cassie

as graduation approaches in only a few more weeks, you find yourself scrambling. you’re one of the few in your friend group who doesn’t yet have a job lined up for after graduation, still working through tedious job applications day after day in the hopes that something will work out. 

you still haven’t talked to Bucky about the plan you’ve begun to develop in your head, a plan where you envision staying in LA beyond graduating. where Bucky comes to join you in this city that’s grown to be your favorite place in the world. 

there hasn’t been any discussion about it beyond the little talks you had while he was in town, but you’re sure he’s going to love the idea. he wants to support you, and he seemed to be quite open to it when he was here. there’s a lot of factors to consider, you know that. it’s not easy to make that kind of decision. for instance, sure, he’s busy with business back home. that’s a sign of a good businessman, though, right? there’s no way he won’t be able to make it work here. 

luckily, despite your fears about what will happen after graduation in terms of successfully finding a full-time job, your lease still has a few more months before it runs out. that’s plenty of time to find a job and hopefully finagle a way for Bucky to join you in LA.

because why wouldn’t he? you’ve left such a mess at home, alienating both Bucky and yourself from your family with the reveal of the relationship you never wanted to have to confess to. for months now, you’ve been able to avoid it, pretending it doesn’t exist in awkward phone conversations where there’s no need for the elephant in the room to be brought up. 

Bucky moving here is the best case scenario for the both of you to start over, to live the life you’ve always dreamed. that’s what it would be for you to be able to live happily ever after with Bucky: a literal dream. a dream you’ve harbored since your early teens, dreaming and praying to call him yours and have that stupid fairytale wedding you’d imagined as a kid. 

starting over here would be perfect, to get away from the critical eye of your parents and away from the guilt and shame that arose within you alongside the very start of your relationship. 

besides, you’ve built a life for yourself here. you didn’t really expect to grow to love Los Angeles as much as you do; choosing to come here was a decision made out of desperation to get away from Bucky, to get away from your childish crush. 

yet somehow, it’s become your new home. you hope that Bucky will be open to letting it be his new home, too, because as long as you’re together, it’ll be enough. 

being with him is all you’ve ever wanted. 

it has to be enough.

~~~

the last voicemail you have from him in your inbox was from last week. typically, he tries to call you every other day, even though most of the time you can’t pick up. your voicemail box is filled with a million different messages from him by this point; ones of him telling you how much he misses you, others of him speaking deeply and making debauched noises as he tells you how bad he wishes you were there with him while he jerks off. even though you hate missing his calls, you love having his little voice notes in your phone to listen to whenever you please. 

he’s sent a scarce few texts since then, but you truly haven’t heard from him in days now. 

you’ve texted and called him a few times over the last day or so, with nothing in return. it’s only instinct for you to grow concerned. 

except you don’t have the time to be worried about him or the state of your relationship. you’ve finally secured an interview for tomorrow afternoon, a job local to your apartment here in LA. at this point, you can’t afford to screw up any interviews, no matter the position or the company. you’re about to be completely jobless post-grad otherwise, so your anxieties are going to have to leave you alone for the next 24 hours. you have so much more on the line than your stupid little fears about what’s going on with Bucky. 

it doesn't help that this interview isn’t just any interview. the job is actually very well aligned to your interests, and the pay can’t possibly be beat. 

if you’d heard from Bucky recently, or if you were fessing up to the fact that you were only interviewing for LA-based jobs, you would be gushing to him about how excited you are for the opportunity and how badly you want the job. he’s always been your number one supporter, no matter what, so he would tell you that you’re going to do amazing. he would tell you you’re perfect and if the interviewer can’t see it, then they’re the ones missing out. 

you do wish you could have an Uncle Bucky pep talk right now, but you can’t tell him, not yet. you’ll find the right time sooner or later. 

when you get home that evening, you think you’ve calmed yourself down enough from your worries and nearly gotten yourself into the right headspace for the interview. except apparently, you’re not doing as good of a job as you think you are, because your roommate comments on your depressed attitude. 

“are you alright?” she asks as you put your bowl in the microwave, the inquiry taking you by surprise. 

“yeah, why?” you reply, feigning ignorance as you shut the microwave door. “do I not seem alright?” 

“definitely not, dude,” she tells you bluntly. “I see you like this all the time, all pouting and sad but pretending to be fine. but I know you have a big day tomorrow, so, out with it. what’s going on?”

the suddenness of her statement shocks you. you know your anxiety is a persistent issue, and that being away from Bucky doesn’t particularly help. but are you really that obvious about it? 

“it’s just nerves,” you assure her. “I’ll be fine.”

as you deliberately avoid telling her the truth about your real concerns, you feel a pang in your stomach. the realization that you’ve never even mentioned his name to your friends here for fear of your crush being found out, and now the possibility of your relationship being discovered. 

people that love and care about you, and you’re still too paranoid to tell them the truth. you truly can’t blame yourself for being hesitant, though; the circumstances are sketchy, you realize that. and you can’t fathom pushing everyone away in the same manner you’ve done with your family all because of who you love. 

“you can tell me,” she tries, and the microwave beeps then. you take a deep breath and try to shake her off by focusing on your bowl, ready to eat so that you can avoid the topic. except your food is cold, and now you have to wait thirty more seconds to get out of this.

“I’m fine. promise,” you tell her. another pang in your stomach. you’re going to have to tell her, and the rest of your friends, the truth if you expect Bucky to become a part of your life here in LA.

you don’t know if you could handle the negative reaction you’ll get from admitting the truth. 

she speaks your name, and you know this isn’t going away. the microwave continues to whir. 

“come on. talking about things helps, and there’s no way you’ll be able to do well on your interview if you’re all worked up–”

“I’m not worked up!” you nearly yell back at her. “can you just leave it alone? for fuck’s sake! I told you, I’m fine!” 

she doesn’t respond immediately, pausing for a minute after your outburst. the silence between you is deafening, and you immediately know you fucked up. 

“fine. I’ll leave you alone,” she says before walking away, leaving you alone with the microwave now beeping at you once more.

you wish you could say that you weren’t quite sure why you reacted like that, why you felt the need to get so defensive over it, but you know exactly why you did: because you couldn’t handle it. you couldn’t handle the realization that you haven’t told her, and you can’t tell her, because how are you supposed to be able to say yeah, I’ve been fucking my dad’s best friend for the better part of a year now. oh, and we’re dating, because that will go over well. 

you feel terrible. you just snapped at her while she was trying to help you feel better, all because of your fear and territorialism over this relationship that you’re still far more concerned about protecting than you should be.

it’s just because it’s been so long, you think, and that you’re freaking out because you haven’t spoken to him recently that you’re wired so tightly.

it’s because you’re petrified of what other people will think of you if you tell them the truth, a truth that they simply can’t handle, why? sure, maybe your relationship is wrong from most standpoints, but…

you love each other. you love Bucky, and he loves you. that’s all you need. 

everything will fall into place. you’ll find a way to man up and tell your roommate and all your friends about your relationship before Bucky comes to LA, and it will surely go over far better than it did with your parents.

everything is going to be just fine. 

more than fine.

~~~

when you wake up the next morning, you feel exhausted even after a full night’s sleep. you pray that it isn’t an indication of how the rest of your day is going to go. 

when you look around for your roommate, you find that she’s already gone for the day. of course she is; why would she want to be around you and your sour mood after you went off on her last night?

it is what it is, you determine. there’s nothing you can do about it until you see her this evening and have the opportunity to apologize to her. 

the very next thing you do is pick up your phone, searching for a text, a voicemail, anything from Bucky.

nothing. 

it’s okay, you assure yourself as you take a deep breath and stand from your bed. you can worry about both of them later after your interview. 

until then, you have to try not to let your thoughts consume you alive. thoughts of pushing away your roommate in favor of protecting, nay, hiding your relationship. thoughts of pushing Bucky too much until he just doesn’t respond to you anymore. 

you know that isn’t the case. that’s not the case with him, it never would be. he’s not the type to just ghost you out of nowhere; he’s busy. that’s all. you don’t need to be that clingy, annoying girlfriend that constantly texts and seeks validation every five seconds that he’s still interested in you. 

as you walk around campus, though, you’re still thinking about calling him. you think about telling him about your plan the next time you get a chance to talk to him, but will that push him even further away?

you’re going to have to tell him eventually, though, about your plan to stay here and your hope that he’ll follow you across the country. to get away from the critical eyes of your family. 

you just hope your community here doesn’t look at you the same way.

you ponder simply sending him a text that might grab his attention, like, “hey! I have an interview today!” something that’s just enough to catch him in a few brief seconds when he isn’t busy, just to get a “good luck!” in return. anything. 

worry about it later, you remind yourself. focus. 

the more you consider your practiced interview responses in your head, the more you’re able to distract yourself from your concerns. it’s easier to fret about everything going on in your personal life than your professional one, but now is not the time. 

you become an expert in how to explain what interests you about the company and the position, why you want the job and what benefits you would bring to them if you were to be hired. you pore over last minute research to ensure you’ve stored every possible piece of information in the small space in your head devoted to crushing this interview. 

when the time comes, you’re ready, you think. your laptop is charged, your water bottle is full, and your hair is tidied. 

except as you sit in the waiting room of the Zoom meeting, you can’t stop worrying. as quick as you can, you pull out your phone and hurriedly open your text messages. first, a message to your roommate—I’m sorry about last night, let’s talk later?—and a second, one you begin to type out that’s intended to go to Bucky. 

I haven’t heard from you, are you alright? Can I call you in an hour?

just as you’re about to hit the little blue button to send the text, your laptop screen flashes at you, and the interview is on. you hurriedly drop your phone into your lap, forgetting about the text and readjusting in your seat to steady yourself.

here goes nothing. 

the woman, Monica, is friendly and charming right off the bat, you acknowledge. a good back and forth between the two of you as you begin to exchange pleasantries, learning that she’s an alum from your university and that she used to hold the position you’re now interviewing for. all good signs, so far. 

as you begin to give your elevator pitch, your phone begins vibrating in your lap. you try to focus, cursing yourself for not turning it off before the meeting started. reluctantly, you glance down at it for a mere second: it’s your mom calling you. your gaze flits back to the laptop screen before darting down to the phone once more when it has stopped ringing. Call me, her text reads. 

you stutter over your words, but you refuse to let the small instance distract you, not right now; you can’t screw this up. 

ven though you want to worry about it, you can’t. even though there’s something in your gut telling you, something is wrong, it’s not the time. 

you take a deep breath to center yourself once the interviewer speaks again. you can do this.

and despite the minor setback, the rest of the meeting goes astonishingly well. 

“keep your phone nearby,” Monica tells you once she’s done going through her list of questions for you. “you should be hearing from me very soon.”

“wow, thank you,” you reply with a bright smile. “thank you so much!”

as the meeting ends, you can’t contain your glee. there’s no way that actually went as well as you think it did, right? you have to be deluding yourself into thinking that this might finally work out for you, that everything might actually be going your way for once. 

you pack up your things into your bag while your smile never once falters. the last time you felt this giddy and excited about something was when Bucky came to visit for Valentine’s.

it’s nice to have something to well and truly hope for, you think. to actually know what it means to be excited for the future. 

as you pull your purse over your shoulder and walk out of the conference room, making to leave the building and head home, you begin to scroll through your texts. your roommate responded telling you that all is forgiven; that’s one relief, at least. 

you check the text from your mother, the ominous Call me staring you back in the face. except you’re still over the moon with joy as you walk down the street and begin to head back to your apartment, ecstatic about the good news that you can’t wait to share with her. you click on the contact in your phone and dial her back as you walk. 

“hi, honey,” she says into the phone, and yet you don’t catch her solemn tone as you practically speak over her.  

“you’re not gonna believe this,” you ramble in your excitement. “remember I told you about the interview I had today? well, I just got out of the meeting, and it went amazing. she even told me—Monica, her name was—that I’m going to hear back very soon. she specifically said very soon, and it sounded like a good sign to me. I think they’re going to give me the job, Mom! can you believe it?”

“that’s amazing,” she replies, trying to remain excited for you, but her tone finally breaks through your enthusiasm and you manage to hear it this time. “I’m so glad it went well. I’m sure they’re going to offer it to you.”

“yeah,” you say, your smile fading. “what’s up, though? what did you need to tell me?”

she pauses for a moment, and your heart sinks into your stomach as her lack of response resonates in your mind. 

“what is it, Mom?” you ask more firmly. your walking pace begins to slow, your heart beating quicker in your chest. something is wrong, and deep down, you know it. 

after another beat, she continues. “I’m sorry I have to tell you like this, after your interview went so well. but I know you’re going to want to know this.”

“what’s wrong?” you reiterate more harshly, your voice beginning to strain. 

“your Un-” she begins, but curtly interrupts herself. 

except you catch it. you know exactly what she was about to say.

your uncle.

a million thoughts begin to race through your head. 

the slip-up was a mistake, one made out of habit. of course she’s not going to refer to him like that anymore. you haven’t even brought him up in months, skirting around the topic instead, none of you willing to talk about it until the time becomes absolutely necessary. 

is this it? has the time become absolutely necessary? 

 “Bucky,” she corrects herself, “has been in an accident.”

and it’s like the world stops. 

your feet stop moving, and you freeze in place in the middle of the sidewalk. all the joy and excitement you felt just a few minutes before is gone, replaced by a soul-crushing agony from deep inside yourself. 

“what?” you whisper, voice coming out small and fractured. 

“he’s okay,” she assures you with a tone that’s somewhat more confident, “but he’s in the hospital.” 

you blink a few times as your eyes grow watery, tears spilling over before you’re evening consciously aware of it. after the initial shock wears off, your brain goes into overdrive and you begin to panic. your feet suddenly begin moving again as you walk as fast as you can back to your apartment before you lose your composure in public. 

“what happened? when did it happen?” you question as you begin piecing things together in your head. it’s been days since you’ve heard from him, why has no one felt the need to tell you about this sooner?

“there was an accident at work. it happened on Monday. he… he fell off a ladder. he has a serious concussion, and he broke his right arm. he’s beyond lucky he wasn’t hurt any worse than he is.” 

you thank whatever higher power there is for saving him, you think, because you’re going to kill him yourself. 

“Monday,” you utter, your anger growing along with your volume, “it’s Thursday! it’s been three whole days, and no one thought to tell me until now?”

“we didn’t want to upset you before your interview today,” she excuses of the decision, and you scoff before cutting off her next words. 

“you don’t think something like this matters enough to tell me? are you serious? I don’t care what you think about me, or him, or our relationship. I had a right to know when this first happened. you should have told me, you don’t get to keep things from me, lie to me like this–”

“–don’t you start,” she bites, interrupting you in return. you’re still walking at full speed down the road, tears pouring from your eyes, and you want nothing more than to burst into full-blown sobs and start screaming. 

it’s for the best that you’re still in public because having a meltdown would only make this far worse. 

“don’t argue with me about keeping secrets and lying. not about this, not about him, not about anything. your father and I decided it was best to wait to tell you because your interview is more important, young lady, do you understand?”

you grit your teeth and force yourself not to yell back at her. more important than something this serious, more important than Bucky? 

“and what about Bucky? why didn’t he tell me?” you ask. 

she sighs somberly on the other end of the phone. 

“the doctors have kept him in a medically-induced coma for the last few days until the pressure in his head came down. they woke him up this morning, and he agreed with us that it was best to wait until after the fact to tell you.” 

“I want to talk to him,” you announce, “put me on the phone. now. please, Mom. please.”

“he’s asleep right now, okay? but I’ll make sure to give you whatever updates the doctor gives us?” she offers, and you shake your head even though you know she can’t see the motion.

“no. no, I’m coming home. I have to see him, I need to make sure he’s okay–”

“–no, you need to focus on classes and finishing your semester. he is fine–”

“Mom,” you cry out, and your soft tears finally turn into ugly sobs, unable to stave it off any longer. through your cries, you continue, “please. I know you don’t approve, I know what you think of him now. but, please, Mommy. I love him. I need to come home, I– I have to see him. please.”

it’s been a very difficult few months with the rift in your relationship with your parents over the last few months, but now, you can’t dance around the situation. right now, you need her to understand how pained you feel, for her to forget about how much she disapproves and understand how badly you need this. 

“okay. alright,” she gives in, her own voice a near whisper. “try and get on the next flight out tonight and we’ll get you back by Monday.”

“thank you,” you say, relieved. “thank you. okay. I’ll see you soon.” 

you pull the phone away from your ear, ready to press the button to end the call, when you hear the words softly through the phone. 

“I love you, sweetie,” she says, and the words punch you right in the gut. you can’t help but shed a few more tears at the sound of it. 

you bring the phone back to your ear. “I love you too, Mom. I’ll be home soon.”

when you finally get back a few minutes later, the race is on to pack your bag and get to the airport as quickly as possible. it’s as though you’ve gained a second wind as you begin to break down all over again, cries erupting from your throat against your will as the stress of the situation hits you now that you’re away from prying eyes. 

“oh my god, are you okay?” your roommate asks you the second she sees you. “what’s wrong? was the interview that bad? it’s okay, there will be other–”

“I have a boyfriend at home,” you admit to her through your whines as you start pulling random clothes from your drawer. “and– and he’s been in an accident. my mom just called me, and she told me, and I have to go home. I have to see him.”

“boyfriend?” she questions. “you never told me about… never mind. we can talk about it when you get back. is he okay?”

you wipe at your nose with the back of your hand, all the while you’re going crazy running around your bedroom grabbing everything you need to get on the plane. your mind is a jumble of mostly unintelligible thoughts as you try to remember everything you need and explain what little you can to her at the same time.

“yeah, I think so. but I can’t be here while he’s there, hurt, and alone. my family is probably there, but–” you pause, gulping and trying to figure out what to tell her. you’ll tell her the truth when you get back, when you’re in the right headspace, but now isn’t that time. “they don’t really approve of us.” 

“right, of course,” she replies, and it’s clear she doesn’t know what else to say. you don’t blame her; you probably wouldn’t know what to say in this situation, either. “just be safe and text me along the way, okay?”

“I will,” you agree, throwing the last few things you need into your bag before turning to face her. “I should be back Sunday night.” 

“it’s going to be okay,” she whispers before wrapping her arms around you in a hug. 

it takes all your effort not to break down for a third time in her arms, but you finally manage to hold yourself together as you get ready to walk out the door.

“yeah, I hope so,” you whisper. “I really hope so.” 

~~~

the lights are blinding, stark white shining into your eyes as you walk down the corridor towards his room. the scent of alcoholic sanitizer in the air doesn’t ease your nausea in the slightest as you anticipate the worst. 

they say that the side effects of the concussion are minimal given the impact of the fall he took, that he’s lucky to not be suffering any symptoms worse than the ones he’s experiencing. they say that he’s okay. 

you’ll make that determination for yourself when you see him.

when you approach the doorway leading to his room, your nerves spike. flashbacks filter through your mind of the last time you found yourself here, waking up in a similar room after your very own fall and resulting concussion. 

maybe yours was your bad karma for corrupting him, and perhaps now he is facing his own karma for choosing to hold onto you after allowing himself to delve into sin with you.

you inch closer towards the open door and peek inside to see him laying in the bed, his eyes gently shut. the television plays quietly in the background, announcing the local news to anyone listening as though it could possibly distract a soul from the horrors that brought them here.

your feet move of their own accord as you finally enter, turning to shut the door behind you and latching it as quietly as possible. except despite your best efforts, it emits a sound louder than you’d hoped, and your eyes cinch tightly shut in mild frustration with the door, hoping you haven’t woken him.

“hey, kid,” you hear a hoarse voice speak from a few feet behind you. 

you hurriedly whip around to face him, finding him awake and alert, smiling at you so beautifully. you race to the side of the bed he lays in as your heart rate spikes. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” you utter, eyes scanning him up and down. he waves you off, unconcerned. 

your fingers begin threading themselves through his hair ever so cautiously as you take in the sight of him. dark bags sit just beneath his eyes, redness circling his irises as your gaze finds his. his right arm sits across his chest in a cast, held up by a sling. 

“you’re a fucking idiot,” you whisper, your free hand joining your hand in his hair as you lean in to press a kiss to his lips. “how the hell did this happen?”

he just chuckles softly. “it was an accident,” he says, and you roll your eyes.

“I don’t care if it was an accident or not, you need to be more careful,” you tell him, looking back and forth between his eyes. “getting the phone call that you were in the fucking hospital was not a fun one, do you hear me?”

“yeah, yeah. I remember something like that last year. hated every second of it,” he mumbles. “but it’s better me in this bed than you.”

your eyes nearly roll back in your head when he says that. “neither of us should have to be here. and I’m not the one who fell off a ladder, you dipshit.” 

he laughs again. 

“I’m fine, kid,” he whispers, bringing his metal fingers to your arm, drawing your hand away from his hair and bringing it towards him to place a kiss on your knuckles. “I’m tough. I’m going to be fine.” 

you shake your head, beyond exasperated with him, but relieved that you’re finally here to see his state for yourself. hearing from others that he’s okay means nothing to you, because how are you supposed to be able to judge what exactly that means? 

“you didn’t need to come all this way,” he tells you, and you scoff.

“of course I was going to come. I haven’t heard from you in days, and the first news I get is that you’re hurt? no way in hell I wasn’t getting on the first flight. you’d do the same for me.”

“yeah, well. you have more important things to focus on,” he says.

you know he’s trying to reassure you about his situation, but hearing him say that he believes he isn’t the most important thing in your life hurts. you love him more than life itself; you always have. he’s always come first for you. 

“enough,” you whisper, wiping your eyes before your tears begin to fall. “I’m here, and that’s all that matters.”

he slides over in the tiny bed, his large frame already taking up the majority of the space, but he doesn’t seem to care very much as he adjusts to make enough room for you to lay down with him. you’re hesitant to do so because of his injuries, but at the same time, you’re selfish. you want to be here for him in every way possible. you want to give him this comfort, the safety and security of knowing you’re here for him. you want more than anything to just feel him. 

you lay on your side beside him and his free arm wraps itself underneath you and around your waist, tugging you in tightly against him. you rest your head carefully on his shoulder and look down to see where his arm sits in a cast. 

“you can’t afford to be breaking your arm in ladder falls, old man,” you tease of him, “you already lost one to a stupid accident. imagine having two stupid stories to tell.” 

“nah, I’ll just tell people the shark liked the first bite so much that he came back for seconds,” he jokes, and you can’t help but laugh. you lightly smack his chest as you break into a fit of giggles.

“you’re never letting me live that one down,” you say through your laughter, and his chest rumbles with his own laughter.

“of course I’m not,” he assures you as his face tilts downwards, leaning in just enough to place another kiss to the top of your head. 

the two of you lay there for a few minutes in silence as your fingers trace patterns over the fabric of the gown covering his skin. you’re finally able to relax thanks to the close contact, thanks to being able to see him with your own two eyes.

“was it your parents that told you?” Bucky whispers, reluctant to break the peaceful moment, but his curiosity grows too great to avoid asking the question. 

you swallow. “yeah, my mom did,” you admit, and he hums in response. “why? have you seen them?”

“they were here when I woke up yesterday. filled me in on what happened, and all,” he says. “they told me you had an interview yesterday? how did that go?”

your heart nearly stops beating in your chest. you’re not ready to have this conversation with him, not right now. except you have no choice but to address it, so you try your best to be casual about it in your response. 

“uh, yeah,” you mumble under your breath. “went well. dunno if I’ll get the job, but maybe.”

you hope that the casual, non-chalant tone you use will throw him off the scent, that he’ll get the hint you’re not interested in talking about it.

because how can you? how can you tell him right here, right now, that you have a plan you’ve been keeping from him? 

he’s going to agree to it, though. he will agree to it, because he loves you. there’s an opportunity here for the both of you, and he’s going to see it. 

or maybe you know that you’re lying to yourself, hiding your deepest fears in a locked box in your mind so that you don’t have to face the pain that you know may follow from having this conversation. 

except you know now, after not just the last year but the last four long years, that you’ve found where you’re meant to be. albeit by a happy accident, you know that LA is where you’re meant to be, the same way you know that you’re meant to be in Bucky’s arms for the rest of your life.

so why can’t you make both of those things happen?

“I’m sure it went great,” he continues. “they’ll be more than lucky to have you. I know I am.”

the sentiment makes your lips turn up into a soft smile, and a flush of warmth passes across your cheeks.

“yeah, it was actually great,” you admit. “the woman I spoke to seemed pretty eager to have me join the team.”

“that’s amazing, kid. where’s it at? somewhere close by, I hope?”

fuck. 

you begin to sit up from your position on the bed, looking down at him as you do. 

“actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” you admit. the look on his face is almost indeterminable, except you know him well enough by now. you know he’s confused, wondering what bad news it is you’re about to share with him. 

“it’s there. in LA,” you start, and continue to ramble on before he can say anything else. “it’s an amazing opportunity, and I know you seemed to like being there when you came to visit in February, didn’t you? when we talked about it, you said–”

“I said that the city isn’t my scene,” he interrupts you with a biting tone, and you’re taken aback by his brazenness. you continue, your eyes narrowing in mild anger with his inflection.

“you said that you’d be interested. that it would be nice to have a place out in the valley, somewhere close enough to the city–”

“kid, stop,” he interrupts you. “that was all… that was all just talk. I had a great time coming to visit you, sure. but you seem to have gotten this idea in your head, that, what? I’d be interested in moving there?” he says it almost condescendingly, as though it sounds like a joke. finishing his sentence with an unamused laugh underlining his words. 

your jaw stutters as you try to think of what to say next. 

“just hear me out for a minute,” you try. “this is a great job opportunity for me. excellent, even. if you just listen to me for a second, then maybe you’ll realize this is exactly what we both need. a fresh start away from everything, where we can just be ourselves and not worry about people looking over our shoulders, judging us at every turn. how are we supposed to be together like that? it’s not like people don’t know us, don’t know–”

“who cares what they think?” he says, raising his voice. “who cares? I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about that, because I love you, kid. and your parents– we can figure that out, you hear? we don’t need to keep running and hiding! I know I’m getting real fucking sick of it, aren’t you?”

“of course, I am, but that’s why we should do this! we need to get away, somewhere–”

“what are you really trying to run from here, kid?” 

the question takes you by complete surprise, and you do a double take. you have no clue how to answer that as he stares you down, waiting for your response. 

“I’m not running,” you whisper. except your words come out low and broken, as though you don’t even believe them yourself. 

“except you are,” he argues. “you’re running, like it’s the only option you have. but we can figure this out, if you come home, and we figure it out together.”

“are you implying that we can’t work things out if I stay there? that if I choose to move, then, what? that’s it? you’ll give up and won’t even try to work this out with me?” 

he sighs, realizing how harsh he sounds. “no, no. that’s not what I’m saying. I don’t want to give up, I just… don’t see how it can work out if you’re there, and I’m here.”

“so, come with me,” you urge, and his eyes fall shut, his head shaking.

“I can’t move to California, kid. I have a business, and a whole life built here. you have to know that moving isn’t in the cards for me.”

he goes quiet, and you remain silent, too. you don’t know what to say now, what it is you’re supposed to do.

you sit there for a few moments, every sound from outside the door sounding infinitely louder in your ears as you suffer in silence, unsure what comes next. just when your lips part to say something, anything, he speaks up. 

“listen, kid, my head is starting to hurt. let’s talk about this later,” he suggests, and you tilt your head back down to avoid his gaze..

“of course,” you mumble, quickly standing from the bed and stepping away. “yeah, sure. I’ll let you get some sleep. we can, um… talk later.”

“hey, no, you don’t have to leave–”

“I’m sorry, Bucky. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say, refusing to look back up at him as you step away, opening the door and ignoring whatever he says as you walk out. 

how can you face him right now, when you feel so stupid? why did you think that this could work out as well as you had hoped and dreamed it would? 

because you’re just a stupid kid, you remind yourself. you’re a dumb kid who doesn’t know anything about the real world or real life, the same reason you’ve managed to find yourself in this position with your parents and now with Bucky. 

what the hell do you know?

~~~

when you walk in the door at home, you don’t know how to feel.

over the last twenty-four hours, you’ve gone through quite the whirlwind of emotions. from your nervousness, to blissful excitement, then to pure fear and panic, you’ve been through the ringer and don’t quite know what you’re supposed to feel now. 

you’re mad at yourself for bringing up this discussion with Bucky while he’s in the hospital before having the opportunity to do it on better terms, before you could find a way to be more graceful about the discussion. you’re frustrated for letting yourself get this idea stuck in your head that Bucky would move with you, that you could both have your cake and eat it, too. 

you’re sad that you left him there, alone, now that you’ve made it back to your parents’ house. you flew all this way just to see him, and for what? you’ve run away from him, again, and you’ve now let yourself end up butt-hurt just because you ended up in an argument that didn’t go your way?

there’s too much going on in your life right now for this to be at the forefront of your concerns, and yet, it is. because that’s what Bucky means to you. he’s your everything. 

as you walk towards your bedroom, you’re exhausted, and a deep part of you has a terrible thought. a thought that you almost hope you don’t get the job, because then, you would no longer be obligated to stay in LA and you could move in with Bucky as you’d told him many months ago that you would. 

you hate yourself for thinking it, recalling how ecstatic you were just the night prior upon the success of your interview. you love LA, but you love Bucky more. you think. 

at what point do you have to start putting yourself first? 

all these years, you’ve pined over Bucky. you’ve longed to have him, to be with him, to call him yours the way you finally do now. for the majority of your time on this earth you’ve placed him at the center of your universe. 

moving to California was the only thing you’d ever done for yourself, even if running away from him was the primary reason for doing so. even if he was still at the root of that decision, you’d done it because you knew you needed to grow up once and for all. 

you never did get over Bucky like you’d intended to when you told yourself that college was the opportunity for you to do that “growing up.” 

and yet, regardless of that fact, you’ve grown in so many other ways. Bucky aside, this move was one of the best choices you ever could have made for yourself. 

would you be throwing it all away if you came back to New York just to continue choosing him over yourself?

as your thoughts continue to circle, you hear a soft knock on the door jamb, and you turn your head to see your father standing there. 

“hey,” he begins cautiously, “how was Bucky today?”

you take a deep breath, unsure of how to approach this discussion with him. you’re soon reminded of the time you found yourself standing right here, in your bedroom, the vision of your father punching Bucky out after walking in uninvited. 

except the look on his face now is forlorn. he’s hesitant, likely even more confused than you feel about how he feels about the situation. 

at the end of the day, you remind yourself, Bucky and your father have been best friends for over three decades now. the kind of familial relationship that develops after knowing someone for so many years doesn’t just go away overnight; he is likely genuinely concerned just as you are. 

“he seems to be doing alright,” you say, plopping yourself down on the edge of your bed. “you wouldn’t be able to tell that he just came out of a coma yesterday, that’s for sure.” 

a gentle smile passes his face as he steps inside the room, slowly sauntering inside before taking a seat next to you on the bed. 

you take a deep breath. he’s going to bring up your relationship with Bucky, you know it. and if the past few conversations you’ve had about the exact same topic are any indication, then this isn’t going to go well.

“when we were in high school,” your father begins, “Bucky was… kind of an asshole.”

you laugh at that. “you could say the same about him today,” you joke, and he laughs along with you in response. 

“yeah, well. more so back then than he is now,” he continues. “he was the kind of guy who went around chasing skirts, you know. didn’t really care about the women he went out with, and… it took him a while to grow out of that. 

“when your mom and I started going together, though, he knew better than to cause any trouble. he knew that I was serious about her. and, well, some of her girlfriends at the time had been on the… receiving end of Bucky’s stupid shenanigans, to say the least. it took a really long time for him to finally win her over, before they finally became friends, too.” 

“I didn’t know that,” you mumble, and he nods. 

“it wasn’t until we were in our mid-twenties, when Bucky finally grew out of his womanizing phase, before he and your mom finally began to get along. I was so glad when they finally became friends, because I didn’t know how I was supposed to choose between them if they hadn’t. your best friend, or the woman you love? that’s not a decision to be made lightly, and I never wanted it to come to that.” 

he pauses for a few minutes, staring down at his hands crossed in his lap before continuing. 

“when you were born, Bucky adored you. he vowed to take care of you, to be there for everything, every milestone. all of it. he watched you grow up.”

“dad, please, I promise you that nothing untoward ever happened when I was a kid, he never–”

“I know, I know,” he nods. “I know he would never do anything of the sort, but I also never expected that he would–”

he cuts off mid-sentence, and a pit settles in your stomach. here comes the argument, the part where he tells you he forbids this, that Bucky will always be the same idiot he was as a teenager. 

“when I saw… what I saw that day, I was livid. beyond anything I’d ever felt in my life, because how could he? how could he take advantage of my daughter like that?”

“dad, please–”

“let me finish,” he says calmly. “I didn’t understand how anything like that could ever happen under our noses, under my own roof. I didn’t understand how he could betray our family’s trust like that.”

you’re still waiting, waiting for the outburst, waiting for the ultimatum. waiting for whatever awful thing is happening next. 

“I still don’t understand it, and I don’t know that I ever will. but the point I’m trying to make is this: I don’t want you to think that your mother and I aren’t still here for you. I don’t want you to think… that you have to choose, between us and him.”

you blink once. twice. 

what? 

“I can’t say that I’m okay with any of this, but what I have come to realize is that you’re an adult who can make her own decisions, now, and I am not willing to lose my only daughter over this.”

you’re honestly shocked beyond belief as the sentiment he’s expressing to you settles in your mind. 

choosing to sleep with Bucky, choosing to be with him, you were never going to get to have the fairytale romance you dreamt of as a little girl simply because of who you were to each other. there was never going to be an open-armed welcome from your family upon telling them you were in love; there was always going to be a fight, a terribly disagreeable reaction on their end from learning such news, albeit a very warranted reaction. 

it was never going to be smooth sailing, and no, you never expected your parents to approve in the slightest.

but this, what your father is telling you right now? 

this might be the best possible outcome you ever could have hoped for.

“your mom is still working on getting over her anger, as am I, but we’re in agreement that you are too important to us to let you go over this. so… we aren’t going to interfere, or argue with you over it anymore, alright?”

you’re rendered entirely speechless, instantly reaching your arms out and wrapping yourself around him in relief. 

“thank you, Dad,” you mumble into his shoulder as you hug him. “thank you.”

you sit there for a few minutes as the tension you’ve felt between the two of you for months finally begins to melt away, as you finally begin to feel like you might be able to find a way back to normal. that what felt like the end of your world wasn’t truly the end. 

“we’re here for you,” he says, “and if he ever pulls anything funny, he’ll regret it until the end of his days.”

you laugh, although somewhat somberly, as you finally pull away from the embrace. “yeah, well. we’ll see if it even works out. my interview yesterday went amazing, as I’m sure Mom told you. and… I really want the job, Dad,” you confide in him, “but it’s in LA. and I’m going to miss him. and both of you, too, of course.” 

“look at me,” he encourages, and your soft eyes find his. “you’re strong, and you’re smart. and while the decision is yours whether or not you take the job, if you get the offer, I want you to think about what’s going to be best for you, not anybody else. the rest of us will still be here. but you owe it to yourself to seriously consider the offer, even if it means…”

“losing Bucky,” you mumble. 

“yes. and I don’t just say that because of everything that’s happened, but I say that because it’s true. you’ve worked so hard for your degree, and you deserve the job, if that’s what you want.”

“I do really want the job,” you whisper. “I really hope I get the offer.”

“then you should take it. you’ll have our full support. we’ll just have to come visit you more often,” he tells you with a smile, and you return it with a laugh.

“that would be great, Dad. thank you.”

~~~

you walk down the same corridor to the same bright, ugly hospital room as the day before. the same sterile smell permeates your senses as you walk more confidently to his room now, although you’re still nervous after your conversation the previous day. 

no matter what happens, you’re not leaving his side. you’re going to spend every minute you can with him today until you have to get on a flight back to LA tomorrow, argument or not. 

when you see him this time, he’s already awake, eyes fixated on the television as he eats jello from a plastic cup that rests on the table in front of him.

“that’s not a very healthy breakfast,” you say as you walk into the room, and he looks over at you for a few seconds before breaking into a smile after processing your words. 

“yeah, well, when you’re a sick man like myself, they let you have whatever you want for breakfast.”

you walk up to the side of the bed and look over at the screen on the wall. “you also should not be watching TV with a concussion, Bucky!” you exclaim, reaching for the remote where it sits in his lap, immediately clicking the off button. 

“I was watching that,” he says, but there’s no fervor behind his words. instead, he slowly shifts over in the bed as he did the day prior, once again allowing you to sit with him. 

the both of you go quiet, the elephant in the room making itself known after your argument the night prior. 

“let me help you,” you whisper, reaching for the spoon in his hand. with only one free hand available to eat from his cup, it falls over on the table as he reaches for it, and you immediately reach out to help him. 

as you extend the spoon of jello out in front of him a few moments later, he mumbles, “I’m not a baby,” but doesn’t hesitate to wrap his lips around the plastic. 

“thank you,” he says shyly afterwards. you softly hum in response, slowly feeding him the rest of the jello in the cup while you both remain in silence. 

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he finally says once he’s done eating. “I shouldn’t have blown up on you like that. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“it’s alright,” you assure him with a smile as you lay down next to him. “I don’t know… where I got that stupid idea in my head from. it’s fine.” 

“it’s not stupid,” he assures you, metal fingers tracing up and down your back. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I thought it was.” 

you hum in acknowledgement. “thank you,” you whisper. “but, can we talk about this later? I have to leave tomorrow, and I’d rather just be here with you than try to make any monumental decisions right now.”

“of course,” he says, planting a kiss on your head. you sigh in relief and settle in closer to him. 

“how are you feeling?” you ask him as you settle in next to him. “are you in any pain?”

“not now that you’re here,” he says, and he hears you scoff. “what? don’t believe me? it’s the truth, your presence instantly cures all my ails.”

“if only it worked like that,” you jest, and he continues. 

“seriously, though. I’m feeling better than I should given the circumstances.”

“or maybe you’re just loaded up on pain meds,” you giggle. 

“yeah, maybe I am, but at least that means they’re working.” 

after your conversation dies out, you both go quiet for a while, your eyes shutting as you lay with him. even though the circumstances under which you’re here are far less than ideal, you’re still elated to see him, to be able to spend time with him. 

you hope it’s not one of the last times you get to have this. you still hope that you get to have this forever, until the end of your days you wish you could be wrapped up with him. 

who knows if that’s in the cards for you, though. 

when his eyes have fallen shut and you hear the soft sound of his breathing telling you he’s asleep, you carefully stand from the bed, trying not to jostle him as you make your way to shut the door and turn off the lights. 

he just barely stirs when you get back into the bed beside him, rousing just enough to wrap his prosthetic arm around you once more and pull you in tight before dozing off again. 

you look at him carefully as he sleeps, as though memorizing the sight of his beautiful face, the way his eyelashes rest on his cheeks. the bags under his eyes have improved slightly since the day before, and you’re still cautious to reach out and touch his broken arm. 

you wish more than anything that you could stay and take care of him until he’s all better, to watch him carefully and make sure he doesn’t do anything that might make his injuries worse. even if you’d been here on Monday when the accident happened, you know there would have been nothing you could have done about it; you couldn’t have stopped him, couldn’t have protected him from it, no matter how much you wish you could’ve.

there’s no bigger wish in your heart for him to have nothing but the best. 

yet here you are, telling him you want him to uproot his entire life just to make you happy. in hindsight, it was a far bigger ask than you made it out to be, yet for some reason you couldn’t see that. perhaps you’d been blinded by the fact that now that you’re together, and now that you’ve survived the absolute worst situation that could have possibly happened when you were discovered by your parents, there was nothing else bigger than that in your head that you believed could tear you apart. that if you could survive being found out, you could survive anything. 

you just wanted to have everything, for it all to be perfect. 

yet you know the world isn’t perfect, and it’s never fair. it’s not fair that the love of your life is a man you never should have gotten with, and it’s not fair that you both can’t just be normal. 

you’re going to have to leave him tonight, and it’s going to hurt, knowing that you won’t have clarity on where you stand and what the future holds. it’s going to be painful knowing that you won’t know the next time you’ll get to see him, the next time you’ll get to touch him, if you accept the job and don’t come back to New York in the near future. 

it’s going to absolutely destroy you if this doesn’t work out, you think to yourself. 

but even deeper down, you know that you’ll survive. you know that you’ve suffered heartbreak because of Bucky before, and if it happens again, you know you’re going to survive it again. 

you just have to hope that it doesn’t come to that. 

✦ masterlist ~ series finale coming soon. ✦

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Living in a small town, far from the city bustle you once called home, was a change that required a slow and steady adjustment for most people.

You were accustomed to walking across massive city blocks with a shopping center on every corner. You were used to breezy dresses and high heels, always meticulously grooming yourself nicely before ever stepping out of your apartment.

Now, the clean, organized world you knew has been replaced by dirt, soil, and animals.

Heels have given way to cowboy boots. The apartment with the skyline view has been traded for a modest cottage, its windows looking out over the silent and empty farmhouse next door.

Surprisingly, the change in scenery didn’t take long to adjust to. Since moving here, you’ve carved out a life in a quiet corner of town, tucked away from the rest of the townsfolk. With the vast, unoccupied land stretching out beside you, you often find yourself lounging in the grass to sunbathe or wandering out with your camera to capture the blooming apricot trees in the spring. 

It is comfortable, quiet, and— much to your surprise—doesn’t feel like a downgrade from city life at all.

Until one day, you woke with a start to the sound of chickens squawking uncontrollably right outside your door.

Are Marnie’s chickens running loose again?

With a tired groan, you pushed yourself out of bed—your hair poking out in every direction and your eyes heavy with deep, dark circles. You shoved the curtains aside, letting a bright, burning ray of sunshine through the glass to hit you square in the face.

Wincing, you blinked several times to adjust, but it didn’t take long for your eyelids to fly wide open at what you saw just beyond your window.

The once empty farmhouse next door was now cluttered with boxes and crates. Animals that belonged on Marnie’s ranch were roaming freely over the fresh grass where you used to lay out a towel to sunbathe.

Now, it was likely being littered with pig shit.

And in the center of the chaos stood a man you didn’t recognize. 

Sweat dampened his dark hair, sending loose strands draping over his face. He had his back to you—his white tank top and jeans stained dark from dirt and a hard day’s work.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. 

Was someone actually moving in? 

Or had Marnie run out of space and decided to rent this spot out, ruining the peace and quiet you relished in this corner of town?

To make matters worse, he revved the engine of a lawnmower and got to work, polluting the air with noise.

Grabbing your slippers and hastily throwing on a cardigan to cover your nightgown, you stomped out of your cottage and marched over to the farmhouse fence.

“Hello!” you called out, pulling the cardigan tight across your chest. “What’s going on here—?”

The lawn mower’s engine roared even louder, drowning out your voice completely. The man continued to guide the machine in a slow, methodical line, his back still turned to you. The smell of freshly cut grass and gasoline filled the air, mingling with the… less pleasant scent of the roaming livestock.

“Excuse me!”

Nothing.

You stepped closer to the fence, cupping your hands around your mouth. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

He reached the end of a row and made a sharp turn, but he didn’t look up. His eyes stayed on the ground. From your spot by the fence, you watched the sun dance across his muscles as he maneuvered the heavy machine, sweat glistening on his forearms.

You waited until he drifted closer to the fence line before shouting again.

“Hey! Farmer boy!”

The mower sputtered and stalled, and finally, your voice pierced through the noise. 

He glanced up, pushing sweaty strands of hair out of his face. You stood just a few feet away, arms crossed tightly over your cardigan—the hem of your nightslip riding up ridiculously high on your thigh, your hair a mess of bed tangles and your face twisted grumpily. 

The breath left Bucky’s lungs—and it wasn’t because of the blistering sun burning his skin, or the morning’s hard labor.

It was because he had a beautiful woman standing right in front of him — a woman who was a total sight for sore eyes. 

Bucky let go of the mower, wiping his grimy hands on his stained jeans as he sauntered toward you. Meeting you at the fence, he flashed a charming smile, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling as he reached out a hand.

“Hi there, beautiful,” he greeted smoothly. “I’m Bucky.” 

You didn’t move. Your eyes followed his face, to the dirt caked between his fingers and underneath his nails, and then back at his face. 

“Beautiful?” you repeated, scrunching your face in what appears to be disgust. 

Bucky’s brows furrowed just slightly, but he didn’t let the rejection deter him. He slowly lowered his hand. 

Since he arrived early in the morning—well before the sun even rose—everyone in Pelican Town had been so kind and welcoming. Several of the folks had come by to help haul his luggage and boxes, even helping him get the chicken coop set up and the livestock moved in.

When Bucky inherited his parents’ old farm after they passed, he’d had his reservations about returning. But after those initial interactions with the townspeople, he started to think that maybe life out here wouldn’t be so bad after all.

His parents, Winnie and George, had always told him that the town they grew up in was filled with the most kindhearted people you would ever meet—a place where neighbors looked out for one another and never hesitated to lend a hand.

But now, here you were, and you wouldn’t even meet him halfway for a simple handshake.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Bucky huffed with that southern drawl he inherited from his parents. “Just callin’ it how I see it. Just as you called me ‘farmer boy.’”

You returned his petty jab with a roll of your eyes. 

“What is going on here?” you motioned to the mess surrounding him. “Is there some big renovation being done? Are you turning the farmhouse into a ranch or something? This is private land, you know.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the way your voice rose in anger just from his mere presence alone.

He rested both palms on his hips. “Why do you care?” He nodded his head toward you, prompting an answer.

You hiked a thumb over your shoulder. “Because I live right there, and all the noise you’re producing is going to be a problem.”

He glanced over your shoulder, letting out a soft hum. “Oh, so you’re my neighbor? How cute.” He looked back at you, a playful gleam dancing in his blue eyes. “You’re also the woman who’s been crossing the fence—snappin’ pictures of my trees and layin’ in my grass to sunbathe on my private land. Ain’t that right?”

Your shoulders tensed.

You didn’t know a thing about this man—yet he knew exactly what you had been up to before he took over the farm. You shifted on your feet awkwardly and defensively. 

“H-how do you know that—?”

“It’s a small town, darlin’. And Marnie was tellin’ me all about it while she was helpin’ me with the chickens.” Bucky crossed his arms, his grin widening once he realized he’d won this little back and forth with you. “Wasn’t too happy when I first heard about it—but after findin’ out it was a pretty girl trespassin’, well, I don’t mind it one bit.”

Bucky watched as you purposefully avoided eye contact, your face scrunching in either embarrassment or pride—he couldn’t quite tell which.

“The people who owned this farmhouse left several years ago, even before I moved here. Their names were Winnie and George—”

“My parents,” Bucky interrupted, pointing a thumb at his chest. “I’m their son.”

Your eyes widened. 

Living in a small town, you heard plenty of stories about the people who lived here now and those who had long ago. It hadn’t taken long for you to learn about Winnie and George—the married couple who once called Pelican Town home. They had a massive arrangement of animals and livestock, always hosting parties and events on their land.

When Winnie got pregnant, they had moved across the country to give their son a “better life.”

But apparently, that country charm couldn't keep them away forever, because their son was back. And based on the looks of it, he was here to stay for good. 

You blinked, the name finally clicking. “Y-you’re James?”

“Sounds pretty comin’ off your lips.”

Agitation boiled in your blood as you stared back at his handsomely smug face. You couldn’t believe this was who you had to deal with now.

“Wow,” you drawled sarcastically, glaring him down. “Are you always this charming?”

“For you? I can be.” Bucky motioned to the rest of the farm with a sweeping gesture. “And you better get used to it—because I’m goin’ to be livin’ here from now on, right next to that cute little cottage of yours.”

Your jaw hung once his words registered in your mind.

Living here? That meant you had to deal with all the animals, the loud lawn mower, and that awful stench. 

That also meant no more sunbathing in the wide, open grass. No more pictures of the trees and flowers that grew in Winnie and George’s yard—the ones you were planning on making a scrapbook of.

“Any way you can keep the noise down to a minimum?” you huffed, trying to smooth over your agitation.

Bucky saw right through you, and his grin only grew wider because of it. “What? A little noise is already ruinin’ your beauty sleep?”

And most importantly, it meant dealing with a dirty, farm boy neighbor who didn’t seem to care at all about being neighborly, or your own well being.

You were about to snap something snarky back, but he was already revving the mower's engine, not even looking your way anymore.

“Look, princess,” he shouted over the noise. “If you want to keep takin’ your silly pictures for your social media or sunbathin’ on my lawn, by all means.”

Social media? 

What kind of woman did this man think you were? 

He finally looked up at you again, flashing another one of those charming smiles.

“Just be careful not to step in pig shit.”

Since then, you and Bucky had been stuck in a constant back and forth. 

Every morning, you woke to the sound of chickens squawking at the top of their lungs, followed immediately by the pungent scent of pig shit drifting through your window.

You complained to Bucky several times, but he always just wiped the sweat from his forehead and shrugged. “Guess I’ve gotten used to the smell. Doesn’t bother me none. Just light some incense and call it a day, would ya?”

On weekends, you would hang your damp laundry to dry in the sun, only for Bucky to decide that was the perfect time to leaf blow his gravel path. He would send a cloud of dust, dried hay, and dirt straight into your damp, clean dresses.

When you stomped out of the house in a rage, Bucky would just grin, nodding toward your laundry line and the pink lace that were strung up on it.

“Cute panties.”

Then out of sheer embarrassment, you would retreat back into your cottage without uttering a single word in defeat. 

The breaking point came one evening when you were walking home from an errand run in town. One of Bucky’s goddamn cows had drifted astray and was currently munching on the sunflowers poking through your fences. You could put up with a lot of things, sure, but your precious flowers were where you drew the line.

You dropped your grocery bags on the porch and marched to the fence, your blood pressure spiking with every petal that vanished into that cow’s mouth.

“Hey, stop that! Shoo!” You flapped your arms wildly, trying to look as intimidating as possible. “Go on! Get back to your own side!”

The cow didn’t react. She simply blinked her long lashes at you, a half eaten sunflower stem hanging out of her mouth like a cigar. When you stepped closer to give her a firm nudge, she didn’t retreat. The cow let out a hum of what sounds like appreciation, leaning her massive head into your shoulder and nearly knocking you backward.

She wasn’t scared of you at all. 

She was smitten. 

“No! No cuddles! You’re a trespasser!” you hissed, trying to shove the heavy beast back toward the fence.

The cow responded by letting out a long, wet lick that started at your wrist and ended at your elbow. You shivered at the contact—you had just showered!

A low, gravelly chuckle erupted from the farmhouse porch, a sound you hadn’t heard over your own frantic shooing. 

Bucky was leaning against the railing with a half peeled orange in his hand, a smug little smile tugging at his lips. He was enjoying this.

“Well, look at that,” he called out, his grin reaching his eyes. “Seems like my Bessie’s got a taste of my neighbor. I’m jealous.”

“Bucky, get your cow!” you shouted, trying to wipe the cow slobber off your arm. “She’s eating my sunflowers! These were for the festival!”

Rather than rushing to your rescue, Bucky took a bite of the citrus, juices spilling over his lips. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as his dirty boots stomped down the wooden steps, until he finally met you at the fence.

“Bessie ain’t doin’ any harm. She’s a good girl, ain’t she?” He smiled mid chew, his hand coming up to pet Bessie’s head as he started talking to the cow instead of you. “You got a good lick outta’ her, right? Is she as sweet as she looks?”

Your eyes went wide at the blatant comment. You scoffed, trying to ignore the sudden, drastic spike in your heartbeat.

“You need to take better care of your damn animals, Bucky.” 

Bucky exagerrated a frown, tilting his head as he played stupid. “I take plenty of care over my sweet Bessie.” 

You crossed your arms, glaring him down. “I mean keeping your animals on your property and leaving mine alone.” 

“But Bessie didn’t even cross your fence.” 

“She’s eating my sunflowers!” you reminded him, motioning dramatically toward your mangled plants.

Bucky snickered at your little outburst. He didn’t know what it was, but seeing you riled up over something as small as sunflowers was far too entertaining. Maybe it was the constant scent of soil and manure messing with his head, but his short yet frequent interactions with you had been more interesting than anything else in town since he had moved in.

“Alright, Bessie,” Bucky cooed to the cow. 

He kept one hand on her head, gently urging her away from your garden. He gestured toward the mangled stems. “What’s this festival you’re savin’ these flowers for, anyway?”

“The Flower Dance,” you said, your brows furrowed as if he already should have known the answer.

“Explain it to me, princess.”

You ignored the pet name. “Every year in the spring, the town hosts a dance in the center of the square. The whole place is decorated with colorful banners and flowers, and Gus sets up a buffet spread of homemade food.”

Bucky rubbed his chin, looking amused. “And there’s dancin’, I presume?”

“Lots of it,” you continued. “People partner up for a waltz. The girls show up in nice dresses and flower crowns.”

“And what about the men?”

Your eyes raked over Bucky—taking in the dirt caked on his boots and the fresh scuffs on his jeans. “Still average looking, at best.”

It seemed no matter how many insults you hurled at him, he remained entirely unfazed. His smile only grew wider as he stepped closer, leaning over the fence until you were nearly nose to nose.

“So,” he drawled, voice growing deeper. “Do you have a partner?”

You blinked, thrown off guard by the question. “Excuse me?”

Bucky’s posture shifted slightly. He looked down, dragging a calloused finger along the top rail of your fence, tracing the grain of the wood as he searched for the right words. From where you stood, you could tell he was trying to maintain that ‘cool guy’ exterior, but his faint, boyish smile gave him away.

He shrugged casually, though he still didn’t meet your eyes.

“Well... I was just wonderin’...” he started. “Since I’m new in town and all, maybe you could show me the ropes of this ‘flower dance’ thing. Seems like a lot for a guy to take in on his own.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him suspiciously.

“Sounds like you already got it all figured out,” he said, finally looking up. That smug smile returned to the corners of his mouth. “And a guy like me... well, it’d be a dream to take a woman like you.”

You let out a short, scoffing laugh. 

He had been taunting and poking fun at you since the day he moved in—and now he was inviting you to be his partner for the Flower Dance?

Was he pulling your leg?

Instead of entertaining him, you just rolled your eyes and turned back toward your house. 

“Very funny.” 

As you gathered the groceries from your steps, you added without looking over your shoulder, “Control your animals, Barnes.”

It was like Bucky was trying to get back at you for rejecting his invitation to the Flower Dance—because from that day onward, he had been nothing but an aggravating pest lingering just outside your cottage.

Instead of being a slighty annoying and impractical neighbor, Bucky took your rejection with a tip of his hat and a doubled effort to be the most inconvenient man alive. 

He started a ‘fence repair’ project that involved loud hammering at six in the morning—shirtless. When you stomped out of your house in a rage, he only grinned. 

“Sorry, sweets. But the world doesn’t stop movin’ just ‘cause a pretty girl wants to get some sleep.”

You retaliated by accidentally spraying your hose at his freshly painted fence before it had a chance to dry, followed by a fake giggle and a chirpy “oops!”

This relentless back and forth went on and on, until you found yourself pinned beneath your grandmother’s heirloom vanity on an unfortunate Friday afternoon—the day right before the Flower Dance festival.

This vanity was the one piece of furniture that had survived the move to Pelican Town, and the one thing you were trying to preserve. 

While you were trying to shimmy it away from a leaky pipe in the wall, the antique wood groaned. With a suspicious sounding crack that made your heart drop, the back leg snapped, and the entire heavy structure tilted, the vanity’s ornate mirror swinging dangerously toward the floor.

You caught it just in time, wincing as your shoulder braced roughly against the heavy wood, but you were pinned. 

If you moved, the mirror would shatter and the delicate wood would splinter beyond repair.

In that moment, you didn’t know what was worse—being pinned beneath a very heavy, very important vanity, or the fact that your window was propped open and the only man in sight who could help you was none other than Bucky fucking Barnes.

“Bucky!” you shouted toward the window.

He heard you—you knew it—because as he closed the mailbox, he gave a subtle glance over his shoulder before pretending he hadn’t heard a thing. He went right back to sorting through his mail.

“Bills, bills, bills,” Bucky clicked his tongue, loud enough for you to hear. He shook his head. “More bills.”

“Bucky, get over here!” you shouted louder, trying to shift your feet, but the movement only made the vanity creak ominously. “I need your help!”

Bucky finally turned around, that stupid, smug smile tugging at his lips at the sight of your struggle.

“You sure about that?” he taunted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know—you look pretty strong to me. I didn’t expect that kind of muscle out of a girl like you.”

“I’m being serious, Bucky—!” you gasped, the wood sliding through your sweaty palms. You tried adjusting your feet again, but your sandals gave little to no traction against the wooden floor. “It’s going to—it’s slipping!”

As you scrambled to fix your grip, the vanity slipped straight through your fingers. You shrieked, jumping to the side just in time to avoid having your feet crushed as the heavy furniture crashed to the ground.

The impact made the entire house shake. Shards of glass exploded, skidding across the floor like ice as pieces of the wood on the vanity splintered off.

Bucky, who had been taunting you just seconds ago, was already moving toward your door before you could even notice.

“Shit, shit,” he cursed under his breath. He shoved the front door open, barging through and tossing his mail aside.

“Fuck—are you okay?” Bucky rushed to your side, crouching beside you. His warm hands found your shoulders as he gently pried you away from the broken glass.

The worried tone in his voice went in one of your ears and out the other. All you could do was stare at the wreckage before you, the glass scattered everywhere a clear testament to how shattered you felt inside.

“That… that was my grandmother’s,” you said with a shaky breath. “It’s the last thing I have of hers.”

Bucky stood beside you, sensing the tension in your shoulders as his teeth caught his bottom lip. You could feel the guilt coming off him for not helping you sooner.

Slowly, you lifted your head to look at him, your eyes wide in disbelief. Bucky looked like he was bracing himself for a round of yelling—a smart move on his part.

“I asked you for help,” you started, voice trembling as the rage began to boil in your blood. “I asked you for help, Bucky! And all you did was stand there and watch me struggle!”

You stepped closer, the soles of your sandals crunching against the glass as you shoved a finger into his chest. “You’re an asshole, Bucky. You’ve been a pest and a jerk since the second you moved in, and now the one thing that’s actually important to me is broken because you wanted to play some stupid game!”

Bucky could only stare at you completely wide eyed, as the angry shakiness in your voice softened into something more broken and small. 

Your face—once scrunched in a pissed off snarl—gave way to a slight wobble in your bottom lip that Bucky caught immediately.

Maybe he should’ve retorted. He should’ve told you it wasn’t entirely his fault. But the way the tears started to prick at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over any second, made his heart ache in ways he didn’t want to admit.

Before you could shove him a second time, his large, calloused hands came up, gently catching your wrist.

“Hey,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm. “Stop. Don’t move. You’re gonna cut your feet,” he warned, looking down at your sandals.

“What—?”

“Here.” Bucky’s hands nudged your shoulders, guiding you to the edge of your bed slowly and carefully. “Just stay here, okay?” he murmured, crouching in front of you until he was at eye level. His eyes bored into yours, a small attempt to soothe your panic. “Don’t move an inch until I get the glass up. I’m goin’ to get my kit. I have the tools to fix this.”

“You can’t fix this, Bucky,” you choked out, wiping a tear away with the back of your hand. “The wood snapped. The mirror is in a million pieces.”

Bucky reached out, his thumb catching the tear that you missed to wipe. 

“I can,” he said, and for once, there wasn’t a trace of smugness in his tone. “I’ve got some aged mahogany in the barn that’ll match this grain near perfect. And I know a guy in town who can cut a new glass plate by morning.”

He stood up, looking down at the broken glass and then back at you. “I’m sorry, princess. I really am. I’ll make it right. Just stay put.”

For the first time, princess didn’t sound like a condescending, backhanded compliment. 

So, you obeyed. 

You sat on the edge of your mattress, sandals discarded on the floor and bare feet tucked safely away from the danger zone as you watched Bucky go to work. He was meticulous, sweeping your broom across the wood to make sure not a single drop of glass was left behind on the floorboards.

Once the floor was clear, he kept his focus on the broken leg and the empty, ragged frame where the mirror used to be.

“This vanity must be important to you, huh?”

You kept your eyes down, picking at the fabric of your quilt. “I’m not really in the mood for your taunts, Barnes.”

“Hey,” he huffed, glancing up at you. “I’m not tryin’ to play at you, darlin’. I promise.” He frowned, his tone softening as he took in the saddened expression on your face. 

“I know what it’s like, tryin’ to preserve an heirloom. My parents—” he swallowed hard, keeping a brave face just for you, “a lot of the stuff they gave me didn’t make the move back to Pelican Town. Which is ironic, ‘cause this was their home from the very beginning, you know? It could’ve been just fine if they kept their stuff here.”

You blinked, sniffling as you looked at him. Aside from that slight glimpse of vulnerability when he’d asked you to the festival, this was the most he had ever shared about himself.

“I’m so sorry,” you said sympathetically, not really knowing what else to offer him in a moment like this.

Bucky offered a small, weary smile. 

“Don’t be,” he groaned slightly as he knelt back down, opening the drawers of the vanity to carefully remove your belongings so he could get started on the repairs. “What’s all this?”

He started pulling out various bottles and products—makeup brushes and perfumes that looked far too expensive and meticulous for a girl to be bothered with in a town like this.

“Well, look at that,” Bucky let out a low whistle, turning a tube of designer lipstick over in his calloused palm. “What is this? Chanel? Dior?” He glanced up at you, that same spark returning to his eyes, though it was softer now—less of a bite and more of a tease. “Always wondered how a farm girl kept lookin’ like she just stepped off a runway in Zuzu City.”

“What’s wrong with a girl wanting to look her best?” you scoffed, feeling a little embarrassed. 

Bucky grinned at the sound of you finally getting your spark back.

He reached back into the vanity, pulling out a small scrapbook. As he moved it, a handful of photographs slipped from between the pages and fluttered onto the floor.

Your eyes flew wide as the photographs hit the floor—some of them landing face up, while others landed face down.

You scrambled off the bed, trying to snatch the photos, but Bucky was already sweeping them up. He stood, holding them high and well out of your reach.

“Wait—don’t!”

“Oh?” Bucky’s brow arched, as he playfully tilted his head at you. “What do we have here?”

“Bucky, stop playing around! Give them to me—!”

Bucky’s arm stayed locked high above his head, a deep chuckle vibrating in his chest as he flipped through the pages. The first few were random blurbs—bits of a poetry phase you had gone through that had lasted all of a week.

“Roses are red, violets are blue—? You write poetry?” he questioned, making your face burn with embarrassment.

“It was a phase! Just shut up and hand it over—”

He ignored you, continuing to flip through the book until his expression suddenly softened. His thumb brushed over the edge of a Polaroid taped to one of the pages with pink, polka-dotted washi tape.

“This is…” he breathed, his voice trailing off as he took in the photo of the apricot tree on his own lawn. He stared at the way the sun peaked through the branches, highlighting the orangey-pink fruit. “The tree on my lawn—my mom’s apricot tree. She grew that from a sapling.”

He continued flipping through the pages, his blue eyes trailing over each one carefully. He took in the way you arranged the different prints—candid shots of the townsfolk, the horses at Marnie’s farm, colorful cocktails from Gus’s saloon, and flowers. Lots of them. Flowers he recognized from both your lawn and his.

“You know… when the people in town mentioned you were a photographer, I just assumed you were an influencer,” he admitted. He gave you a lopsided grin, his gaze dropping back to the book. “Some… social media vermin.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms and raising a brow. “A vermin?”

Bucky grinned. “Yeah—I mean, you’re a good lookin’ woman, with all your fancy designer clothes and stuff—” he waved his free hand while the other held the book aloft. “I figured you’d be into all the selfies and modelin’ crap.”

“Well,” you huffed, trying to mask your bashfulness. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Disappointment is the farthest thing from what I’m feelin’, little doll,” he mused. He took in the photographs and the various little doodles of flowers in the corners of the pages, tucked neatly around the polaroids. “These are beautiful.”

You boasted about plenty of things—the clothes you wore, the bags you carried, the way you styled your hair. But photography and scrapbooking were more personal. It was the hobby that had helped you during the transition from the city to the farm. Some might deem it corny, but away from the expectations of social media—where strangers were updated through sugar-coated photos on a digital screen—you had turned photography into something private. Something more you.

“I…” you started, struggling to handle the look of adoration on Bucky’s face. “Thank you, Bucky. That’s very sweet of you.”

After taking in every page, he closed the scrapbook and handed it back. His attention shifted to the glossy prints dangling from his fingers, and he began sorting through them with a boyish grin.

“And these are the photos you’re goin’ to add to the book later, I take it—?”

Bucky stopped short the second his eyes landed on the next shot. Most were the same snaps of trees and the town, but there was one that made his breath hitch and his pants suddenly tight.

“It’s a little project I’m working on,” you explained, completely clueless and still a bit bashful. “A page dedicated to the different seasons. The trees are always changing, and the town looks completely different from spring to winter.”

Bucky stayed quiet, his shoulders tensing as his eyes remained glued to the photograph. He cleared his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing.

“I… see,” he said, his voice suddenly low and raspy.

Your brows furrowed. You couldn’t understand why he was so focused on that photo specifically. Curiosity getting the best of you, you tilted your head to peek at what he was looking at—and your heart dropped into your stomach.

Staring back at you was a selfie you had taken on your instant camera. You were sprawled across your bed, hair fanned out across the pillows. Your chest was exposed bare, one arm draped over your breasts, though if someone looked close enough, they could see the shaded curve of an areola peeking just past your forearm. Your body was angled to accentuate your curves, revealing the soft skin of your thighs and hips in nothing but a pair of lace panties.

Face burning a million degrees, you snatched the photo out of Bucky’s hands. 

“Don’t look at that!” you shrieked, spinning away from him.

All Bucky could do was stand there—frozen, bewildered, and hard as fuck. 

He could hear your frantic heartbeat from where he stood. And with your back turned, it was painfully obvious you didn’t want to talk about it.

“Right. Sorry,” he cleared his throat again, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. He turned toward the door. “I’m gonna—uh, grab my tools and start workin’ on this vanity, okay? I’ll be back!”

Before you could say a word, his boots were already rushing out the door. 

He eventually returned with his tools and set to work on the vanity. While he worked, you tried to keep yourself busy, maintaining a respectful distance at all times.

From your open bedroom door, where he was crouched on the floor, Bucky still had a clear view of you in the kitchen making lemonade. You told him it was your way of saying “thank you,” but he knew the truth. 

You were just trying to put as much space between you as possible after that photo.

But right now, the last thing he wanted was for you to be far away.

That image of you was scorched into the back of his mind, taking up permanent residence. Laid completely bare, hair fanned out, wearing nothing but those lace panties and an expression that screamed, “fuck me, Bucky!” — it was enough to drive him crazy.

As he watched you move around the kitchen in the little sundress that had made his mouth water the first day he laid eyes on you, a million thoughts raced through his mind just as fast as the blood was rushing to his dick. 

Why had you taken a picture like that? 

Who was it for? 

Was there someone you were dating—someone you were sending those prints to?

Suddenly, a bitter spike of jealousy flared in his gut. The idea of you taking photos like that just to mail them off to some soft handed city boy prick made him want to burn the whole town down. His movements grew jerky and annoyed as he worked. The wood felt awkward in his grip, and his tools kept slipping.

“Shit,” he cursed, grabbing your attention. 

You glanced over your shoulder, a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade in your hand. “Everything okay? Need any help?”

“Just peachy,” Bucky mumbled.

As he heard your footsteps drawing closer, he tried to adjust himself, willing away the erection that was vulgarly pressing through his pants.

“Why don’t you take a break and have some lemonade, then?” You held the glass out to him, a small smile tugging at your glossy lips—a view that didn’t help Bucky’s situation in the slightest. “Before the ice melts.”

Bucky’s gaze traveled from your lips down to your hands. They were pretty—small and soft as they curled around the tall glass. Even your fingertips were perfectly manicured.

You were being far too kind, offering him a drink while he crouched there on your floor, his mind dark and filthy as he imagined how those fingers would look slicked with his cum instead of condensation.

“Sure,” Bucky grunted, straining as he stood up. “A lemonade sounds good.” 

The two of you stepped out onto the front porch for some fresh air, taking in the way the sun poked through the branches. Next door, the chickens were squawking and the birds chirping, but the domestic sounds did nothing to help the awkward silence between you.

You kept your gaze straight ahead on the grass and flowers, but you could feel Bucky’s stare lingering on the side of your face.

“So…” he started, and you mentally braced yourself for whatever was coming next. “That photo—”

“Oh, God,” you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut out of embarrassment. “Don’t start.”

Bucky raised his glass, letting out a huff of a laugh—though it didn’t sound humorous at all. It was just filler noise to cover his nerves.

“Well—it’s, uh... it’s a good picture,” he mumbled, staring at the ice cubes melting in his glass. “You look good in it.”

You felt like you wanted to shrivel up and let the wind carry you away. You avoided his gaze, turning your head to hide your burning cheeks. “You’re such an idiot.”

“All I’m sayin’ is,” he continued, mumbling even quieter as that jealousy bled through his voice,“whoever is gettin’ those kind of photos from you is a lucky man.”

You blinked, finally glancing at him. 

“Lucky man?” You noticed the way his cheeks were flushed pink. “There is no man.”

Bucky froze with the glass halfway to his lips, his blue eyes snapping to yours. “No man?” he repeated, like he needed the reassurance.

“No,” you shrugged casually, giving him a small smile. “I just take those photos for myself. I spent years worried about how other people perceived me. When I moved here, I wanted to see myself for me. It makes me feel confident. Seeing myself like that is kind of empowering, you know? It’s for my eyes only.”

You let out a shaky breath, the embarrassment still very much there—but no longer because you were seen half naked. Now, it was because of how corny your explanation sounded out loud. 

You glanced at Bucky out of the corner of your eye, trying to gauge his reaction, but he looked so deep in thought that you couldn’t make out a single one.

“For your eyes only, huh?” Bucky hummed.

When you gave him that little nod, Bucky knew he was doomed.

The jealousy that had been sitting like a pit in his stomach was drowned out in a damned instant the minute you said ‘no man.’ That meant he was the only one who saw that photo of you—that sweet, vulnerable side where you laid bare, warm and inviting. Bucky loved the fact that there was no man, and no one else after you.

To him, that just meant you were already his.

“Go to the Flower Dance with me,” he asked suddenly.

You huffed a lighthearted laugh. “This again?”

Bucky turned to face you fully now, eyes boring into yours so intently it was like he was giving you a silent warning not to even bother looking away. 

“Let me take you to the Flower Dance. Let me be your partner. Let me dance with you.”

“Bucky, you can’t be serious—”

“I was serious the first time I asked you, and I’m even more so now,” he said, his brows furrowing as his voice deepened. “Dance with me.”

You bit your lip, hesitating.

When he noticed your silence, he stepped closer, standing over you until he was looking down at you completely.

“Consider it a thank you for fixin’ up your vanity.”

“Thank you? You made me struggle and didn’t help me the first time!” you countered, but Bucky didn’t budge. He didn’t fight back or laugh.

He was dead serious.

He wanted you to go to the Flower Dance with him as your date—and you had a very strong feeling he wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer.

“Fine,” you reluctantly agreed, despite a smile tugging at your lips. “But just remember—it’s a thank you for fixing my vanity.”

Bucky grinned, finding himself very, very happy with your response.

To you, agreeing to the Flower Dance was just a fair trade—a thank you for his labor and a way to settle the score over your grandmother’s vanity.

But as Bucky watched you walk back into the house, his hand drifted to his pocket, letting his fingers brush gently against the glossy edge of the photograph—your photograph— tucked deep inside. 

Having that naked, intimate piece of you hidden away against his thigh—a secret kept just for him—was a reward far better than anything else you could have given him.

He knew he was being greedy by stealing the photo and taking you to the Flower Dance, but he didn’t care. The photo was enough to drive him crazy tonight, but dancing with you tomorrow was the cherry on top.

It was Saturday morning—the day of the Flower Dance—and Bucky had been restless since dawn, and even more so the night before.

He lost track of how many times he had jerked off since he stole that photo. One time was right after he finished fixing your vanity. He had retreated to his farmhouse, slammed the door shut, and before he even kicked off his boots, he had his pants unzipped and cock in hand.

Another time was in the shower, then again right before he fell asleep, and… once or twice more as the clock ticked closer to the start of the festival.

It was shameless, almost pathetic, but when you were dealing with animals and manual labor all day, you had to relieve the stress somehow. And nothing relieved it quite like the memory of you sprawled across those pillows with those sweet tits pressed together.

As you made your way to the town square, you found yourself walking with a pep in your step. Your heels clicked against the pavement, and your sundress swayed at your hips with every stride.

You had taken lots of care to look better than usual today. You had woken up early just to have enough time for your hair and makeup, trying on three different dresses just to see which one made you look the best. You even found yourself wondering what Bucky was wearing—hoping, subconsciously, that your dress might actually match his outfit.

Fuck.

You were actually looking forward to see him and dance with him.

Your heart was beating far too fast for your chest. You could already imagine it—Bucky, finally rid of his grimy farm clothes and wearing a proper outfit, or his heavy boots stepping all over your sandals because he didn’t have a clue how to dance.

You found yourself grinning to yourself up until you made it to the bustle of the community square. Gus had his food spread out on a table beneath a canopy, potted flowers that were grown by the townsfolk were scattered about, and colorful banners were decorated across the lightpoles.

“What’s got you smilin’ to yourself for?” a familiar, deep gravelly voice interrupted you, stopping you in your tracks.

It was Bucky, wearing a nicely ironed button up tucked into his khaki pants that were held up by a nice, brown leather belt. Your smile faltered slightly—not because he looked terrible, but because he looked good.

Too fucking good.

He tilted his head, hands tucked deep into his pockets. “Hey, where did that smile go?”

“I… nothing,” you cleared your throat, hands primly behind your back as you took him in. “You look… good.”

You suddenly felt small as you watched Bucky’s eyes trace over you—taking in the way you did your hair and your makeup, down to the short hem of your dress. You watched as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth.

“That might’ve been the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he joked before nodding to you. “You look beautiful.” He glanced around before taking a step closer, leaning down so only you could hear. “Kind of makes me a bit jealous knowin’ other people can see how pretty you are.”

Your face warmed, and Bucky expected you to back away from his boldness—but you stepped closer, batting your lashes at him in a way that drove him fucking crazy.

“Yeah, but they’re not the ones dancing with me, are they?”

With all the pent up frustration building inside him, that little taunt of yours felt like an open invitation to grab you and do whatever he wanted.

But instead, his tongue ran over his teeth as he grinned, amused by your comment. He extended a hand toward you.

“The dance is ’bouta start soon. Come on.”

Despite this being his first time ever experiencing a Flower Dance, he took initiative as if he had been doing this longer than you had. The live band propped up on the stage began to play, the acoustic guitars picking the same catchy tune you knew by heart from all the years you had attended before. 

Women and men gathered hand in hand to get into position. Bucky led you to the very center of the crowd, standing tall in front of you. He guided your hand to his shoulder before resting his own large palm firmly against your hip. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his sudden burst of confidence. “Wow, Bucky Barnes. Don’t tell me you actually know how to dance?”

“Course I do,” he huffed. “Just ‘cause I’m covered in dirt all day doesn’t mean I don’t know how to take a lady for a dance. Don’t sound so surprised.”

He pulled you in closer, and you looked up at him, your eyes wide and soft with a sheepish smile to match.

“You wouldn’t let me fall, right?” you teased, your voice barely sounding over the guitars.

“Never,” he promised, his grip on your waist tightening to prove it to you. “Not a single speck of dirt on that pretty little head of yours. I’ve got you.”

The music started, and as you two danced, you noticed how Bucky was pulling you closer and closer with each step. 

His hand stayed tight at your waist before moving to your lower back, then back to your hips with a small, firm squeeze. The hand that held yours gripped tighter, reeling you in even more with every move.

As he spun you back into his chest, you felt the hitch in his breathing. You leaned back slightly, looking up at him. 

“You okay, Bucky?” you teased with a smile. “You’re looking a little... stiff.”

God, those eyes and those glossy fucking lips.

Bucky let out a visible shudder before forcing a nod. “Dancin’ with a very pretty girl in my arms—it’s natural for me to be a little nervous, isn’t it?”

He spun you again, your short sundress flaring out like a ballerina—and he caught a quick glimpse of your bare thigh. Just barely. He wanted more.

He drew you in until your forehead was resting against his collarbone. He leaned his head down, his nose grazing the skin of your temple as he took a deep, shaky inhale of your scent—shampoo, vanilla, and the warmth of your skin from the sunlight. You smelled so good, and each inhale was doing serious damage to his self-control.

From his height, his gaze fell directly into the neckline of your dress. He had a direct, unobstructed view of the swell of your breasts, the fabric of your sundress moving against your curves with every breath you took. 

It was the photograph come to life, only now he could actually touch you… just not in the complete ways he wanted to. 

His hand on your back slid lower, his palms suddenly clammy as he pressed your hips tight against his. You gasped softly, your step faltering for a split second as you felt him.

A thick, heavy, warm bulge was straining against his khakis, pressing right into the notch of your thighs.

Bucky’s jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful, his eyes were somewhere over your shoulder as he tried to maintain a shred of dignity. He thought he was being subtle—that you were too caught up in the festival to notice how inappropriately turned on he was.

He was wrong.

Deciding to play a much dirtier game, you took matters into your own hands. He spun you around again, but instead of facing him, you tucked yourself right back into the curve of his body. 

Your back hit his chest, and your ass ground firmly against his cock.

Bucky let out a shuddering groan that tickled against the back of your neck as he felt the curve of your ass press harder into his bulge. 

Before he could even think about pulling away to save face, you reached over and grabbed his hands. Your fingers slid over his knuckles, guiding his large, calloused palms down until they were over your hips. You kept your hands over his, forcing him to feel the way your curves fit perfectly against his body.

“Shit,” he cursed, and you grinned.

Everyone else was too preoccupied with their own dancing to even notice Bucky’s predicament, so you continued swaying your hips against him to the music. 

Every rub of your ass against his cock was like adding oil to the flames. Bucky’s nose nuzzled the side of your head, and you could hear his breathing get more labored the more you ground against him.

“Still nervous you’re dancing with a pretty girl?” you taunted. You felt him twitch against you in response.

He groaned, his lips so close to your ear that you could feel his hot breath. “You know exactly what you’re doin’.” 

“And what exactly am I doing, Bucky?”

“You’re bein’ a goddamn tease.”

Your smile grew wider. “But you’re not exactly pushing me away, are you?”

His grip on your hips tightened enough to bunch the fabric of your dress around your waist. He hiked the skirt up higher, his hot palms gliding just beneath the hem to tickle your outer thighs — then higher, towards the sensitive skin of your inner leg.

You gasped softly when you felt his thumb graze against your clothed cunt. 

“Keep tauntin’ me,” he growled against your ear, “and I’m goin’ to flip up this tiny skirt and fuck you right here in the middle of the square—where everyone can see.”

Your eyes traced over the crowd. Everyone was all smiles, too caught up in the joy of the festival to even notice the two perverts feeling each other up in the middle of it all.

“Then do it,” you challenged.

“You goddamn slut.” Bucky huffed a laugh against the back of your neck— no humor in it at all. “No. I’m too jealous for that. I wouldn’t want anyone else seein’ my girl like that.”

Your breath hitched. His girl?

“That’s funny.” You looked up over your shoulder at him, your eyes wide as you faked your innocence. “I don’t remember ever being your girl.”

Bucky’s cock twitched hard against your ass, and you knew right then that you won.

“Not my girl?” Bucky scoffed, spinning you around so you were forced to look him in the eye.

“You’ve been my girl from the minute I stepped foot back in Pelican Town. From the moment I laid eyes on you—I’d already decided you were mine. And you agreeing to dance with me today just confirmed it all.”

He ground his hips against yours, letting you feel his heavy bulge press against your inner thigh.

“If you don’t believe you’re my girl, then I’m just gonna have to prove it to you.”

You weren’t able to get a single word in as Bucky’s hand wrapped tight around yours. 

He led you away from the crowd, pushing through with polite and gentle ‘excuse me’s that went completely against how roughly he was holding you.

He took you towards the shadows at the side of the saloon.

It was a narrow, unassuming alley, hidden from the main square by overgrown shrubbery and stacked wooden crates.

“Bucky,” you looked around breathlessly and no one was near, “what are you doing?” 

He didn’t answer.

He shoved you back against the cool brick wall. He didn’t wait, and he didn’t waste his time asking, either. 

His hands were already at the hem of your sundress, bunching the fabric in his fists and hiking it up until the cool spring air hit your hips.

Your eyes went wide, your heart fighting against your chest as you watched him fall to his knees.

You knew you should’ve stopped him.

You should’ve told him this was inappropriate—that anyone could walk in on you two right now.

But as he knelt there, his eyes boring hungrily into your thighs and his tongue darting out to lick his lips the second his fingertips found the waistband of your panties, you couldn’t find the breath to argue. 

How could you possibly deny a predator his well-earned prey?

Bucky tugged your panties down your thighs and past your legs, tossing them aside. His hand rubbed up and down your thigh before hiking your leg over his shoulder, his hot touch making you shudder and grow even wetter as he stared at you intimately.

“God, look at you,” he groaned, palming himself. “What a fucking sight. All the men you danced with before I moved back into town didn’t get to see this side of you, did they?”

You only stared at him. When you didn’t answer, he gripped your ankle, making you wince.

“Answer me.”

“No,” you shook your head, swallowing hard. “Only you.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he hummed, pleased. He leaned in, trailing soft, wet kisses along your inner thigh. “Dancin’ like a saint in front of the mayor, in front of all the townsfolk, just to be drippin’ wet for me like a goddamn whore.”

He leaned in, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive folds, making you hitch a breath. 

He looked up at you from between your legs, and you swore you could’ve melted right there at the sight of him. His eyes were completely blown out, staring at you in ways that should’ve made you afraid.

“I'm gonna taste every fuckin’ drop you made for me while you were rubbin’ that pretty ass against my cock. I’m gonna eat you until you’re beggin’ me to stop, and even then, I ain’t stoppin’.”

“Bucky… —ah!” your hand flew over your mouth once Bucky buried his face between your legs.

With your short dress bunched messily around your waist, Bucky’s tongue—hot and wet—swiped upward against your cunt, making you moan against your palm. He kept flicking his tongue up and down against the sensitive skin, and your fingers tangled into his hair, giving it a firm tug that made him groan against you.

“S-someone might... walk in on us—” a whimper broke from your lips as Bucky tilted his head, his tongue moving against your weeping cunt.

His hands slid up past your thighs to grab your ass, kneading and squeezing as he ate you out behind the saloon.

The mention of someone catching you only made his cock harder in his pants. He moaned against your slit, his tongue lapping at your juices as he licked and suckled on your sensitive pussy. The tip of his tongue found your clit again, flicking at it and leaving vulgar suckling noises in the quiet alley. 

His finger poked at your wet and vulnerable entrance, sliding in easily as he fucked your clit with his tongue.

“Oh my god, Bucky—!” you cried out.

You were shaking, your back scraping against the brick as Bucky ate you out shamelessly.

As his tongue danced on your most sensitive spots and his finger fucked you in rhythm with his mouth, your hips began to buck uncontrollably against his face, and Bucky let out a muffled growl.

“S-slow down—fuck, I’m gonna cum—” you whimpered behind your hand.

He hummed in satisfaction, the vibration making your pussy tingle as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass to hold you steady while he licked every last drop of you. Your back arched off the wall and you tried to squirm away to save face, but Bucky wouldn’t let you.

One hand stayed tight on your thigh and the other squeezed your ass, all while his face was tucked deep against your pussy, soaking in everything you had to give him.

“Fu—fuck, Bucky…” you whimpered as he slowly released your leg from his shoulder.

He leaned back on his heels, looking up at you, and the sight made your breath hitch. Bucky gave you a devilish little grin, his chin and lips gleaming with the wet sheen of your juices. 

Between his legs, his bulge was straining against his khakis—a damp spot darkening his lap where his pre-cum had soaked right through.

You looked around frantically—coast still clear—before tugging your skirt down and adjusting the straps on your shoulders. “We… we should go. The rest of the town’ll be looking for us—”

Bucky pushed himself up from the ground, his large body blocking your path as his hands went to his waist. He began to tug at the fastenings of his belt.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” he rasped in a low growl. “I’m not even close to done with you.”

You swallowed hard, staring up at him as you caught your breath from your release. “Bucky, we can’t. Someone will catch us—”

“No,” Bucky hissed, unzipping his pants and tugging them down. “Not until I get to cum—you’re not goin’ anywhere.”

He stepped closer, nudging his leg between your thighs as his hands found the hem of your skirt again. His hand trailed up, dragging the fabric up around your waist as he pinned you back against the wall. 

Bucky’s hand wrapped around his shaft, and as your eyes trailed down—you let out a soft gasp.

He was big, thick, and pulsing in his hand. His tip caressed your clit, and he began jerking himself off against your warmth. He let out jagged breaths, his hand trailing down your thigh before hiking it up and over his hip.

“Ah—Bucky!” you cried out, holding onto his shoulders for support.

“Stay right here,” he commanded, his hands gripping your ass to hoist you higher against the wall. “Wrap those legs tighter.”

His cock dragged across your slit, his tip catching your entrance and making you gasp. He nudged his tip against your opening, testing the tension, and let out a shaky, ragged breath.

“So tight...” he rasped, the words sounding almost painful. “But you’re so wet for me, sweetheart. I could just slip right in.”

“Bucky, wait—you’re too big,” you whispered, your hands bracing against his shoulders.

You could already feel him stretching you, even just at the entrance. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit—and we can’t do this in public, someone is going to—”

Before you could finish, Bucky’s palm clamped firmly over your mouth to silence you. His eyes were dark, focused entirely on where your pussy hugged his tip.

“Shut up,” he hissed, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I can’t wait. The sooner I fuck you, the sooner we can get outta here.”

With a slow tilt of his hips, he began sinking himself inside you. 

You let out a muffled, pitchy moan against his palm, your eyes rolling back as the sensation of him filling you made you see stars.

He was stretching you apart, claiming every inch of your body as he pushed deeper and deeper, until his hips finally pressed against yours.

He stayed there for a moment, buried to the hilt, his forehead dropping to rest against the crook of your neck as he let out a groan. “Fuuck, shit—”

He was so deep, his cock stretching your walls as his body pinned you so firmly to the brick that you couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

“There,” he growled against your skin, his hand still tight over your mouth as he watched the pleasure wash over your face. “Fits perfectly.”

Despite his words, his face was twisted and his jaw was clenched from how tightly your body was squeezing him.

As he started rocking his hips, his cock sliding in and out of your wet cunt, it took everything in him not to fuck you hard against the wall right then and there.

He knew you were still trying to adjust to his size, watching the way your face twisted as you tried to be a good girl for him.

He couldn’t believe it—the girl of his dreams, the girl from the very photograph he’d jerked off to from the night before until now—you were actually right here, taking his big cock inside your tight little pussy.

“A-are you okay?” he managed to muster, his voice rough as he stared at you with lustful, hazy eyes.

You whimpered before giving him a small, frantic nod. 

He took that as his invitation to fuck you harder.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ tight—can barely move.”

He started to move faster, his cock sinking deep into your pussy and pulling out before slamming back in. His grip on your thigh was tight as he held you up.

“So goddamn wet too, sweetheart.”

“B-bucky… ahh—we can’t.”

“Can’t?”

He kept folding your leg over, trying to adjust you so he could sink even deeper, but the tension in your body wouldn’t let him. The angle was awkward. The wall was too cold, and he couldn’t get deep enough to satisfy the ache in his balls.

He wanted more. 

He wanted to break you.

With a frustrated snarl, he pulled out of you roughly—the sudden loss of him making you cry out.

Before you could even catch your breath, Bucky grabbed your hips and spun you around, slamming your chest and face back against the cool brick.

“Hands on the wall,” he commanded cruely.

He bunched your sundress up around your waist, baring your ass to the cool air of the alley. He stepped back into you, his cock heavy and sprung, and grabbed your hair, tugging your head back so he could whisper against your skin.

“Since you’re so worried about someone walkin’ in,” he hissed, his hands gripping your hips so hard his fingers left marks, “I’m gonna make sure they get a real good view if they do.”

He lined himself up with your entrance again—his hot tip making you gasp.

Your cunt was still gaping from his fucking earlier, allowing him to slide in easily without much resistance this time.

As he sheathed himself inside you in one thrust, you let out a muffled cry, your fingers scraping against the wall to hold yourself up while he began to fuck you hard from behind.

“Fuck—love it when you’re screamin’ for me,” he groaned in pleasure.

Every wet slap of his balls against your ass echoed in the narrow alley. 

He reached around, one hand squeezing your breast through your dress while the other stayed buried in your hair, keeping you pinned in place.

His eyes took in the way your ass bounced against his cock, the soft flesh jiggling with every move. He lifted the hem of your skirt higher to get a better view of your smooth skin rocking against his hips.

“You know, maybe you should just come live with me,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear as he slammed into you again.

The thought seemed to fuel him, his thrusts getting deeper and harder. “It’d be so damn cute seein’ you walk around the house all barefoot and bred.”

What was he saying?

His filthy words felt more intense than the rough movements of his cock. He groaned, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

“That old farmhouse is big and lonely, sweetheart. Way too quiet,” he whispered. “It was my parents’ dream for me to start a family there. To have a house full of kids runnin’ around the farm, tendin’ to the animals.”

He pulled back nearly all the way out before thrusting back all the way in, making your knees buckle. 

“I think you’d look real good carryin’ the Barnes name. Real good with a belly full of my babies while I work the fields. What do you think? Think you could handle being a farm wife?”

“B-Bucky,” you huffed a nervous laugh as his cock filled you completely. “What are you saying? Don’t be—hmpf—ridiculous...”

“Oh, come on, don’t be shy now,” he teased. “You can sunbathe on my lawn and take all the pretty pictures of the trees and animals for your scrapbook.”

His tongue darted out to lick the shell of your ear, his heavy balls continuing to slap against you as his cock hit your sweet spot over and over.

“And I’ll buy you all the lingerie so you can pose all cute in front of your little camera again,” he delivered a hard thrust that made you whimper and cry. “Take those sexy photographs that I can keep—maybe you can make a scrapbook out of those, too. Just for me.”

Your face burned with humiliation.

Here you were, being treated like a total slut by Bucky Barnes out in the open, and yet the thing that made you too flustered to even form a sentence was him bringing up your photograph.

“G-god...” you stammered. “Don’t bring that up!” you hissed, overcome with embarrassment.

Bucky just chuckled. “I have that picture, you know?”

Your pussy fluttered and clenched around his cock at his words—the tightness making him groan. You snapped your head around, face flustered. 

“W-what!” you choked out. “You stole it?”

He could feel how much the idea turned you on, your body betraying your embarrassment by becoming even wetter and tighter as you realized he’d liked that photo enough to steal it for himself.

“Don’t exaggerate, doll,” he rasped, his hand tightening in your hair to pull your head back so he could see the shame written on your face. “I’ve spent all night staring at it. Staring at the way you were lookin’ at the camera, imaginin’ you were looking at me instead.”

His hips pushed against yours, forcing you to take another deep inch of his cock.

“I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve sat on the edge of my bed, jerkin’ myself off until I was shaking, just thinkin’ about what it would feel like to have the real thing under me.” 

He groaned, his pace becoming more uneven and frantic as the dirty confessions spilled from his lips.

“Every time I closed my eyes, I was picturin’ you—my own fucking neighbor—just like this. Bent over, taking every inch of me while you cried my name.”

The way you were whimpering and fluttering around his cock meant that you were enjoying every sinful confession he was blurting out.

You had already came, your body sensitive and weak, but Bucky was fucking you right through it. 

“B-Buck… I can’t—I’m sensitive—” you whined, knees wobbly. 

He tossed his head back, feeling his balls drawing tight as your pussy milked him.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, kneading your hips. “I want to cum inside. Wanna make my ma and pa proud—”

Bucky leaned down until his breath was tickling your ear again. “Please? Will you let me cum inside, sweetheart?” He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “I promise you—I’ll give you the good life, I’ll give it to you reaally good.”

You felt your breath get stuck in your throat. 

He was asking for permission?

Your body tightened beneath him.

You were so close from cumming beneath him a second time, and the way his hips stuttered against yours was a sign that he was just mere seconds away from filling you up.

“Been dreamin’ of fillin’ you up with my seed since I saw that dirty little picture of you. Please, sweetheart. Just give me what I want.” 

Footsteps crunching the grass sounded near you—too close—and the thrill of getting caught despite yourself made you finally let go. 

“Bucky, fuck—I’m cumming—!” you cried out, but Bucky’s hand clamped over your mouth, stifling your moans as you rocked your hips back against his cock.

You rode the orgasm out while Bucky’s face twisted in a pleasure so intense—it was damn near painful.

“Fuck. Fuck. Please, baby, I can’t—” he gasped, stilling his hips to keep from breeding you. “Please—let me cum inside—”

You couldn’t believe that for all the filthy words he was spouting earlier, how in control and dominant he was, he was still asking for permission.

“Please, fuck—can’t hold it in. You feel too good—”

“Just cum inside, Bucky!”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Bucky cried out a broken moan against the side of your neck, his hips twitching as he buried himself so deep it made your eyes roll back.

The first hot jet of his seed hit your womb, filling you so deep it made your toes curl in your heels. He gripped you tight, his whole body turning stiff as he pumped himself empty inside you.

He groaned, a long, broken sound that tickled your spine as he fought for his breath.

“God… like that—just like that… every last drop ‘til I’m empty, sweetheart.”

The footsteps outside the alley grew louder, then faded as the stranger passed by, oblivious to the vulgar scene unfolding just a few feet away.

Bucky stayed exactly where he was for a moment, his chest rising and falling against your back as he breathed your scent in. He was still twitching inside you, his cock heavy and pulsing as it leaked into your womb.

“There we go” he soothed, pushing the sweaty strands of hair away from your temples to look at you. “Lookin’ every bit of my girl.”

He kissed the temple of your forehead before slowly pulling out, the sudden loss of his warmth leaving you feeling cold and empty.

“Keep your legs together,” he murmured possessively, bringing the hem of your skirt back down to cover your slick thighs. “Not a single drop goes to waste. Keep it there ‘til it takes.”

He reached out gently, smoothing your hair and straightening the strap of your sundress until you looked at least somewhat presentable again. 

He brushed the dust from the brick off your shoulders, his eyes softening at the sight of your debaunched face. The makeup you spent so much time working on this morning was now a smeared mess of his doing. 

And somehow, to him, you looked even prettier. 

“There,” he said, wiping the stray lipstick on your chin. “Let’s get back and enjoy the rest of the festival.”

He turned to fix himself, tucking himself back in as he adjusted his jeans and buckled his belt. 

You watched him, still a little dazed and shaky legged, until he bent down to pick up your lace panties from the dirty floor of the alley. You reached out, expecting him to hand them back to you, but he didn’t.

“Lace?” he huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You were askin’ for it.” 

He folded them neatly and tucked them into his back pocket. He caught your confused look and flashed a boyish, almost innocent looking grin that looked far different from how he looked at you earlier. 

“Bucky?” 

“Right next to that precious photo I ‘stole,’” he intertwined your fingers with his, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as he led you out of the alleyway. 

“For my growing collection.”

if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them! again, please be sure to check out the stardew valley inspired masterlist if you haven't already!

The retail store is too bright and colorful compared to the stormy sky outside. 

You and your friends have been coming here ever since middle school. Back then, Yelena’s older sister was the only one with a driver’s license, piling all of you into her car to take you wherever you wanted to go. Halloween has always been your favorite excuse to spend time together, with Kate opening her doors for your annual sleepover: a night of mildly scary movies, gossip about the cutest guys in town, and enough junk food to leave all of you clutching your stomachs by midnight.

By the time you started high school, your older neighbor’s extravagant Halloween party had become the talk of the town. Hosted in her massive mansion, it was the kind of event people counted down to months in advance. You’d never considered yourself much of a party girl, but it was the perfect excuse to dress up and show off the elaborate costumes you and your friends spent weeks planning.

When college began, the four of you ended up scattered across different universities around the state. Nearly a year passed without shared laughter in the canteen and a morning dose of tight hugs to begin your days, until you finally agreed to reunite this October. It would probably be the last chance for you four to meet for a long time. With everyone caught up in their own schedules and studies, moments like this had become rare, that’s why you were determined to make the most of these three days together.

The store looks exactly the same as it did ten years ago: fake cobwebs dangling from the white ceiling, evil-looking pumpkins staring down at customers from the shelves, racks of masks and toys that once felt endless. Now, you swear everything seems smaller than it used to be.

The air still smells of dust and cheap plastic. Strangely, it’s that sharp, chemical tang coming from the latex masks lining the walls that makes the place feel so familiar.

The first room is completely devoted to rows and rows of children’s toys, while the second—normally a storage space—is crammed with costumes and accessories messily thrown together. From the ceiling, a dozen paper bats sluggishly sway in the cold draft slipping through the old windows, while somewhere on the counter, a motion-sensor witch clutches a plastic pumpkin-shaped bowl of sweets, cackling like a banshee every time someone reaches for a piece. The sagging orange letters spelling HAPPY HALLOWEEN are stuck to the front of the counter, crooked and peeling at the edges, and you’re pretty sure the owner has left them there all year round since you can remember.

The store definitely looked scarier and quieter when you were younger, the fact that it’s located in an isolated area of the town near the woods didn’t really help. Now, it’s just the kind of place that tries too hard to be spooky, only to end up looking a little tacky.

Wanda has been wearing a perpetual scowl since she started browsing through racks of angel wings and synthetic, overly lavish princess gowns, searching for something less glittery and darker. A few rows over, Yelena tries to give you a heart attack by silently hovering behind you, switching between different clown masks each time you turn around. Kate, on the other hand, is determined to find a Wednesday Addams costume—she’s been completely obsessed with the show lately.

You already have your outfit at home: a short skirt and a lace top paired with sparkling boots, the colors an homage to your favorite Barbie doll. You’re still bitter about missing Rachel’s Halloween party because of the chickenpox you caught from Kate in senior year. You had everything ready down to the smallest detail, that Barbie costume was flawless. Instead, you spent the night in fleece pajamas, curled under the covers as you peeked from behind your pillow at Art the Clown mauling people on screen, while the muffled music from the neighboring mansion made your walls vibrate.

Still, you decided to tag along for old times’ sake.

“Black or maroon?” Wanda holds up two identical dresses.

Kate hums, absently twirling a wig between her fingers as she studies the fabric. “Black.”

“Maroon,” you say without looking up, inspecting a bloodstained lab coat before placing it back on the rack with a grimace. “It suits your hair.”

“Lena?” Wanda turns to the blonde, who’s currently trying to stab her own palm with a fake knife to test how real it feels.

“Is that even a question?” She lifts her eyebrows, gaze landing on her dark red coat.

“I know, but it looks cute in both colors.” Wanda hesitates, eyes flicking between the dresses before finally putting the black one back with a sigh. “Alright, I’m done. Have you found anything interesting?”

“I can’t believe they don’t have a Wednesday costume,” Kate frowns, rifling through plastic bags for the third time. “It’s like, one of the most popular shows ever.”

“You know online shopping exists, right?” Yelena shoots back, tossing the knife into a display bin. “Just buy a black dress with a white collar.”

“But I wanted the school uniform, not some generic dress.”

The blonde rolls her eyes, already fiddling with a pair of popping-eye glasses.

“Hey, is Nathan coming to the party?”

You flinch, almost dropping the fake vampire teeth in your hand, not expecting Wanda standing so close beside you.

“Yeah. He has some things to take care of at his apartment first, so he’ll meet us at Rachel’s house.”

A disgusted ugh echoes behind you, and that makes your lips curl into a small smile despite the clear vitriol on the blonde’s features.

It’s no secret that Yelena can’t stand your boyfriend, Nathan. They’ve only met once, but that was enough for him to immediately pick up on her dislike. He often tried to get an explanation out of you, but you always brushed it off, claiming that your friend is just like that.

In truth, you know exactly why every word coming out of his mouth sounds like a fork scraping against a plate to her ears.

During the first months of your blooming relationship, Nathan had a habit of disappearing, ignoring your messages for days—sometimes for an entire week—only to come back with grand gestures as if nothing had happened. It left you confused and anxious, and Yelena more than anyone spent entire nights on the phone trying to calm you down, warning you about how unreliable he was. After a while, you convinced yourself he was just the type to get bored easily, the kind of guy who discards the “old toy” the moment a new, shinier one comes along.

Then, just before Christmas, he stood at your dorm room door with the biggest bouquet of flowers you had ever received, and an apology on his lips. He explained—almost shamefully—that his behavior stemmed from his parents’ toxic relationship. He didn’t go into details, only that their divorce had been messy, something that left him with a warped sense of commitment. Still, he insisted he liked you, that he was finally ready for something real.

Yelena had been furious. Not only did you let him off far too easily, but there had been little to no groveling—nowhere near enough to make up for the emotional whiplash he’d put you through. She was certain, deep down, that he would hurt you again someday. And your best friend didn’t want to see you that miserable ever again, especially for an asshole like Nathan.

You can’t really blame her for feeling so strongly. She was the one who comforted you during those sleepless nights, listening as you tried to make sense of his sudden distance when everything had seemed to be going so well.

It’s not like she brings it up all the time, but whenever his name comes up, she can’t help slipping in a sarcastic remark or two—ones that, despite yourself, make you laugh.

“Oh, so Casper finally decided to show up.”

That’s another thing: she refuses to call him by his name. Back when you used to cry over him, she’d come up with ridiculous nicknames just to lighten the mood. Casper is the latest, because of how little you see him these days. Always busy, always somewhere else. Fleeting like a ghost.

“His professors are giving him hell, cut him some slack, Lena. He’s practically living in the library nowadays.” Wanda glances at you with quiet sympathy, nodding along as you speak. “I always tell him to text me when he gets home, but some days he’s so exhausted he forgets. And the few times he does remember, it’s like three in the morning.”

Yelena’s eyebrows lift at your explanation. For once, though, she doesn’t argue. She just shakes her head with a resigned half-smile.

You met Nathan at the beginning of your first academic year. He and his dad had just moved to your hometown; apparently, his father had grown tired of the chaos of the city and decided to start working from home. Home, in this case, meant his mother’s hometown—the place where Mr. Barnes’ parents met years ago, during a summer visit to their relatives. After marrying, they moved to New York and never really came back.

When the divorce happened, Nathan stayed with his father and eventually enrolled in the nearest university to remain close. Once your relationship grew more serious, the two of you started traveling back and forth together, mostly because he had a shiny, fully functioning car, unlike you. And that’s when he finally introduced you to his dad, James Buchanan Barnes.

Now, Nathan is undeniably handsome and after meeting Mr. Barnes, you can clearly see where he gets his looks from. The difference is... his father is on another level. It’s not just that he’s handsome. The man is hot. Yes, there are streaks of white in his beard, and crow’s feet appear whenever his smile softens his features—but those details don’t take away from his looks. If anything, they only make him more attractive.

He’s big, too: broad-shouldered, towering over you with an ease that’s both intimidating and… not unwelcome. And he’s a real gentleman. Every time you stayed over for lunch or dinner, he served you first, firmly refusing to let you lift a finger, insisting his son is more than capable of cleaning up after himself.

The first time he pulled out a chair for you, your heart dropped straight to your stomach.

Since February, your boyfriend has been buried in projects and assignments, and you’ve often gone back home alone. Because of that, you stopped visiting Mr. Barnes—it didn’t feel right showing up when Nathan wasn’t there.

That is, until you ran into the older man at the local supermarket one day, and after his usual gentle hug, he looked at you with his kind, blue eyes, his voice as warm as a cup of hot, creamy chocolate, “You know you’re welcome to visit anytime, right? It doesn’t matter if Nathan’s home or not.”

Despite your initial hesitation, you went. And then you went again. More times than you’d like to admit.

Conversations with him drift so effortlessly from ridiculous stuff he sees on the internet yet doesn’t quite understand, to more serious topics. At some point, you even started confiding in him. No matter the problem, Bucky always seems to know exactly what to say to soothe your worries. More than anything, he treats you like an equal, an adult. He doesn’t tiptoe around your age, or reduce your personality to his son’s girlfriend. With him, you’re just… you.

It’s almost unsettling, when you think about it—how often he’s been there for you compared to your boyfriend. Nathan replies late, often too late. There’s always an excuse: a project he still has to finish, a study session that ran too late, outings at the bar with friends he supposedly never sees. The times you try to ask about his day, he brushes it aside, steering the conversation back to you after a two-word response, until eventually he disappears again for hours.

At first, you had your doubts, and you hate yourself a little for it now.

You never told anyone—not even your closest friends—but once, you went to his faculty library. Not to spy, you told yourself. Just to... check, to make sure he was actually there.

And he was. Completely absorbed in his books.

You left with shame burning hot on your cheeks. That night, when he texted you to let you know he was home, you couldn’t even bring yourself to reply. The guilt only got worse when you realized how often your thoughts drifted to Mr. Barnes throughout your days. Over something small, like seeing a cat minding its own business in the streets—because he once told you he used to feed the strays when he was a kid, but his chance to adopt one of his own is now long gone since Nathan is allergic—or when you need advice on an assignment. He’s always there. Even when he’s busy, Mr. Barnes still takes the time to send a quick message, apologizing for delayed replies. You told him he didn’t have to do that, you understood he had work, responsibilities... Yet he just smiled and kept putting you first anyway.

During one of your weekly video calls, Kate asked about Nathan, mentioning she hadn’t seen him in the background for a while. You brushed it off pretty quickly, explaining how busy he’s been with his studies, and the conversation ended there. 

Later, while talking about food, you casually mentioned a restaurant Mr. Barnes had recommended. He’d made a habit of suggesting places he’d tried with his colleagues, knowing how much you and your friends enjoy exploring new cuisines together.

The silence that followed was mortifying.

Your gaze slowly lifted from the blanket you were knitting to find your friends staring at you, half amused, half shocked. Promptly waving off their nosy questions, you insisted you just saw each other from time to time. That he’s kind, funny, easy to talk to. Still, they teased you about having a tiny crush on your boyfriend’s dad.

The joke got out of hand the following week, when you accidentally admitted the blanket you were working on was for him—Mr. Barnes had discovered your hobby and casually mentioned that he’d love to have something made by you some day.

Yelena nearly lost her mind. At one point, she actually dropped to her knees in front of her phone, dramatically begging you to leave Nathan and just sleep with his dad.

You awkwardly laughed it off, your face burning as you resisted the urge to hang up and disappear under your covers.

In the end, Wanda stepped in, declaring there was nothing wrong with being friends with your very attractive almost-father-in-law. That helped… a little. Because you’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just two adults who get along, who often text each other for hours between a good morning and a good night. Who share an occasional cup of tea when you’re back in town that promptly turns into you staying for dinner because he is a great cook and always has a new recipe he found on Pinterest that made him think of you.

It just so happens he’s your boyfriend’s father.

You do like Nathan—a lot. And he wants you just as much. You’ve been together for two years now, for fuck’s sake! Life just… gets in the way sometimes. Things will settle down once he graduates in winter and you both understand where you want to go from there.

Every relationship has its ups and downs.

This is just a rough patch.

This year, your neighbor truly outdid herself. Rachel was the ultimate popular girl: indulgent parents, cheer captain of the only high school in town, and glossy dark waves that every girl tried so desperately to imitate. Everyone wanted to be her, but few had the privilege of sitting at her table. She wasn’t the stereotypical mean girl—just ambitious and filthy rich. Her pretty features had sharpened since the last time you saw her. After enrolling in one of the most prestigious law schools in the country, many thought her days of excessive drinking and wild nights were behind her.

Apparently not.

The rumors of her Halloween parties had spread far beyond your town. Everyone counted on her keeping the tradition alive, and now she returns each year, bringing more and more people with her, to host the biggest party in the county.

One look at the claustrophobic living room, now a dance floor, makes your lungs constrict, the strobe lights not helping at all as they blind you while flashing across the sticky floors. Costumes blur together: you saw at least a dozen demons, three cowboys, and Rachel and her two best friends as the iconic Plastics. Though every time you think you see the flash of Nathan’s leather jacket, it turns out to be a stranger. He had texted an hour ago that he’d just parked, having thrown together a leather biker jacket and black trousers to pass as Danny Zuko from Grease, but so far, no sign of him.

Laughter ripples through Rihanna’s Disturbia from a group leaning against the kitchen counter, the walls of the lavish mansion rattling along the pulsing bass. Someone spills a drink in front of you, narrowly missing your top. Your temples pulse with an excruciating headache when a group of guys holler like animals after completing a keg stand: they each wear a plastic bag with a condom sign attached to their chest, hugging each other in victory. Yet you can’t help but imagine how Nathan would’ve laughed at the scene.

Right. Nathan. Where the fuck is he?

“Hey!” Your shoulders jump at the shout over the beginning of Thriller. Yelena and Wanda appear at your sides, pulling you toward the open patio windows overlooking the huge backyard without much ceremony.

“Have you seen Nathan?” You ask while scanning the crowd by the punch bowls.

“Nope.” Yelena mutters something else under her breath, but you decide to ignore it. It must be another one of her tailored nicknames for your boyfriend.

The cold air sharply hits your face as they lead you outside, goosebumps prickling your skin.

“Why are we here? It’s freezing and I still need to find Nathan. He got here an hour ago and—”

“I’m starving!” Wanda cuts in, practically skipping across the grass. “C’mon, they’re grilling sausages! Hot dogs! Want one?”

You squint at her, confused. Her rambling is classic Wanda, nervous energy spilling out at a mile a minute.

“Wanda, stop, for fuck’s sake.” Yelena snaps, planting her feet on the ground firmly.

“What’s going on?” You glance back and forth between the two of them, but they are too busy staring each other down to acknowledge you, a silent conversation you can’t follow unfolding in frowns too subtle to catch.

Wanda shakes her head, addressing you with a polite, closed-lip smile. “It’s nothing. Let’s just eat.” She reaches for your hand, but you step back, glancing at the other.

“What’s going on, Lena?” Her jaw clenches.

“There’s no need to make a scene right now.” Wanda hisses.

“There’s no need—” The blonde sputters outraged. “This is fucking insane, what is your problem?”

You step between them, grabbing their wrists. “Hey! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, guys, but I need you to calm down and tell me what’s up.” You bark. “Kinda feeling left out here.” Your attempt to lighten the mood is entirely overlooked as Wanda tilts her head, silently begging the blonde to be patient.

“She deserves to know.” Yelena grits out.

“Not now! It’ll just make things worse for her.”

“You think it’s better if we wait?”

The argument draws a few stares from the patio. Kate, watching from the door, clumsily invents a story about a lost lipstick to defuse tension, quickly making her way to you as most people shrug and return to their drinks.

The air suddenly feels heavier, tension crawling up your spine and settling in your shoulders.

“Someone tell me what the fuck is happening. Right now.” Your voice shakes despite your effort to stay calm. “Is Kate okay? Did Nathan do something?”

Yelena simply exhales a long breath, pushing her tongue into her cheek in annoyance. Wanda takes your hand at once, her eyes pleading.

“It’s not about Kate. She’s fine. We’ll explain later, okay?”

“No,” you snap, wrenching your wrist free. “Explain now.”

Yelena huffs. “You’re just making it worse.”

Wanda’s auburn hair swings as she faces her, her voice turning serious. “Me? We know you hate his guts, Lena. You’ve been waiting for him to fuck up since the moment they started dating. But could you please put your fucking ego aside for once and think about her wellbeing? We’re in the middle of a party and you’re ruining her night.”

“Oh! I am ruining her night? You have been kissing his ass since the very beginning. And you talk about my fucking ego? You’re such a bi—”

“I saw Nathan upstairs making out with a girl!” The words pierce through the booming music like thunder.

Yelena and Wanda go abruptly still, all their annoyance vanishing at once as they slowly turn to face you with wide eyes. Kate is standing behind you, half-squirming as she watches you with something akin to desperation.

The ominous pit of nervousness you’ve been carrying in your stomach for the last hour suddenly doesn’t feel so irrational.

“I’m so sorry.” Kate whispers after a heavy pause, fingers fidgeting.

“Upstairs… where?” The words taste bitter on your tongue.

“In one of the bedrooms. The one closest to the bathroom.” She looks mortified, unable to meet your gaze.

You shove past her before you can even fully digest what’s going on, barreling through drunk students and ignoring their startled stares.

The strobe lights fracture the room into flashes of color—violet, red, sickly white—laughter spiking through the air in uneven bursts. The sharp tang of beer clings to everything, mixing with the artificial sweetness of fake fog that curls low around your ankles. It should feel alive, electric. Instead, it dulls to a distant, muffled hum as Kate’s words settle heavy and cruel deep in your chest.

Step after step, heavier than the last, your chest tightens, each breath catching halfway in, sharp and fast. For a moment, it feels like the world simply... pauses. It’s just you and the growing ache in your throat, threatening to spill over.

You hear Yelena screaming your name as you burst into the bedroom on the left. It’s empty, dark, and the bed is intact. Heart hammering painfully against your ribs, you storm into the next room, scaring a couple of people lingering nearby for a moment of intimate quiet. The door slams against the wall with a splintering bang, and in that moment you swear your heart stutters—one missed beat, maybe two—before it kicks back in, pounding wildly like it’s trying to break free. The sound rushes up into your ears, a violent, dizzying thrum that makes your head spin.

You stand there, frozen in the doorway, not knowing whether to scream, to run, or to crumple right there and let the floor open up and swallow you whole.

Maybe throwing up seems the best option as you take in the disgusting scene before you.

Nathan turns, confused by the sudden commotion. A girl is straddling him, but the light is too dim to recognize her, though you can clearly see how her skirt is bunched at her hips, exposing her lower half. The moment his eyes meet yours, he roughly shoves her away, causing her to squeal as she falls on the other side of the bed. Nathan’s weak voice calls out your name, but you are already turning away. 

The scene is quite pathetic, Yelena thinks, as Nathan clumsily tries to run after you, but he keeps stumbling into the pants creased around his ankles.

“Wait—fuck, baby wait! It’s not what it looks like!” He shouts as he runs in the living room, fingers clumsily trying to zip up his pants.

“Shut up, Barnes.” Yelena’s voice cuts sharp from the stairs, Wanda and Kate close behind her. The music fades further, letting nearby partygoers witness the drama.

With a sharp inhale, you stop right in the entryway, fingers curling into fists at your sides to steady the chaos inside you. You refuse to give him the satisfaction to see you cry.

In the spur of the moment, you decide to turn around, lips parted to tell him to go to hell, but a shriek erupting from the top of the stairwell stops you.

“You’re an asshole!” The girl stands there, mascara smeared and skirt hastily pulled down.

“Jesus Christ.” Wanda tiredly rubs the bridge of her nose.

The girl’s face seems familiar, but you can’t place her. Maybe she used to go to high school with you? One of the many forgettable faces of your past.

“You’re a fucking liar, Nathan Barnes. You promised you’d tell her about us. You promised me you’d leave her.”

Someone in the crowd gasps, but it barely registers.

“What the fuck, Nathan?” You grimace, repulsion tightening your chest.

“I—I didn’t…” His voice falters, head turning back and forth between the two of you, a mix of shame and panic flashing across his features.

“I’ll tell you what he did, since he’s too much of a coward.” The girl interrupts, slowly stepping down the stairs. “We’ve been dating since March and he kept promising me he’d break up with you. He told me he did it as soon as he got here... But apparently it was just another lie.” She throws him a look of disdain, arms crossed to her chest.

Since March.

He’s been dating another girl for eight months. No. He’s been cheating on you with another girl for eight months.

The floor crumbles under your feet.

The constant busyness, the unanswered texts, the lack of intimacy, all the weekends you decided to come back here and he never once seemed to care about tagging along, not even texting you to make sure you had safely arrived, knowing your car is literally a jalopy.

The image of her straddling him flashes behind your eyes over and over again, cold sweat rushing down your back as you realize how many times they have acted like that undisturbed, how Nathan was about to have sex with her while his girlfriend was in the same house, waiting for him downstairs.

You refuse to meet some stranger’s pitiful eyes, or worse… their small smirk, the amusement dancing in their eyes. Somewhere nearby, people keep laughing, dancing, kissing, while you stand there, in front of the person you wasted two years of your life on, feeling like the butt of a scornful joke. 

Guilt has been eating you alive since you doubted his words that day, yet he has been betraying your trust all along. Something shatters inside you at the realization that maybe everything you shared at first—the whispered plans for traveling the world together, the way his hands always found yours under the table, the warmth of him wrapped around you late at night—was never real at all.

You feel exposed, far beyond anything physical. The rawest parts of you burn under all these curious eyes, laid bare in a way you can’t hide from. You need to cover yourself, to disappear behind something—anything—a blanket, a jacket, a closed door.

Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you force out one last question.

“All the assignments, the projects—were they real at all? Or were they just a cover to fuck another girl behind my back?”

Nathan opens his mouth but doesn’t answer. His pleading brown eyes only stoke the fire in your veins, looking at you like he deserves your sympathy.

Shaking your head, you sprint toward the door, ignoring your friends’ desperate calls of your name. They try to reach you, but there’s too many people gathered there to watch the scene like a movie. By the time Yelena, Wanda, and Kate get to the front yard, you’ve long vanished into the dark.

Yelena curses out loud in Russian, stomping back inside to give that asshole a piece of her mind, and Wanda and Kate can only hurry after her, trying to stop the blonde from sending Nathan to the hospital.

Walking in the biting October cold clears your mind a little, even as the tears keep flowing. You hadn’t even noticed them until you had to slow down, your feet hurting in those damn boots. Sniffling, you keep your head down; despite being alone in the dark, that mix of humiliation and disbelief still makes your skin burn in shame. You didn’t do anything wrong, yet thoughts of how stupid you’ve been cloud your mind.

How could you have been so blind? All the signs were there, and you chose to ignore them.

That girl… she went to your university, which is why she felt so familiar. She’s pretty, you can’t deny it. And yet, was that enough for you to deserve that? Was she funnier than you? More caring? Better in bed? What were you lacking? You’ve always considered yourself average-looking—decent, sure, but not someone guys have ever fought over. You flirted, went on a few dates, but it never went beyond that. Maybe someone had a crush on you at some point, but you never knew.

It hurt your confidence, of course, but then Nathan happened, and that was your first mistake, probably—tying your self-worth to the way he treated you.

And now you can’t even go home and cry yourself to sleep. Kate was the only one with a purse, so you left all your belongings with her, except for your phone since you were waiting for Nathan to text you.

Going back is not an option, it feels like walking into a cage full of starving lions, especially since Nathan will probably be there still—either with her, or already laughing the whole thing off. She didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed by his betrayal. If you were in her place, you’d be questioning him, wondering if you’d be on the other side as well someday.

You’ve seen it before. Your aunt was miserable after forgiving her cheating husband. He begged, cried, swore it was a moment of weakness. She was too busy with her job and he needed her, that’s how he justified himself.

So he fell into another woman’s vagina.

Your mom refused to speak to her for a while after her decision to not divorce him. Your dad then eventually convinced her to change her mind: that good-for-nothing was likely to do it again, and she couldn’t risk leaving her sister alone and vulnerable. Four months later, your aunt came home early from a work trip to surprise him—but she was the one whose heart fell to her feet.

He was in their bed with one of her closest friends.

After witnessing and experiencing that kind of pain first-hand, you can’t bring yourself to wish the same hurt on her. Even if she knew Nathan was already taken, even if she willingly started a relationship with him. But why would a single girl like her worry about your relationship when your boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend—didn’t seem to care in the first place?

You sigh, thinking of your parents. They’re out of town for your dad’s birthday. You can’t call them at one in the morning to tell them what happened. It wouldn’t be fair; you know they’d drop everything to come home if they knew and you can’t ruin the rare time they decide to treat themselves. After working so hard, this trip is the only moment of peace they are willing to indulge in once a year.

The back of your hand brushes over your raw cheeks in a useless attempt to clean yourself a little, tears still clouding your vision as you stare down at your phone screen, your finger hovering over that one contact that could save you, but shame pins you in place.

How can you face Mr. Barnes? Calling him now doesn’t just mean worrying him, but also possibly interrupting his night with… well, a woman. He’s a single, attractive man with a big house all to himself. Nathan was supposed to stay over, so who knows what the older man had planned for tonight?

It also means telling him about what happened.

The possibility of him defending his son makes a lonely tear slide down your cheek. No, Mr. Barnes would never justify a cheater. He’s too smart, too emotionally intelligent for that, even if the cheater in question is his own child.

Taking a deep breath, your mind races, torn between desperation and hesitation. The thought of disturbing him like a little kid makes you want to crawl into a hole and never get out, but it’s freezing outside and you are starting to not feel your toes. Your finger trembles with indecision above the screen, until reflex takes over. It presses the call icon.

You gasp, quickly bringing the phone to your ear when it immediately comes alive with his muffled voice.

“Sweetheart? Are you okay? Do you need something?” His deep, serene voice eases the wild thumping in your chest at once.

Right, another thing about Mr. Barnes. He calls you sweetheart, and seldom, other cute pet names slip by that make your traitorous heart flutter and your cheeks burn.

When you sniffle, he calls your name urgently.

“Are you busy?” You swallow, biting your trembling bottom lip.

“No. Never for you. What happened? Do you need me to come get you?”

You nod, then let out a frustrated huff when you remember he can’t see you. The faint clink of keys reaches your ears, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips. You haven’t even replied and he’s already getting ready to come for you.

“Please… if you’re not busy.” You mumble.

“I told you I’m not. Don’t worry.” You hear a door close. Moments later, his voice returns. “Are you alright? Are you safe?”

You glance around, telling him you’re sitting on a bench in front of Ms. Garcia’s house. From his silence, you can gather his shock—you’re almost thirty minutes away from Rachel’s place.

“Why are you there, sweetheart? Is Nathan with you?” His words are slightly distorted by the rumble of the car engine.

“No, I’m alone. He’s still at the party.” You shiver as the cold metal of the bench presses against your bare thighs. “And I’m alright. Just tired.”

He doesn’t need all the details right now. The least you can do is explain in person.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” he murmurs under his breath. “You’ve been crying.”

You simply hum at his statement, expecting him to hang up, but instead he waits, respecting your silence, keeping the line open rather than leaving you alone in the dark.

When the familiar black SUV pulls up in front of you only a few minutes later, your body reacts instinctively. You hang up and watch as Mr. Barnes steps out. Before you can even find the right words to thank him, he’s around you, holding you close against his broad chest. Your lips part to whine out a pathetic apology, but the sound dies in your throat. Tears fall again, soaking his shirt.

“I’m so sorry… I didn’t know who to call,” you sniffle, swallowing an embarrassing sob. “My parents are out of town and Kate has my keys, but I didn’t want to go back there—”

“Hey, hey.” He gently pries your head away with a hand on your cheek, enough to examine your devastated eyes. “I’ve always told you I’m here if you ever need something. Anything. So don’t you dare apologize. I’m so proud you remembered that and called me, sweetheart.”

Your gaze drops at once on a random spot on his neck, unsure what to say next.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” His other hand cradles your left cheek now, thumbs brushing away the lingering tears at the corners of your eyes. You shake your head lightly, jaw tightening at the thought.

“Alright, alright. We’ll go at your pace.” He frowns. “Do you want to come home? It’s freezing and you’re—”

The next words die in his throat as his blue eyes sweep over your body like they are acknowledging the rest of you for the first time that night. Now you feel so foolish for not bringing a jacket. Despite the cold, you’d known Rachel’s house would feel like a furnace, packed with sweaty dancers and drinkers. A dramatic escape in the middle of the night was not in your plans and yet here you are.

Even in the middle of your internal scolding, you can easily notice how Mr. Barnes blinks, seemingly snapping out of whatever thought had caught his entire attention, only to quickly glance back up at your face. Being under the lamppost, it’s easy to spot the blush creeping across his cheeks.

You’re his son’s girlfriend, of course he would feel awkward with you so close and barely covered.

“I guess you didn’t want to hide your pretty outfit.” He comments instead, amusement lacing his tone. Your eyes widen. “You’re always beautiful, by the way. A jacket wouldn’t have ruined it.” He winks as his hand comes to rest on your back, guiding you toward his car. You’re still processing his tone and its meaning as he opens the passenger door to help you inside.

He’s never explicitly called you beautiful before, compliments used to stop at your outfits or your makeup.

Once inside, the engine hums to life, but before he takes care of anything else, he makes sure to turn on the heat. You shiver, muscles slowly loosening as the warmth seeps through your chilled body.

“Better?” He glances at you, receiving a simple, grateful nod as answer.

“Fuck, should have thought about bringing you one of my jackets.” He was probably talking to himself but you catch it anyway, pressing your palms lightly to your thighs. It’s just a jacket—nothing grand—but the thought behind it makes you breathe slightly more easily.

Bucky maneuvers the vehicle on the roadway, unhurriedly driving back the way you came from. A sense of dread abruptly washes over you at the realization that you are about to pass by your neighborhood, right in front of Rachel’s house. You try to be as subtle as possible when you slide down the seat, at least to not be completely recognizable from the outside, your head turning toward the window as if that could be enough to disappear completely. Bucky notices anyway, keeping a careful eye on you as you drive by the mansion looming chaotic in the dark.

“I saw Nathan with another girl.” You blurt out once Rachel’s house is at a safe distance. The car swerves slightly, your stomach twisting with a hint of fear as your hand instinctively reaches to grab the edge of the seat. Your worried eyes fly to Bucky, meeting his shocked gaze.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry.” He clears his throat. “How…”

You take a deep breath, eyes back on the road, feeling too ashamed to face him.

“Kate caught him in one of the bedrooms upstairs. When I opened the door… a girl was straddling him. They were kissing, and… probably about to do other things.” Another lump swells in your throat. “Apparently all those assignments and projects were just an excuse.” You scoff out a humorless laugh, the back of your hand already brushing a lonely tear away.

“They’ve been together since March, and he promised her he’d break up with me soon.”

Each word feels like biting broken glass.

From your peripheral vision, you see his body stiffen, knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. Apologies form on your tongue as a reflex, but why? For calling him to pick you up? For having to be the one to reveal such a horrible thing about his son? You don’t even know, yet his crushed expression is enough to make you feel terribly guilty.

Then, something happens that completely catches you off guard.

His hand reaches across the console, covering yours, fingers intertwining.

Mr. Barnes is good with words, yet that simple gesture is worth more than any speech right now. Tears come back with such a violent speed that shocks even you, but you try your best to bite them back, mortified about the whole situation.

Confused, you watch the car steer, eventually coming to a stop at the roadside. Bucky exhales heavily once the engine is turned off, plunging you both into darkness. His body then turns toward you as best he can in the cramped space.

“Can you look at me, sweetheart? Please?” His voice is barely a murmur, fingers squeezing yours gently. Reluctantly, you lift your chin, catching him in your peripheral vision. “Thank you.”

“I know you’re hurting right now, and words might feel meaningless in the face of this betrayal, but please… listen to me carefully.” His blue eyes burn fiercely. “Sometimes people don’t know how to treat something good the way it deserves, but that says nothing about its worth. I’m deeply disappointed in Nathan. I didn’t raise him to behave like this, and believe me, I will have words with him. Very strong ones.” You squeeze his hand back, the corners of your lips lightly lifting despite pain stabbing your chest.

“Don’t blame yourself, Mr. Barnes. Your words are never meaningless to me,” you murmur, frowning at your knees. “He is an adult, responsible for his own actions, and still chose to do this. He could’ve ended things with me before starting something with her, but instead took the easy way out without remorse.”

Bucky slumps back against the seat with a slow sigh, staring absent-minded at the dashboard. Eventually, a humorless laugh falls from his lips. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Your eyebrows jump up at the bitterness in his tone, and he allows a rueful smile. “My ex-wife cheated on me. That’s why we divorced.”

Your jaw drops.

“Nathan was thirteen and he still had to witness how much his mother’s choices affected me. It wasn’t easy for him. I never spoke badly of her, never kept him from seeing her... but he still chose to stay with me.” He sighs tiredly, head softly falling back against the headrest. “They only went back on speaking terms a couple years ago. Nathan felt like she betrayed him as well… refused to even text her at Christmas.” His neck turns just enough to look at you. “Has he ever told you that?”

You shake your head, swallowing.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Mr. Barnes. I didn’t know… Nathan never talks about his mom, much less about your divorce.” Your words are not louder than a whisper.

His hand squeezes yours. “No need to apologize, sweetheart. The scars are there, but they don’t hurt anymore.”

Mr. Barnes straightens up after that, looking more resolute. “My point is, I’ve been through that kind of betrayal. For a long time, I was miserable, frustrated with her for ruining what we had, and with myself for missing the signs. And Nathan… he was the only good thing to come out of that marriage.” His gaze is fixed on yours with newfound strength, his voice tender. “Some days you’ll be angry at the world. You’ll stay in bed and cry your heart out, you’ll even miss the happy moments with him. But it won’t last forever.”

You clear your throat at that, staring down at the glove box for what feels like minutes. “Is it wrong,” you start quietly. “That I’m more upset about him betraying my trust than actually losing him?”

“What do you mean?” He tilts his head slightly, the simple gesture letting you know he’s here for you, ready to listen.

“He was always busy, and deep down I knew something was off. I guess… unconsciously, I’ve been trying to distance myself emotionally so I wouldn’t get hurt.” Your eyes widen at once, quickly trying to correct yourself as you realize you are still talking to his dad. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I liked Nathan and I’m shaken by what he did. He built a whole, new relationship behind my back. But…” You sigh, shoulders falling in dejection.

“I’m not actually sad about losing him.” You whisper. Saying that out loud only makes you feel more uncomfortable, causing you to shift your weight in your seat in a last attempt to ground yourself. “I don’t even know if I’m making any sense right now.”

“You’re angry because he made you doubt your self-worth.” He says softly.

“Yes!” You exclaim, facing him with surprise.

Bucky nods pensively. “And you’re upset because he betrayed your trust.”

“Exactly.” The dam breaks. “I’ve been feeling guilty since that day I followed him to the library to see if he was actually there to study. I felt awful for a whole month! I was doubting all the work his professors piled on him while he was breaking his back on those damn books. But in reality he was just fucking someone else the whole time.” Your hand flies to your mouth as you hear him chuckle, eyes wide at your own honesty. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be so crude.”

“Don’t you dare apologize. I feel so bad whenever I curse around you.”

You share a soft, meaningful laugh, before the car falls into a comforting silence.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” You murmur, taking a deep breath. He returns your smile, squeezing your fingers once more before starting the engine.

“You know I’m here for you. Always.”

He claps his hands lightly, and somehow it feels like that dark cloud pressing on your head has finally lifted. “C’mon, let’s get you home so you can get more comfortable and rest. You had a long night.”

“Are you sure you’re not busy? I don’t want to crash your free night—”

“Are you kidding? I love your company. And you didn’t interrupt anything, I was just watching a movie and eating some leftover candy, waiting for a text that you got home safely.”

Once the car is parked in its usual spot, Mr. Barnes is quick to get out and jog to your side to open your door. You whisper a shy thank you, still not used to all these caring gestures.

“Alright, here we are.” He breathes out, shoulders relaxing as if the familiar smell of his home alone is enough to soothe any worries. He leaves his sneakers in the shoe rack by the entrance and you follow suit, placing your boots neatly in the space he vacated for your shoes long ago, back when Nathan had started bringing you over more frequently.

“Are you hungry? Wanna shower first?”

You press your palm to your temple, eyes closing briefly. “A shower would be perfect. I feel sweaty from the party and I’m pretty sure my clothes still smell of weed.”

He doesn’t ask if you drank—he knows you despise the taste of alcohol, but also any type of substance that could make you lose control. He simply leaves a glass of water and some Advil on the kitchen counter, then jogs upstairs to grab some clean clothes for you. You take your time finishing the glass, savoring the simple act of rehydrating after walking and crying for so long in the cold.

Once you are alone in the bathroom, the reflection in the mirror makes you flinch. Your makeup is completely ruined: lipstick smudged at the corners, eyeshadow streaked under your eyes, mascara melted. The thought of Mr. Barnes seeing you like this has you shuddering in shame, but you push the embarrassment aside for now. You’re too drained.

A sealed bottle of micellar water and a package of cotton pads on the counter catch your eye immediately. With a relieved sigh, you remove the ruined makeup, silently making a mental note to thank him for his thoughtfulness.

The warm water cascading over your skin and the floral scent of the products tidily lined up on the shower caddy are enough to ease the strain in your muscles. Once dry, you pull on the black shirt he left on the small stool and a pair of boxers, adjusting them according to your comfort. You are actually so relieved he provided you with his own clothes, instead of Nathan’s. Making sure you’re presentable enough before heading downstairs, you glance at your reflection in the mirror one last time, before you have to take a second look. Because on the far left of the counter sit unopened some products you recognize too well: a moisturizer for your skin type, a gentle cleanser, some neutral-smelling deodorant, and a purple toothbrush. All pristine and unopened.

Did he buy all this for you? Even after nearly a year since the last time you slept here?

Your chest tightens at the thought of someone caring enough to remember such simple, forgettable things about you, taking a deep breath before diving into your skincare routine.

When you enter the kitchen, the breathtaking sight of Mr. Barnes’ broad back makes you pause momentarily. The domesticity of it all—him cooking for you, the quiet familiarity of being surrounded by his smell in his home—fills you with a strange fuzzy feeling that leaves your skin pleasantly warm and tingly. You’ve never been here at this time of the day, alone with him, clad in his clothes.

Turning around, he places the plate he was previously arranging on the table, before he glances up at you. Smiling, his lips part as if he wants to say something, but the words die on his tongue when his blue eyes fall on your naked legs. Clearing his throat, the man abruptly turns back around to swipe the counter.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah. Thank you for the clothes.” You sit, eyeing the plate with interest. “And the sandwich.” You add with a smile. Your stomach aches a little from all the sugary soft drinks, so a proper meal will only do you good.

“They look good on you.” He mumbles, glancing down. Then, with a playful smirk. “Still, I miss the Barbie outfit.” You giggle, unsure whether he’s teasing or truly means it.

“Oh, and the hygiene products—thank you for those as well. When did you get them?” You quip, devouring half of the bread as if you haven’t eaten in ages. 

“I’ve been stocking them since you started staying over, just in case you forgot something.” He shrugs with another effortless smile.

Bucky knew you were going to spend multiple nights here and wished for you to be comfortable and safe in his home. Simple as that.

You had to pack an overnight bag with all your things whenever you went over to Nathan’s apartment. It never occurred that you could just leave something behind, because it was so sporadic for you to spend the night there. Plus, he lives with three other people, so you didn’t want to intrude. Yet, now that you’re realizing how much Mr. Barnes has been going out of his way to take care of you, you can’t help but think about how many things Nathan took for granted.

Your own boyfriend.

Only when you finally settle on the sofa do you realize how much your body has been hurting from all the dancing and the walking. It instantly becomes one with the cushions.

Your phone lights up once on the coffee table, half of Wanda’s message visible from here. You texted the group chat to let them know you’re safe with a friend. Yelena will understand immediately, you are certain of that. Your eyes mindlessly catch a really sorry, but you don’t have the energy to deal with the situation right now. They know you’re alright and sheltered from the cold, and that’s enough for tonight.

The TV drones on in the background; a mediocre horror movie is playing on cable, but you can’t bring yourself to focus on it—or anything else, for that matter. Not when Mr. Barnes is sitting comfortably beside you, the warmth of his body tempting you to move closer. For a moment, it feels like he’s glancing at you as intently as you’ve been watching him.

The moment you properly look up and he doesn’t shy away, the air between you hums with an unspoken, charged tension. You must be imagining things, half delirious from exhaustion, because he keeps glancing back and forth between your eyes and your lips, something akin to desire burning hot in his eyes.

You don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly the space separating you disappears. The first touch is tentative, a timid brush of hands, and then, as soon as the tips of your noses touch, he is pressing against you like he’s been craving your lips for ages. One of his hands cups the back of your head, guiding you closer until your fingers tangle in his shirt.

It shouldn’t feel this good. It shouldn’t feel this right. It shouldn’t...

It shouldn’t happen.

“Wait—” You gasp, abruptly pulling back. Your eyes snap open, staring at him with horror dawning on your features. “W—What… what are we doing?”

“Shit,” Bucky mumbles under his breath, chest heaving as he tries to regain a crumb of control on his raging heartbeat. “I’m—I’m so sorry.”

“Oh my God, I’m a terrible person!” You slump forward, hiding your face in your hands as hot tears threaten to spill again.

“Hey, c’mon now sweetheart.” His shaky palm smoothes over your back. “Why would you be a terrible person? You did nothing wrong.”

Your head snaps towards him, regarding him with red and glassy eyes.

“I just kissed my ex-boyfriend’s dad!”

“If anything, I kissed you.”

“We both leaned in!”

Bucky moves closer, taking your other hand in his. “Okay, okay. Let’s take a deep breath now—”

“Oh God, if Nathan finds out—”

A firm call of your name has your shoulders fall down in defeat. Bucky’s hand travels to the back of your neck, gently turning your face until you are forced to look at him.

“You know you don’t owe him anything, right?” His voice is grounding, calm, but it’s not enough to quell the storm in your head.

“Why are you so calm? You’re his dad! I shouldn’t feel—” You pause abruptly, swallowing thickly. The way his eyes are wide with hope makes you want to sob in his arms.

“Feel what?” He urges, squeezing your hand.

“I…” 

“Feel what, sweetheart?” Shame keeps your throat closed, physically unable to utter any sound. So Bucky takes the matter into his own hands, cradling your cheeks with both rough palms.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day you ran in here, smiling about your A on that paper about online language evolution you spent weeks stressing over.” Bucky admits softly. Your breath hitches.

“You looked at me with stars in your eyes,” he continues with a proud smile. “And I felt so lucky to be part of such a happy moment for you. And then you hugged me and believe me, I tried to ignore it, but I just felt… complete.”

His voice drops to a whisper. “I felt like a dirty pervert whenever my eyes fell on the curve of your waist. Whenever I imagined the adorable sighs you’d make against my lips. Whenever you strutted here in my house with those damn revealing shirts, jealous that the whole neighborhood got the chance to admire your beautiful cleavage.” Sighing, his eyelids flutter shut for a second, as if trying to focus.

“You were Nathan’s girlfriend and here I was, resenting my own son for getting to have you like this. For being the one to call you his.”

He lets his words hang, heavy with honesty. “I promised myself I’d keep my distance. But no one ever compared to your pretty eyes, your passion, your energy.” He swallows, kind eyes flicking once between your eyes and your parted lips.

“Nathan had his chance and failed to take care of you, to love you like you deserve. He was so cruel, baby, and I can’t allow myself to stand by and watch you suffer when I’m right here, begging you to let me show you how much I am enamored of you. Let me be the man you deserve by your side. Someone who knows what you need just by looking into your eyes.”

“And what do I need now, James?” His breath hitches, not expecting his first name to sound so right on your tongue.

Bucky, James, Jamie… He doesn’t care. He just needs you to demolish that already fractured wall of propriety that has kept you apart all along. 

“My lips on yours.” His blue eyes shine, smitten, and that is enough to give you that confidence boost you’ve been looking for a while. Your fingers graze his jaw for a fleeting moment, before they grab his shirt to pull him forward.

You meet him in an urgent kiss, your other hand tangling in his hair, pulling just enough that the guttural sound clawing out of his throat has your thighs squeezing close. His tongue roams freely in your mouth, until oxygen leaves you entirely. You kiss for what feels like a lifetime, your lips fitting together like the final two lost pieces of a puzzle.

His palms fondle the curve of your waist until he finds the courage to guide you on his laps with a hand on your thigh. A moan is muffled against your mouth when your covered core comes into contact with his crotch, his bulge the proof that you’re not the only one affected. One hand sneakily trails up your torso, resting ultimately on the side of your breast, a gentle squeeze of your flesh eliciting a gasp out of you, so you take the chance to grind down on Bucky, the teasing movement leaving him moaning under you.

When you separate, he regards you with blown pupils, his chest raising and lowering with ragged breaths. 

Your fingers finally allow themselves to do what they’ve secretly wished for since the moment you sat on this couch: starting from the gentle creases on his forehead, they tenderly trace down his dark brows, until they reach the sharp profile of his nose, his blushing cheekbones, the trim stubble on his jawline. His mouth parts just a fraction when your thumb strokes his bottom lip, his next breath shaky, frightened to interrupt this sublime, quiet connection. 

“You’re stunning, James.” You utter softly with a faint smile. His eyes flutter shut with a sigh when your fingers move then on to his collarbone. Shivering, the older man wraps one muscular arm around your back, bringing you close, until he can comfortably lean in to return the favor, lavishing the column of your throat with wet kisses. Your head falls back, brokenly gasping each time his teeth gently graze your skin.

“You’re driving me crazy with all these cute, sinful sounds.” He growls, a grin blooming on your mouth at his poorly concealed desperation. The hand firmly resting on your ribs slowly travels down to your side, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind; then over your half-bare thighs, until it lands on your covered ass. Your gasp gets promptly swallowed by his mouth when he hungrily squeezes the flesh, encouraging the circular movements of your hips against his erection. The sound of his low groan makes your pussy throb, suddenly shifting your focus on the embarrassing dampness of the boxers you’re wearing.

When was the last time someone touched you as if you were their most precious treasure?

This time your kiss is more animalistic, all teeth and tongue, than the ones you previously shared, a testament of your growing arousal. 

“Baby,” he breathes out, cradling your cheek to assure you’re making eye contact. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you know that, right?”

“Mmh?” Your movements are a little more lethargic after the way his hands have gently played with your curves, your fingers weakly curling into the fabric covering his broad shoulders. The ghost of his palms on your chest and thighs still tingles on your skin, and you slightly tilt your head when he starts talking again, regarding him with half-lidded eyes.

“We can do whatever you want. You wanna watch a movie? I’m already opening Netflix. You wanna sleep by yourself? I’ll make the bed in the guest room right away. We can cuddle all night if you’d let me—” 

“What if I want you to fuck me?” The words feel like cotton candy in your mouth, yet you don’t miss the way his eyes widen.

There is a brief, meaningful pause.

“Are you sure?” His voice shakes a little as his hands squeeze your hips. 

“Please.” Your sigh almost has him maneuvering you on your back to see what other sweet sounds he can coax out of you. Just for him.

“Yeah? You’ve been thinking about it, sweetheart?” You simply hum, slowly nodding. “About all the ways I could make you come on my tongue?” He whispers, towering over you as his firm fingers keep your chin raised, preventing you from hiding.

Squirming in his lap, you are forced to look him in the eye as your slick steadily soils his boxers, cheeks scorching hot with a hint of mortification.

“Did you think about me when you were fingers deep into your sweet pussy? Imagining it was my cock making you scream?” He continues calmly. “Did you come like a good girl with my name on your lips, mmh?”

You whimper, nodding jerkily. “I was... so lonely.”

“Well,” he chuckles smugly. “You won’t have to worry about that anymore, pretty girl.”

A squeal claws out of your throat as Bucky lifts you without much of a fuss. You keep your legs tightly wrapped around his waist, your arms circling his neck with newfound strength. Moaning, he has to stop multiple times on the stairs as you can’t resist leaving small pecks all over his jaw, teeth softly biting the most sensitive spots.

It’s the first time you cross the threshold of his bedroom, yet it doesn’t feel as awkward as it should. 

You completely ignore the big walk-in closet and his en-suite bathroom as soon as you are placed in the center of the large bed, his six-foot frame covering yours without actually resting his full weight on you. Your lips meet again and this time, his palm travels under the shirt you are wearing, finding your bare chest. 

“James, wait—” You moan, hips twitching up as his fingers graze your already erect nipple. You’re now fully lying on your back with his hard body straddling you, but a weak push against his chest is enough for Bucky to immediately lift his torso up. 

“Are you oka—”

“More than okay, I feel so good. I just—I need to make something clear.” This time it’s you who cradles his jaw, swallowing thickly. “I like you, James. I think I have for a while, actually. It wasn’t just... pure admiration, or friendship. And this,” your finger wriggles between the two of you, pointing at your chests. “It’s not a one-night stand for me. I don’t want you to think you’re... some sort of revenge; much less a rebound.”

“This is a dream come true.” He mumbles against your lips, caressing the back of your head in awe. 

“I’m gonna make this right, okay sweetheart?” Bucky kisses your forehead, then focuses on both cheeks. “I’m gonna take care of you.” His mouth trails south, on your neck. “Play with your sweet pussy until you are nice and ready to take me.” Your eyes roll back, shuddering at his low voice whispering right in your ear.

“Worship your body until you are left shaking and gasping in my arms, orgasm after orgasm.” The fingers trailing up your thigh finally reach the inner part, his thumb stroking the wet fabric right where you need him the most.

“Then I’m gonna fill you up,” your hips buckle up, causing him to huff out a chuckle. “Yeah? You like the sound of it, angel? Like the idea of me stuffing you full with my cum until you can’t take a step without it sliding down your thighs?” 

“Bucky, please.” You breathe out, trembling fingers squeezing his forearm. 

His shaky exhale gives his excitement away, despite his confident and collected behavior. He makes sure to look in your eyes for his next words.

“Gonna take you on a date tomorrow, alright?” You simply nod, swallowing as his other palm traces your bare stomach, lifting the shirt up and up, until your ribs are exposed to the warm air of his bedroom. “Give you everything you deserve and more.”

His smirk grows when you whine at his hands moving away to take off your top. A low groan falls from his lips when your naked chest is finally exposed. His large hands cup your tits without much thought, the pads of his thumbs brushing over your nipples, eliciting another whimper out of you. You finally look up at his face, biting your bottom lip when you notice the way his eyes have turned darker, just like the ocean abyss, as they marvel at your breasts, perfectly fitting inside his palms. 

“Such gorgeous tits, sweetheart.” Your cheeks instantly heat up at the praise; overwhelmed by the sudden attention on your naked torso, you try to turn your chin away, but Bucky is faster. Cradling your cheeks, he turns your head until you are forced to stare right at him.

“None of that hiding shit.” He mutters against your breasts between kisses, your back arching the moment his tongue starts lavishing your nipples, until they are both raw and turgid. 

“You’re going to lie back and watch me as I ravish you, darling.” 

The boxers are suddenly discarded on the floor. It’s electrifying, being so open for Bucky to freely admire you. You’re quivering under his devoted gaze and tender smile, your breath hitching each time his fingers stroke a patch of burning skin as he takes his time in appreciating every single curve, every aspect that you might consider a flaw. To him, they’re new features to cherish. A way to learn you in the most intimate of ways.

You don’t even notice your eyelids fluttering shut. The rustling sound of fabric is what drives you to open them, just in time to catch Bucky throwing his shirt somewhere on the carpet.

He truly is handsome, with his strong physique and his muscles still defined, even with the small layer of fat covering most of it. 

With a lewd twist of his lips, his hands guide your legs up until your feet are firmly planted on the mattress and your knees bent. You are certain your heart is going to come out of your chest if Bucky doesn’t hurry up, rather focusing on pressing sweet, delicate kisses from your ankle to your thigh, just stopping short of where the skin turns wet with your arousal. His smirk is devilish when your breath hitches in frustration, taking his time in giving the same reverent treatment to your other leg.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

By the time he finally lies between your spread thighs, you are a shaky, sensitive mess, palms instantly covering your face when his nose almost touches your clit as his thumbs delicately part your folds.

Bucky lightly gasps. “Look how pretty you are. Already so wet for me, pretty girl?”

To be fair, you think this is the most aroused you’ve been in your whole life.

It’s mortifying how quickly your first orgasm approaches, it only takes Bucky a few languid circling movements on your clit and you’re already clenching, shivering against the beige bedsheets. 

Breathy moans and whimpers fall from your parted lips as his fingers toy with your nub some more. “You’re so responsive, darling.” He marvels, licking his lips. “But not yet.”

Your pathetic whine once he focuses on your hole only fuels his teases.

“I know, sweetheart.” He soothes, a thick finger gently tracing up and down the seam of your entrance. “Just a little more. I promise it’s going to feel so good later.”

And just like that, one of his digits is inside you. Your limbs go rigid, before his other arm comes up to rest on your belly, his thumb finding a leisure yet firm rhythm as it rubs your clit, grinning when your body melts at once against the cool sheets.

You sigh at the heavenly sensation, and Bucky feels the exact moment it starts feeling good, your hole slowly making room for another finger.

“There we go, pretty girl. Is that the right spot? You are gripping me so tight, darling, bet it feels so good, right?”

Your eyes squeeze shut as you can only manage a nod, your own hand shooting down to anchor itself to one of his shoulders as the tip of his tongue replaces the finger taunting your nub. The first swipe makes your head fall back. 

“Bucky!” A loud moan resounds through the dimly lit room, making his cock twitch. 

“Jesus Christ.” His growl vibrates pleasantly against your tender core. “Has anyone ever tasted you, baby?”

“No!” You sob at his fingers pushing against your sweet spot. 

“Fucking fools.” He snarls. “I’ll take care of you from now on, sweet girl. You won’t have to worry about anything.” He rasps out, feral with the thought of you making a mess on his face now that he has been blessed with your taste. “Just need to sit back and be good for me.”

You sniffle, the muscle of your stomach clenching to keep your orgasm at bay. You’re completely enraptured by his gentle yet solemn voice, not so different from the way his fingers play with your body. You subtly rock back on them, drawing him deeper and deeper.

“Oh I know, I know baby. I can feel you want to come.” Your hips twitch up, but the arm blanketing your belly keeps you nice and still as he enjoys his meal. His stubble leaves crude marks on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the rough friction causing your back to arch as high as his heavy arm allows.   

“You know, sweetheart felt like the safest option.” He pants, coming up for air, his lips glistening with your arousal. “Now I can finally call you whatever I want.” 

“Baby,” he leaves a kiss on your mound, half-lidded eyes fixed on your crumpled features. You couldn’t be more grateful for Nathan to have his mom’s eyes. “Darling,” his lips move on your clit next, sucking harshly. “Pretty girl—oh.”

You hoped he wouldn’t notice the way you clenched at that, but of course the smug bastard does. 

“You like when I call you pretty girl?” You toss your head back as his thumb goes back to flick your nub. He can only coax out an embarrassed squeak that vaguely resembles a yes, but it’s enough to make Bucky smirk with pride.

“Yes, my pretty girl?” He relishes in the way you clench again, knowing you’re at your limit now. 

“Give it to me, angel. C’mon,” he growls, ravaging your clit with steady suckles. “I’ve been too well-behaved and patient.” 

Your head falls back against his pillow as your eyes fall shut, your first orgasm of the night hitting you hard and leaving you whimpering and dizzy under his palms. Your body tightens as wave after wave of pleasure seeps deep into your bones. Bucky groans at the sight of your pussy practically swallowing his damp fingers. You have never felt so good you could cry, the added sensation of his coarse beard against your sensitive core making your thighs tremble precariously around his head.

“Gorgeous.” Your nails cling onto his shoulder as you ride it out, humping his face with abandon under his soft grunts of encouragement. Bucky’s hips have been twitching against the mattress for a while now, unable to stay stoic in front of a goddess like you unraveling so sweetly before him. With a final teasing kiss to your clit, his thick fingers finally pull away.

You’re still breathless when Bucky lifts himself up, enough to pull you into another hungry kiss. Tasting yourself on someone’s tongue is definitely new, but not unpleasant. Not when a pathetic sound—half moan, half whine—claws out of your throat at your tongues dancing.

“Wish I could stay between your thighs all night.” He mumbles against your lips. Kissing Bucky… It’s just so lovely. Particularly like this, when he is towering over you, so close that the trimmed hair on his chest softly brushes your nipples as it heaves against yours. Your body lurches at the light stimulation on your raw nubs, completely missing the way one of his hands abandons your hip to swiftly discard his boxers. 

It’s only when Bucky gets into an upright position that you can finally catch a proper glimpse of his body. Even his cock is beautiful, for fuck’s sake, all flushed and thick, proudly curving up toward his belly. You gulp thickly at the sight of how majestic he looks, naked and kneeling for you, before you promptly shy away at the amusement twinkling in his eyes. His strong arms wrap around your thighs without a word, dragging you closer to him until his length lightly nudges your core. His tongue is inside your mouth before you can even let a full gasp out. Whining, your fingers slip into his hair as he teases the seam of your entrance with the tip. 

“So impatient.” He chuckles at your eager hips, before extending his arm towards the night stand.

“No!” Your fingers shoot forward and wrap around his bicep, causing Bucky to freeze entirely.

“I’m clean, got tested last month, and I’m on the pill.” You wheeze out, suddenly fearing your implicit request will be rejected. 

Bucky scrutinizes you with open surprise, before a long, pensive exhale slowly leaves his nostrils.

He places a sweet peck on your forehead. “I’m clean too. But are you sure, sweetheart?” His brows furrow in worry.

“I’ve never let anyone else do it without.” You swallow nervously, taking his hand in yours to guide it to your cheek, unconsciously leaning into his palm.

“Want you to be the first.” You whisper. 

“Fucking hell.” He grits out, letting his forehead fall on your shoulder. It’s your turn to smirk now, until you feel the bulbous head of his cock insistent against your hole.

“Oh.” You squeak out once he slides in halfway without much resistance on your part. The sight of your glassy eyes rolling back has him groaning.

“Feeling alright, doll?”

“Fuck—yes, fuck, it’s just—big!” You gasp, stiffening at the burning stretch. “More... More, I need more please.”

Despite your begging, Bucky feeds you his cock gradually, fearing he could hurt you and possibly scare you away forever. Once he bottoms out, his jaw clenches at the mere realization of finally being inside his girl. Attempting to calm the both of you down is difficult, yet he finds the strength to still, his lips finding yours at once. His self-control weakens precariously the more your body grows pliant under his, your walls hugging his cock so tightly he can feel every little, eager movement. The lewd, wet sounds of your mouth moving against each other only spur him on as his hips involuntarily jerk forward.

“Bucky.” 

“Yes, yes, I know sweetheart.” He coos at your ragged breaths. “Gonna make the ache go away, mmh?”

Dragging his hips back slightly, Bucky carefully studies your expression, and only when he finds no sign of discomfort he lets himself slip right back in, harder. 

“Oh, sweet girl.” He grins at you clinging onto his shoulders. “That feels good, right? Hear how she sings for me?” Leaning in to plant his lips right over your damp brow, he allows his hips to slowly move back, biting back a loud groan at the squelching sound.

“Need to see you fall apart on my cock.” He grunts.

“Please, need—harder.” You cry out, eyes rolling back as the tip nudges your sweet spot. Your moans grow higher and louder once he starts pounding you earnestly, your slack body trapped under his broad one, sliding up and down the mattress with each brutal thrust. 

Bucky loses himself a little the moment he buries his nose in the damp skin of your neck, licking and kissing away the salty tang of your sweat, finally fucking you properly. The slapping noise of your skins meeting shamelessly fills the bedroom, mixing with your labored breaths and desperate moans. 

“Shit, doll.” His growl vibrates against your pulse. “Need this all the time, need to hear your sweet squeals as I carve a place for my cock inside your cute little pussy.”

The way he kisses your mouth like a starving man, and how his cock fits so perfectly inside you, stirs a warm feeling inside your chest, far too tender compared to the throbbing ache in your belly. 

“Such a good girl for me, taking all of me so well.” He gushes deliriously, smiling at your connected lower half. “My girl. My pretty, sweet girl.”

“Come with me?” You whimper, your nails digging into his soft skin as pleasure threatens to swallow you whole.

“Want to give you another one.” He pants, slowing down just enough to properly look you in the eye. “I’m not so young anymore, sweet thing.” The back of his hand brushes your cheek with such tenderness you almost forget the hard length plunged deep inside your pussy, before Bucky resumes his punishing pace, coaxing moan after moan out of you. 

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, your body tensing as your back arches, finally letting yourself go.

“That’s it!” He draws the words out, keeping his eyes firmly on your face. Your legs feel like they are falling to pieces, sore but still squeezing helplessly his waist.

“So tight, so good for me. You look like an angel, sweetheart. A pretty, fucked-out angel. Wish you could see how beautiful you look with a big cock giving you exactly what you need.” He can hardly fend off the devastating orgasm threatening to make him fall apart; yet he keeps going, wanting to prolong your pleasure as much as he can. It’s only when your whimper borders on painful and your palms shoot down to push at his chest, that his hips gradually come to a stop.

“Holy fuck.”

Your lower half is pleasantly aching by the time you are coming down from your earth-shattering climax. Bucky is still trying to dominate his instincts, jaw clenched and nose lightly tracing the soft skin of your collarbone, breathing in your scent. The primal urge to make you his violently rattles at the cage of care and protection that Bucky scrupulously crafted day by day, just to keep it contained. He’s at his limit, yet he always makes sure to take such good care of you first... your stunning, kind Mr. Barnes. 

But now it’s your turn to have your fun with him.

“Get up.” You mutter, pressing on his pecs. Panic briefly crosses his features as he clumsily lifts up on shaky muscles. You don’t let him go too far though, gently pushing him until he’s laying on his back. When you land directly on his crotch, cock still snuggled inside you, his eyes widen in astonishment. 

Everything feels more sensitive like this.  

You don’t care about your aching joints, nor about your sensitive and sore body still going through the aftershock, immediately setting a fast pace. You bounce up and down, biting your bottom lip as you stare at his parted lips. Your combined ragged breaths make you clench around his length, loving the way you sound together. Bucky is too busy pawing at your hips with one hand and groping your breast with the other to rationally think about something clever that would surely turn this debauched doll in his laps into the timid sweetheart he likes teasing.

You’re not sure how long it has been, but what makes you still is definitely not the sudden uncomfortable stiffness in your lower back, but rather a loud, muffled noise.

Like something falling, or... a door slamming shut.

You stop at once, your wide eyes meeting Bucky’s astonished gaze. His shock, though, has short life, as his hands land on both of your thighs with a resounding smack, encouraging you to go on.

“Bucky!” You reprimand him, gasping at the abrupt stimulation against your sweet spot. The older man under you slowly lifts his torso up, encircling your waist as he gently guides you down with him, until your forehead rests against his.

“We have already established that we like each other and that this,” he points between you two just like you did before. “Is not a one time thing.” You nod quickly, still panting and alarmingly aware of all the noises coming from downstairs: bare feet thumping against the tiles, a cabinet closing, a small sigh of relief after drinking some water.

“Don’t you want to give him a taste of his own medicine?” You can’t believe the shadow of malice falling over his eyes.

“He’s your son!” You whisper-shout, partial to his proposal but still too timid to go along with it.

“And you are my girl.” He growls with the same heat, his fingers digging into your skin bruisingly. “The same girl he cheated on for eight months.” 

Something shatters inside your chest. You don’t know if it’s the reality finally catching up to you, or the humiliation gradually mutating into a fiercer, hotter thirst for vengeance. Or maybe it’s the way this absolutely lovely man just defined you his girl so easily. No shame, no reservations.

Your palms press against his shoulders, urging him to fully lie back down. The slow smirk forming on his lips matches your playful smile.

“Fuck.” Your hips resume their pace with a newfound strength. 

“You’re doing so well, angel. Look at you, taking all my cock in your tight little pussy. My pretty girl, all mine.” His dirty words only spur you on, taking his hands to guide them back on your curves. In the meantime, the stairs creak under careful yet not-so-silent steps, as Nathan warily makes his way up. 

“Oh my God. Mr. Barnes, ’s so big.” You gasp, completely forgetting about your ex probably standing just outside the door. You don’t miss the way Bucky’s breath hitches at the name you used to softly utter with so much admiration and respect, now sounding so beautifully obscene as you cry for his cock. Faintly grinning down at him, you squeeze the hand fondling your breast, Bucky immediately looking up from your core engulfing his length so well. 

“Yeah? And whose pussy is this, mmh?” His fingers settle on your clit with determination, careful to put the right pressure, and you respond at once, riding him faster. 

“Yours! Fuck, always been yours!”

"Good girl.” He groans, using every bit of self-restraint to not succumb to the heavenly feeling of you desperately gripping his leaking cock.

“That’s it.” His jaw locks. “Come for me, my beautiful girl.” Your third climax of the night is the most intense. You shatter with a breathy shriek, collapsing against Bucky’s chest as he promptly catches you. The urgent noise of footsteps climbing down the stairs and the final bang of the front door slamming shut are completely disregarded as you fall apart in the most delicious of ways.

“Fuck, you just tightened so fucking hard, baby girl. Feel so fucking good coming all over my cock, you were made for me.” His head falls back, exposing the refined line on his throat. “Taking it so well.” You cling to his large frame, shaking and whimpering as his hips ruthlessly chase his own pleasure. 

“’M gonna ruin you for anyone else, angel.” The crack in his voice tells you he’s close, his hands keeping you nice and still as you try to relax, letting him use you.

“Bet you’ve never looked this lovely with him,” he hisses, his thrusts frantic and sloppy. “Never came this hard—shit, you’re gonna be leaking my cum from now on.”

With one last effort, your chin lifts enough for you to whisper right into his ear, “’M yours, Mr. Barnes. Always have been.” 

His grip around your thighs borders on painful, but you don’t care as long as his filthy groans turn louder and needier. His hips thrust up once, twice, and then he is holding you down as rope after rope of his cum reaches the deepest part of you. Your content sigh at the surreal sensation of finally being filled soothes Bucky a little, his body finally falling back against the mattress as his cock keeps twitching inside you.

“Shit,” his next exhale is harsh, tired eyes staring dumbfounded at the ceiling. “I’ve never come this hard in my life, sweet girl.” His palms trace a slow path up and down your back, and you silently thank him for staying inside you. You are not sure you’d react well if Bucky were to part from you at once after what you just did.

Your weak body settles on his little by little, until you are completely pliant in his arms.

“C’mere and give me a kiss, I miss my pretty girl.” His mouth moves against your temple, before his thumb and index finger tenderly hold your chin to coax you out of your hiding place.

You lazily yield, meeting him in a languid kiss that is more tongue than lips. 

“The best.” Kiss. “Prettiest.” Kiss. “Girl.” Kiss. “You’re so good to me, took it all inside and didn’t waste a single drop.” He playfully growls against your jaw, eliciting a tired giggle out of you.

“Bucky, it tickles.” You squirm slightly, wrinkling your nose when he leaves a gentle peck right on the tip. He couldn’t be more proud of how serene you look, safe and thoroughly fucked as you lie drowsily on his chest.

“So,” he sighs after a while, arms squeezing your waist as he beams up at the ceiling. “About that date…”

END NOTES: thank you so much for reading 💕

I mentioned it before but the inspiration for the title comes from this spectacular meme, of course lmaooo