leaving them strewn about on the ground until he's stripped you down and laid you beneath him in nothing more than your chemise and bloomers to conceal your decency. Arthur then crawls over you, his movements deliberate and enticingly slow as he cages you in with his hands pressed into the thin mattress on either side of your head. Shadows danced and shifted restlessly, playing tricks on your perception as you try to focus on what little of Arthur you could see through the haziness, making the absence of light feel alive. To feel him above you like this has your stomach in knots, tightening with a firey passion that's ready to snap at any given moment. Hearts are pounding, thrumming wildly against your ribcages like birds desperate to escape the confines of your chests. You hear it, hear how his breath shutters with each wild thump of his heart, and you feel it in his breath as it puffs over your cheek. He's losing himself to you and you him, slipping so quickly that rational thinking is no longer of use. You need him and he needs you.

The flaps of his union suit hang loosely from his body, allowing your hands to reach in and press flat over his heated skin. He shivers slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath the tender meeting of your palms placed upon his scarred, goose-pimpled flesh. Your fingertips ghost over a scar on the right side of his ribcage, causing your face to crinkle with sorrow for what hardship your lover, this great outlaw, has had to endure in his lifetime. The damaged tissue is the result of a nasty fight he had as a young man: when someone stabbed him with the broken end of a beer bottle; they had aimed to kill him, but he had survived. The spot still aches with the memory of Hosea digging out the shards of broken glass from the angry, bloodied wound. But somehow, the way your delicate touch brushes over that old scar with such love and care causes the outlaw's skin to tingle, and his cock to ache with the pride of knowing that you love him so.

He takes his time with you here, laid out beneath him like a perfect little thing he's captured and kept safe by hiding you away in the privacy of his tent. After the day he's had, he wants to savor every bit of loveliness he's blessed with in your presence, so he can't rush this with you, not now. Arthur takes his time admiring you, letting his eyes rake over what he's able to see, and feeling what he cannot. Leaning down close enough to your face to capture that seductive glint in your glittering, lust-blown eyes, Arthur searches for any change within them as he maneuvers his right hand away from the mattress to trail along your sensitive flesh. The rough pads of his fingers ghost over your thigh, caressing the plump deposit of flesh along your middle, snaking up over your collarbones, and over your neck in search of your delicate face before sealing your mouth with his own in a kiss so tender you whimper from the initial contact.

Shivers of anticipation roll through him as your body responds to his touch: back arching off the bed, hands pulling on the nape of his neck to hold him down and assure that his lips won't leave yours, and the way your bloomer-clad hips roll upward in search of some much-needed friction. God how he could spend hours with you like this, letting his hands roam over your body to make you shiver and plead for any ounce of affection that he can give you. Your needy state is only exacerbated by the slight tremble in your thighs as he snakes his hands down over the pillowy flesh, seeking out the waistband of your bloomers. Ridding you of the cloth separating your pussy from his line of sight is an easy feat: the clad, slightly damp undergarment peels away from your plump hips with ease at the help of his precision; the Lemoyne heat causes the clothing to stick to your slightly dampened skin, but dammit if the temperature pales in comparison to how heated Arthur makes you feel. He tosses them down onto the ground, and places his hands upon your knees, spreading them apart as he sits above you to admire the feeling of your plump body beneath him.

His hand is unhurried and exacting, gently brushing his calloused knuckles down over your inner thigh, then lightly petting them over your soaked need covered by a soft thatch of hair. He can't see you fully, but that does nothing to stop his mind from envisioning how your cunt glistens with slick, all for him. The moment he presses his fingertips to your seam, parting you with the practiced precision of a lover, he lets a low, ragged breath escape his nose in appreciation for how wet you are. You shiver and instinctively try to close your knees from the pleasant surprise of his touch, and fuck does it feel good to have him brush over your folds like that.

"Always so ready, ain'tchya?" He murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice as he takes his time in savoring the feeling of your slick upon his fingertips.

Your hips involuntarily twitch, bucking upward into his hand, seeking out his fingertips to make him swirl them over your aching little clit. You want him to touch you right where you need him, feel him right on that little spot upon that nub of nerves that makes your mind swirl and your body careen into a blissful orgasm. But he doesn't give that to you, not yet. He wants to work you over slowly, savoring every little sound he can draw out of those pretty lips. You're far too shy to answer him directly, instead favoring to cover your face with your forearms as he takes pleasure in taunting you like this. But the moment his fingertips threaten to part your folds, you let out a delicate little noise, someplace between a whine and a prayer to let him know that you're in no mood to endure his teasing tonight, "Arthur... Please."

Oh, how he loves to hear the sound of you begging; he's already half-hard at the idea of you wanting his touch, let alone hearing how desperate you are for it. He answers your prayer with a long, smooth stroke of his thumb parting your puffy, wet folds. You keen at how just a simple touch causes your stomach to flutter and your slit to clench around nothing at all. Your thighs, thick with strength, covered by a layer of squishy softness, part for him, relaxing lazily as he guides his thumb over each of your labia.

It was nearly impossible to get you to lay like this for him a few weeks ago; you'd been concerned about the unsightly appearance of your inner thighs: scarred over with dimples and imperfections, as well as the slight discoloration of having them rub together after so many years of being a larger woman. Most women that you've seen naked, don't have the same ailments upon their bodies as you have on yours. Just the other day when bathing with some of the girls in the lake, you'd noticed that even on Karen's body, a woman closer to your size, still didn't have the scars or discoloration across her skin in the same way that you have. And that night that Arthur had you laid out for him for the very first time, he'd noticed that apprehension in you, taking it as having second thoughts. But once you had explained how you felt about your own body, he hadn't even given the idea a single thought; his own body is mauled up, covered in old and ugly scars, and carrying more than three colors from all his time spent out in the sun. So, he couldn't have cared less about some scars, a little extra hair, weight, or even the discoloration over your thighs. What he did care about, however, was making sure that you felt loved in spite of it all. And now, it feels no different. To have you spread your legs for him like this, without a single worry holding you back, is a goddamn treat.

Fuck how good it feels to have the soft press of his thumb tease over your cunt, tracing the delicate path between your weeping entrance, to your swelling bud with a pressure so teasing and light that you squirm to feel more. Your plush lips tuck between your teeth to hold back any sounds that give away what you two are doing in here after dark, but it's useless; the lewd sounds of his thumb circling over your clit echo throughout the tent: a dead giveaway to anyone that dare walk by. Holding your breath like this isn't easy, not when the pounding of your heart echoes in your ears and your chest feels as if it's being seared from the inside out. A ragged gasp finally inhales through your nostrils, desperately trying to fulfill your body's need for air when you can no longer restrain your breaths.

He huffs out a low chuckle in amusement at the state he has you in: clearly desperate and in need to have your clit rubbed just the way you like it.

"Hmm.. Hear that?" He rasps out before going silent, letting you hear the sounds of your own slick being spread over your soaked cunt. He only continues when he finally reaches your clit, circling over the throbbing little nerve-ending to make you sigh out in pleasure for him. "So goddamn wet. All for me."

In a blur of movements, Arthur's chapped lips and teeth skim over your knee, slowly working their way down over your inner thighs. He nips at you, earning a few little squeaks and giggles until he kisses over your plump mound. His thumbs take hold of either side of your cunt, spreading you open to let the night air hit your wet skin. It's pleasant like this, to feel yourself spread out beneath him like a meal ready to be devoured and dammit if he ain't starved for a taste. Being eaten out has quickly become one of your favorite acts of intimacy in recent weeks; his tongue is so skilled at finding spots on you, making you come so deliciously, that most days it's all you've been able to think about. Hell, it's all you're thinking about now as his head sinks down to your core and his hot breath fans out over your aching need. His tongue slips out of that perfect mouth and flattens out over your seam, lapping at you once to earn him that little sigh of pleasure escaping your throat.

Your hands immediately seek out his head, combing through his slightly sweat-dampened hair as he swirls the blunt tip of his tongue over your clit.

"A-Agh, Arthur.. N-Not so fast," you whine out in protest, yet your hips bucking up into his mouth says otherwise. But he relents, nonetheless, giving you a moment of reprieve before he delves back in at the same pace.

He's aiming to make you cum quick and hard: slithering his tongue over your clit with the precision of knowing exactly what side and spot makes you writhe beneath him. Just left and then a little upward beneath that little hood of skin and he has you singing for him. Explicitves roll off your tongue one after another in between sweet little sounds that praise him for what effort he's putting in just for you. To hear you, feel you crumble beneath him like this is better than any robbery or score he gets out on the road. But just before he lets you come, he pulls his head back slightly and puffs cool air over your clit, making you whine.

"Shh.. Shh.. 'M gonna let ya cum, Darlin'. Don'tchu worry 'bout that none. 'M gonna take real good care of ya," he hums lowly as his lips and bristly scruff brush over your quivering inner thighs.

His promise isn't far off from fulfillment, not when he sinks his tongue into your heat and presses his opened mouth over the entirety of your cunt. He sucks hard, feeling your walls constrict around the wriggling muscle of his tongue as he laps inside your spongey center. Your thighs tremble with need as he fucks you with his mouth and slurps up your slick, drinking in as much of you as he can and relishing the tangy sweetness of your delectable taste. You throw your head back against the rolled-up blanket you had been using as a pillow earlier in the night, all while he eats you out like a man who's desperate to consume you.

But the aching throb of his cock, constricted by the thin fabric of his union suit, is far too angry for him to ignore. He's got to have you, now.

As he shuffles back up to his knees, leaving your cunt longing to cum on his tongue, you flutter your eyes open and snap your head up to try and catch a glimpse of what he's doing. Clearly, you ain't pleased with him teasing you like this, but when you feel his fervent movements, you realize that he's trying to work off his union suit. He wastes no time it peeling it away from his torso, but the moment he starts to tug it down his thighs, allowing his weeping cock to spring free, he nearly topples over and just about slams head-first into your body. Thankfully, he catches himself in the knick of time, grunting out a few curses as he grows impatient with his incapability to slide that damn fabric off his legs.

Amid his struggle to bare himself, you can't hide the giggle creeping up your throat as he curses under his breath, frustrated with how the fabric insists on clinging to his muscular legs. You help him slide the old red union suit off his body by digging your heels against the back of his thighs and pushing it down the long length of his legs until it reaches his ankles. The undergarment hangs loosely off his feet, causing him to kick it haphazardly off the side of the bed, letting it fall onto his trunk to skirt down on the grass below.

The instant his turgid length brushes over your inner thigh it twitches with the anticipation of feeling your tight, wet walls clamped around him, milking every drop of spend nestled away in his balls; spend that he so desperately wishes he could drain right inside of you. For now, however, just a single brush of your fingertips against him is enough. He has to hold his breath as he guides your delicate palm over his velvety shaft to stroke the needy ache away; if he isn't careful, he'd cum just like this. He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as your fingers wrap around him and your thumb seeks out the weeping slit of his blunt tip. Arthur is, by no means, a small man: his legs are long, torso strong and wide, feet and hands are like bear paws, and his cock.. God, his cock is big. You could use both of your hands to stroke him and still, there'd be enough room for his tip to be entirely untouched. But you make sure as you stroke him with one hand, you pay extra attention to his tip, smearing his drooling precum over as much of him as you can, even down to the dark and wiry curls along his base and balls.

He's trying so hard to hold himself back, but with each tender pass of your thumb over that sweet spot along the underside of his tip, the last remnants of his patience crack away. You feel him crumbling like this, crumbling into a frenzied mess of low-hummed breaths and grunts through gritted teeth, and you fucking love it. Before you can even think about the desire roaring in the cavernous pit of your stomach, aching to be quelled, he smashes his lips into yours so hard that you're sure one of you is bleeding. The pain of his busted lip splitting back open is an angry reminder of the frustration still lingering at the back of his mind; he's as tensed up, pent-up, as a taut rope ready to snap.

With a quick movement, he swats your hand away, preventing you from jacking him into a fast climax. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs hold of your thighs and forcefully yanks you toward him, making the round swell of your plump ass plant firmly against the hard front of his strong body. Your thighs spread out, squishing over and conforming to the contour of his hips, the intimate contact leaving you both ragged and breathless. Your heart drums a frantic rhythm in your ears, drowning out all other thoughts and sensations that belong to you alone. It's as if your mind has descended into a tangled web of strangled noises and glorious sensations that only Arthur seems able to untangle or soothe. The faint outline of his body nestled between your thighs is a constant reminder that nothing beyond this moment, beyond him hidden away with you inside of this tent, matters.

The hard length of his turgid pride parts your folds, gliding over the slick thatch of curls usually concealing your cunt from his eyes, but with his sight hindered, he can explore every single nook, roll, and crevice without you shying away. His weight bares down on you as he holds your legs into the crook of his arms, nearly bending you in half as he drags his cock over your seam. It feels so good like this, even though you can hardly breathe with the thickness of your thighs pressing against your already plump stomach, but when the tip of his cock knocks into your clit, it makes the strained pain well worth it. The back of your hand flies over your mouth as he continues on like this, pleasuring himself and you with each agonizingly slow thrust. Hearing your ragged, strangled half-breaths, he releases your thighs, leaving them to splay out lazily on either side of his hips as he leans down to steal a tender kiss.

Upon breaking his lips away from yours, the low hum of his voice finds its way through the haziness of your lust-broken mind as he murmurs against the shell of your ear, "Gonna take ya just like this..."

Chapped lips skim over your jawline and trail to your lips, where he gives you another tender kiss filled with gentle affection: polar opposite to the rough sex-driven outlaw you've gotten a taste of tonight, but aligning perfectly with the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Scraped knuckles skim against your slick heat as he slips his hand in between you both and presses flat over the thick, dark curls at the base of his throbbing length. His fingers spread wide over his pubic bone, holding his cock between his middle and ring finger, stiffening himself outward to seek out your clenched entrance. With a slight pullback of his hips, he guides himself to your slit, catching right on the taut muscle before pressing forward and splitting you open.

A soft cry hums in the back of your throat and he shushes you so tenderly, sliding his hands over your knees and down your shins to soothe the ache he knows you're feeling. You're so fucking tight, hardly different from the first night he took you and bedded you properly back at the Saint's Hotel. It nearly shatters him when your walls flutter around him, squeezing and pulling him in inch by inch as if you were carved out just for him to sink into. He stills only for a short moment, letting you feel him nestled up against your cervix before he slides himself out and enters you again with a sharp snap of his hips. Lingering anger and frustration from the shit day he's had still pulsates at the back of his mind, desperate to be released as the tension in his body rises.

The tight walls of your cunt clench onto him for dear life as jolts of pleasure and pain rack through your body.

Behind the shield of your palm, you cry out, "A-Agh, Arthur!"

You're trying your best to be quiet, to still your ragged breaths and hide your whimpers, but he's making it incredibly difficult. Each slow drag of his cock coming out of you with a satisfying pop, only to pierce you with a hard roll of his hips, sends you reeling. You're seeing stars, shaking from the pleasurable burn of the passionate fire he's stirring within you. Strong hands grip your hips, keeping you still as his thrusts guide you into a steady rhythm that makes the old wooden frame creak and groan with every subtle and sharp movement that your bodies make. Being discreet has left his mind entirely, no longer concerned with what sounds are coming out of his tent as he fucks you good and proper. No, he couldn't care less when the sounds of your slick pussy squelches as he presses himself flush against you and groans against the pulse point of your neck.

"Don't want ya hidin' them purdy sounds, Darlin'. Let 'em out for me," he grunts out between slow but hard thrusts.

Usually, intimacy like this is savored in the shaking breaths and whispered little sounds only audible to your ears, but tonight... Tonight Arthur is something else entirely. Primal. A damn, dirty outlaw. You love this new view of him, but you can't allow yourself to let the others hear. What if someone were walking by? Or Hosea or Dutch hear you two going at it? You wouldn't be able to look at them for a week! But he doesn't give you much choice in the matter: snaking his hand down between your bodies, his muscular forearm presses against your plush belly while his thumb immediately finds your clit.

"O-Oh, God," you whine as the pad of his thumb circles over you, followed by his name dripping off your tongue like the sweetest honey. "At's it... Such a good girl takin' me so deep. Mmm.. Gonna cum 'round me ain'tchu? Gonna give me a real good one, baby?"

God damn him if his mouth ain't filthy. The way he croons out those little praises and words of encouragement has your climax building faster than you ever could have anticipated. And the swirling of his thumb? It has you shaking, whining, pleading, practically begging for your release as he talks you through it, "C'mon, Darlin'... I feel ya squeezin' me real tight," he praises, "'At's it. Focus on me."

With one more swipe of his thumb over your sensitive clit and his cock hitting that sweet spot right against your cervix, you're tensing, digging your heels into the thin mattress, and cumming around him so hard that you see white. It takes everything in you not to scream, but the strangled sound coming out of you is loud enough to warrant some head-turning if anyone were awake. The moment your walls flutter and start milking him, he falls forward and drops down onto his elbows to cage you in. His thrusts are relentless as he takes his anger out on you in this way, using every movement of his body to release the bristling anger clutching onto his mind like a damn vice grip. No matter how fervent and frenzied, he's still careful not to hurt you, always thinking about how good he's making you feel while chasing his own release.

Arthur isn't a man of many words, but when you're gripped around him like this, clutching him with your arms, legs, and your fluttering pussy, he is downright mouthy. "Oh, such a good girl for listenin' to me. Shh.. Shh. I gotchu, baby. I gotchu."

His mouth hovers over yours, claiming your lips as he kisses you hard and possessively. Moans spill out of you, traveling through the expanse of his throat until it hums within his chest and he echoes one back. To talk like this with him, in a language only two lovers could understand, is far more intimate and pleasurable than anyone could ever know. Arthur is yours and you are his, no ownership or proprietary claim, but just the pleasant knowledge that both of you choose to love each other is enough.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he's nearing his own orgasm: length twitching and engorging as his balls tighten. In desperation, he quickly climbs off of you and pulls his cock out from your core. His right hand tightens into a fist around himself, and although you can't see it, you hear the lewd, effortless slide of his hand vigorously pumping over his tip like his life depends on cumming for you.

Finally, his orgasm hits him, working its way out of his tightened balls and spurting over your plump mound and belly. If he could see his spend on you like this, it'd be enough to make him cum all over again. But both of you are far too exhausted to even consider that so soon. You're still shaking, panting heavily as he lowers himself down onto you, not caring that his sticky spend is now covering the front of his body as well, as your sweaty bodies come down from such an enormous height.

His touch traces a slow, deliberate path down your leg until his fingertips reach the softness of your hip, where he gives your flesh a gentle but firm grasp. Reveling in the smoothness of your skin and the feel of your curvy form beneath his palm, he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. The heat of his breath spills over your neck and shoulder, doubled by the heavy breaths leaving his lips as he lazily peppers your clammy skin with kisses.

After a long stretch of quiet spent nestled into his hair, breathing in the comforting remnants of campfire intermingled with his musky scent, your breathing finally begins to steady. Slowly, your senses return to you one by one, like pieces of a puzzle falling back into place. Shock and disbelief jolt through your entire being as it finally hits you how easily he manipulated your body with his own strength and skill as a lover. You'd heard of men being rough with women, but never did you think it could be this pleasurable.

Your voice finally cuts through the relative silence, carrying a deep sense of satisfaction and astonishment with it, "Wh-here in the hell did that come from?"

An amused chuckle rumbles inside his chest, slightly huffing out of his nose as he slightly pushes himself off of you to gauge your reaction, "Reckon I were a little pent up. Why? You like it?"

To say you liked it was an understatement, but you'd like anything as long as Arthur were right there with you to experience it just the same. While his right hand slides up over the plump contours of your body, appreciatively grabbing at the plushness of your stomach and breasts, he lovingly brushes a few stray strands of hair off your forehead stuck there by the sweat covering your body. You hum softly in agreement to his question, deciding that you did enjoy this different side of him you hadn't expected, despite his rough exterior.

"Mhmm.. 'S always good with you," the loving words you murmur cling to his heart and earn you a pleasant kiss that tastes like the remnants of his busted lip.

As his lips trail back down over your jawline, his beard delightfully scratches over your sensitive skin, causing you to hum in appreciation for him loving you like a man who worships the very ground you walk upon. Your own body follows his lead, fingertips glide down the entire length of his back, tracing the contour of muscle that hint at the immense strength lurking beneath. You can't help but marvel at his shape, this man you love so dearly, and how his body was molded for love and carved from such a hard life. While your fingertips glide across his muscled frame, you can feel the subtle shift of his body as he adjusts himself on top of you, notricebly more relaxed than before: a clear testamanet to the calming eddect your touch has on him.

Curiosity peaked, you murmur, "You relaxed now?" as your fingertips idly trace the two little dimples that grace the base of his spine, just above the firm and muscular curve of his ass.

An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, obviously enjoying the path your fingertips are carving out over his back. He'd never admit it, but he loves it when you grab him unabashedly, palming his ass like he so often does to you. The warmth of his cock brushing over your leg, hardening much faster than he expected for a man his age, tells you all you need to know.

He agrees with you, humming softly against your chest as he inches himself down to where his mouth hovers over the plump swell of your breasts, "Thinkin' that we just might need a little more time for relaxin', don'tchu?"

A/N: Big thanks for the divider from @saradika-graphics and the beautiful gif from @sunwingsunset, please go send them some love for their work! <3

Other creators that expressed interest and drew inspiration from: @subpopizzy , @cassietrn , @coltermorning , @redwritr, @zae-heeyyy, @twola , @amorgansgal

Please do go check all the blogs I tagged! You surely won't be disappointed!

As always, sending my love - M. <3

#Thank you for reading - from the bottom of my little Appalachian Heart <3 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader smut #arthur morgan #rdr2 community #grumpy #fluff #arthur morgan rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #john marston #rdr #dutch van der linde #molly o'shea #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you

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